So congratulations are in order: I got my first "troll" comments. Apparently, an individual who claims not to like me at all and thinks I am not very attractive, thinks of me often enough to search me on Google and then post multiple mean-spirited comments on my blog. My personal favorite? "Yeah you look like Angelina Jolie…if a horse sat on Angelina's face."
This is not the first person who has disliked me. It started with the "I hate Cayla" club when I was in 3rd grade. Led by an angry South African, their mandate was to make my life miserable by not letting me sing Annie songs with them during recess and by throwing snotty tissues on my chair. Next was my grade 11 & 12 English teacher; she never, ever (not even once) called on me when I put my hand up and almost failed me two years in a row. I showed her by kicking major ass in first-year English at University of Western Ontario and then having more than one of my friends "borrow" my subsequent essays for "reference."
Then there's Pat, a woman I used to work with, who would bring free ice cream for everyone but me and make me work the reception desk when everyone else went out to Swiss Chalet for lunch on paydays. Finally, there were those two boyfriends I broke up with in very mean ways. One on my birthday after he took me out for dinner and bought me a gift. And the second on Valentine's day after he had bought me a gift (I had learned my lesson by this point and broke the news before dinner).
This used to confuse me. You see, according to my mom and husband, everyone love Cayla. According to them, wherever they go, they meet people who think I am just wonderful and delightful and sweet. According to them, I really, really was the world's most loved person.
In some ways, I really, really liked believing their claims. I mean, what a boost to one's self-esteem: to believed you were universally loved!
On the other hand, this false-sense of universal belovedness has provided me with the burden of trying to live up to the wonderfulness that I think is expected of someone that "everybody loves". I am terrible at taking criticism. I hate failure. I sometimes neglect the people who really do love me in order to win over that one hard-ass hater.
What a relief to finally have the freedom of being hated! I don't have to be perfect, I don't have to be the nicest, or smartest, or prettiest, or funniest, or anything else! I do no have be loved by everyone!
All those lies I've been telling just to make sure I stay in the "Everyone loves" club? Screw it!
(deep breath before major confessions that may cause you not to love me quite as much)
My Nanny makes my chicken soup and chopped liver better than I do. I haven't read a book in almost a month. I am constantly half-expecting someone to finally figure out that most of the time I have no idea what I am doing and call me out on it. I freaked out when my Chiropractor told me not to run for at least a month. And my freak out was not because I am going to miss the emotional high I get from running (otherwise knows as the reason the Cayla everyone loves would've given you) but because I really don't want to start having to watch what I eat again. That's right, the woman who has always said that she runs because it clears her head, and that she runs because it makes her feel strong and healthy, and that she runs to set a good example for her kids, really also runs because she is afraid of getting fat.
But who cares! People hate me and I run so I can eat. And I'm not the only one! There's more out there like me! Hooray!
|I liked this water bottle when I saw it at Lululemon|
|I bought it when I read the back.|
Thank you, Lululemon for making me feel ok with one of my reasons for running.
Thank you, mean blog-commenter, for making me feel ok with the fact that not everyone loves me.
P.S. A recipe that proves that I'm ok with rejection:
So a little while ago, my daughter and I were grocery shopping and she asked if she could buy a spaghetti squash. Fast-forward a few hours and my daughter is now gagging down the three bites of said spaghetti squash that I am making her eat because she made me buy it. Personally, I found it delicious...