Open Letter to People Who Do Not Matter

Why do I address a letter to you, if you do not matter? I address it to you because I am endlessly hopeful that someday, you will listen to me.

You see, I am a patient person. Laugh for a moment. Get that cleared out. Yes, I am a volcano, sharp-edged and passionate. But that is the surface. The waves may whip up, but it passes quickly and without incident. I am patient when you playfully mock my speech, not understanding that I choose my words so carefully because there are days when I cannot speak at all, days when I stutter, days when the words are in my head but not on my tongue. I smile and joke back, because it is good to talk, and I did not do that for too long.

I laugh when you say that my aggression, my temper and impatience are an act. I don’t care if you think my music, my clothes or my hobbies are silly or a reaction to my upbringing.

I am not easily angered. But there are things which do anger me. Let me share those, so that I won’t be tempted to claw your tongue out next time you talk to me.

Please stop telling me that I just need to find the right church. That I should keep going until I do. Do not talk over me, reprimand me, or become condescending when I say I do not need a church.

I do not need to find the right church. I do not need a church. This is not reaction to a bad childhood experience, nor backlash against my conservative upbringing. It is because I find church to be meaningless to me. I gain nothing from listening to someone else tell me what his experiences, his beliefs or passions are. I can get that from a book, and have tea too.

I do not need fellowship. If you knew me, you would understand that I have a low tolerance for other people. I have had everyone in my head but myself for years. The most holy experience that I can have is utter silence, and that cannot happen so long as one person is in the room.

I do not need your god. He is not my god. I do not hate him, but I find him contradictory and judgmental. He has no meaning to me, no call to serve. Believe me, I tried. I tried with all the passion of a child who believes that she is going to hell, that she can be saved if she just loves hard enough. I have my own gods now, and your god does not like that. Save the lightning, please.

My church is the rugged face of Pyramid Peak. My cathedral is the Desolation Wilderness. My chapel is the open hillside where I watch the storms that are my hymns. My fellow worshipers are the hawks, the horses, the coyotes. My reverence is the total peace of a night without people. My prayers are songs and my songs are prayers. Please, don’t try to judge me for this. You don’t understand. You don’t need to understand.

I won’t tell you my beliefs. Please don’t tell me yours. That is not something that needs to be known. We are in a world of over-share. Let this be personal. Leave the sacred secret and cherished. This is what keeps me alive, please do not try to haul it out for autopsy.

Also? I said I don’t want children. I will not be ‘changing my mind in three or four years’. If you think I am, you do not know me, do you? There are things that change in my life, but they are not many. This is something I have known for years. I am not wholly a woman, it is true. I do not identify entirely as a woman, either. It is a gender that I have worn uncomfortably, even as I love it and luxuriate in some of the gifts it brings. I have never thought of myself as a mother, nor imagined myself with babies. It is fine for others, but it is not my path.

There are enough unwanted children in the world. I have worked with some of them. They left an indelible mark on my heart. It was not the fat babies and cooing cherubs, but the little-old girls with HIV, the beautiful girl who took my hand and made me her eyes. It was the boy who had been burned, with his plastic-skin skeleton, and the boy who hit a horse on the nose until he was shown how it hurt the horse. It is the kids that society misses that I love.

If I ever desire children, I will reach for them first. Not out of pity, oh gods no. It is out of admiration, honor, respect. These children saved my life. The autistic, the brain-damaged, the abandoned. I would die for their memory, and I would selfishly keep every one of them.

I will not change my mind. Please, keep your judgments to yourself. I don’t hate children. I love watching my friends with their children. My young cousins can bend me backwards with a look. One of my special children from years past can reduce me to tears with a word or touch.

I am used to being judged. I have been judged since before I could speak. That does not matter. What matters is that you do not listen when I try to speak.

I am not easily angered. Irritated, yes. Yet these things will always make me angry. Judge me if you wish, but remember, I will lose all respect for you. When you judge me and dismiss my opinion, it reduces you to the level of the people I have struggled to leave behind. The ones who give religion a bad name. I used those people as examples of what not to be. I used them to become who I am today.

You Do Not Matter because I have ceased to listen to you. You have become the noise that I flee, the irritations that I see over my shoulder in the mirror. You do not matter because you do not listen. So much white noise in your own ears, you’ve forgotten that there are other ways.

You do not matter to me, but I hope that someday, a blanket will fall over your head. I hope it drowns out the noise and lets you look at the world from someone else’s eyes. I hope you will someday find peace in silence, strength in your own eyes, and love in your own heart.

Then you will matter, not just to me, but to the world, to your loved ones, to yourself. Good luck.

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One Response to “Open Letter to People Who Do Not Matter”

  1. […] become unforgivably prejudiced. I know exactly when it happened, too. I posted a blog about it, An Open Letter to People Who Do Not Matter. That, and the unintentional but profound harassment that happened very soon after that first […]

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