After blogging for over two years, I left what felt like my
first truly “negative” comment the other day.
I’ve second guessed myself a lot
since then. As both a blogger and an avid blog reader, I’d decided from the
start that if I didn’t have anything positive to say, I would not say anything.
Knowing that it does take some effort, if not downright
courage, to put oneself out there by publishing a post, I’d vowed to take the
high road. I have tender feelings myself and want to show respect for other
blogger’s work. After all, there are MANY people who are more than willing to
express their criticisms, so my voice is not needed when I disagree with a
blogger’s position, I felt.
Even if I differed vehemently with someone, I didn’t want to
be part of the snarling pack. Acts of kindness, paying it forward, Little Miss
Sunshine—that was me. Not rocking the
boat, damn it, being the nice girl. Argh. I can be such a wimp. But I’d rather
err on the side of wimpy, than to hurt someone’s feelings or stifle someone’s
right to express herself. That was my choice.
But a post by an “expert” on HuffPost50 got me riled up.
Reading along, it was all good until about half-way through when the writer
paused in her advice to midlife women about diet and exercise. She said
something that made it all very personal to me.
To paraphrase, she actually
repeated that ancient and hard to dispel notion that anyone who is overweight
or out of shape is … lazy, sluggish, unenlightened AND lacks the passion needed
for healthy living. Find your passion, and the weight will fall off easily, she
claimed.
She just said I lack passion.
LACK PASSION.
Whoa. Passion?
Calm down, I told myself. It’s just a blog post. Be kind.
She’s misinformed, judgmental, holier-than-thou, yes, but let it go.
I tried to dismiss my outrage.
I failed.
I commented, as calmly as I could, in a few sentences,
ending with the charge that she had just added one more voice to the chiding chorus,
to those who wag fingers at midlife women struggling with their weight.
We hold down jobs that while perhaps aren't deeply fulfilling, keep the bills paid. Or, laid-off, are looking for
employment in a workplace that openly discriminates based on our age and our looks.
We may commute for hours, care for elders, children, spouses, homes.
We’re
trying to get another year out of a 15-year old car, or keep enough cash on
hand for the bus. We do not need one more rebuke, one more expert telling us we
are too stupid or too lacking in passion to be the same dress size we were 20
years ago.
Because our clothing size is the only issue we have to worry about, right? I ended with note that she had “not advanced the dialogue on women’s
health issues.”
Not particularly proud of my anger, fearing I was being a
bit Joan of Arc, I hit “post” on my comment.
I don’t plan on making negative comments a habit, but maybe
there is something to the notion that at menopause, some women find their
voices (thank you, Magnolia Miller at The Perimenopause Blog).
I think it’s happening to me. My voice. MY VOICE IS HERE.
It’s been a long time coming.
