I question the legitimacy of her statement. She replies in public comment, “You’re naïve.”
This happened yesterday when I obsessively stayed on Twitter and other news sources to learn as much as I could about Ukraine/Russia developments. My grandson is in the Army, stationed in Germany. Not solely for that reason was I searching for updates and credible information; but my grandson’s situation certainly stayed on my mind. I could not focus on creative writing. I didn’t change from my pajamas until one o’clock.
There’s really no excuse for spending hours on Twitter and other internet sites. When I do it, I regret it. A vicious attack at cleaning house or working outdoors would have served my need for distractions more deservedly and productively. However, if there is any event that throws me off target, into a vat of drowning emotions, it is a threat. A war threatens my family’s stability. War in the Ukraine threatens the lives of tens of millions of innocents. Conflict like this threatens the progress that institutions make, releases hatreds and violence, creates refugees and health crises, upends good people, and emboldens bad ones. So, there I sat, scrolling tweets, answering, retweeting, trying to sift through disinformation, hoping to pass on helpful words. Then I replied to one tweet that adversely affected the rest of my day and my sleep.
Her statement and my reply are not the real issue. The issue is that I allowed two words to upset my cart. I know better – hold my feelings close, don’t take anything personally, don’t assume to know anyone’s intentions. I was a classroom teacher for twenty-five years; before that, I was a minister’s wife. Everyone knows how intentionally, and unintentionally, cruel siblings can be. Our family is no different. My armor is thick and battered, though it is not impermeable. The only way to get through my armor is to hit a soft spot when my defenses are down. Yesterday, the barricades that normally stand strong against insult and disagreement were weakened by the threat of international conflict. I inhale war documentaries like they’re Shalimar perfume, consume them like they’re whipped cream or candy. I comprehend the effects, wide and deep and escalating and multiplying effects of war. The threats to the USA and this house are not as trifling as most Americans will believe. I engorged details from President Biden’s speech, from relevant university professors and intelligence experts, the Secretary of State, European leaders, and European newspapers. I wanted it all. The Ukraine’s ambassador to the US held a press conference; I watched it until she answered the last journalist’s question. I engorged all that, thereby draining my emotional defenses.
So where is the soft spot that “You’re naïve” permeated? It is my self-doubt. I’ve been a big dreamer, aspiring to high ideals and broad ambitions my entire life. Although I’ve accomplished much, I’ve far more failures and losses, many of which provide evidence that I haven’t the Stuff it takes to be great. I haven’t even the Stuff it takes to make it beyond a news story and two words. Confidence is not my virtue. My dreams haven’t enough reality in them to feed a bird for one day. There is a huge difference between a woman who is offended by every doubt of her motives or character -- and a woman like me who knows she is flawed and knows that people throw arrows without aiming for truth or help. Tell me “I hate you” or “you’re no good at this” or “do this over again” and I rebound in two seconds. But tell me “You’re naïve” or “you’re arrogant…cold, indifferent” and I fall apart. Hell, yes, I need to do that project better or learn new skills or humbly apologize. Hell, no, I can’t cope well with realizing that you know about my lack of confidence.
So, to the ‘Cheryl’ who replied to my tweet reply to her tweet – You’re not responsible for my emotional reaction. I am. I am the woman who stated a difference of opinion to yours, who should have stayed off Twitter yesterday, who set up the situation on a social networking site wherein my soft spot was vulnerable to attack. I did it.
But I will never read or retweet or reply to your tweets again. You’ll be missing my voice. My voice is a good one. My opinions matter. I am once again reminded that our words matter. Beyond our knowing.