“Cheater” she slightly muttered under her breath.
"Sorry. What’s that?"
“I said you’re a cheater,” her voice was loud and clear that time.
She was wearing a cheery red sweater and shoes that seemed hard to walk in. She looked like she worked at a home decor shoppe. Or anyplace where "shoppe" was spelled like that. I wrinkled my forehead at her.
She pointed to the plastic wrap I was taking off the prepared dish I brought to the party. And then smiled. But not really in a nice way.
It took me a moment to register what she meant, and then I said something brilliant like:
“Oh. Ha.”
I turned away from the woman who had just slammed me. This stranger had just decided that my offering was not good enough because it came from Trader Joe’s and not out of my oven.
She had shamed me.
It had worked.
My face burned and I didn’t want her to know.
I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I failed, like I was not welcome in this place full of women who apparently came with hands full of home-baked cookies with thumbprints they had pressed into warm dough themselves and then filled with jam. Jam which they also probably made themselves from the fruit they hand-picked from a local organic farm. I was told that I didn't belong here.
Dear women, why do we do this? Why do we pass judgment on other women for bringing something from the store, for not having children, for only having one child, for having too many children, for working too much or not enough, for being too thin or not thin enough. For getting married or divorced or staying single. For traveling too much, or for never going anywhere fun. For eating carbs or dairy or food on the Dirty Dozen list. We have so little information on the lives of others, and yet we are so quick to decide that everyone else is doing it wrong.
Why does anyone do this to anyone?
There are things I could have said that would have been better than "Oh. Ha." But none of them came to mind.
I could have explained how exhausted I am by my incredibly-fulfilling-but-emotionally-challenging work.
I could have said that I decided I would rather spend an hour cuddling on the couch with my husband and dog, rather than rushing around my kitchen.
I could have said that what I brought from Trader Joe’s was actually super yummy and I was happy to share it.
But none of that came out at the moment because I was so shocked by the accusation of it. The jab cut deep and stayed with me.
But when I look back at it "Oh. Ha." seems to be a perfect response because it gives the whole event so little relevance. A wonderful thing that comes with age is the realization that I don't need to defend my life to anyone. She decided to place her own feelings of not measuring up directly on my head. The interaction was not deserving of more than a feeling of regret that she still feels the need to earn her place in the world.
As for me?
I deserve to be here.
Because we all do.
So let’s all keep showing up - you can bring your thumbprint cookies and your store-bought dip and your comfortable shoes - but please just keep showing up.
That’s all we ever need to do.
With love,
~Lisa