Tag: judgment

To smell the flowers

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It’s been a funny few months. I say ‘funny’, but I don’t mean ‘haha’ funny. More like a peculiar, confusing funny. The ‘I’ll laugh otherwise I’d cry’ kind of funny, although I’ve still admittedly shed quite the volume of tears over the past few months (though some that know me would say this isn’t necessarily unusual for me). The point is, I’ve run the gamut of emotions in a condensed amount of time, and it’s left me feeling really weird lately. An emotion I can’t quite pinpoint. How annoying. 

It’s been understandably difficult dealing with my husband’s evolving medical issues, though I can say after more than 6 years of relentless, terrifying situations, I genuinely feel like we face these issues with much more pragmatic attitudes than ever before. It never stops being terrifying and emotional, but I’m immensely proud of the way we’ve faced recent events and pushed ahead with logic. Though we’d give anything (literally anything!) not to have to deal with this crap, in a twisted way, I’m grateful that we, as individuals and as a pair, have become better versions of ourselves off the back of what we’ve experienced. Just the fact that I can type this now shows that I’ve grown a lot as a person – that I can take a step back from the chaos and analyse it logically. And better yet, that I can admit that there’s any glimmer of a silver lining in the shitty cards we’ve been dealt in life shows how far I’ve come. Every cloud, eh?

As a quick update for those following this insane medical journey: we’ve found a private neurologist in the last few months who my husband describes as ‘the best doctor’ he’s ever had. And considering his medical history, you can be damn sure he’s seen plenty, so this judgment points to good things. The doctor treats us like human beings (gasp!), has a sensible approach to health backed by science (not always a guarantee these days) and genuinely seems to want to help. This is the first time we’ve not felt like lepers in a doctor’s office. It’s still early days in my husband’s current treatment, but we’ve got a course of action… and then several other courses of action planned should the first one not pan out. So in short: we’re happy and optimistic – something we weren’t feeling at the start of the year. Fingers crossed the trajectory continues this way.

Whilst all this was going on in the background, as is usual fashion for me, a tornado was wreaking havoc in other parts of my life too. I’m still waiting for the reality TV crew to jump out from their hiding spots, but until then…

The company I work for went through some major internal structural changes recently that left my entire team facing redundancy. It happened very quickly – we were told our roles were being made redundant, proposed new positions were explained, those who wanted to stay had to interview for these very few new open roles, then we were told if we were successful or if we were out the door. All within 30 days. As you can imagine, this was incredibly stressful and emotional. I went through every stage of grief, no lie, and I for sure had severe moments of ‘why now, why me?!’. Nevertheless, I pushed through the best I could, and I attribute that both to the strength I’ve found in past life experiences, as well as to the people who helped prop me up and cheer me on throughout the process. Though I’m grateful I landed a new role at the company I love so much, I’m simultaneously grieving the loss of many fabulous colleagues and friends. It’s a complicated time, gang.

I went on a much-needed holiday, then came home and immediately fell very ill for a very long time. I faced conflicts with people I love. I made distant future plans knowing life could change by then. I went to the doctor for myself – twice! I’ve been let down. I’ve been surprised. I’ve been socially awkward and shockingly social.

These last few months have forced me to think about my own wants and needs much more critically, and to make very hard decisions quickly. I’m not a fan of making quick decisions on a normal day, so it’s been particularly difficult of late. I’ve had way too many anxiety attacks to count, but whilst they’ve been frequent, they’ve been brief. I’m slowly learning how to regularly claw my way out of these moments (with obvious external help from those around during an episode – thank you!), and so I say again: every cloud.

I’ve made regular use of the ‘block’, ‘unfriend’ and ‘hide’ functions on social media platforms, protecting myself from toxic people who trigger me. I thought this would be hard to do – I don’t like the aggressive feeling of doing this – but I can honestly say that it’s helped me so much more than I could’ve expected. I’ve also made use of the word ‘no’. Little miss ‘too-afraid-to-disappoint-people’ and ‘gives-everyone-10-billion-second-chances’ has given firm nos to negative influences who’ve tried to reach out. Who am I?! I won’t say this was easy to do in the moment, but after doing it once and realising I was better off for it, I find myself becoming much more comfortable looking after myself and not feeling guilty for doing it. Guess this is growing up, ya’ll!

I don’t think I’m feeling optimistic or particularly positive, but the main thing is that I’m trying to. It’s taken me many, many years, but I now feel like it’s okay to put myself first. This doesn’t mean that I care less about anyone else, but rather I care so much that I want to ensure I’m putting the best version of myself forward first. Not the tired, broken down version I previously offered. I’m not saying I’m killing the game over here – I still have bad days where I just can’t get a grip on my anxiety and collapse into a ball of erratic, irrational emotions. But I can say I don’t feel like a failure on these days anymore. I am allowed to feel broken. I am allowed to be angry and resentful about the cards I’ve been dealt. I’m allowed to have ‘woe is me’ days. But above all this, I know I’m allowed to be happy and continue to seek happiness. I’m allowed to change my mind and my mood. I’m allowed to be! It’s crazy that I’m only just now coming to this realisation, but I’m very glad I did.

And now, I think I’ll take some time to stop and smell the flowers. It’s a crazy life, folks. But there’s always a little beauty to see. You just gotta know where to look for it.

Finding home

12241591_10153788546021350_2546363106105606442_n-1It’s been six months since I’ve officially relocated to the UK, and to say it’s been a rollercoaster ride is a slight understatement. I anticipated an adjustment period, considering the fact that I was leaving behind everything familiar and opting for complete immersion into a new home, new environment and new people. But despite having lived in the UK for a few months in the summer of 2012, it was far more destabilising this time around. I think the fact that this move was permanent contributed to that emotion. But six months in, I think I’ve found my centre at last… and the ability to write as if I were a native Brit.

Anxious excitement dominated my first month or two, which makes sense because I was eager to close the gap and be here, but I had no idea what life would be like once I actually moved. That realisation started to seep into my brain toward the end of my second month, beginning of the third. My excitement quickly turned serious when I began looking for work to fill my free time and become a contributing member of society. I began this stage with apprehension, knowing full well how difficult it was finding the right job back in the states after graduation and worrying I’d find a similar struggle here. Now that it’s over with and I’ve found work, I feel pretty confident saying it was easier and quicker to find a job than it was a few years ago, but it certainly felt like a never-ending, soul-crushing experience.

It was about when I’d sent out around twenty job applications and the rejection emails started coming through that I felt myself slipping into a darker mind-set. I swiftly went from “I’m going to get a job!” to “I’m never going to get a job,” which, as you can imagine, wasn’t a fun thought train to ride. For the next few months, I was a wretch to be around (shout out to my amazing husband for putting up with this nonsense!), having slipped deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole with each passing day. I slept for ages and never felt rested when I finally pried myself out of bed, I hardly ate, I very rarely took the time to dress myself or make an effort on my appearance and I started questioning my every decision. But from the outside looking in, I made damn sure that any and all my connections back home and on social media thought I was cheery and enjoying my time off work because I didn’t want anyone to think I was pathetic or wasting away in London – even though that’s exactly how I felt.

I’ve battled depression before, but this was a new level I hadn’t experienced yet. I was so deep in it that it took me a very long time to even notice that I was, in fact, depressed. Coupled with the extreme anxiety and desperation to find work, it was a debilitating tug-of-war that left me utterly empty and defeated. Everything ached all the time despite having hardly moved all day every day, headaches plagued me regularly and I sought refuge under the covers more often than not. Part of the time, I wondered if I was genuinely sick and contemplated visiting my GP, but in hindsight, I now know better. Some days I was able to pull myself out of the fog to send out another job application or two, but eventually it became so much work just to think of positive things to say about myself in a cover letter that I just left it… for weeks at a time.

After a few months, I finally understood what was going on and reached out to my husband to help me not only find positivity, but to fully invest myself in finding a job. Thrilled that I was taking the initiative to make a change, he gave me a new perspective and ideas on how to improve my job search tactics. I’m forever grateful to him for his help, because not only did it give me the boost of encouragement I needed at the right time, it also brought responsive replies from the new jobs I was now applying for. These replies eventually led to interviews where I felt I could finally demonstrate, in person, what I could bring to the table.

An onslaught of rejection emails were replaced with interview opportunities and eventually having to choose between two jobs. What started out as a bleak search turned into a plentiful choice, and the sudden change in my outlook was enthusiastically welcomed. I finally felt like I had purpose again, had my footing balanced and could re-emerge into the world bright-eyed and bushy tailed.

These last six months have served as a harsh reminder that life is better handled with some outside help, and it’s okay to ask for words of comfort when they’ve been depleted from your own arsenal. I’m much happier now even compared to when I first arrived on UK soil. My relationship is stronger than ever, I’ve got a job I enjoy in a brand new industry and I’ve learned how to recognise negative thinking and come out the other side a better person. It wasn’t an easy journey and I don’t hope to repeat it any time in the near future, but I think it was necessary to teach me that I have value even when I don’t feel like I do. Starting your life over at a young age is an intoxicating idea, but it’s certainly not for the faint of heart. I’ve had to remind myself that most people would also struggle with such drastic changes all at once, and I’m not a weaker person because of it. I’m indebted to those who helped me realise my worth during a tough time, and encouraged me to find different ways to make London feel like home. I can confidently say that now, that’s exactly what it feels like. Even if it took me six months to get here. Better late than never, right?

Home is where you make it

Women vs the world.

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A woman’s place is everywhere.

I’ve been debating whether or not to blog about this subject for quite some time now. I’ve found that if I voice my opinion on the matter, I get a lot of backlash, including from close friends and family. But I decided that’s not a good enough reason to stop myself from using my voice. Especially considering I find that blogging serves as a sort of personal therapy as well. To those who may disagree with my opinion: I respect you. However, it remains my opinion built up through my personal experiences.

So here we go!

I’ve almost chalked up two whole years at my current media job. I started out loving it and feeling very proud of my early success in the field, having nabbed the position shortly after graduating college and in a highly competitive, larger market. But the longer I’ve been here, the more certain negative aspects of the job really stand out. The worst of it all? Sexism and ageism in news media.

College professors warned me and other female classmates of sexism in the journalism field. It is no secret that women are held to a much different standard on-camera. After all, we have more outfit choices than a man’s suit-and-tie go-to, so with that alone, we open the floodgates to physical appearance criticism. I knew this going into the field, but I still find it incredibly hard to stomach. However, I’ve thankfully never had to worry about this because I chose an off-camera career path in the media industry. That should instantly eliminate the worst of sexism for me, right? Well, not exactly.

I am one of 5 or less women news photographers employed in my city. And by that, I mean the women who lug around video cameras and tripods to shoot news stories for local TV stations. (Let me be clear: there are some female multimedia journalists, or one-woman bands, but their job has much different expectations than mine. So I’m not counting those individuals in this explanation.) This means, on any given day that I’m sent out with my video camera and tripod, it’s very likely that I’m the only female camera woman in the field that day. Let that sink in for a moment. Out of the four news stations in my area, there are less than 5 women doing what I do.  I have yet to meet another female news photographer from a different station on an assignment. Ever. I’ve only ever worked side-by-side with men, typically aged 35 or older. And as I’ve found out, these men don’t see me – a woman – as their equal. They don’t say it in as many words, so much as strongly imply it as such. However, I think several other factors weigh heavily into their opinion that I’m not as equipped to do their job as a man: my young age + my petite frame.

So with a one-two-three punch, my gender, age and size chalk me up to an inadequate news photographer in many’s eyes. Some of it I can find understanding, though. I can see how experienced photographers view me as less experienced, because in working years, that’s simply a fact. I haven’t been working in the field as long, so I’m sure there’s lots for me to learn. In other words, my young age may be seen as lack of experience. Fine. And my size? Yes, I’m incredibly petite. And it truly does get difficult lugging around a video camera and tripod that are literally as big as I am. I can see how it could be easier to do my job if I were a big, burly, strong man. And finally, I understand that many moons ago, times were different and women would never be in a job like the one I hold now. And I totally understand that some of my male counterparts at these news stations were working during that time, thus my presence now alongside them serves as a shock and something to get used to. I say these things to show that I try to understand where the criticism is coming from before I let it get to me. I’m not closed-minded, I swear! But my patience wanes when the commentary from these men are said like this: “They sent YOU out to a scene like this?” “You need a big, strong man to help you carry those things!” “Are you old enough to be working?” I am not exaggerating when I say I hear these things, along with many other condescending variations, every single day from men doing the same job as I am, to complete strangers who approach me in the field. Especially considering the fact that I’ve always been hyper aware that I’m unlike most people that hold the same job. I don’t need some stranger pointing it out in the rudest way possible on a daily basis, you know? It’s simply unnecessary and not nice at all! I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate someone saying these things to them either, would they? And I won’t even get into the catcalling and inappropriate advances I get sometimes. That’s an entirely separate blog post on its own! But let’s get one thing straight: I chose this job. So don’t pity me or view me as unfortunate.

When I complain to family and friends, they often ask why I don’t say anything to defend myself. Well, I sort of do. I try and make the exchange into a laughing matter, spitting back with a joke of “oh, yeah! I get a workout every day!” or something along those lines in order to cut the conversation short or make it a non-conversation at all. The problem is, I can’t be rude back. Partly because it’s not in my nature if I don’t know the person, and partly because I need to be a professional when I’m on the job. So despite being surrounded by jerks whose parents didn’t teach them to keep their mouths shut when they don’t have anything nice to say, I can’t let it noticeably get to me because it inhibits my job. When I’m on assignment, I need to get the video I need as quickly as possible, so I don’t have the luxury of getting into a heated debate about why I think I’m capable of performing just as well at my job as a young, petite female. All I can do is fake laugh, get what I need, and make disgusted, annoyed faces or mouth rude words as I walk back to my car. My only concern is excelling at my job, so that remains my number one priority. But the comments stay with me, even long after my work day is done. And that’s the part that bothers me.

Not only do men news photographers in my area not view me as an equal, but complete strangers are constantly coming up to me saying asinine things. No, I’m not an intern. Yes, I can carry all of this equipment all by myself. Yes, a pretty little face like mine actually does prefer to work off-camera. It’s the constant barrage that gets tiring and ruins the job for me. While I understand that with all things, there will be a level of criticism we must endure, I don’t believe that the amount I receive as a professional in my field is on the same level as most of my coworkers. That’s what makes it difficult: having to accept that while this isn’t the norm for most, it is for me. Simply because I’m different.

So let this blog serve as a polite request to kindly keep your criticism to yourself if it in no way helps an individual. My skin is thick enough already, so it needn’t any more. And to those of you young women looking for a career in the news media industry, know this: sexism and ageism is a very real, daily occurrence. And the only way to combat it is to keep encouraging more young women to jump in with us and grow in masses. I’m only one voice, but I know I’m not the only one fighting this. And to all you men (and some women) out there who think I’m incapable of doing my job as well as a man, well tough. Because you know what? I am doing it. And I’m really damn good at it.

Carry on.

This blog has quickly turned into a place where I pour out complicated details of my life, but I suppose that’s healthy and if people want to read it – cool.

My job gives me an opportunity to meet a lot of people under many different circumstances. They tell me intimate details about their lives, and some are heartbreaking and hard to hear. But as with any situation, I try to walk away having learned something new about life.. as well as myself.

In the news industry, you’ve really got to have a thick skin because you see, hear and experience a lot of traumatizing things. So one thing I’ve learned about myself is that if I can classify something as “all in a day’s work,” no matter how traumatically emotional it may be, I can shelve it and go on with my regular day-to-day as if it hasn’t affected me at all. For example, I’ve been to so many emergency scenes that I’ve lost count where people have been seriously injured or even died, but it doesn’t phase me. Mentally, I see experiences like this as simply the nature of my job, and it’s my duty to capture the experience in order to share it and teach others. But if something happens in my personal life, not even on par with some of the things I experience on the job, it has the power to cripple me for days at a time.

As most of you know, my husband and I have been working our butts off to finally get to live in the same city together. Visas and paperwork complicate the process quite a bit, but we take it day by day. Most recently, we had finally found an apartment in London that checked all of our boxes, and we quickly put down a deposit to make it ours. It’s been years in the making, and finding an apartment eliminated one of the final obstacles keeping us apart. We were thrilled! We started talking about how we’d decorate the place, what furniture we needed to buy, how we’d spruce up the back garden to make use of it during the warm months. We were having so much fun making plans because it finally felt like our future together – in the same place – was here. Well, in true “just our luck” fashion, this dream came to a grinding halt. The current tenant decided to stay last minute, so we lost our dream flat. All of our plans went up in smoke just like that. Back to square one. I wasn’t just devastated, I was angry. After everything we’ve been through, how dare the world do this to us?! The end was in sight! I allowed myself to get excited only to have the rug ripped right out from under me?! That’s not fair! That’s not right!

As soon as I heard the news, my entire demeanor changed. My entire outlook on my future became bleak. “I’ll never get to London,” I thought. “It’s just not meant to be.” Neither of us had even moved into the place yet, but it still felt like someone took something of ours away. I cried. I punched pillows. I threw a mini fit in the privacy of my room. I yelled at my husband even though he had nothing to do with the tenant deciding to stay put. I just couldn’t handle it.

And then I gave myself time to think. A few days ago, I had a conversation with a coworker about personal battles we all fight in our private lives, and how we must then put on a brave face in public and act like nothing is bothering us. And I thought how easy it is for us to completely ignore our feelings like that for the sake of saving face. Unless it’s your job to remain unbiased, you’re allowed to let things affect you. But then I ask: how do you decide what is allowed to affect you and what’s not? On the job, I’m completely numb to emotion. But off the clock, it doesn’t take much to get to tantrum town. So how do I find a healthy balance?

Talking to people helps. It’s a blessing to have level-headed people weigh in on your situation and give you perspective. On the job, sometimes I’m that person for victims’ families. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that their situations are much more dire than the ones I’m facing right now, which brings me back down to earth. If someone whose grandson was shot and killed at close range by a police officer still has faith in the power of positivity and future change, who am I to let something like a silly apartment damn my future?

So here’s what I’ve learned: It’s okay to be sad, mad, hurt. To quote my favorite movie, Elizabethtown, “you have five minutes to wallow in the delicious misery. Enjoy it, embrace it, discard it …and proceed.” We are human. We have emotions and we shouldn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed of them. We NEED to feel what we feel, but once we have, we cannot wallow in it. Life is too short to fixate on one problem, especially if it’s a problem we have no control over. In my case, I do have control. I can find a new apartment. The world isn’t ending and my future isn’t doomed. For a hot second, it sure felt like it. But now that I’ve dealt with the appropriate emotions, I can move on to finding a solution to the problem. I remain stoic at work because I have to, but I need to face the experiences I’ve had even if it means returning back to the moment mentally and in private. If we ignore how we feel, the smallest problems can seem like nightmares and we’ll burst. Empathy is healthy and helpful. And it’s okay to admit that life is hard sometimes for everyone, but we can’t stop living.

We are intrepid. We carry on.

Size stigmas

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Women obsess over size. Weight, height – what have you – it’s like we’ve been conditioned to demand this unobtainable idea of size perfection the split second we’re born. And while there appears to be this gung-ho feminist/girl power movement cropping up all over the world with cheers of acceptance to those who don’t “meet” society’s idea of “attractive size,” I’m sitting over here thinking.. well, wait a minute. This is all fine and dandy, but what about girls like me? Dove’s “Love Your Body” campaign sounds inspirational and empowering, but it seems hyper-focused on the idea that there is such a thing as too skinny, and if you fall under that category, there’s something wrong with you. Real women have curves, right? Actress Sophia Bush struck up a campaign declaring that “zero is not a size” a few years ago too. And while I sit here, staring at a pile of jeans with tags that read “0,” I’m feeling rather insulted. Women are encouraged to accept their curves and rejoice over them because being rail thin is unhealthy. While in some cases, I can fully stand behind this idea (thinness caused or brought on by eating disorders or self-inflicted harm is obviously not good), those of us healthy women who are naturally petite shouldn’t feel so scrutinized! Why are “plus sized” women getting high fives while petite women are getting concerned looks?

I have always been petite. My family jokes that I was the runt of the litter, but it’s quite honestly accurate. I stand 5’2″ and hover between 90 and 100 pounds. My entire life, I’ve always had people make jokes about my size, pick me up against my will just to see how light I was, analyze my meals, hold things up high so I couldn’t reach them.. childish things that they may have thought were funny, but 20 some years later, the jokes get old. I’d even argue that I am made fun of for my size more often than someone who may be overweight. Why? Because it’s less likely for someone to feel brave enough to pick on an adult because they are overweight than to pick on someone who’s tiny. It can’t be insulting if you’re not calling them fat, right? Wrong. And it’s not only peers who chime in. I avoid seeing doctors as often as possible partly because I know they’ll accuse me of having an eating disorder. I do not have a disorder, but when people point out my perceived deficiencies, I’ll admit that it’s hard not to dwell on them. I recently started a new job that requires lifting and traveling with fairly heavy camera equipment. It never fails that on any given day, someone, whether it be a coworker or stranger who sees me on the street, makes a comment about how it looks like I’m struggling and laughs. Usually, I’m not struggling in the slightest because I’ve learned how to adjust with my small body. I believe, for my size, that I’m strong. But if you compare me to an average woman my age, you’re setting me up to fail. I am not average, and on most days, I’m happy about that. But not always.

Certain things in life are harder to handle when you’re “abnormally” small. For instance, shopping instantly becomes a nightmare. Trying on clothes that overwhelm my small figure is a blow to my ego. There are certain articles of clothing that I’ve simply had to give up on because there’s no way I can ever wear something like that unless I get it custom made. Wearing heels draws attention to my very thin legs. Wearing short sleeves exposes my scarily thin arms. Midriff-bearing tops direct all eyes to my very profound ribcage. My every outfit decision is based around the question, “do I look like an adult?” because I am so often teased for looking much younger than I am and I want it to stop. Bathing suits are a topic I can’t even delve into. I’m paranoid when I go out drinking with friends because I worry that I’ll be accused of underage drinking even with two forms of ID. I avoid eating in front of other people as much as possible because I worry they are judging not only what I’m eating, but how much I wind up eating. This makes going out to eat with friends much more stressful than it should be. I can’t reach a lot of things that most average-sized women can reach. I’ve walked away from many things that I wanted simply because I couldn’t reach it on my own and I was too embarrassed to ask for help. And while many things are merely inconveniences, a fair portion of the problems associated with my size are the mental blows to my psyche thanks to the negative stigma attached to small size.

Recently, I’ve been trying to shop for a wedding dress. While most girls get over-the-moon excited for this process, I was honestly dreading it. Most wedding dress designers don’t make gowns that would comfortably fit my frame. It’s a fair estimate to say that the smallest available size tends to be a size 2. You slip that on my body, and I’ll be swimming in it! And while I understand the fact that every gown is altered to fit the bride, tailoring costs extra the more you need done. And I’d need a lot of work! But I told myself to ignore the fact that every dress I try on will be gigantic and to envision how the final product will look. Now, if you’ve never tried to do this, let me tell you one thing: it’s really freaking hard to do. Especially when the majority of the gown is smushed up and pulled back and completely distorted from its original silhouette. It’s not easy to convince yourself that you look beautiful when you feel like your body is corrupting the whole image.

So my point is this: although I’m all for empowering women, I think we need to focus more on individuality rather than targeting certain groups and trying to lift them up over others. Acceptance, above all else, should be the focus. Plus sized women shouldn’t be cheered on if it means stomping on thin girls in the process. We need to support one another to encourage mentally and physically healthy women. And we also need to learn to accept ourselves. I have good days and I also have days where I could use encouragement. I’ve learned to put the perks of being petite above the pitfalls. And overall, I wouldn’t change who I am or how I am, but it’d be nice to feel like my size doesn’t immediately stigmatize me in society. That would be a movement I can get behind.

Once you accept your “flaws,” no one can use them against you.

Breaking bread

moneyMoney. At this point, I wanted to say “mo’ money, mo’ problems,” but that’s not necessarily true 100 percent of the time, is it? In actuality, there will always be some kind of problem discussing money as a whole, whether it be money in excess or lack thereof. I pity people who have allowed money to make them bitter in one way or another. I’ve met people who are angry with others who have lots of money. They feel these people aren’t using their financial status “properly,” or they did not honestly earn the money they possess. I have met people who are angry with the poor because their lack of money may force them to rely on government aid or they feel they aren’t contributing enough to society. So it seems that no matter how much or how little someone has, someone else is going to resent them for it whether their reasoning is legitimate or not. But what I fail to understand is… why?

I have no money to my name. Well, I certainly have some saved up, but the amount I owe in college loans sort of cancels out what little I do happen to have floating around my bank account. I owe money to the government. I owe money to private companies. I currently do not have an income, thus no way to repay my outstanding loans. In laymen’s terms, I’m a broke college graduate lazing about my parent’s house. Although there are many times when my financial status seriously affects my mood and psyche, I know that my bank account does not and will not ever define me as a person. Yes, life would be easier if I had more to my name for various reasons, but I believe that my value is not tied to how much money I have. I think a lot of people seem to forget this and instantly judge someone’s character, intelligence or work ethic based on their economic standing in society. On the flip side, growing up in a wealthy family who is willing and glad to help financially should not immediately mean that you are “entitled” or “spoiled.” Honestly, I truly dislike the negative connotation that the word, “entitled,” has. The word itself means you have a RIGHT to have, which certainly shouldn’t sound like a bad thing. Helping within the family shouldn’t be looked down on, should it? My brother has a job and sometimes he gives me gas money. Should I be ashamed? Am I entitled? I don’t feel that way. I do not resent others who have more money than I do, nor do I resent them for receiving trust fund money or inheriting a fortune through other ways. I can’t dislike them because I don’t know them personally. Sure, I’ll have my moments of jealousy just like anyone else, and it’s possible that some people with money may not deserve it. But again, who am I to say that for certain?

I understand how individual wealth plays a role in the economy. I can understand why people use so much energy arguing over it. The part I struggle with is why complain if you, yourself, can’t or won’t do anything to make the situation better? There are always exceptions – the poor who is intentionally poor simply to take advantage, the rich who is intentionally lazy and fruitless simply because they can afford to be – but the exception isn’t the only type of person. Wealth has always been something that has divided people even before money as currency was part of the picture. I believe that even if wealth were distributed evenly, people would still find ways to divide.

Nevertheless, I’m all for healthy debate and conversation as long as it does not become personal. If we constantly took offense based on others’ differences or discrepancies, we would live a very lonely life. And I think the golden rule here is if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. See, preschool taught us something valuable and it doesn’t cost a cent!