The Strength of Not Taking It Personally

It always starts the same way: someone says something sharp — the offhand jab, the backhanded compliment, the line you can’t quite decide was a joke or a dig.

If you’re queer, you learn early to read the room. Scan for threat. Scan for tone. Scan for the moment when it’s safer to laugh it off than to say what you really want to say. Sometimes you snap back. Sometimes you swallow it. But almost always, you carry it home — rolling it around your mind long after the conversation’s over.

For years, I thought that was the only way to survive. You brace for the next hit. You prep your comeback. You stay alert. But lately, I’ve been learning something new: sometimes the bravest thing you can do is decide not to be offended at all.

The Offense Economy

We’re living in what Arthur C. Brooks calls the “Age of Offense.” He breaks it down simply: first, you register the insult. Then you weigh its sting. Then you react.

That’s the cycle. A coworker interrupts you in a meeting. A relative makes a crack about your “lifestyle.” Some rando online decides they know your whole life because you posted a selfie with a rainbow flag.

And your brain — your ancient, anxious brain — does what it’s wired to do: it flares up. The limbic system lights the fuse. The amygdala says: That’s an attack. And suddenly you’re rehearsing the argument you’ll never have, defending yourself to someone who’s probably already moved on.

The Queer Lens

For queer people, taking offense is more than a reflex — it’s armour we grew up needing. If you’ve spent years dodging slurs, microaggressions or that endless drip of “harmless” jokes, you know that sometimes being offended is self-defence. It’s a sign that you still believe you deserve better.

But not every slight deserves your energy. Some days, you need your spark more than you need the last word.

When to Speak, When to Shrug

A few months ago, I was in a meeting where someone misgendered a colleague three times. I spoke up. Calm but clear. Corrected it, moved on. No big scene — but the correction mattered.

Another time, someone tossed a cheap shot at me in passing — the kind designed to bait a reaction. I could feel the words rising. But I just smiled, wished them a good day, and walked away. Ten minutes later, I’d already forgotten it.

Both moments stuck with me — but for different reasons. One was worth it. One wasn’t. The trick, I’m learning, is knowing the difference.

Don’t Give It a Home

Here’s the truth no one likes to admit being perpetually offended is exhausting — and we pay the price twice. Once in the moment, and again when we drag it home, replaying the scene like a rerun no one asked for.

Brooks writes about the brain’s executive centre — the prefrontal cortex — as our best defence. It’s the voice that steps in when your gut says, React now. It’s the part that says, Maybe not.

It’s the same part that sobriety taught me to trust. That quiet pause before you reach for the thing you know will only make you feel worse later.

When you’re queer, sober, or just a little tired of carrying everyone’s baggage, that pause is gold.

The Stoic Trick

Marcus Aurelius — that ancient Stoic who probably would’ve been a nightmare on Twitter/X — put it simply: “You are not harmed by the insult. Your mind is never the worse for it.”

It’s not about letting people walk over you. It’s about deciding who gets to live rent-free in your head. Some people aren’t worth the lease.

Practical Boundaries

So, what does this look like in real life?

It’s not always some grand clapback. Sometimes it’s changing the subject at a family lunch. Sometimes it’s deflecting with humour: “Ah, we’re still telling that joke in 2025? Brave.”

Sometimes it’s the clean, simple line: “Not today, mate.”

Or you let it float by. You don’t carry it home. You keep your peace — literally.

The Bigger Picture

Look, we’re not lacking things to fight for. Queer rights are under fresh attack, trans kids are being debated like policy problems instead of humans, and mental health is still a battlefield.

We need our energy for the big fights. So every time you choose not to rise to the bait, you’re saving fuel for the battles that matter.

A Quiet Kind of Pride

People think pride is about parades and protest. And it is — sometimes. But sometimes pride is sitting with your own power and realising you don’t owe anyone your rage. Sometimes pride is the moment you choose your sanity over your spike of adrenaline.

It’s refusing to give your joy away to people who wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway.

Take It or Leave It

Next time someone lobs a cheap shot your way, ask yourself: Is this really worth my peace? If it is, stand your ground. Use your voice. Set the record straight.

If it’s not? Shrug. Laugh. Walk away.

Because the older I get, the clearer it becomes: not every insult needs your fight. And not every fight needs your fire.

Save it for the places it counts. We’ve got plenty of real battles left to win.