I’m not a nice person
I have learnt one main thing about myself in 2022. I am not a nice person. I am a kind person, I am a generous person, but not a nice person.
How this manifests itself is I enjoy helping people, but if you think I am going to help you in your bullshit, my dear you came to the wrong place.
I resist being “nice” on every level. I hate it. Recently taken to listening to rock music/metal in the sunshine on a “nice day” so I thumb my nose at people thinking I’m listening to happy music because the suns out.
Part of me loves being contrary.
“nice” for me is triggering. I spent 15 years of my life formally being nice. A nice daughter a nice wife. Next man that marries me, “I feel bad for you son, I got 99 problems and being a bitch WILL BE ONE” Nice is for people who are in the centre. Soft. I’m not in the centre. I already have a passionate love for my children and future husband. I plan to fight for the family in the way that I was never fought for. Sorry, is my trauma showing? Tough. I am, in fact a lioness and come after my values and I will go for your throat.
That doesn’t mean angry. It just means that I will very firmly and politely tell you/remind you of your place in my world. Which is behind me and those I love. Work? I stop caring about your problems at 5:01pm. Family drama? Not my problem. People’s opinions? Not even on my radar sweetie. If its not helping me live longer, it isn’t on my to do list today. And that isn’t nice. Nice is involving yourself in problems that don’t belong to you and then when you die people say “he’s such a nice guy” yeah and that’s why he’s dead. I’d much rather live to 150 not caring about other peoples problems than being in the cold hard ground for the sake of people who won’t thank me for it or even attend my funeral. Of all the people my dad committed major acts of sacrifice for only 2 of those people made it to his funeral, and one of them it was because he “happened to be in the country” so if that doesn’t tell you where to stick your nice, then nothing will.
The reason I feel so strongly is because of the breadown of my marriage. I was constantly told it was because I wasn’t nice enough or feminine enough (woman shaming) so I spent years of my life trying to be sugar sweet. Inoffensive. Which removed my ex husband’s excuses but he still treated me like trash. So where did nice get me? Precisely no where. Therefore I am happy to be authentic rather than nice.
The truth is that I am not far off nice. I am kind, I am generous, I am thoughtful…to people I love. If I don’t give a shit about you…I don’t give a shit about you. Really is that simple. But my parents think I should care about EVERYBODY. When my dad was a priest I was his eyes and ears in his churches. I successfully infiltrated his churches because I had the correct accent (British) and I was a child for the majority of it and like my dad, I smile when I talk. As a result people had their guard down. I would learn about their children and grandchildren. I would remember them at Christmas and Easter. I remember being about 14-15 and it was easter. My dad at the time had 2 churches. Hedge end which was local to me, and I went to, and Northam, which had a black population and as it happened I hated (all the auntie/grandma energy of nosing into your business with 0 of the genuine love and concern) as a result I didn’t go. But all these grannies had grandkids of their own and I have a great memory, so the few times I would be hauled into Northam, I’d play nice and ask about these women’s grandkids. They’d tell me all about them. So anyway, the memory I have was being in Sainsbury’s and I was buying easter eggs for the children of Hedge end church with my pocket money and my dad was trying to get me to buy easter eggs for the children of Northam too, these were the grandchildren of the women I disliked, but were likely to show up for church on Easter Sunday. As a result my dad was asking ME the names of these children because he didn’t know and I did. I reeled them off and we bought the eggs (who paid I genuinely don’t remember,) but I thought to myself. Why the hell are you asking me? I don’t go to that hell hole church because everytime I do I get stranded??? I can’t leave meanwhile those same women are idly titling and tattling and comparing me to their grandkids. (one of them did in fact have a grandchild in my year in St Annes, but she was actually the nice woman in the group) You see why I don’t do nice? It was forced on me. Remember peoples names, birthdays, interests. Be your father’s secret weapon.
I remember the gravest insult I would say I have ever had in my entire life was when my dad was leaving Hedge end Methodist church. Baring in mind I was the girls brigade assistant leader, a Sunday school leader and the church council representative for children due to my other 2 roles. My dad’s boss (superintendent is the technical term) said of me “that my work with children was Instrumental to my father’s ministry” I remember him getting my name wrong but I can’t remember how he mutilated it. Why is that an insult? It was dehumanising. The truth is I love children and these children were the closest thing to peers that I had. Again I had that protective and nurturing instinct that these children, especially black children should not feel isolated as I did, to have a role model and someone who actually cared and loved them. That was why I did all that work and spent all that money (in both of my dad’s circuits) and took all that care to remember them. I wanted the children to feel special. I didn’t do it to be “instrumental in my father’s ministry” like it was some big plan, and we were conniving. Make no mistake, my dad saw how good I was and used me to his advantage=bye bye childhood. But the conniving wasn’t being done by me. I was simply trying to survive and seek parental approval. And then to have someone describe you sacrificing your childhood in terms of what it brought another person was horrendous.
Baring in mind I didn’t just ingratiate myself with the youth. I cared for the elderly too. Went on rambling trips (hated) would seek out and stop and listen to those who I felt were/looked lonely. I still do this, I learnt a lot about human nature during the 9 years I played minister’s daughter. Most of it was that human beings are thinly veiled savages some of whom get a hard-on destroying their fellow savages. God is the only one who is having mercy on your ass, was another major lesson.
Gracious, mercy and peace. I did some torturous things to be nice. From “international Judas day” to staying up until 1am perfecting a PowerPoint presentation on one of those mini laptops that were a fad about 10 years ago. Writing sermons, doing dance actions to children’s songs, all these things I did to be “Nice” to be the perfect daughter, for the survival of the family, because if my dad succeeded in his job he would be happy and who doesn’t want their parents to be happy? Especially when you are unusually isolated and have no friends outside school.
Then there was the financial, signing away my first time buyer privilege’s for the survival of my family, my divorce settlement, loaning my parents money. All to ensure my parents survived the traumatic mess that they themselves had built for the 3 of us to live in.
For me, “nice” is a triggering word that reminds me of how sacrificial I am/have been to the people who I would and have sacrificed everything for. Those 3 people, who in November 2018 told me I was the problem for not being nice and submissive enough whilst I sat their and cried. The 3 people who I loved the most spared nothing in telling me I wasn’t good enough when the entirety of my life to that date had been spent in service of the same 3 people. When I think of the cruelty and savagery that was shown to me that day in particular but had been building since I became a ministers daughter and crashendoe at my divorce. It makes me cold. It makes me terrified.
Because nice is a method of control. And I value freedom.
Grace and Courage.
Annetta Mother Smith