The What-Does-He-See-in-Her Ladies and Put-Her-In-Her-Place Men

Xena Warrior Princess, Supporting Others and What to Do When People Hate On You

Jan 29, 2024

I’m spoiled.

I’ve spent most of my life without people hating me. Sure, there was Shana, this she-woman girl back at West High School, who lusted after my cute boyfriend, the one with the flock of seagulls’ hairdo who liked musicals and sang tenor and held my hand everywhere we went.

He was gay.

Shana and I didn’t know that, though. So, she glared at me wherever I trotted by in my acrylic sweaters, and in an ultimate Xena Warrior Princess kind of way would smack her fist into her hand whenever I was near. I would jump. She would sneer. Her nostrils would flare. I'd walk faster.

She hated me.

I knew why. It was about boys. That bothered me.

Then when I got married, it was happening again and I have to say I was not as cool about this as I was when I was 15 years old and holding onto my gay boyfriend’s hand, dreaming about living in a log cabin on a mountain, sitting on the porch, and playing with five blonde-haired children, two sets of twins included.

Me with one of my friends. You can see why the ladies are saying this about me, right? I’m wearing a hat inside. I laugh with my eyes closed. I am a dork.

Back then, when I was married to someone else, some of the divorced ladies in town didn't like me because I had snagged Ellsworth's most eligible bachelor. I wrote a column about this when it happened. I thought the ladies would back off. I posted a sign in my little Subaru station wagon: BACK OFF LADIES!

It didn't work.

One year, while setting up for a hospital fund-raising ball, this horribly wealthy older woman stage whispered to her friend, "That's EX HUSBAND’S (I am not naming him) wife. Really. I don't know what he sees in her. Her socks don't match."

Note To Self: Always wear pearls and matching socks when climbing up scaffolding to set up poinsettia tree at hospital fundraiser.

This is pretty much my favorite outfit I ever got to wear. I did not get to wear it long.

Then, to make me depreciate my ego even more, a woman told me, "Sweetie, this year for the hospital dance, we've got to dress you up. Put your hair up. Wear a gown."

She swigged some wine. "I'm taking you shopping."

Yes, I had become the woman other women pity because I don’t dress up. And this is in Maine. Imagine if I lived somewhere hip and cool and happening. What would people in NYC or LA think? Yes, I do believe in layering, but it doesn't extend to wearing all the socks I own at once. And this still happens. Women tend to gasp before I go out to fancy things and try to help me. This is super sweet.

I digressed, didn't I? Bad Carrie!

The thing was that among divorced woman over 45, I was THE EVIL VIXEN! Ellsworth's Most Eligible married me. They tried to pretend it hasn't happened, yanked him by the arm towards the dance floor while giving me the finger; batted their lashes at him while snarling at me. They whispered to each other loudly enough so that I could hear, "What does he see in her?"

I didn't know. I do know he stopped seeing it, and that’s okay because I stopped seeing it in him, too.

And at the same time there were a whole bunch of people that I annoyed by being happy, by getting a lot of things done, for going after my dreams, for getting elected for public office or running a newspaper, for excelling at Rotary public image coordinating. They didn’t like that and they let me know it. I call these the Put-Her-In-Her-Place Men.

What I do know, is that I expected more out of my fellow gender. I thought that in our post junior high lives we wouldn't have to fight over boys, and bat our eyelashes and whisper mean things. I thought that once we shed our Flashdance leg warmers and our training bras, we'd would put all those Xena Warrior tactics aside. I thought we could cheer each other on the way Xena actually did with Gabby in the show. I thought I’d have a lot more help with the Put-Her-In-Her-Place Men.

Those ladies, though, they were all fighting their own battles, too. That’s important.

But man, if I didn’t want to go back into that era of my life, an era represented by a place: Ellsworth, Maine.

Last week, I went to Ellsworth again, to be part of a career day for third and fourth graders. There were two other authors there, so there wasn’t going to be a lot for me to do. Instead of standing there and doing the author thing, I took photos of the kids interacting with the adults in the hallways of the school so that the newspaper and Rotary could use them if they wanted to.

Here’s the truth: I’m a little scared of Ellsworth sometimes because of how much I didn’t fit in there, because of the memories of those What-Does-He-See-In-Her Ladies and Put-Her-In-Her-Place Men, because of a lot of things that happened there. And it was highly likely that there would be some people at that school that I didn’t want to see. The what-does-he-see-in-her ladies and even some put-her-in-her-place men.

Here’s the other truth: I stood there awkwardly for a second and then people—some of the people of Ellsworth—came up to me and talked to me; they smiled; they hugged me, person after person. I heard their quick stories about how they are doing, how their kids are doing, and right then I remembered something big.

Not everyone sucks.

Not everyone is a what-does-he-see-in-her lady.

Not everyone wants you to fail. Some people actually get joy when they see you succeed. And sharing good news, hearing it, rejoicing in it can make us stronger and have stronger friendships

And that’s swear-word-worthy cool.

This was my author photo for forever. I am wearing a sweatshirt and in a dirty kayak.

There’s a 2010 article by Matthrew Briem all about that here, but it talks about a “study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology suggests that when we share positive events with others and are met with genuine interest, we tend to enjoy those events more and feel closer to our confidant.”

I hope you find some of those people this week. I hope you get seen for who you are and not what you’re wearing (or not wearing) or who you’re married to. I hope you get seen for you. YOU. The inside of you. The actions you do. The kindness you create. You.