Why are we haters?

Maybe we hate ourselves.

We all have the propensity to be grade-A assholes. Destructive criticism and shit-talking are no different from schoolyard taunts or behind-the-back badmouthing that many of us were subjected to or carried out as kids. Just because we’re adults now doesn’t mean we’ve matured out of our meanness.

The fact is, some people might not age out of being haters. No matter how good it seems they have it in life. Usually meanness is a projection of our unresolved self-hatred, unhappiness, helplessness, and insecurity. Shit-talking is toxic, and it’s a favorite past-time for the most bored and repressed people of our society. Shit-talking is also good business. Agents of online controversy get views. Celebrity slander makes headlines stickier. Sometimes criticism is warranted. And other times, it’s people with low vibrations punching the air out of rising dough because they feel trapped in their own insignificance.

I’m not really here to psychoanalyze mean people. But rather, remind myself that we all can become the target of arbitrary ire. Usually, the more we put ourselves front and center; the more we show up authentically and with ease; and the closer we get to our dreams – the haters will be lurking. They’ll have something negative to say about our every move. They’ll try to verbally take us down so far, and derail us from our purpose. It’s not a nice feeling. But the beautiful thing about being a grown-up, is having the mental and emotional fortitude to turn meanness into fairy dust. Or in my case, into a Substack post. Maybe in your case, it’s a sculpture.

Last week, I received hurtful messages on Instagram from someone I know. They were not meant for me to read, but accidentally landed in my inbox because, retrograde. These are the messages I received:

This person was responding to screenshots I posted of my recent Substack entry about job-hunting. He might have been having writing a secret diss track with a friend about me, and accidentally hit SEND before realizing he had outted himself. Awkward.

I reread his messages a few times. I couldn’t believe it at first. This person wasn’t just some random follower. He had hired me for catering twice in the past. We had mutual friends, and always had decent rapport. My writing triggered him, clearly. Instead of just unfollowing me or ignoring me, he chose verbal violence. As a reactive person, I responded immediately:

I’d be lying if I said his words didn’t sting. Not only was he commenting on my age, he skewered my writing abilities. He was MEAN. I immediately shared this screenshot with my friends. We were all aghast at the bizarre cruelty, but also how amateurish and embarrassing of a social media snafu it was on his part. (P.S. Life is easier when you have supportive friends at your side. Not proud to admit – but we had a field day talking shit about him. I’m not above petty, y’all.)

Then he responded:

His reply was thoughtful and ChatGPT-levels of well-written. He took responsibility for his actions, and was able to pinpoint the source of this negativity. The sincerity was there. The colossal embarrassment and shame was palpable too.

Since then, he’s unfollowed me–which he should have done to begin with. And now this silly internet drama has held up a mirror to the way I’ve been just as guilty of meanness in the past. Haven’t we all been him? Haven’t we all talked shit about people who were living big lives because we felt small inside? Haven’t we hate-stalked people, waiting to pounce on every misstep, because we were jealous of their success?

Meanness diminishes the moment we let ourselves live fuller lives. Give ourselves permission to exist unapologetically, be vulnerable, and make whatever-the-fuck art we want. Regardless of what anyone thinks. The moment we feel truly free to be ourselves. The moment we discover our purpose. The moment we tap into our empathy and recognize that everyone is struggling with something gnarly. The moment we focus on community-building, instead of character-assassinating and shit-talking. Being on the receiving end of meanness has taught me that everyone (including me) needs to work on being kind.

In the end, meanness is a security blanket falsely protecting us from all the things we hate most about ourselves. So maybe we need to be kinder to ourselves too.