A pep-talk for when words sting

Earlier this year, my kids had a day off from school, and, like any experienced mother, I packed our schedule.

We planned to catch the afternoon showing of the newest Dog Man film, but not before we all got some energy out. Our gym has childcare (Praise the Lord; that membership is worth every penny), and after my workout, I picked up the children from the Kids Academy. We stopped into the women’s locker room to use the bathroom before heading to the movie theater.

As we rounded the corner from the stalls into the larger locker room, an exercise class was ending. All of a sudden, there were women everywhere, heading to their lockers and hitting the showers, etc. I started chatting with a lady who was washing her hands, whom I recognized from pilates. In order for us to hear one another, we had to speak loudly over the locker room noise.

Eva, my then soon-to-be 7-year-old daughter, said, “Come on, Mama, we’re going to be late for the movie!”

The woman at the sink said, “Oh, what movie are you going to see?”

I piped back, “Dog Man. It’s the latest movie version of the famous graphic novels.”

At that moment, another woman, across the locker room, chimed in, “Oh, we saw that last week! It was pretty awful!” She smiled and laughed as she brushed her recently liberated ponytail.

I didn’t really know either of the women I was talking to, mind you. It was one of those moments when the group starts chiming in, inspired by the close confines and intimacy of the women’s locker room, I suppose.

Eva, without skipping a beat, screamed, loudly, “THAT’S JUST AN OPINION! IT’S NOT A FACT!”

Record scratch. Everyone in the locker room stopped and stared. Eva continued washing her hands, seemingly unaware.

The opinionated lady said, “Well, she’s right! Maybe you’ll like it! In fact, I hope you do!”

When we got to the car, I asked Eva what made her say that. She told me about a new unit in first grade where they were learning to distinguish between opinions and facts.

“Facts are things like: the apple is red,” she said. “They can be proven; they’re the same for everyone. Opinions are statements about things like which ice cream is better; they can change from person to person.”

Eva didn’t realize how timely this conversation was—these days, opinions ring louder than ever, and facts seem as slippery as a wet bar of soap.

Timely for this moment in history, sure, but also for me personally. Shortly after that day at the gym, I read my first less-than-stellar review of my book, The Artist’s Joy. This call to be more discerning, from the mouth of my beloved child—I see now it was a gift from my Creator.

If we are going to reach for the stars in our creative life, if we are going to take risks and traverse the distance between who we are and who we dream of being, we will—for sure— come up against other people’s opinions.

I read once that if you aren’t getting any one-star reviews, you aren’t reaching enough people.1 I love that reframe: learning to accept that it isn’t the exception for people to disagree with or disapprove of you—it’s the rule—and when they do, it’s a good sign overall. It means people beyond your inner circle are responding to your work.

When I saw my very first critical review, my heart started racing. The words felt like salt in an insecurity wound I’d carried with me for years. It felt deeply personal, even though I did not know the individual who wrote it.

Below the harsh words, I saw one of my writer-friends was taking up for me in the comments. Goodreads (opinion: to me and many authors I know, the most brutal place on the internet for writers) allows you to comment on other people’s reviews. My cheeks flushed with gratitude and kindness toward my friend, who understood how vulnerable it is to put your work into the world.

God bless her, I thought.

The original reviewer responded and doubled down on her dislike of my book.

I closed my computer and called my husband. He was working and couldn’t take my call, but texted to say he’d call me later. I decided to go on a prayer walk, to bring my shame and sadness to God.

As I started the walk, the reviewer’s words ricocheted loudly in my head like coins in a dryer. I thought about Eva screaming, just a few days prior, in the locker room, “JUST AN OPINION, NOT A FACT!” and my heart warmed.

What were the facts?

When we stand in the presence of someone’s opinion, especially a hurtful one, I find it helpful to name what is true.

Here are some true things that helped me that day:

• I am loved and capable.

• I am not misunderstood by everyone, nor am I wrong for having written a book.

• My voice is uniquely mine; I am qualified to write about my experience because we all are.

• Not every book is for me, so my books won’t be for everyone.

• They will be for someone, even if that someone is me.

• I believe it is worth it to create for those someones, like Jesus leaving the ninety-nine and coming after the one —the one is worth going after, even if that one is me.

• Even if people don’t love my work, it doesn’t change my desire to keep creating for the one(s) it is for.

When other people’s opinions become louder than the facts of our belovedness or the truest things we believe, we must balance those levels. And trust me, I know how hard it is. Many coaching clients I work with can repeat verbatim the mean words someone said to them. They get stuck in our psyches, even decades later, still tender and pink, like a scarcely healed scar.

I know that I’ve grown since my early days as a musician and writer because that mean review took the wind out of my sails for only an hour or so. By the time my husband called me back, after my walk, I felt stronger and more resilient. He even noticed and said, “If this had happened to 5-years-ago-Meri, she’d be sobbing right now.” He was right.

Here’s the amazing part:

The tools inside The Artist’s Joy are what helped me to let this review (and all the others that have come since, good and bad) roll off my back.

The book itself has given me the strength and shame-resilience to survive the mean comments that inevitably come when sharing a book.

Nearly a year and a half later, I believe in the tools in the book more than ever. In a way, I am so thankful that I’ve been able to test my theories, to watch them sink or swim in the wild currents of creative bravery.

I got home from the walk that day, and I realized my book worked.

This person’s opinions did not crush me. I didn’t need a reviewer to tell me that the book mattered; I was living proof it did.

On my best days, when I encounter opinions that differ from mine, I give myself time to feel sad or hurt. I try not to take it personally; I know that is unsustainable. And, hey, it isn’t bad to care; it lets us know we are still tender-hearted, thank God.

After honoring my grief and/or anger, I try to cultivate deep compassion for the world’s pain; I let it wash over me.

Remember: it is hurt people who hurt people.

The mean-spirited someones online who lash out at us and the things we believe in — let Eva remind us all to distinguish between fact and opinion. To remember our own values and let them lead us in our response.

When I shared the story of my first bad review last night in The Artist’s Joy Creative Cluster group, when I woke up this morning, the day after an election, I sensed these thoughts needed a permanent place on the feed.

Today, I want to promise anew, especially in this political climate, not to use my opinions as weapons, to tear others down, to virtue signal, to categorize people, to diminish their personhood.

You are free to like my work or not; you’re free to believe whatever you want to believe. That freedom is one thing I desperately love about this country.

But rest assured, the naysayers will never stop me from creating and sharing art.

We don’t have to agree in order to love one another, and sometimes, as artists, the most loving thing we can do is stop reading the reviews, to unfollow, to hide or report truly hateful comments, to spend more time with the facts and opinions that encourage and embolden us for the work ahead, and let the rest be conformation that the mic is on, that the world can hear us.

If there are hateful words stuck inside your brain, my prayer for you today is that you’ll open the cage and let them fly free. Release yourself from the tyranny of trying to make everyone like you. Step into leadership of the only thing you can control: yourself. Name what is true, turn the volume up on the facts that feel like a balm for your shame and weariness, and when you’re ready, get back to creating for the one(s).

The Dog Man movie was delightful. We all laughed. It was time and money well spent.

Just my opinion, of course, and that’s a fact. 😏

PS: This week on the podcast, I’ll be sharing some practices to use when words sting. Make sure you subscribe here to get the episodes in your inbox, or subscribe on Apple Podcasts here or on Spotify here.

PPS: What helps you when words sting? Tell me in the comments! 👇 (This post is open to everyone to comment!)

PPPS: If you enjoyed The Artist’s Joy, could you take a moment to rate and review the book on Amazon and Goodreads? Not because I need your approval, but so we can turn up the volume on the positive discussion so the ones who need this book can find it! If you’ve already left a review (like I know so many of you have!), thank you from the bottom of my tender heart! ❤️