He Told Me To Get Over It



It's no secret that I'm quite the over-sharer on social media about some pretty intense stuff-- like my very deep thoughts on the latest Bachelor contenders, inspirational quotes I often forget to implement in my own life, and one too many selfies capturing my spaz attack-ness.  (Exhibit A ==>)

As long as I'm not going through some horrific break-up where the effer's face keeps popping up, I have fun on social media, andprefer to limit airing my dirty laundry and personal rants to family and close friends--that is unless I have a higher learning lesson to offer as a coach or ya know...being an overall human n' stuff.

But the insanity of this year's US presidential election has tested my desire to pop off, BIGLY.  (couldn't resist)

For the most part, I've stayed relatively quiet on my pages about the absolute horror and sadness I feel about this new president representing our country-- a country my Irish-born parents moved my brothers to in the late seventies, and that I was so fortunate to be born in several years later.  

We returned to Ireland between the ages of three and eight, and as a little Irish kid--yes with the accent to boot-- I remember thinking AMERICA was this magical place that everyone said I was "so lucky" to be born in.   I thought so too-- this actress out of the womb was from the land where Grease 1 AND 2 were filmed!

So hearing the news that we were moving back to New York in 1989 was pretty fantastic for this little, big dreamer.

We returned to one of the wealthiest and most beautiful towns in the nation, Rye, NY--it had everything a family could want: a beach, a historic amusement park, a top-notch public school system with picturesque campuses, a 35-minute train ride to NYC, and its main street offering lovely restaurants and stores to indulge in.

Despite my family's lack of a country club membership or second home, it was reasonably safe to sayI was one overly-privileged American white kid,which I didn't fully quite grasp until I entered the real world in my twenties.  

I shared this new real world with people of different sexual orientations, ages, ethnic backgrounds, and religions.  I learned their stories of abuse, abandonment, hate crimes, prejudice, and inherited poverty leading to a lack of opportunities to further their education.

For the first time in twenty-four years, this sheltered Rye girl finally felt connected to the reality of what goes on in our country, which was eye-opening to say the least.  And when I questioned all the time and money I was investing into acting with no guarantees about half way into my program, it was my dad, who would love nothing more than to have his daughter choose a more secure path, said:

"Claire.  You're paying for the study of LIFE right now.  No matter where you end up, you'll take this education with you and look back on what you're doing now as priceless."  #tissuesplease

Twelve years later, this single woman in her mid-thirties still chasing her dream and at times still wondering what the hell this is all for, couldn't whole-heartedly agree more.



My journey of connecting and even falling in love with a few who were widely different from me on paper, expanded my heart and mind in such a way that makes me question how much less compassionate I would be about ALL CITIZENS' rights today, if I had just continued to surround myself with mostly white, rich heterosexual people as an adult.  

This isn't to say that all white, rich, heterosexuals lack empathy and never experience gut-wrenching pain, but I think when you expose yourself to mostly "your people,"  you're doing a great disservice to humanity by naturally developing only a certain level of empathy at a limited capacity.  History has shown over and over that THIS IS WHERE THE DIVIDE BEGINS.  

Which leads me to believe that if this quote by our president to the right(I don't care how long ago it was --Trump was a full-grown adult when it was said and I've yet to hear about his spiritual journey of healing and growth)was referring to a particular follower of mine's mother, it wouldn't be so easy for him to comment, "GET OVER IT," the way he did under my post of the quote on Inauguration Day.

It turns out that this follower just so happens to be a white male from Rye who I apparently met once, and after reading his thread of unsolicited digs at me, I don't regret not recalling the encounter.  

I immediately had to implement my mindfulness practice here. PAUSING was huge,and acknowledging the blood-boiling trigger in my body without stooping to his level?  Huger.  (Uch, I hate "huge" too)   After some deep breaths and reaching out to my killer support system, I was happy to express my appreciation for his appreciation for freedom of speech, and reminded him of his freedom to unfollow someone he doesn't agree with or even know.  

This class act's response was comedic gold:  "It's so much more fun to see you throw tantrums on social media."

In case you haven't checked out my Instagram page, I'm--you guessed it-- @claireyourmind.  You'll find the plethora of spazzy selfies and inspirational quotes I mentioned up top, as well as zero rants, capital letters, or exclamation points that would fall under my definition of "tantrumS."

However, it's important that I admit to you all about one time when I called Trump-voters an immature name under an Instagram post during a debate, which I later deleted because it didn't fall undermy favorite acronym: THINK.  It wasn't True, Helpful, Inspiring, Necessary or Kind.  It was a weak moment and I fully own that such behavior also contributes to this disturbingly wide divide.  

And as I continue to reflect on why this guy I don't even know successfully got under my skin, I recognize that my problem isn't that he happens to have inherited white privilege at its finest like me, or that he mostly surrounds himself by those who are of a similar socio-economic background to ours, based on what his all-white Insta page portrays.

It's that he looked for a fight with someone he doesn't even know on social media, just like our president does.  He interpreted my strong, educated, female voice a "tantrum," just like our president does.  And he moved forward without apology or ownership of his bullying, just like our president does.  

So @tsmithjr40, until I hear a genuine apology from Mr. Trump for the disgusting things he's said to and about women, as well as for making fun of those with disabilities, and for choosing to be a child on twitter instead of using his precious time to speak out against the horrific hate crimes that have increasingly unfolded since he was elected--just a few of the many gripes I have--



Now there's "tantrums" for ya.

Happy Claire Your Mind Monday. (Insert sparkle fingers!)

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