The micro aggression I felt this week was when I told three
of my friends that I had gotten approval from a publisher to publish the two
children’s books I had written. The first’s
response was she “did not want to be a wet blanket but she was sure I should
think this through more carefully”. (As if I had not, I have been working on
getting up the courage to do this for about ten years.) The other response was no response. I am more puzzled by this one than I am the
first. The third said good for you.
My son, William, said that the first was just trying to
protect you because we all know you. (Right, I spent time in Guinea, Canada,
Mexico, Australia, and Mali without their presence and nothing they could have
prevented occurred.) He also said that he wanted to be in on the marketing so
it was done correctly. My feelings are hurt but I know Will is mother-henning
me.
What did I learn: to keep quite and not share things
that are important to me so readily. The
books have not been published yet but the publisher was pleased with them and I
felt good about that. Now I do not feel
so good. Sometimes it is easier to share important things with strangers than
it is friends or family. Will is the
only one in my family I have shared this with.
I do not feel so good, I feel as if I am being treated as a child, or an
Alzheimer patient. I am old but not incompetent.
I am normally an encourager: cheering on good things that happen and things
that come the way for individuals. I
definitely felt stereotyped: my mother
needs me to guide her. I felt the
effects of discrimination in that the answers were negative or none at
all. I have to ask myself, who are my
real friends? What does it mean to be a
friend whether it is primary or secondary?