Something popped into my head after movie and a dinner last night. And it won’t leave.
I was bullied as a child and a teenager. Always the new kid, always the smart kid, always the kid with glasses. But mostly because I was always the smart kid. The one who took attention away from other students when I was engaging with the teachers, often way above the other students’ heads. My hand was always up first, I always had something to contribute to the discussion.
Did I care? Nope. I was going to show how smart I was and how capable I was, even then, in pigtails.
Others did not take kindly to that. I definitely was a target of the “mean girls”. Those girls who looked down on everyone else because they had something none of the rest had, popularity and relevance. Dating the handsome jock. Having a dedicated escort to homecoming.
You know the type.
Did they ask if I cared? No. They just assumed I was jealous of what they had.
Hardly.
But what popped into my head last night as I was reading, yet again, about the bombastic, unhinged group who call themselves the “moms for liberty”. Who spout awful things, and try to exhort influence over whoever they see as inferior. The fact that they were just labeled an extremist group by a civil right’s group. A female-centered off-shoot of the things that come out of right-wing politicians’ mouths, even against women.
Especially against women.
I see you, Tiffany.
The thought that popped into my head was that the moms for liberty group is just the mean girls grown up.
In high school, there were only a few popular kids who thought that everyone wanted to be like them, but they couldn’t because of some flaw that the mean girls decided they were against.
Sound familiar to the moms for liberty group?
They say to know and name your fear is one of the first steps to conquering it.
Was I concerned about moms for liberty before yesterday? I was concerned with the hate and vitriol coming out of their platform poisoning other moms and vulnerable people.
Am I afraid of them? They don’t have power over me. I’m married, to a man, and we have no children. What they are doing is concerning. Yes.
But I see you, Tiffany.
I see you, Regina.
I see you, Karen.
I think you are going to be found to be a group of ridicule.
After all, you’re just grown-up mean girls who are afraid that their looks are fading and losing their grip on the school.
Well, high school is over, we are grown up, and we don’t have to listen to you.
Dispatches from the Evening Shift 