My boys say this all the time: “It’s not that deep.”
When they say it in the context of telling a story, I think, “Wow, how enlightened they are not to get bogged down in the minutia of things.” It’s like their way of saying, “Don’t sweat the small stuff,” and I applaud them for their healthy perspective on life.
But when they are saying it to me, I think, “F*ck you!” because it feels dismissive and disrespectful. Like Gen Z-speak for “Calm down” — and we all know that telling a middle-aged woman to calm down doesn’t work. Never has; never will.
I know that most of the time — like 99% of the time — when my boys say, “It’s not that deep” to me, they mean it lightheartedly and as a gentle reminder for me to not worry. But I’m a worrier by nature, so this phrase mocks me. I overthink, overfeel and overreact. It’s who I am. (I’m working on it.)
But it’s that other 1% of the time when the phrase comes across disrespectful and insulting that really gets me going. I don’t do well with orders — especially not from my children. And anyone telling me to calm down, especially someone with a penis, only riles me up more. It’s denigrating and dismissive and, frankly, feels like gaslighting. Even when my emotions are out of control and misplaced, I need to move through them in my own way, in my own time … for better or worse. (And yes, I know my “worst” can be pretty bad — again, I’m working on it!)
As someone who remained silent through decades of abuse, therapy helped me find my voice — and the courage to use it. Sometimes, it is that deep — I just need to work on my delivery.
As I said, I’m working on it.
— LJDT
