“Let’s you and me hate her” was the name I gave the rapport-building game that I experienced in 1997. It’s power play when there are three girls, each seeking pecking order by defame. I was entrapped – for a short while – until I realized the game and opted out.
Then I became the one to hate.
I don’t play games. It is a source of great pride that – perhaps because I moved to a new town and school – I didn’t transfer the girl games of junior high into my social tool box for high school or college female relationships. I left that scum behind, erasing it all as unproductive energy.
I don’t play games; I move on. I am a woman of unadulterated significance in God’s love. I just don’t have time and inclination for the unholy crap. My husband validates me on this score, stating that it’s one of my better traits.
“Don’t ever change, PJ” he says, to affirm me when I’m distressed.
I won’t. His opinion matters, and so does my self-respect. It’s way below my dignity to dig dirt up to bring others down. I have better things to do than mud sling and wrestle. I write.
Writing evokes reflections. As I ponder and analyze life, I recognized the game I’d been subjected to for years – as soon as my sister could talk.