The sun is bright in a perfectly blue sky and the water aerobics class is in full swing. There are so many of us in the pool that we must keep checking to make sure we don’t kick someone. We all love this class with the music classics that give us the beat to help us move our bodies as if we’re young again.
Most of us just follow the instructor and try to keep up. I’m sure I’m not the only one who loves to hear the loud whoops and comments from one zany, fun-loving woman who makes an early morning class feel like an afternoon fiesta. She sometimes repeats what the instructor directs us to do as if she’s a microphone and sometimes she makes comments about what we love and what we dread doing as an exercise. She makes it fun and not work.
There must have been something in the air on this particular morning because a woman near me who seemed to enjoy the cheerleader on previous occasions said to me that she wished someone had tape for the mouth of our cheerleader. A short time later, another woman approached our cheerleader and said something to her about keeping it down. Then there was silence and it felt strange to be in the water going through our routines without our cheerleader.
Not long after the forced silence except for the music and instructions for the exercises, our zany cheerleader, apparently feeling admonished, made her way to the back of the pool. As she passed me, she said, “Some people don’t like the noise I make.” I said, “I love the noise you make!”
After she found a spot in the very back of the pool, I beckoned her to come back to her spot. She shook her head, no. The instructor who, like many of us enjoyed her cheerleading, asked her if she was all right. She nodded that she was. When I checked a few minutes later, she had left the pool.
I watched as a few people rallied around the woman who admonished the cheerleader, and I could see that she was explaining how minimal her comment was.
I felt sad for both women. As tough as women may be in making their bodies strong, as aggressive as they might be in their careers, and as in charge as they may be in their own household, there are not many who can allow what is considered a slight or admonishment to roll off like water.
Often onlookers of our shame and our reaction to feeling diminished will say that we’re “too sensitive.” Perhaps those of us deemed “too sensitive” are resigned to care too much about the connections between ourselves and others. For those who navigate the world immune to slights and prejudices, one wonders what the impact of this posture might have on their ability to empathize with those who are not immune to the judgments of others.
Rather than feel embarrassed about being described as too sensitive, one might feel sad for those who are not sensitive enough.
Gwen Dungy 