Mary thought it was probably easy for Much, not having to rail to desperately hard against the idea millions of people had about her. Not to have her name come up among unbelievers and for them to say 'oh yeah, the whore' and then think nothing more of it.
They didn't remember her as she was, and they didn't know her as the woman Jesus had chosen to speak. They didn't know her as the woman who had left her home and given all her wealth to the cause, as the woman who had been as important to Jesus and his ministry as any of the true Apostles.
She was a joked about footnote, the hooker Jesus hung out with.
Much didn't think he'd ever want to fight against who he was, but Mary couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been fighting against it, hadn't been pushing against the walls of this cage belief had built up around her.
"I'm glad you're you," Mary said easily, because it was a much more pleasant thought to latch onto. "I like you. Any other version could turn out to be a dickhead."