Jealousy, Hearsay and Murky Cauldrons

There is an interesting phenomenon that seems to have become increasingly common in recent years. People one has never met, spoken to, corresponded with, shared a meal with, or even accidentally trodden on have developed a thorough dislike of me. Some have enjoyed my hospitality when they have needed a place to stay, which good manners prevented me from being rude when they abused it by far overstaying their welcome. After all these years, they seem to delight in sniping and lying about me. Indeed, they make my life history far more interesting and dubious than factual.

In some cases, it appears to border on hatred.

This strikes me as rather remarkable.

After all, it is difficult to form a balanced opinion of someone you have never met. Yet some individuals profess to have achieved precisely that. They know my motives, character, thoughts, intentions, and occasionally what I had for breakfast, all without the inconvenience of ever having been introduced.

One can only admire such psychic ability.

When younger, I might have found this upsetting. Age, however, brings perspective; it can also intensify a sense of humour. These days, when I encounter yet another declaration of how dreadful I am, I find myself wondering what extraordinary powers I possess that provoke such strong emotions in strangers, and even in those who have accepted my hospitality and profess love and spiritual aspiration.

The truth is that unsolicited hate rarely has anything to do with the person receiving it.

Human beings are complicated creatures. Many carry disappointments, frustrations, insecurities, ambitions, and unfulfilled dreams. Sometimes these emotions seek a vicious outlet directed towards another person.

Over the years, I have come to recognise that jealousy often plays a greater role than many would care to admit.

Jealousy is an uncomfortable emotion. Few people openly acknowledge it. It is far easier to disguise jealousy as moral outrage, criticism, or righteous indignation. It dresses itself in noble clothing while quietly whispering, “Why them and not me?”

Of course, I cannot know what lies in another person’s heart. Yet when someone appears deeply invested in demeaning a person they have never met, one is left searching for an explanation.

I have often thought that if some of these individuals were invited in for a cup of tea and a biscuit, they might be disappointed to discover that I am an ordinary woman who occasionally misplaces her glasses, talks to her plants, and has spent a lifetime trying to learn a little wisdom while making mistakes along the way.

Hardly the terrifying villain some seem determined to imagine.

One of the greatest lessons I learned from Alex was beautifully simple.

If someone tells you something unpleasant about another person, go directly to that person and ask them.

What a revolutionary idea.

Not gossiping about them, not speculating about them and not consulting a committee of people who have never met them. Simply asking would be a good idea.

My answer to one particular question would be, “No, Janet is still telling big porkies; I have never been a prostitute”.

This straightforward principle would prevent an astonishing amount of misery if more people practised it.

Instead, we live in an age where rumour travels faster than truth and where accusations often arrive long before evidence. Social media has given everyone a platform, which is wonderful in many ways. Unfortunately, it has also given everyone a megaphone, and some seem unable to resist shouting through it.

The temptation, when attacked, is to retaliate.

I understand that temptation perfectly.

The trouble is that responding to every criticism is rather like wrestling with a pig. You both get covered in muck and eventually realise that the pig is enjoying itself.

There comes a point where silence becomes a form of wisdom.

Not because one has nothing to say, but because one’s energy is better directed elsewhere.

The years have taught me that very little is gained from arguing with people who have already decided what they wish to believe. Facts rarely interest them. Clarification rarely satisfies them. Their opinion was formed long before the conversation began.

That is their burden to carry, not mine.

This does not mean that genuine criticism should be ignored. We all have blind spots. We all make mistakes. Sometimes our critics perform a valuable service by pointing out what our friends are too polite to mention.

There is, however, a world of difference between criticism and hostility.

One seeks understanding.

The other seeks a reaction.

As for unsolicited hate, I have learned to regard it rather differently. Every hostile message, every dramatic proclamation, every declaration of everlasting disapproval tells me very little about myself and quite a lot about the person expressing it.

Perhaps that sounds harsh.

Perhaps it is experience speaking.

At this stage of life, I would rather spend my remaining years enjoying good friends, good conversation, good wine, and meaningful work than engaging in endless sniping with people I have never met or those I have no wish to meet again.

Life is too short to worry about others’ hatred and jealousy. There are far more interesting things to do.

With affection and a touch of amusement, I leave the haters, gossip mongers and liars to their murky cauldrons, as I continue the joy of living and consciously practising the Initiation vows that titled me, Priestess and Witch.

Maxine Sanders