Every couple of weeks, Hubs and I meet for “Happy Hour” with four long-time friends. Frankly, the hour is not that happy. Mostly, we spend the hour talking about the pandemic, politics, and, more recently racism. This past week I said that I couldn’t take it anymore. I made the request that we do something besides talk about current issues because I am saturated. I spend most of my days helping people process what seems like an unending list of tragedies that we are experiencing both nationally and internationally, as well as equally difficult issues in their personal lives. Needless to say, all of the global issues have done nothing but add to how hard personal issues are. And, just to state the obvious, my own life is not exempt from these topics. Particularly since the murder of George Floyd, I have had to work twice as hard to regulate my mood. I keep reminding myself that the Universe is unfolding exactly as it should, but, in the spirit of full disclosure, I am also in constant conversation with the Universe about the practicality of an advisory committee, made up mainly of me, myself and I. All that to explain why I said that I couldn’t take another “Happy Hour” that left me depressed and feeling worse than before I got on the call.
This didn’t go over well. Man, oh, man, let me tell you. This didn’t go over well at all. As it turns out, when you request to not talk about the pandemic, politics, and racism, some people feel censored. And, when you challenge people about their self-expression, they get defensive. Predictively, when you rock the boat, people have all kinds of feelings that you might not expect, and, in fact, that people are “happiest” when others agree with what they are saying, when others nod and agree. Who knew? I somehow thought that friends make room for everyone’s opinions and reactions. I somehow thought that friends have space for each other to bump up against diverse opinions.
Now, not to be too defensive, but I was actually asked what I was thinking. Prior to being asked, I was sitting quietly, just letting people talk and process. But, somehow, I thought that when I was asked what I was thinking, that I should SAY what I was thinking. I know. I know. It was a rookie mistake. A total how-did-you-not-see-this-coming mistake. Experience, had I called on experience, would have warned me that very frequently, when I speak openly, I do not win over the masses. If I would have just looked anywhere in the past, experience would have reminded me of the no-small-number of people who have made it clear that I am a lot of trouble. And, while I am typically really good at balancing a pretty high degree of frustration with appropriate responses that defuse tense situations, I do know I have a tipping point from which there is no return. And I was clearly past this tipping point. This has gotten me in trouble more times than I can count. I have spent many, many hours of my life in the principal’s office, both as a student and as a professional, dealing with how much trouble I can be, especially when I am advocating for a person or position that someone else doesn’t like.
My friend sent me a how-dare-you-suggest-we-don’t-talk-about-politics-racism-pandemic email the next morning. It was in response to my email requesting that we bring something of our lives to the call, that we have “Happy Hour” be, well, happier. The friend who wrote it was pissed and said she wouldn’t be on the call anymore because of my censoring request. She said she couldn’t imagine a call where we didn’t discuss those issues, that those issues are important in all of our lives and that not discussing them doesn’t work for her. She resigned from being on future calls. I can’t even say that I didn’t deserve that response. I was, after all, the author of the first frustrated email and this email was in response to me.
Now, in case you were thinking things couldn’t get worse in this little saga, let me tell you my next disastrous move. I answered the email saying that I was very willing to discuss current events. If we want to have a discussion group, a call-to-action meeting, a let’s-educate-ourselves-on-the-topic-of-white-privilege meeting, let’s do THAT. I am very willing to have that kind of call where the topics are difficult and where we bring how we are experiencing these topics to the call, but that is not what I call “Happy Hour.” THEN, in what I consider an unprecedented act of maturity, I picked up the phone and called her. I thought, well, we’ve known each other for a couple of decades, plus, we are actually not so far from being on the same page. The only real issue, it seems to me, is that we come to the call with different agendas, so, what the heck? I’ll pick up the phone and clear things up.
Cutting to the chase, my friend didn’t answer the phone, nor did she return the call. The next day, however, she took the time to reprimand me via email. She copied everyone on the email, so it was very public. She said that she understood that I had been unhappy with the calls for months, she and her husband are very protective of their peace and they are unwilling to be on calls with badly behaved, limit setting me, ergo, they will not be attending any more “Happy Hours” calls. Also, she said, I should not respond back because it was best for the email thread to end there. She went on to say she wishes us all well, she loves us, etc.
I had two responses to this email. The first was to be sad and upset, the second was righteous indignation. On one hand, I felt the grief of having lost a friend, the shock of having an expressed need turned against me as an indictment. I felt like a puppy whose owner rubs its nose in its own urine to teach it how to not pee in the house. The shame and humiliation were palpable. On the other hand, who the fuck was she, to assess and criticize my behavior? For the love of God! She has spent a lifetime working for peace and equality. She is deeply concerned with the environment, has supported the arts, has taught in some of the most challenging school districts in New Jersey! Where was that persona? And, who the fuck was she to say when the email chain should end? All day. Back and forth I bounced.
“Do you have a minute to talk me off the ledge?” I finally reached out to call my friend, Melissa, who is very frequently the voice of reason in my life.
“Oh, my God!” she responded. “It’s pretty bad when I have to talk you off the ledge! What happened?”
I told Melissa the entire story - all the background information, the details of what had happened, how ashamed and humiliated I felt, what a horrible person I am, but, also how much I wanted to retaliate and be sure the friend got her comeuppance. I kept talking, back and forth, on and on. Melissa listened intently.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said, when I finally took a breath.
“Sure.”
“If you had to pick one thing, just one thing that is the most upsetting, what would it be? Is there a one thing that, if it were not there, you could manage the rest of it?”
I thought about it for a moment.
“Yes. The worst part is that I feel like Hate won.”
Then I burst into tears. Hate won. That is the worst part. I have been humiliated before, publicly and privately, and I have survived it. I often feel anger and outrage and, truth be told, I love a good fantasy revenge plan, but I obviously would never execute a revenge plan. The worst part is that Hate won. I set a limit. I said I am no longer willing to tolerate a particular behavior, and the response was punishment, blaming, and shaming for speaking up. There was no empathy or understanding offered. When my friend said she, too, was no longer willing to tolerate a particular behavior, there was no empathy or understanding on my part either. My response was self-absorbed shame and humiliation. Hate won.
“Here’s the thing,” Melissa offered, “Everyone is really sensitive these days. We have to go really slowly, we have to have a lot of space for ourselves and each other. All of us, you, me, everyone, we all just need to have a whole lot more patience these days.”
“So, you don’t think Hate won?” I asked, daring to be the tiniest bit hopeful.
“No, I don’t. I don’t think Hate won. I think Hate may be ahead by one, but the game is far from over.”