I used to be terrified of being called out. In fact, I would have taken it very personally. I wasn’t really aware of why back then, but now I understand myself better. Basically it would have confirmed my inner core belief that I was flawed and worthless and that would have made me feel even shittier about myself. Since it was a very real fear, I was also unwilling to do it to anyone else. So I rarely spoke out about things, avoided taking sides in disputes and if I saw anything unpleasant, I said nothing and let it go.
First online experiences
My first real involvement in internet communities began back when I was trying to get pregnant with my eldest child. I joined a forum called “The Two Week Wait.” I don’t think it exists anymore actually, which made me sad, when I tried to find it.
It was a place where we’d hang out, sharing all the details of our menstrual cycles and supporting each other through the agonising two week wait between ovulation and menstruation, until we could test to see if we were pregnant or not. We all knew that was possible a few days before our periods were due to begin.
I cannot tell you how much money we all must have spent on pregnancy tests. We were experts at squinting at peesticks (as we called them) and interpreting shadowy lines as early BFPs (big fat positives). TMI was par for the course. As you can imagine, sharing such intimate details about our bodies and sex lives and going through the emotional turmoil of potential or actual infertility, brought us together in a unique and intimate way. There were rarely arguments. It was all about giving each other hope and encouragement.
Facing disputes
For those of us who were fortunate to get the two pink lines (or blue cross etc), we graduated from the trying to conceive part of the site. We moved over to the “other side,” which was devoted to pregnancy. We could join our “due date group” and hang out and support each other for (hopefully) the next nine months.
It was on that side of the site that things changed. I suddenly found myself witness to the most intense debates I had ever experienced in my life. People would erupt into heated discussions about various aspects of pregnancy, childbirth and parenting. Things like breastfeeding v formula feeding, c-sections v vaginal birth, whether to sleep train your baby or not, how to wean, all kinds of things I had previously barely even thought about. But suddenly now they were the most important things in my life. My main preoccupation was how I could be the best parent I possibly could to my baby.
Sharing opinons
I read through these debates and learned an awful lot. At first I was too scared to take part in discussions much at all. Then, as I started to make connections and friendships and began to feel passionate about subjects such as breastfeeding, I wanted to write and share my thoughts too.
But I would literally spend hours composing a post or comment to avoid sounding like I was judging anyone else or calling them out. I’d often end up deleting it, or modifying it to such an extent that my original opinion barely came across. If I did post something, I used to freak out if it didn’t get a reaction immediately. I’d often end up deleting it. I needed approval; someone to confirm that what I had written was okay.
I was really scared of saying the wrong thing, upsetting people and becoming an outcast in the community. So I always tried to be a bridge between the two opposing sides in any argument I came across. I think I was pretty wishy-washy to be honest, always on the fence and trying not to trigger anyone. The idea of being a lone voice speaking out about anything would have struck fear into the deepest parts of my being. It was unimaginable.
Hesitant to speak up
My inability to confidently express myself stayed with me as my online life shifted over to Facebook and to different areas of interest and focus as my kids grew older. Even as recently as three years ago I remember clearly the overwhelming feeling of fear that would clasp me in a vice-like grip if I hit “post” or “send” on anything that involved me expressing my thoughts about anything. I was a firm believer in “why can’t we all just get along”? I interpreted any discussion where there were two sides as “drama”. Mostly I would avoid it. I was probably the textbook definition of a “peacemaker” and “people-pleaser”.
Am I just shy?
I’d always defined myself as being low in self-confidence. I used to think it was because I was shy and that it was just a part of my personality. The thing is, I don’t believe I am inherently shy. I’m actually quite outgoing and friendly. I think that’s why alcohol was always such a crutch for me. Shedding off the inhibitions and the fear of people ridiculing or hating me, allowed me to be the person I feel I am at my core: the person who will walk up and chat to strangers, tell jokes and stories and make people laugh. A person who can speak out about things that are important to them.
Self-protection
I believe that growing up with a narcissistic parent had a significant impact on me. Everything was always about him. I was told who I was and how I was to think. It wasn’t safe to express my own opinions about things. If I did I was often ridiculed and mocked, told I was stupid or a number of other negative things. I learned the art of negotiation and capitulation from an early age. My self-appointed peace-keeping role in disputes as an adult didn’t stem from an enlightened ideology of bringing people together, but rather from old habits of self-preservation in order to avoid a potentially violent backlash. I held back from sharing my opinions and thoughts because I was attached to my fear of negative repercussions if I expressed them.
Changing old patterns
It’s hard to change your whole way of responding to life. Ingrained behaviours are subconscious. So much seems to be learned before the age we even retain memories. It’s only by really looking at who we are now, why we do the things we do and why we think the things we think, that we can bring subconscious patterns into our consciousness. It’s then we can instigate changes if we choose to do so. It isn’t easy. But it’s through doing this work that I have reached the point where I can now write about things I think and believe on social media and in this blog. I am ready to hold my hands up if I get things wrong. I’m ready to learn and change. But I won’t stop writing.
Fighting our own fights
We form our opinions based on our personal experiences and on things that are important to us. It constantly changes too. Back when I had a newborn baby, breastfeeding was on my mind. Now LGBTQIA+ rights are more on my radar. Clearly if you are a lesbian and have a nonbinary child, those issues are going to be way higher on your list of concerns because they affect you directly. Someone said to me recently that we can’t fight every battle. This is so true. We fight the ones that mean the most to us.
We can’t do it all
The problem with this is that people who are focused on different issues, may not see the things you are speaking out about as particularly relevant, because well basically they aren’t – to them anyway. If you’re struggling with a potential bowel cancer diagnosis and someone comes along talking about the impact of plastic waste on our environment, you’re probably going to be less concerned with recycling bottle caps and more with the worry about how uncomfortable your colonoscopy is going to be and whether you’ll be seeing out the rest of the year. We concentrate on the things that are important to us. That is normal.
However, it can cause us to become quite inwardly focused and dismissive of other people’s experiences. I believe this is one of the reasons why conversations can go downhill quite fast. Take a discussion I took part in about using more inclusive greetings when addressing a large group of people. (For example writing: “Hi everyone” rather than “hi ladies”.)
I was coming at it from the perspective of a person with nonbinary friends and a child who are directly affected by the erasure that occurs everywhere, constantly. When people didn’t react in the way I expected or wanted them to, I felt angry and frustrated. Why weren’t they seeing how hurtful it is? Why didn’t they care?
I realise now, I had called them out.
Different perspectives
It didn’t go well. Other people were no doubt coming at the conversation from a completely different place. Maybe they marched on the streets fighting for women to take part in elections. Perhaps they went through their whole career resenting the fact a male counterpart doing the exact same job as them was being paid significantly more. Maybe they suffered scorn and derision from members of their community for rejecting their traditional homemaker role and following their passions in life, building their own career rather than or in addition to raising children. Perhaps the term “woman” to them reinforces their identity as an empowered minority standing up with passion, commitment and determination to fight against the patriarchy.
Woman may be a word they use with such pride, that to them using an umbrella term feels like they are diminishing or losing their identity. Maybe it’s such a deep trigger that they don’t hear the voices saying, but we aren’t asking anyone to give up their identity, because your identity is yours and precious and no one has the right to take that away. All we are asking is for others to be included too. It’s an addition not a subtraction. If “Hi ladies” is something you want to say, why not add “and nonbinary folk” for example.
But arguments often go unheard when people get entrenched in their own experiences and their own hurt.
Recognising defensiveness
I think it’s natural to get defensive. It can feel like an attack. Entertaining the idea that you are wrong about something is not easy. It can trigger feelings of failure and of not being good enough. Words like “inclusive” can be triggering too. They’re buzzwords with a lot of expectations placed on people to embrace them, even if they don’t really understand what they mean exactly. It can feel intimidating to ask questions when you don’t really get it, especially when it’s a topic that is causing so much defensiveness, hurt and anger.
A positive take on being called out
One thing I have learned though, is that getting called out doesn’t have to be so terrifying. We can all choose how we react to things. In essence the person speaking out is highlighting a problem and offering us a chance to examine our role in it and maybe even fix it. We can think of it, not as an unfair character assassination, but rather a chance to listen to and hear another person’s perspective.
Instead of focusing on the way we are told, which in emotional moments of frustration and hurt may not be perfect, instead we can try to look beyond that and at the message. Maybe we can learn something we weren’t aware of and that’s a chance to grow. It can be a gift if we choose to accept it. They’re giving us their time and energy to explain a hurt, which I think reflects a hope for connection. I don’t believe people would bring things up if they didn’t want that. The fact they are engaging in conversation shows a desire to increase understanding and bridge differences.
People walk away when they lose that hope.
Impact v Intent
It’s important to consider the separation of impact from intent. It’s something I’ve come across a lot lately while reading about matters of diversity and inclusion. I have seen people who have been called out immediately launch into a justification, explaining their good intentions. But the reality is it’s an attempt to minimize the impact of their actions or words to alleviate their guilt. It’s a natural reaction. I’m not judging it. We’ve all been there, I’m sure.
But, by doing this, it fails to acknowledge the feelings and and needs of the person impacted. An apology can go a long way, but it also isn’t about gaining forgiveness, which again could stem from a desire to alleviate feelings of guilt. A true apology is about taking responsibility and then taking steps to change, regardless of whether the person you inadvertently hurt forgives you or not.
Being called out
Being called out is uncomfortable. I don’t like it. I feel judged, inadequate and to be honest sometimes misunderstood when my intentions are good. These feelings aren’t going to go away the next time someone says something to me either. But I believe it’s important to step back for a moment when someone calls you out. If you give yourself some time to feel through the immediate emotions that arise, then perhaps afterwards it’s possible to look at things more objectively, beyond a place of defensiveness and victimhood.
It’s empowering to take control of your life in this way, to see a lesson for growth in even the hardest and most uncomfortable of moments. Better still, people who have been screaming into the wind that they are hurting might finally be heard.
Useful reference: Responding to being called out
