I am not as brave as I thought I was

A little while ago, I wrote a piece about politics. I worked very hard on it, researched it thoroughly, and shared it widely because it was important to me.

But now people are mad at me, and I kind of want to take it back.

What does that say about my character?

I can easily handle the anger and scorn of people I don’t respect. Men’s rights trolls don’t bother me, and neither do the Trump supporters from my high school or that one racist cousin who always argues with me on Facebook. When the enemy is angry, it only makes me feel stronger. But withstanding the anger of people whose opinions you never cared about to begin with is not courage. It’s not hard, and it’s not particularly praiseworthy. I do not get to claim credit for that.

But when it’s my friends who are angry? I lose my shit. I cannot handle the anger and scorn of the people I respect.

People I like are mad at me, and it hurts so much more than I thought it would. It makes me want to crawl into a little hole and write only things I know my community will agree with. In other words, I am a coward. I am the embodiment of the complacent, self-aggrandizing bourgeois I despise.

A lot of my self-image is wrapped up in being a social justice advocate, a truth-teller, someone who cares about important issues and doesn’t pull any punches. But I realize that every time I have done something “brave” or stood up for a cause, I have been insulated from any real repercussions by a close-knit group of like-minded people who were in it together. I have never gone against the mainstream of my own little sub-culture. I am a conformist, desperate for the approval of my community. Just like everyone else.

Isn’t self-discovery so much fun?

This is the part where I’m supposed to tie it all together with a neat little bow and come up with a lesson or takeaway or observation. But I’m too upset at myself to do that right now.