Why I Decided to Re-Enter My Villain Era

If you corner any of my friends that I have had since childhood, they will likely tell you that I said the most reckless things when they first met me. Who am I kidding, if you ask anyone who has ever met me at any phase of my life, they will likely respond that way. I have always been decisive, expressive, and detached enough not to care how I am perceived.

Pre-teen me modeled her entire personality around being just like Regina George — snarky, abrasive, manipulative, yet somehow mystifying. I would relish in hearing, "I don't know how you have any friends." Well, the people who threw that line back as a retort for the downright cruel things I did and/or said missed one critical point — I didn't treat my friends that way (at least I hope not). Behind closed doors, I was witty, fun, and eccentric (yes, still self-obsessed). My motivation was always making sure everyone had a good time and, more importantly, that I had an active hand in facilitating it.

I became obsessed with hearing people laugh at my jokes, with continuing to be included in group dynamics, and with people expressing excitement upon seeing me. But as I continued to navigate life by marketing myself as walking entertainment, the anxiety crept in. Suddenly, there was an unnerving and persistent fear surrounding what would happen if I wasn't in the mood to perform all the qualities that the people in my life seemed to reward me for. This led to a strong suppression of my thoughts and feelings — most importantly, the negative ones. It got to a point where if I felt like I was going to be emotionally undesirable, I would isolate. I had internalized fears that had never actually been communicated to me by any of my loved ones, yet I had fully convinced myself they were true.

Not to be philosophical, but I recently became obsessed with the concept of free will. I felt so weighed down by the possibility of miscommunication that it oftentimes led to me not speaking up at all — even in situations where I knew I was right and that my voice deserved to be heard. Then one day it hit me: no one has to give you permission to use your words. The ability to articulate yourself clearly is a gift, and so many people move through the world without it — whether due to fear of persecution or simply an inability to verbalize their thoughts effectively. And yet there I was, fully equipped with a voice, unnecessarily afraid to use it.

So, I decided I would start saying whatever I wanted.

In the past, I used my voice to stoke tensions unnecessarily. But the version of me obsessed with her own healing and growth realized that sometimes I had to say the things other people refused to say — and that this was, perhaps, simply my purpose. I had to accept that it would lead to resistance, to being maligned or ostracized. Though something felt different — I no longer gave a fuck. There was something freeing about finally shirking the crippling weight of caring how people perceived me.

As a kid, I always empathized with the so-called villains in movies. I recognized the pattern early — ignored, ostracized, or severely misunderstood until they were pushed to a point of retaliation that everyone else deemed unnecessary or too far. Seeing myself in these characters, I felt compelled to adopt certain tenets of their personalities. I delighted in being contrarian, detached, and relished the art of a well-executed manipulation. Obviously, at thirty, my villain arc will not resemble that of Scar (queer icon, by the way) or Jafar — but there is something to be said about not allowing fear to bind you from making declarative decisions that align with your vision and goals. Those Disney villains had questionable desires, sure, but they remained steadfast and unwavering in their convictions even in the face of external pressure. Respect the commitment.

I recently learned that I am not great at identifying my emotions, which means I am equally ill-equipped at explaining how I feel. The easiest thing for me to express has always been humor — which, if you think about it, says a lot. Over the last few weeks, I have been allowing myself to actually feel my emotions (we talked about this), name how a situation made me feel in three sentences or less, and then consider an appropriate response. Through that process, I revisited so many situations where I had shrugged things off or deflected when I genuinely felt hurt, dismissed, belittled, or antagonized.

The answer, naturally, was found in astrology — at this point, you knew I was going to sprinkle this in. Having a Libra stellium can lend itself to an almost unhealthy obsession with manufacturing balance. I was constantly swallowing my genuine reactions to keep the peace, prioritizing how I would be perceived over my own emotional well-being.

Here is the thing about suppressing your feelings: they do not leave on their own. They sit heavy in your chest with nowhere to go. They fester. They cause you harm. And one day, without warning, you will hit capacity — usually in a moment that requires composure — and everything will come tumbling out at once. Next thing you know, you are losing it on a cashier at a Walgreens (may or may not be a real-life experience; will not confirm for legal reasons). Take this as your warning: deal with your feelings before they deal with you.

Now, I simply say the thing. I have released myself from the exhausting concern of whether my feelings are palatable. I have grown comfortable with the idea that this will sometimes cast me as the villain in someone else's retelling of events — and I have made peace with that. If it feels heavy in my chest, it must be expelled. The clarity that comes from being more expressive has allowed me to feel more comfortable in my own skin, has done wonders for my confidence (not that it needed much help), and has freed up an enormous amount of mental energy I used to spend dissecting interactions and replaying what I should have said.

I am leaving you with this in the hopes that you embrace your inner villain a little more this week. Just a tad. Say the thing. Be bolder.

After all, Regina George healed after the bus incident.