Once I worked as a personal assistant for an escort.
I wrote a blog about it awhile back. The blog wound up being more popular than I’d anticipated, and a lot of people became regular readers. (I can’t find the blog anymore. I think the platform I wrote for went down.)
A lot of sex workers liked what I was writing and told me so. But a different lot of them got angry with me for being judgmental and supporting the wrong anti-sex-trafficking non-profit.
I hadn’t been aware there was a “wrong” anti-sex-trafficking non-profit.
I asked one of the angry sex workers why it was the wrong one. She answered with a few scornful tweets.
The “wrong” non-profit worked to stop sex trafficking around the world, but they didn’t just rescue women who had been forced into the trade. They sometimes stopped women from doing sex work who had actually chosen to do it, and who had no other way of getting an income for their families.
According to the angry woman on Twitter, this non-profit didn’t distinguish between willing and unwilling sex work. And I was endangering impoverished women by supporting them.
And thus I was educated.
But that episode really bothered me for a long time. I’d worked so hard to get everything right. I wanted to be non-judgmental and open-minded to women who were willing sex workers, but I also wanted to shed light on an important issue. And maybe do a little good.
I hadn’t anticipated that I’d draw the ire of anyone—let alone a gaggle (horde? discovery? stiletto? what is a group of prostitutes called?) of escorts.
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Years later, I worried a lot about getting cancelled.
I might have moved on from poking the sex-work bear on Twitter. But there were still plenty of woke folks who could come after me for failing to represent them properly in my writing. Or because they felt triggered by something I’ve inadvertently said or done.
I’m not a woke social justice activist, which has lost me a friend or two down the line.
And some of my work can be considered anti-Christian because I write about 4th century Rome. The “war on Christianity” crowd could come after me.
Fear of cancellation affected my creativity. I couldn’t express myself clearly. I never wanted to hurt anyone! Why wasn’t it possible to move through the world without causing anyone injury? How could I avoid the terrible fate of hurting someone else, and then being hurt myself in turn?
I couldn’t. I can’t.
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I don’t worry about being cancelled anymore.
Oh, I’m sure people will come after me for one thing or another. It’s just that it doesn’t feel like a threat anymore.
People have already come after me. I’m still here.
And people will come after me again.
Our world is full of injured people. It’s impossible not to hurt someone who walks around with big gaping wounds in their mental landscape. Someone who see themselves as a victim will find enemies everywhere. They’re like a huge bruise that gets hurt by everything it touches.
It’s natural for them to feel injured by me and come after me because I am a part of the world. It’s natural for them to try and control others, because they can’t control their own emotions and thoughts. Self-righteousness masquerades as wisdom. Revenge masquerades as justice.
All that aside, I’m still only responsible for myself: my thoughts, my emotions, my character, my actions. These things are within my realm of influence, and sometimes control.
Other people’s reaction to me is not within my influence or control. Let them be offended. Let them come after me if they want. It’s a reflection of them, not me.
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Marcus Aurelius said:
“So other people hurt me? That’s their problem. Their character and actions are not mine. What is done to me is ordained by nature, what I do by my own nature.”
When people attack you, accuse you, try to cancel you, they’re acting in accordance with their nature. And they’re showing their nature to you. What they’re not doing is showing you yours.
Nobody can tell you what your own nature is.
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Love,
L.