I was deaf, sometimes profoundly, until I was about 12. I’d have an operation – I’d had seven by then – get partial hearing, then lose it again. Finally, they couldn’t patch up my eardrum any more, so they had to fashion a new one. I’d say my hearing is at about 65% now.
It made me a more thoughtful, peaceful person, as well as hyper-observant. I can read people’s body language, which has heightened my ability to make good decisions. Growing up with a disability also makes you obsessed with control, so I’ve never even tried alcohol, even though it seems like I’m drunk on Twitter.
I decided to absolve myself of shame before I turned 30. My therapist said: “A doormat is already lying down – that’s why people wipe their feet all over it!” That changed the course of my life. It was empowering for me to realise that there might be a way for me to change how people interact with me. Projecting a lack of give-a-fucks has meant fewer people fuck with me.
I’ve been saying how I feel on the internet for 10 years, but I never had a big following, so I was never able to do much harm – or much good. Out of nowhere, I now have more than 4 million people at my fingertips. After a decade of people not really listening to you, you’re not prepared for that responsibility. I have learned to be much more careful when calling someone out, especially if that person is already at a disadvantage.
I think I’m less annoying in person than I am on Twitter. I live online as a provocateur. Sometimes you have to say things that are going to piss people off in order to create discussion. I’m outrageous about abortion. I say things that might come across as insensitive so that thousands of people join a conversation. That’s not to defend all my insensitivity. Sometimes I genuinely get it wrong.
The worst I feel is when someone has misconstrued my tone, or I’ve misrepresented myself, and I’ve hurt a group of people by mistake. That burns me to my core. I can’t sleep and I can’t eat. I recently criticised a rapper on Twitter for talking about doing a water fast, not knowing that she was mentally ill. I should have known better to send any kind of negativity her way. I felt gutted and embarrassed and very sorry.
Everything I try to say about [my coming out as queer] is always, without fail, twisted. So I’m not talking about it any more. I said what I needed to say at the time. I addressed the unfortunate timing, it’s all out now, and there isn’t really any more to be said.
I’m happy to be called out. I don’t mind learning in public. I’ve become a better person for it. What I find frustrating is that when you admit you were wrong people seem to attack you more. When I apologise there’s a hysteria of bullying. We’re so unaccustomed to dealing with humility, you sometimes get treated worse than if you say nothing. There’s no accountability, and no opportunity to learn – it really halts evolution. It’s not a weakness to apologise.
Once people get an appetite for you, suddenly the industry envelops you and boosts you. People write about you as if you are a saint, the saviour of humanity. They build you up to a point where the expectation of you isn’t sustainable. You can’t maintain that standard, which you never actually professed to have. It’s stressful for female celebrities.
There’s a particular vitriol towards women with money. We can handle men living lavish lifestyles, but when a woman does the same thing we drag her down for how gaudy she is. You can see the beginnings of it with Phoebe Waller-Bridge. As soon as she signed that $20m deal with Amazon, people suddenly started to bring up her privilege, even though we’ve known about that from the beginning – she’s got a double-barrelled name!
I’m not very interested in other people’s opinions of me. That’s liberating. I feel like I haven’t seen enough change over the course of my life. As I’ve grown older, I’ve become more aggressive, because nothing is moving fast enough. I can’t just sit here and wish for the best any more. The fact that I’ve got the privilege of a platform means I have a real chance to at least do something.
The podcast I Weigh with Jameela Jamil debuted on 3 April
