Last week I asked what’s stopping you. A reader pushed back with a true and honest take on consequences that was worth it’s own thoughtful response.
A response that made me think
Last Friday I asked what’s stopping you from doing the kinder, gentler thing you’ve been meaning to do. A reader , Gail, wrote back with something I’ve been chewing on. She said the thing my piece only brushed up against: that being different has consequences, and they are not small.
To paraphrase, those of us who do things differently are often seen as ignorant, irresponsible, even dangerous — and that being seen that way carries a real cost. For someone who boards, it can be one perceived misstep from losing their horse’s home. For an equine professional, one bias from losing their business and their income. For a client, one rupture from losing access to the vet, the farrier, the whole team their horse depends on.
“It sounds brave to be true to yourself,” she wrote, “until the reality of what that means sinks in.” She’s right.
Let’s talk about what that looks like for me.
“None of my business” isn’t recklessness
In my previous opinion piece I wrote that it’s none of my business what someone else thinks of me. When I say that, I don’t mean I’m careless with my words or my actions. I mean I don’t rank their opinion above my own. Their view of me doesn’t get to sit higher than my own read of whether I did right by my standards.
It’s a well worn mantra I’ve had to practice at because I know the other way too well. I used to worry — obsessively — about what people were thinking. Maybe I thought I’d done something wrong, or maybe the doubt itself was enough to stop me from doing or saying the thing. So “it’s none of my business what you think of me” is how I put the focus back where it belongs: did I do something in line with my ethos and who I actually am? If the answer is yes, then you are allowed to disagree. You’re allowed to feel differently.
I don’t agree with everyone either
Even people I love dearly, there are moments of “I really didn’t like that,” or “I can’t believe you think that’s the right call.” I don’t mean them any harm. It’s just my own judgment, and I would never want it to stop them from doing what’s right for them. It’s simply not for me.
If it’s true that I don’t feel favorably about everyone all the time — I don’t cosign my own BS — then that must be true for everyone else. Other people are allowed to look at what I’m doing and decide it’s not for them. They can dislike it. They can even talk about it. And if it’s still the right thing for me and my horses, then the only question left is mine to answer: do I want to spend my energy on their actions, or mine?
The greater good
That said — Gail is right that there are rooms where I do soften, or go quiet, or don’t bring my whole self. The place that showed up most for me wasn’t the barn. It was work. Twenty-six years in corporate, and I could not bring all of myself into every room. That’s just the truth.
In those rooms, I don’t ask how I win. I ask what the greater good is, and I act in line with that. People used to ask me, “you don’t seem like someone who plays the game — how do you do it?” And the thing is, it was never a game to me. It was clarity.
If I walk into a meeting and the greater good is to move a project forward so the end user or customer… the one actually needing the service… finally has what they need then compromising, or even capitulating, isn’t out of character. It isn’t out of sync with my ethos. It’s in service to it. The bigger outcome was the point the whole time.
It’s the same in the barn. If the greater good is my horse in a safe place, well cared for, with a trainer I can genuinely grow under, then choosing my battles there isn’t selling myself out… it’s stewardship.
Find your people — and be one
The last piece is the one Gail ended on, and she’s right about it. Those of us who are in a position to show up as ourselves have a job to do: model it, and then support the people who are trying to do so as well. That’s how this gets less costly for everyone.
It’s also how I find my people — by saying and doing the things that are in line with my ethos. The ones who want to judge me or pull me down — what I’m doing isn’t for them, and that’s all right. That’s not my tribe. My people are the ones who accept me, love me, and back me — not because I made the choice they’d have made, but because we’ve all made it safe to truly show up as ourselves.
So talk about the price of being different. Show that it’s survivable, that it was worth paying — and then, in Gail’s words, support the hell out of anyone who wants to take the first step.
Thank you, Gail. You didn’t just post a response. You made the conversation better.