F*ck Being Bigger
I don’t stick up for myself.
That may be a hard thing for people who know me, or have read my blogs, to believe. But I rarely actually hold people accountable for how they treat me. Not directly. Not publicly. Not completely. It is easier, and more natural, for me to defend someone else than it is for me to go to bat for my own needs or efforts. I’m a protector not an aggressor. So, I don’t want to be the direct cause of harm for anyone and don’t enjoy airing people out, even when their dirty laundry stifles me.
I feel more useful when I fight for the underdog, the little guy, the less fortunate. Truth is, often my pride does not let me consider any of those labels as my own. Therefore, somehow, I continuously remain unworthy of receiving self-defense. It is a weird conversation to have out loud. Admitting that you find yourself unworthy of your own protection. Despite all my emotional growth, this has remained a blind spot for me until recently. And even after that revelation, keeping “family business inside” is a concept so ingrained into who I believe I am supposed to be, I still find it difficult to call out bullshit by its name.
Yet everyday I am confronted with the reality that every time we encourage someone to be the bigger person, what we really are telling them is to suffer in silence. Even worse, are completely neglecting to recognize, or support, the weight of the truth that person must then carry. How easily we forget the crown of being “better” is so heavy that it can be crushing. Or that asking people to not be seen or heard is a tall order to fill, and the results are rarely equivalent to the struggle.
In many ways I blame my mother, sorry Wina. In cases, and situations, she had every right, every opportunity, to not be the bigger person, she was. She took shots not aimed for her, without flinching. She let herself become the villain in situations where she could have been the hero, and she never, she never, complained.
My mother never stuck up for herself.
She was too busy protecting everyone else.
And I thought I could, I wanted, I believed I needed, to do the same.
But I am not my mother. And as I look back on all the times I shrunk myself so that other people could step over, and on me, trying to be her, I feel certain that this was not the biggest person I should be.
No, telling your side of the story may not result in changed minds or behavior, but when holding your tongue becomes withholding the truth, you are actively helping perpetuate a lie. You are protecting people while they attack your peace or assault your character. You are victimizing yourself in the most intimate way.
Why did this become the noble thing to do?
Why did we stop supporting people from protecting themselves?
Being the bigger person shouldn’t require you to be the gatekeeper to reality. It shouldn’t require you to wear a façade. It shouldn’t feel like a slimy uniform that leaves its residue long after you’ve taken it off. Even if there are three sides to every story, exactly why does being the person who never gets to tell yours make you morally superior?
Asking for myself. Now, I am asking myself. Because every secret that is locked on my tongue has come with trauma. Every time I stopped myself from advocating for myself, under the guise of letting things go, I gave another pass for disrespect. Every time I gave another opportunity for someone else to be the smaller person, with the larger impact.
No one saw my grace. No one applauded my restraint. No one noticed the stress in my soul. No one cared that I was being the bigger person.
I’m not saying that every situation required a response. But damn, I spent a long time being so big for me to feel so small now. Don’t be me. Don’t be my Momma. Sorry, Wina. Because when it comes down to it, there is nothing wrong with sticking up for yourself. There is nothing wrong with limiting the space other people have to define you or control your interactions. There is nothing wrong with openly proclaiming that your voice is just as valid as whatever narrative exists.
I wish I would have understood this sooner. I wish I would have not been so concerned with protecting everyone else, all the time, that I treated myself with the same consideration. Honestly, I lost my agency years ago. Knowing how dangerous it is for me to lose control of my emotions, I have fought so hard, too hard, to keep them in check. I have fought tirelessly to not overreact, to not take up too much space, maintain control, and feel content with knowing the truth, even if no one else did. But that is not enough anymore.
I have always been so worried that my emotions would set the world on fire, forgetting, maybe it needs to burn.