How to Not Care When People Tell You What They Think But You Didn’t Ask (It’s Not What You Think lol)


People love to talk.

I like to talk.

I love to talk.

But some people like to talk A LOT.

And I’m not just talking volume.

I’m talking big talk,

judgy talk,

full of their perspective talk,

not really conversing or interested in what I think talk.

Like my mom.

She’s really harmless.

But she sure likes to talk.

Sure likes to make sure I know her desires for me,

and that she’s worried about me.

That if only…

if only I read the bible,

if only I ended each prayer with “In Jesus’ name”,

if only I didn’t choose to be in a romantic relationship with a non-male person,

if only I started going back to church,

if only I hung the wooden cross she’d gifted me in the most important place in my new studio,

if only

if only

if only,

then things would be alllllllllllright.

People tell me that she really loves me and her best intentions are for me.

People tell me, in the end, I will miss her when she’s gone.

People tell me she’s doing her best.

People tell me all sorts of things I already know and have known and believe.

But what do I do with the remnants?

The parts that collide with the person I am now, in every part of my life outside of my relationship with my mom?

What do I do with her concern, her worry, her projection of her little faith?

I guess I need to have some compassion with her,

and myself.

I feel so much judgment toward her.

I want to scream at her:




Just leave me alone.

I’m tired of understanding you, where you come from, what you believe,

that you want the best for me,

but your faith is so shitty that you can’t see beyond.

I’m tired of giving you the benefit of the doubt,

entering into that cramped box of yours.

But ah, therein lies the misbelief, the misperception:

that I am entering into a cramped little box when I’m with my mom.

That I am restricted, or that I need to restrict myself when around my mom.

That I am living by someone else’s standards,

judged by someone else’s standards,

while purporting to live freely.

I am deceiving myself.

I claim a freedom that I have not yet integrated, fully believe in.

And then I’m asking someone else to believe it.


Okay, fine.

Fine fine fine.

That is the secret sauce.

It’s opting out of the misbelief that I am not free around her,


I don’t know exactly what that looks like or entails.

But I know that’s what it is.

And I know what it feels like.

It feels like expansion,



unfettered fullness of all of me.

I’ve imposed a rule on myself, that I need to be a certain way,

to uphold her view of the world, of God,

while suppressing my own expression,

way of being around her.

And now I choose a new rule, a new policy for me.

One that has nothing to do with telling my mom off,

or asking her to change,

one that is quiet,

one that feels true to me.

This level of freedom is unparalleled.

It’s the freedom of being me,

with anyone,


at any time,

and yes, it’s something I get to choose,

again and again,

and again.




I wanna know what you think

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