Emily Wright’s original poem on the quiet strengths, suffering, and thoughts of young women as they take in all that their future has in store: the injustices, heartache, and constant challenges. There are no words for how she feels.

An Emily Wright original poem

For those who suffer from barometric headache. The changing pressure or shift in weather can cause a chemical imbalance that results in a severe headache or migraine. This one’s for you.

Karens are not born, they are a symptom of the times. A byproduct of the societal efforts to level the playing field. Have you encountered a Karen? Have you wondered what makes her tick?  

According to Wikipedia Karen is ‘a slang term typically used to refer to a middle-class white woman who is perceived as entitled or excessively demanding.’

There is more to this explanation, however it does not apply to the following top ten as in no way does this article condone racism, bad haircuts, or the undeserved disrespect of others.

This is not a race or class issue. Its a generational thing.

As a middle-aged white Canadian woman, every day I struggle with my station in life. I understand how Karens came to be and some days I feel her taking hold. Here are the top ten situations that could cause any woman over thirty-five to become a Karen.

10.

Hold her Up

If tied up by a rather simple task, she could become a Karen.

Having to wrestle with a tank top, sports bra, or any other over-the-head garment can easily push her to the brink of sanity. Such a mindless, everyday skill has the potential to hold her up unexpectedly, suck precious minutes from her day, especially if she only air dried from her shower, and make her mental.That tight ultra-spandex material bounds and holds her up when it bunches in a roll under the pits yet above the breasts. Like a vice, it is a workout just getting the sucker on. Contorting her arms, twisting her body, and spitting profanities at the uncooperative attire could be the rise of the Karen. It is a wonder if she gets the thing in place without breaking a sweat or dislocating her shoulder.

9.

Slow her Down

If you slow her down in the left lane, she could become a Karen. 

The left lane of a three-lane highway is most accurately referred to as the passing lane for a reason. It is not to be confused with the ‘fast lane’ which does not exist. If you are in the left lane, are not passing, and someone is on your ass, get the hell out of the way. Move over! You do not get to police the speed of others by hovering just over the speed limit in the left lane. Look it up, PASSING LANE.

8.

Giver her More To Do

If given more to do, she could become a Karen.

When a customer service representative rhymes off a slew of things she needs after she finally found time to call about that faulty product, the new promotion she is entitled to, or that extra charge that appeared on her credit card. It is ‘Customer Service,’ Asshat! She has a full-time job, why don’t you do yours and take care of your customer’s request by providing the service your job title promises?

7.

Make her Wait

If she waits for pedestrians who cross when they shouldn’t, she could become a Karen. 

Foot traffic often mistakes the orange flashing hand as a countdown to how long they have to get to the other side. Wrong, just like with driving, yellow and orange mean caution, do not proceed, and do not begin to cross if you have not started. For those in mid-crosswalk, the countdown is the amount of time that everyone has to clear the intersection: pedestrians and vehicles alike. Rushing the flashing orange hand to the last second hangs the driver waiting to make a left out to dry! It forces them to run a red, block the intersection, and mess with everyone’s day. Parents, teach your kids the rules of the road as pedestrians before they become drivers. 

6.

Be In her Way

If you block her view, she could become a Karen.

Sit, stand, or meander in front of her when she had the good sense to show up early and land good seats, that ought to do it. Then strike up a conversation with the person beside you and violate that space between your heads which she is using to see. Speak loudly so she cannot hear, or better yet, pull out your gigantic iPad to record the entire show, which the organizers just announced would be available online after the event. 

5.

Squeeze her Out

If you do not let her in, she could become a Karen.

When drivers fail to understand the zipper effect; this is the practice that allows vehicles to proceed one at a time alternating lanes in concession, in the event one lane ends. One and one, one and one, until everyone gets through. You don’t get to tailgate the person ahead of you to prevent another driver, who has nowhere else to go, from getting in. Besides, if the Karen awakes, she will find a way into the space you are unwilling to give. Chances are she has a bigger vehicle, a better insurance plan, and an impeccable driving record that could withstand a fender bender. Can yours? Go ahead, make her day.

4.

Piss her Off

Disrespect her and she could become a Karen.

Don’t signal. Make your right turn without snapping on your indicator, as she waits to turn. Better yet, don’t even bother to slow down before making your turn, that should do it. Leave her sitting there with her blinker on spectating your horrific driving skills. Watching your inconsiderate dumb ass squeal around a corner on two wheels like she does not have somewhere to be, will earn you sign language commonly used by Karen, in the form of the middle finger. Yep, even with the kids in the car.

3.

Be unnecessarily difficult

If you are a pain in the ass for no reason, she could become a Karen.

When her mother-in-law asks for tea, when offered a drink amidst a summer BBQ. Tea was never an option. Why? Because it is hot outside, it’s a party with cold drinks, wine, cocktails, frozen beverages, and everything but tea. At a time when there is no counter space  for the kettle nor does the host have time to boil water or steep a freaking tea because there are other guests to attend to. You know, the ones who knew NOT to ask for tea. 

2.

Costco: Need I say more?

If you demonstrate and participate in human stupidity, she could become a Karen.

Leave her waiting to take your parking space in the busy lot of Costco while you fasten your seat belt, check your mirrors twice, no – three times, put your membership card securely in your wallet, in your purse, in your bag that must go in the backseat fastened to a D-clip. Then eek out ever so slowly in a car that can drive itself. 

Or be that person who just walks away from your cart because you spotted a free sample three aisles over. Don’t move it to the side nor tuck it by a display, just walk away. Desert your cart so no one can get around you from either direction because they might run out! It’s not like you are in a warehouse or anything, where the inventory comes on skids. Really, what is the likelihood they are going to run out? It is not toilet paper at the beginning of the pandemic.

1.

Tell Her No

Say no to her and she could become a Karen. 

Without apology, empathy, appreciation, solutions, or diplomacy: tell her no. 

She used to work retail back when the customer was always right. She endured the abuse of shoppers who took the company policy rule as an invitation to be jackasses. This was before political correctness, inclusivity, bullying, or the Me Too movement had hit the scene. Underappreciated, underpaid, and ignored was the price of one day being the customer. Or so she was promised well before the world grew more fair for the marginalized and skipped her altogether. Tell her no, the woman who bends over backward to people please. 

Tell her no, the mother who taught her kids that there was no such thing as can’t. No and can’t are not in her vocabulary because it means trying harder or asking for help.

Tell her no out of laziness because you don’t want to put in the effort and then fail to offer her the opportunity to do it herself.  Tell her no without apology that she wasted her time, or it took everything she had to ask for help and was denied anyway.

Tell her no, and you just contributed to creating a Karen: middle-aged woman who worked her ass off to play by the rules, waited her turn, and earned the right to be noticed, heard, and respected.

No is like a fresh slap. Not only does it sting, the sudden jolting stop is jarring and it roots her to a place without answers or progress. A place she has unconsciously vowed to never revisit. 

No is uncomfortable. It may be the only response, however the delivery warrants so much more. No is a tiny word, one little syllable that requires the company of explanation. She is not a toddler who needs to understand the meaning of the word. She is a fully functioning adult, a perpetual problem solver who needs to hear why. 

That way she can decide if she has asked the wrong person, if she is capable to go it alone with the right information, or does she need to change gears and take up a new approach. Either way, ‘No’ tells her nothing. 

No on its own said to a middle aged woman is lazy, it lacks imagination, consideration, and respect. It underestimate her in an effort to shut her down. 

Some would argue, it is Karens who commit the top ten offences. To that, I say, they are not Karens, they are assholes. Karens are fed up and demand better because they were taught to do and give better. Somehow the effort to create a better world for us all has backfired on middle-aged women. The pendulum swung the other way and nailed her in the gut as she stood happy for the change.  She fights for equality, aims for inclusiveness, and pulls for diversity not wanting to be disrespected, dismissed, and discarded within the effort. 

Albeit some Karens are also assholes.

Wren Moxx would add that there’s one more situation that creates a Karen. A number 0, if you will.

O

Let there be Release

If she does not have frequent orgasms, she could become a Karen.

It is discouraging how much work a single orgasm is for middle aged women. One interruption, be it sound or thought could hijack the entire process. Everything has to go perfectly, the stats must align. No other enjoyable act requires as much dedication. One can watch a movie and not lose the plot with the chime of an incoming text. A delicious meal is no less satisfying with the thought of work. WTF is up with orgasms? Seriously. If only they could be as easily summoned as your favourite song or readily available as your most craved snack. Let’s face it, they take too long and requires far too much effort. For this reason women don’t have time, more specifically, they do not have the effort to waste to get almost there to have the neighbour’s barking dog derail the whole thing.

Lack of orgasms add to the Karen population. Overworked and stress middle age women need that release. 

For that, Sex, Drugs, and Working Moms is highly recommended. 

An Emily Wright Original Poem

The Sapling is about a women’s struggle. Her Stand.

Who thought there would ever be such a thing? We have heard of the 5 stages of grief, but happiness? This is a shared secret on one of life’s unexpected transitions. I am grateful to be in the third phase of happiness myself. It was the summer solstice, the brightest day of the year which marks the beginning of summer, warm weather, sunny days, and long weekends. Or at least it did for all of us in the Northern Hemisphere.  The radio dial was on a station I did not recognize and the two morning announcers were discussing their happiest moment. Let’s call him Justin. Justin’s happiest moment was at a hockey tournament when he was eleven. The game was a grueling battle yet, scoreless. Until he scored, not once, not twice, but three times. It was his first hat trick. The bench erupted and the fans, which were mostly parents from the stands, went wild with cheers and whistles. Justin visits that moment of excitement and pride whenever he is blue. Then Justin’s female co-host, let’s say, Cheryl, described her happiest moment. It was a summer day when she was eight. The family had planned to go to an amusement park. A special day, circled on the calendar. One she had been counting down to it with more anticipation than the last day of school. This would be a day of firsts for Cheryl. Her first amusement park, her first taste of root beer, and factors that were as though the stars aligned to provide the perfect day. Both Justin and Cheryl had happy memories that I could relate to, however, something was off. When I considered my favorite childhood memories, they were no longer my happiest moments which caused me to consider the concept of joy. Without knowing them, I could guess Justine and Cheryl’s approximate ages. There was something youthful, innocent, and glossy about their definition of happiness. Like a topcoat, it was a surface level of joy one focusing on the ascetics. Their happiness was rooted in achievement, self-congratulation, indulgence, and luxury. It was about perfection. The most perfect game on the best day. Happiness from performing with the utmost excellence, coming through when the odds were against you, from being surrounded by and adored by those whom you love and admire. All great feelings. I remember when my happiest time was doing something awesome, being the center of attention for the right reasons, or that snapshot of Christmas when I got the only thing I was desperate to have. Then my perspective shifted. Caught up in chasing more moments of perfection and excellence, I distanced myself from those who made those moments of pure happiness possible: friends, family, and teammates. In Cheryl’s case, her perfect day consisted of visiting an amusement park on a sunny summer day while surrounded by family including cousins of the same age.  A rare moment unable to be recreated as it is locked in time. A concept lost on young and imprinted on the less youthful. There is something about having a baby placed in your arms for the very first time pushes you through that phase of happiness. Joy comes from love and the ability to make others happy, especially children. This is more satisfying now that I understand that they carry this feeling of extreme delight into their adulthood. The laughter that echoes over the generations. By experiencing that joy, happiness comes from the ability to recreate it for others. This joy is selfless and is about celebrating life, love, and joy. It is about providing and witnessing the perfection of time for those we hold closest. When my children were small my happiness stemmed from theirs: Christmas morning, Birthdays, vacations, sporting events, graduations. Also, by giving back to those who had the greatest influence in my life. Without them, none of my experiences would be possible. Seeing them happy, spoiled, and even surprised brought me joy. This happiness comes in the form of celebrating life. Then I blinked and life changed again. The memories of hospitals as a place where my babies were born were quickly replaced and drowned out by harsh experiences. Ambulances, emergency rooms, test results, recovery, and waiting rooms, all create that numbness where your heartbeat robs you of breath and blurs your vision. Desperate moments that send us beyond perfection and celebration. Once we cross that threshold and have to start over, change direction, or heal, our concept of happiness has shifted again. To have experienced happiness at all is a gift and you become deeply aware of its temporary state. Joy then comes from profound appreciation. Appreciation of times passed, places have been, people loved, those lost, and the realization that every moment is a gift. I once dreamed of my retirement. A waterfront home with a garden and dock where my love and I would sit sipping our morning coffee with the knowledge that our grown kids were content and settled. I took it for granted that this was a guarantee. I understand now that growing old is a gift. To see our grandchildren experience that day of perfection and to share in the joy it brings, the kind they will hold dear well into their adulthood is my definition of happiness. The kind of joy they will one day understand is not easily recreated, is ever-changing, and most certainly temporary. I thank Justin and Cheryl for sharing their happiest moments with their audience. They reconfirmed that the efforts parents go to in creating that perfect day for their kids are worth it in the long run. That level of perfection is rare and unattainable. I am grateful to have a greater, deeper, definition of joy as it is a testimony to a lifetime where happiness is cherished and held sacred.

An Emily Wright original: Sacred Wish

A Christmas poem about family, love, truth, and grateful wishes.

An Emily Wright original about a new life.

Creation: the birth day, a life changing moment for baby and mom. A shared secret.

An Emily Wright Original about the echoes of grief are reminders of all loss.