incorrectitude™ *


I have been put through the wringer over the past few years. The only folks who put someone through the wringer are missing something inside, something they’re trying to fill with power. They start because they’re jealous, pure and simple, and rather than work on themselves, they work to tear down others.

I live in a society chock-full of generous, supportive people, and it’s all they or I have been able to do, to keep my head above water during this time. Wringer-boy – for lack of a better moniker – is also surrounded by a group, some of the same people as I, and for brief portions of this period of time, some of those people have also tried to pull me under. Until they realize that wringer-boy has been lying, both about my behavior and about his. In fairness, he’s lying to himself about those things, his behavior has been egregious yet he sees himself as righteous which, I guess, is meant to mitigate any guilt he might inadvertently feel.

Yes, I hurt his feelings. Once. Nearly three years ago. He operates under the paradigm that I am an arrogant harridan, and managed, for a brief while, to convince a few people that was the case. The case he is continually building and refining. (Parenthetically, if he put even one-tenth the energy into his work that he is putting into pulling me under, he’d have no cause for jealousy.) He pulls in more and more people, all of whom see in short order his incorrectitude* and realign themselves in a more neutral position, fueling his frustration – how could he be so misunderstood?

Here’s the kicker: I have moved into the habit of pulling myself down. I am so angry and hurt that anyone – much less a person in authority – much less a person with almost unlimited authority – would behave in such a way, that part of me has been engaged in squelching my prolific creativity, that which is the source of his jealousy.

I don’t have an answer for why women in our society are so quick to apologize, to take on blame, particularly that which we do not deserve. Or why some men, the more wrong they are, must fight that much harder to be seen as right. I am exhausted. And the thing that has suffered, through all of this insanity, is my work.

The thing wringer-boy set out to destroy.

I wonder how long I’ll need to hang on the line, drying out and fluffing up, what will come to me on the air, what new strengths I will find.

I’m mourning what has been wrung out of me. Which is the first step to finding the new creativity. Not to mention, the strength to keep fighting (my latest coinage) incorrectidute. 


*Incorrectitude: arrogant self-righteousness in support of an untruth ©2014 Deborah Magid








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