Ego death at the Kelly Clarkson controversy

Yesterday, I got my feelings hurt by an internet troll.

I know what you’re thinking because I thought all of the same things: ignore the haters, don’t let the bastards get you down, you can’t take anything those people say seriously. But, even though I know all of that and have practiced brushing off online hate a million times as a writer and journalist, it stung. A lot.

Then, I felt humiliated that it stung.

Then, I spent most of the day ruminating in the background of everything else I was doing, trying to figure out why I cared.

It all started with Kelly Clarkson. If you aren’t on Threads or aren’t quite up to date on the Kelly Clarkson Social Media Lore, I’ll fill you in. Kelly visited a Brooklyn store called Art Of Play a few days ago, was apparently treated poorly by staff, and then posted on social media about feeling judged and belittled and warning others to “go check out Art Of Play in Brooklyn if you enjoy being treated like Julia Roberts [sic] character in Pretty Woman.”

The staff also responded. Apparently, Kelly wanted to buy a one-of-a-kind singing bird automaton that is permanently affixed to the wall and not actually for sale. She responded by saying they’re lying, the bird was listed for sale for $15,000, and they treated her like she couldn’t afford it. The whole thing is drama, and you can go read about it online if you want the dirty details.

But the relevant part to this blog is that I foolishly decided to add to the conversation via Threads post. It was a trending topic, I saw dozens of people fighting about it, and I honestly couldn’t believe how silly the whole thing sounded. So I wrote, “Even if the store employees were rude, I have a hard time empathizing with Kelly A.I. Clarkson’s public ‘don’t you know who I am’ moment.”

Because Kelly did come out in support of A.I. use in music a few weeks ago, and I think that sucks. And I just don’t think it’s great behavior as a public figure to send a hoard of millions of angry fans after local business owners because you got vibes that they thought you couldn’t afford a $15,000 bird. I don’t know. People are dying, Kim.

But holy shit, I kicked a hornet’s nest. I got told (by a man, no less) that I don’t support other women or believe their experiences. Someone told me Kelly was “profiled” and asked how I’d like it if someone did that to my queer child (which is so different from telling someone they can’t buy a $15,000 bird, I can’t even). Another person told me I think celebrities don’t have feelings and “basically, you’re one of those people who accused women of being witches.”

And then, this:

I was just sitting there, sipping my homemade iced coffee and being accused of probably having burned witches at the stake in another life because I disagreed with Kelly Clarkson, and suddenly, there it was. It took the wind out of my sails.

It’s not necessarily being called “ugly” or “fat.” I’ve been fat for a long time; I’ve made peace with the word. And when you’re a woman, “fat” and “ugly” are almost always the first two things people reach for when they want to try to hurt your feelings. So, it wasn’t surprising necessarily. It was just the structure of it and how personal it felt. And, perhaps, it also felt harsh because it was such an intense comeback in response to something so trivial.

I tried to brush it off. I checked out the profile, noted they barely have any followers, and tried to respond with a snarky quip that would help me feel like I had control of the situation again. It backfired spectacularly.

Oof. Call me fat all you want, but “thinks she’s a writer” and “good luck with the book or whatever toilet paper you write on.” Jesus Christ. Just stab me right in the ego, why don’t you?

I gave up after that. Hit the “block” button. Closed Threads. Wondered if I had a BandAid large enough for the wound to my psyche.

But I just kept thinking about it for the rest of the day. It was like a bruise that you forget about, and then you keep getting flashes of pain every time it rubs up against something unexpectedly. And the more I thought about it, the stupider I felt because why was I giving this silly online interaction so much power?

I know what to do with haters. I’ve been through it. Once, in response to a heartfelt piece about postpartum depression, I had a man email me, “Lay off the donuts and quit crying, bitch.” Another time, after I wrote a viral Scary Mommy piece in support of trans people, someone published a whole clapback at me at The Federalist. (I have to be honest, having a hate piece about written about me in that particular publication is kind of a point of pride for me.)

And a few years ago, after I authored a piece about explaining Pride Month to kids, PragerU reposted a TikTok video to their millions of followers that called me a “groomer” and accused me of promoting child abuse. Then, insane conservatives started flooding my Instagram with hate and saying mean things to all of my friends who had left comments on things I’d posted in the past few months. I had to lock my account for a few weeks. It was ridiculous.

The point is, I’m no stranger to people disagreeing with me, disliking me, calling me names. I’ve made a living in digital media for more than 12 years. You don’t work in this space that long without facing down a few angry mobs (or getting more than a few nasty emails). So, why was this random person on Threads getting under my skin so much?

I still don’t have a definitive answer, to be honest. I think it just came at a pivotal moment.

I’m having a hysterectomy on Friday after a tumultuous period in my health. TLDR; I had an ultrasound a few months ago that showed my uterus is about twice the size it should be due to undiagnosed endometriosis and Polyendocrine Metabolic Ovarian Syndrome (PMOS). I also had an iron deficiency so severe that I had to get multiple transfusions. All of this was ignored by my old doctors for years before I moved to Portland and finally got people to listen to me.

I’ve been emotional the past few weeks, not only about finally being heard by medical providers, but also about what these chronic health issues have taken from me over the past several years as they’ve been allowed to disrupt my body systems unchecked.

I’ve also been deep in a period of self-discovery, learning more about who I am and finally understanding (for the first time, really) what I want my life to look like. I started weight lifting in March, and I feel so strong and healthy and confident. I’ve been in Portland for a year and a half now, and I love it here so much. It feels like the place I was always meant to be. It has been the best move for my entire family. We’ve made so much progress fixing our house (I know I’m so behind on sharing!). My kids are these incredible teenagers somehow. I feel more in love with my husband than ever. I have discovered, in my late 30s, that I am an INSANE cat lady, and I am highkey obsessed with my four cats.

I’m also creating more than ever, but not necessarily how I thought I would. I did used to want to write a book. Pretty badly, in fact. But I’ve noticed in the past year that I don’t feel as strongly about it. Maybe the urge will return, or maybe it won’t. In its absence, I’ve been making cut paper art, painting, learning how to draw, and really digging into my creativity in a way that I never allowed myself to before because the pressure to prove myself as a writer was taking up so much brain space.

I think that troll’s words hit me so hard, in part, because so much is starting to go right these days. Finally. I was feeling a little bit unstoppable. And the way my heart dropped when I read that first message made me realize that no matter how happy, healed, or good you might feel, hurtful stuff still hurts.

I feel great about my body right now, but I’m not immune to criticism that is designed to shame and belittle. I never will be. I was a toddler forced into beauty pageants. I’ve fought eating disorders. My body has always been a battle ground. The fantasy that I could ever achieve a level of fitness or confidence or self-love that makes me immune to stranger’s opinions about my body is just that: a fantasy.

I have the resume to back up my “Ashley A. Writes” Threads handle, but that doesn’t mean imposter syndrome goes away or that I never wonder if anything I’ve ever done is actually good enough. Or that those words about “who thinks she’s a writer” didn’t fit perfectly into the little hairline cracks in my identity as I contemplate what it might mean to let go of the idea of authorship and create space for other things.

And I don’t think it will ever stop feeling embarrassing when mean people get to you. It seems so much more powerful to brush it off, not respond, say, “Fuck the haters,” and move on with your life. The fact that I couldn’t do that, that I actually let a mean comment not only upset me but also stick with me for more than a day, is possibly the hardest part of the whole thing.

But after thinking about it for much longer than I should have or wanted to, I think hurt feelings are good. Feeling, in general, is good. It proves we’re human.

And, in this case, letting painful words wound me and then getting back up again feels like a testament to personal progress. I think I’ve reached a new plane of joy and acceptance after so much pain and struggle and hard internal work, and that comes with its own kind of imposter syndrome: Am I really OK with me? Am I really allowed to be happy? Am I really allowed to believe that I’m worthy just as I am, just because I exist, without needing to meet all of these outside expectations to prove myself?

However unintentionally, that stranger’s words invited me to consider those questions. They brought me back to the edge of the waters of my deepest insecurities and invited me to take a swim. I stuck a toe in. I sat down and swirled my bare foot in the cool, dark water. I stared long and hard at my reflection.

I’d almost forgotten about that pond.

Now I know it will always exist, but I’m not the same girl who used to swim there. I’ve found other places to explore, the seasons have changed since then, and I’m not done walking.

That might be the most it’s possible for a person to get out of a social media interaction about Kelly Clarkson.