The Real Housewives of My Offended Imagination

I am not a healed person.

I feel like I should start there.

These morning reflections do not mean I am getting everything right. Really, quite the contrary.

Most mornings, I open my Bible and discover another area of my personality that apparently needs to be placed on the altar.

Again.

I am learning. I am healing. I am growing. I am becoming more aware. I am also still capable of being irritated by a tone, offended by a facial expression, bothered by punctuation, and deeply suspicious of a period at the end of a text message.

“Okay.”

Okay WHAT?

Why is there a period?

What are we doing here?

I can turn one syllable into a six-part Netflix psychological thriller with bonus footage and a reunion episode.

So no, I am not writing this from the mountaintop of emotional maturity. I am writing it somewhere around base camp with my backpack half-zipped, one shoe untied, and the Holy Spirit repeatedly asking me to stop arguing with strangers in scenarios that haven’t even happened yet.

I am hypersensitive.

There. I said it.

I notice shifts. I notice tones. I notice energy. I notice when someone responds differently than they normally do. I notice the extra two seconds before someone answers me. I notice when “Hey girl!” becomes “Hey.” I notice everything.

Sometimes that sensitivity is discernment.

Sometimes it is absolutely not.

Sometimes it is simply my nervous system with Wi-Fi.

& when I feel hurt, dismissed, misunderstood, disrespected, overlooked, embarrassed, rejected, or offended, my natural inclination is not always what anyone would describe as “a gentle answer.”

Which makes Proverbs 15:1 particularly disrespectful to my flesh:

“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”

Proverbs 15:1 NIV

I would love to tell you that I read that and immediately thought, “Yes, Lord. What beautiful wisdom.”

I did not.

My flesh had follow-up questions.

What if they started it?

What if I am technically correct?

What if my response is not harsh, but merely… thorough?

What if I prayed before I typed it?

What if I add “respectfully” at the beginning?

What if the clapback is biblically accurate?

Surely there is an exemption somewhere in the Old Testament.

Unfortunately, Proverbs does not say, “A gentle answer turns away wrath unless they have you completely messed up.”

There is no footnote.

No asterisk.

No “terms and conditions apply.”

Just wisdom.

And wisdom has been forcing me to confront something I do not particularly enjoy confronting:

I am not naturally slow to speak.

Sometimes I am barely slow enough to think.

James 1:19–20 says:

“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.”

That is almost the exact opposite of my factory settings.

Quick to speak.

Quick to defend.

Quick to explain.

Quick to correct.

Quick to interpret.

Quick to make sure you understand that I understood exactly what you meant when you said what you said.

Slow to speak?

My mouth has already posted the press release.

And culture does not exactly discourage this.

We live in the age of the clapback.

Social media has practically turned offense into a competitive sport.

Someone says something slick, and the comments immediately start warming up like an NBA bench.

“COOK THEM.”

“Don’t let that slide.”

“Couldn’t be me.”

“Match their energy.”

“Return the energy.”

“Go lower.”

We took Michelle Obama’s “When they go low, we go high” and somehow culturally remixed it into, “When they go low, baby, grab a shovel.”

I don’t think that is what sis meant.

But clapbacks get likes.

Gentleness rarely goes viral.

Nobody screenshots emotional regulation and captions it, “SHE ATE.”

Nobody makes a TikTok compilation called “Top Ten Times She Paused, Prayed, Regulated Her Emotions & Chose Not to Escalate the Situation.”

There is no trending audio for restraint.

And yet Scripture repeatedly suggests that some of the greatest demonstrations of strength will never look impressive enough for social media.

Sometimes strength looks like shutting up.

And I hate that for me.

Because I am discovering that there is a difference between reacting and responding.

Reacting is immediate.

Responding requires space.

Reacting asks, “How did that make me feel?”

Responding asks, “Who do I want to be now that I feel it?”

Reacting gives my emotions the microphone.

Responding lets my emotions speak without letting them emcee the entire event.

That distinction matters for someone like me because hypersensitivity means I can experience things deeply and quickly.

My feelings are real.

The offense may even be legitimate.

Someone really may have been rude.

Someone really may have crossed a boundary.

Someone really may owe me an apology.

Someone really may have hurt me.

The initial offense can be legitimate.

The decision to stay offended is something else.

That sentence sat with me.

Because God is not asking me to control whether something hurts.

He is asking me to steward what I do after it hurts.

I cannot always control the first emotional response.

I can control whether I build a condo there.

And apparently, I have developed some lovely waterfront property in Offense over the years.

Great schools.

Beautiful countertops.

Terrible peace.

That is where Proverbs starts becoming more than a cute verse to put over a watercolor background.

“A gentle answer turns away wrath…”

Turns away does not necessarily mean makes disappear.

That matters.

Gentleness does not guarantee the other person will suddenly become reasonable.

It does not mean they will apologize.

It does not mean the conflict instantly evaporates.

It means I refuse to contribute additional fuel.

I can redirect something without pretending it never happened.

Because the second half of the verse says:

“…but a harsh word stirs up anger.”

And whew.

Stirs up.

Adds to.

Intensifies.

Throws gasoline on something already burning and then stands there wondering why everybody is on fire.

I have done that.

I have been offended and then responded in a way that created another offense.

Then their response to my response created another response.

Now we are twelve text messages deep, nobody remembers what the original problem was, and the devil is somewhere eating popcorn.

Which brings me to something I have had to consider:

The saints are not the only ones fishing.

We talk a lot about being “fishers of men,” but apparently there is another fisherman on the water.

And he has bait too.

Offense.

Insults.

Rejection.

Disrespect.

Misunderstanding.

Old wounds.

Insecurity.

Pain.

The bait changes depending on what gets me to bite.

& if I am being transparent?

He catches me more often than I would like to admit.

HOOKED.

Again.

There I am, flopping around emotionally because somebody said something sideways.

& I am realizing that the bait is rarely just about the argument.

The enemy does not necessarily need to destroy my entire life in one dramatic event.

Sometimes all he needs to do is keep me offended long enough that my character starts changing.

Because bait can pull me out of character.

Bait can pull me out of covering.

Bait can distract me from calling.

That is what makes offense so dangerous.

It feels personal while doing spiritual damage.

& I have been thinking about how easy it is to become so focused on defending myself that I forget who I represent.

I cannot live under the umbrella of the Name without carrying the responsibility of the Name.

Christian is not merely something I get to call myself when it is convenient.

There is weight attached to carrying Christ’s name.

There is responsibility attached to representation.

Which means my actions are never completely isolated.

They can become a burden or a blessing to someone else.

Love considers others.

Even when I am irritated.

Even when I am right.

Even when my feelings are hurt.

Even when my clapback would have been phenomenal.

Moment of silence for all the comebacks that deserved an audience but had to die on the altar.

Gone too soon.

Yet maybe that is part of carrying the cross.

Jesus said:

“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Matthew 16:24 NIV

I won’t get a calling without a cross.

& maybe one of the crosses I have to carry is the death of my insistence on always defending myself.

There is no service without sacrifice.

There is no following Jesus while simultaneously demanding that my flesh gets the final word.

& sometimes Satan uses the bait of pain to lure me away from the very character my calling requires.

That is sobering.

Because if my life were only about reaching my eternal destination, God could have taken me home the moment I believed.

I am still here because there is something I am supposed to carry.

Something I am supposed to contribute.

People I am supposed to love.

Relationships I am supposed to steward.

A witness I am supposed to preserve.

A calling I am supposed to protect.

& I cannot protect my calling while allowing every offense to hijack my character.

That does not mean tolerating toxicity.

I am also learning the difference between imperfections that are not preferable and issues that are genuinely toxic or dangerous.

Everybody has imperfections.

Including me.

Especially me.

There are things people do that annoy me, disappoint me, frustrate me, or simply are not how I would have done them.

That does not automatically make someone toxic.

Sometimes people are just… people.

Including the person writing this article.

Imagine that.

There is also a difference between gentleness and being a doormat.

Jesus was gentle, not spineless.

Matthew 5:5 says:

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.”

Meekness is not weakness.

Gentleness does not require me to abandon boundaries.

I can address something without attacking someone.

I can say, “That hurt me,” without attempting to hurt them back.

I can establish distance without revenge.

I can tell the truth without weaponizing it.

Sometimes the best clapback really is a closed mouth.

Painful.

Deeply inconvenient.

Biblical.

This is where I need to start taking the advice in Proverbs so I can stop experiencing Ecclesiastes.

Because Ecclesiastes has some moments, honey.

Ecclesiastes 4:1–3 is not exactly giving “Live, Laugh, Love.”

There is grief there.

Weariness.

The consequences of living in a broken world among broken people.

& I am realizing that wisdom exists partly to keep me from unnecessarily creating more pain for myself.

Maybe I do not need to personally experience every consequence before deciding God knew what He was talking about.

Maybe I can just… take the advice.

Revolutionary concept.

So I am learning three things.

Resist the reflex.

Just because my reaction is natural does not mean it is right.

My first impulse does not automatically deserve obedience.

My flesh does not get diplomatic immunity.

Redirect the response.

I cannot control what comes at me.

I can control what comes out of me.

That one is difficult because I have spent a lot of time believing other people’s behavior justified mine.

They did X, therefore I did Y.

Except God keeps dealing with Y.

Rude.

& finally, remember the reward.

Every time I refuse the bait, I protect something.

My peace.

My witness.

My relationships.

My character.

My calling.

I keep my character.

I honor my covering.

I protect my calling.

& no, I am not there yet.

I am still easily offended sometimes.

I am still hypersensitive.

I still replay conversations.

I still occasionally draft responses in my head that would have absolutely cleared the room.

I still have moments where “slow to speak” feels less like Scripture and more like an unreasonable performance metric.

I am still learning the difference between suppressing my feelings and surrendering my reaction.

Because God is not asking me not to feel.

He is teaching me that feelings are information, not instructions.

My goal is not emotional numbness.

My goal is to become spiritually vibrant, emotionally healthy, and relationally rich.

And that version of me cannot be controlled by every hook thrown into the water.

She has to learn to recognize bait.

She has to learn that not every notification requires a response.

Not every missing punctuation deserves investigation.

Not every tone requires a TED Talk.

Not every offense needs a sequel.

Not every comment section deserves her ministry.

And every now and then, “seen at 8:42 AM” might actually be a spiritual discipline.

I am learning that somebody has to be the bigger person.

& unfortunately, sometimes God points at me.

The audacity.

Still, maybe maturity is not reaching a place where nothing bothers me anymore.

Maybe maturity is recognizing that something bothered me and choosing not to hand it control.

Maybe spiritual growth is the widening space between what happens to me and what comes out of me.

A space large enough for the Holy Spirit to get a word in.

A space where I can ask:

Is this bait?

Is this worth my peace?

Is my response going to heal this or intensify it?

Am I protecting my ego or protecting my witness?

Who am I becoming if I keep responding this way?

I am not a healed person.

I am a healing person.

There is a difference.

I still bite sometimes.

Okay.

Often.

We are being transparent here.

But I am beginning to recognize the hook.

& perhaps that is growth too.

Because the goal is not to become someone who cannot be offended.

The goal is to become someone offense cannot control.

I want to be spiritually vibrant.

Emotionally healthy.

Relationally rich.

& apparently, that means I am going to have to stop giving the enemy engagement every time he rage-baits me.

Because maybe Proverbs 15:1 is not simply teaching me how to win an argument.

Maybe it is teaching me how not to lose myself in one.

& the next time the bait drops in front of me?

I pray I remember:

I don’t have to bite just because it was made specifically for me.