Turning the Tides

I've gone through a number of writing-spurts on this blog, with an equal number of purposes. These days it's about tbi therapy, sharing my crazy stories, and trying to make this a better/safer world through understanding/love/strength/encouragement...by finding my own voice and encouraging others who recognize that silence is...killing us to find their voices as well. It was Br*ck Turner's "victim's" letter** that really sent me over the edge of rage that got me to start this crazy journey...I used "" because she is so much more than a victim...I don't really know what to call her...except My Hero. As painful as it was to read her letter, her courage in facing him, and letting her own words be heard shock this country to it's core. It pissed us off, it made is cry, it triggered us, it opened our eyes, it enraged us enough for her that we became enraged enough for ourselves and every other victim out there to stop letting those people who hurt us (not only "perps" but all the well-meaning, and not so well meaning people who have silenced/shamed us) continue to silence us. I hope she knows that she HAS started a revolution, a revolution I hope to continue in some small way with my little blog.

Tonight, my heart is heavy for the men and women of color in this nation who know that they are not safe...not safe from crazy white folks, and not safe from the police. My heart is heavily most recently for the 2 black men who were murdered by the police, and for all of the many people of color, and their loved ones who know that because of the color of their skin, that they are walking targets. It breaks my heart to know that my non-white friends can't drive down the street, or walk into a store without being treated like a criminal. I keep trying to figure out how I can make this better, but I haven't come up with any solutions other than to continue to express my disgust and intolerance of racism.

My heart is also heavy for the police officers who were gunned down just a few nights ago. What is this nightmare our country is having that we can't seem to wake up from? How do we wake up from it? How do we change our course? How do we conquer hate with love...can we conquer hate with love? During a meditation last week I had what felt like a revelation that there is no way to "kill" negativity/evil, but that instead it would be transformed by encouraged the health (love) of the rest of humanity. In this moment, that revelation feels like a pipe dream, but I will hold out a little hope that if I keep doing my best to "lead with Love", that maybe that Love can grow enough to turn the tides...

Maybe a few more voices will speak up to shame and silence those who encourage hate...now wouldn't that be a tide turner?

**In case you haven't read the letter, or need a refresher: https://www.buzzfeed.com/katiejmbaker/heres-the-powerful-letter-the-stanford-victim-read-to-her-ra?utm_term=.fiY1yOoGj#.vn2GRQ5py

Illusions

I want to talk to you about illusions today. The first illusion, is the illusion of the "wholesome community." I hear that term less, and less, so perhaps the illusion isn't as strong as it used to be, or maybe it's just in NM people know better. I used to hear people refer to my home state of ND as "wholesome" and as "safe" (the latter being my second discussion of illusions). If you've read back, you might have a clue or two as to why I think it laughable that people on the outside would think such things about ND. 

In college I remember seeing a statistic that basically said that in urban areas the rate of violent, stranger crime is much higher; but on the other side domestic crimes tended to be higher in rural areas. I have no idea if that stat is still legit, so who knows... What I do know is that there was nothing "wholesome" about my little world I grew up in. What I grew up around was a community full of rampant alcoholism, domestic violence, and sexual abuse...and the community dealt with it by, surprise-surprise, denial and/or blaming the victims. 

By 14, all the girls knew that if an older (you know, 40s, 50s) guy asked you to take a walk that a) it was rude to say "no", b) it was your job to make sure that you fought him off (nicely), otherwise, whatever happened was your fault and you had not excuse to complain. And, if you are sexually abused as a child (you know, pre-puberty, cuz after puberty, you should know better), don't worry...the entire town will know about it, because that's the great thing about small communities; everyone knows whats going on and is there to support you, and bring you hot-dish...they'll take care of you...by talking about how you instigated it because you wanted it. 

One evening as a senior in high school, I drove the 5 miles (did I mention "rural"?) to my neighbors house because her dad was beating her and threatening to kill her. Why did she call me, instead of the police? Because the sheriff's deputy lived about 20 miles away, AND had been arrested for a rape 2 or 3 times by then, so if he actually came...who knows how much help he would be. So I grabbed my .357 and drove there as fast as I could not knowing what the hell I was going to walk into...would my friend be beaten to death, would her father be cooled down and flare up when I came in, would I have to "defend" her or myself? ***

These are just a few stories of "wholesome", "safe" rural America...a wonderful place to bring up your children. I've thought over the years a lot about writing an autobiography so I can dis-spell this myth, maybe I'll get to it someday...maybe people have already figured it out for themselves. 

Which brings us to "safety."What does it mean to be safe? If we don't think to hard about it, we might say we are safe because of our city, our neighborhood, the locks on our doors, the gun in our bed stand...but do any of these things mean we are "safe"? And what do these things, and rituals protect us from? Will the gun keep us from getting cancer? Will the "wholesome" community keep my children safe? Will my nice neighborhood keep me from tripping over the dog and breaking me neck? Of course not. The truth is, there is no such thing as pure, capital "S" Safety. It's an illusion we create for ourselves with trinkets, and rituals.

You may be thinking "well, that's a bit bleak." Oh, but wait, here's the (good) loop hole! We can reduce our risks, That really is the name of the game. And how do we reduce risk? first we figure out what our risks are, and we address them specifically, and realistically. Realistically meaning we don't assume our risks are the same as those of our hero in our favorite action movie, nor will we address things the same way as our action hero...believe it or not, even the elitely trained don't stand much of a chance against a room full of machine gun toting bad guys...but the good news; your chance encountering these bad guys is  less than getting struck by lightening...while winning the lottery. I see avoiding conscious risk reduction as that whole "if you don't make a decision, you have made a decision." We can blindly pretend we are dealing with the real risks in our lives, or we can distract ourselves with the illusions we create for ourselves, or are given us by society, parents, peers, etc. 

So, are you at risk to be attacked my a trans-woman in the toilet at Target? Yeah, about as much as the lightening/lottery thing. Ninjas? Mmmm, I think you know the answer to this one. Will we die if we speak our truth? Depending of the circumstance, of course; probably not. It did not feel "safe" to start posting this blog, but I did some risk reduction first; and I thought about the potential risks: would I be shamed by "friends" for speaking my truth, would it change my relationships, would I feel this that or the other based on how people reacted? There are risks, non-fatal risks, and risks I'm sometimes willing to take, and my risks aren't the same as another person's may be. When I'm in a good place, I stand by what I said in a previous post: We have to raise our voices up over those of the people who would shame us, and blame us while exonerating the "bad guys." I will speak for the younger version of me who had no voice and no advocate, and I will speak for all those who have no voice. And I will hope that as a country, and as a human race we open our eyes to the illusions around us, and that we help others to do the same that we may live, speak, see, and act in a way that brings peace, hope, and healing to us all.

 (Disclaimer: As a Motorcycle Safety Rider Coach we would start classes by a discussion of safety and risk reduction, so I can't take credit for all of this as original thoughts.)

***Papa asshat screamed and raged about how he didn't do anything, officer rapey came (but didn't rape anyone), and no further violence was had that night.

Missteps in finding my voice

This morning I saw that I had gotten a notification from a company I had written a not-so-glowing review on. It was an honest review, and honestly, I wasn't as harsh as I could have been, but seeing that I had a notification from them sent me into an absolute terror. I couldn't even read it I was so overwhelmed with fear, racing thoughts, pounding heart, and shaking hands. Now granted, I've been away from home, routine, and family/friends/pups for 4 weeks, and I'd been in a car for the last 2 days so I wasn't at my best physically or emotionally, but still...my emotional, knee jerk reaction knocked me off balance. Not because this is an abnormal reaction to presumed or real confrontation for me, but because I had decided that I was recently cured of being afraid of speaking my truth. And I realize that it's not that simple, this business of reclaiming your voice...or maybe finding a voice you've never had...but I was enjoying the fantasy...

Several hours later, heavily snuggled by puppies, and even medicated I'm feeling like I'm back on solid ground. I was able to actually open the notification and read it, as opposed to think about all the horrible things it might say, even though I know logically they would not for business sake do something as stupid as send me a nasty message * . But this old wound trumps (we need a new word) logic, and it certainly trumps a couple weeks of "speaking my mind" on my blog. And it's a tricky wound because it is a complex, and systemic wound. It is a shot gun blast of growing up with a checked-out alcoholic father, mentally ill and sometimes homicidal sister, a slew of perverts, and a mentally ill mother who couldn't give me comfort let alone a sense of safety I so desperately needed. 

I've already chatted about self-doubt, shame, and loss of voice that comes from being assaulted. What I haven't talked about, lately anyway is the direct messages I got from my mother countless times. Her favorite; "Don't tell anyone (fill in the blank) or the social workers will take you away." The blank could be about my father's drinking, or the bottle full of pills she had taken...just don't talk about anything, and you will be safe. What a grand lie...fantasy...cover up: Keep your mouth shut, and you will be okay. The real truth: Keep your mouth shut, and the person being a douche can pretend they have done nothing wrong, and won't have to take accountability for their actions. 

There have been times when the message has been more subtle...like one of my earliest memories from about 3 when my mother was telling a neighbor what a good girl I was because "she's so quiet, she never bothers me." Or how everyday when I got home from school she would stop what she was doing to tell me about her awful stressful day but woe to me if I tried to talk to her (it only took one time to learn that was a big no-no). There were also the times I would tell the grade school teacher that the older boys were picking on me...her response "they only pick on you because you react! Just ignore them"...just swallow your voice and everything will be okay. But, it was not okay.

I've started off on a Hobbit adventure of finding my voice. It will be a long treacherous journey, but there is no turning back...and I know there will be secondsies at the end of the road.

*(They apologized for my experience, and hoped that I would give them the opportunity to make it right)

experience

How we interpret an experience is unique to our experience. Take for example the ocean...most people will tell you they love the ocean because it's nothing but water as far as you can see, white sand everywhere, and the crashing of the surf. My mother will tell you that she hates the ocean because it is...nothing but water as far as you can see, white sand everywhere, and the crashing of the surf. The experience is the same, but how it's experienced is quite different.

Turn on the news, it's easy to see how there are many experiences of events in the world. Something I am curious about is how do we, as the human race, create a more congruent sense of our experience? How do we develop empathy, and compassion as a race? There is way too much anger, hate, fear, prejudice, violence, and selfishness going on in this world.

I am a firm believer that small acts of compassion can change the world. If each of us makes someone else's life just a little bit better, that small act of kindness can travel the world. A smile, a kind word, a pay-it-forward at the drive through...it all adds up. We can do this. We can just as easily send out more negativity, but I think there is plenty of that. We can pray, or meditate, or ponder peace; but nothing is going to change until we engage in some action steps.Six degrees of separation...that is how small this big world is...six degrees of separation...we CAN change someone's experience for the better.  Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try and love one another right now.

We can do better

Today was a pretty decent day...I'm winding up my internships and semester, my wife arrived today...haven't seen her in over 4 weeks. I am, however; physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted...and I'm just kinda burned out. Between the world at large, and keeping up with internship and school...it's been a rough several weeks.

In addition to all the usual stressors, the friend I'm staying with discussed going to a friends high school reunion in order to "support" them. This friend is a part of the LGBT community, and my little 5' 2" friend thought that she could accompany her friend as a "protector", even though she might be mistaken as a "partner" as they headed to the backwoods of the US.  My reaction was to get angry with her and tell her that she couldn't go, as if I could make her do anything (she's old enough to be my mother, and even more stubborn than I am). Once I calmed myself down, and thought about what my fears were, I was able to share them with her...and I was also punched in the gut by the truth of what it is that we (LGBT) have to deal with every day. And it isn't something that is completely unique to us, people of color deal with the same types of crap...

My fear for her was that as she traveled with her friend and was assumed to be a sexual partner, and not just a friend, that she would become a target. As LGBT folk, we have dealt with rejection, discrimination, threats of violence, and sometimes actual violence, which has helped us develop a radar. We know when we have to get leave a place, or not hold hand; stand to close; or touch our partner, or not speak too loud. We know when we need to posture, or when to make ourselves small...it's a radar that my friend doesn't have. I also didn't want her to have to have the experience of some jack-ass jumping in front of her and grabbing his crotch, leering, yelling at her that he was going to show her what a "real man" was like. (Sadly, this latter is an experience that most women in some fashion have experienced...it's just been my experience that when I'm recognized as a lesbian, that there is much more...violence/anger behind it) I don't want anyone to have that experience, especially not anyone I love. But the truth is that most of my Family has at some period experienced that dangers of being who we are. And it made me damn sad to realize that it's so "normal" for us all, that I didn't even realize it was there until I felt I had to protect my friend from it.

I've said it previously, I'll say it again: things are better. Things are a helluva lot better. But Orlando was a reminder that we still aren't safe. The prayers for our deaths by "god fearing christians" let us know that we're not safe. The continued violence that never makes the news because it was one of us...it tells us that we are not important enough to be protected. When people can openly discriminate against a group, or talk about our inherent sin/evil/general awfulness...it sends a message to the folks who maybe aren't operating with all of their faculties that we are less than human, that it is okay to hurt us (they will be supported and applauded for doing so), that we deserve to be hurt/killed/punished, and we become societies scapegoats.

In 2008 I did a presentation on the issues that the LGBT community faces. Here's one little section of stats:

•      Gay & Bi Men report adulthood sexual assault at rate of 11.6% & 13.2%, as compared Straight Men at 1.6%

•      Lesbian & Bi Women report adulthood sexual assault rates of 15.5% & 17%, as compared to 7.5% of Straight Women

The kicker...it's not just the women who are being assaulted by straight men, it's the gay men who are being assaulted primarily by "straight" men. Wrap your head around that. Now wrap your head around how it is as a society we condone, or at the very least "look away from" violence, or discrimination against any group whether it's women, homeless, mentally ill, Native American, LGBT...if we don't feel just as horrified about the ill treatment of any of those groups as we do a rich movie star we've never met, or a white senator, a businessman, or whoever...what does that say about us a humans? I don't know, but I know we can do better. May I be the Light...

Honoring our Truth

I was talking with one of my Sisters in the Revolution today about this weird phenomenon where when we are abused/assaulted we are told these strange, dismissive things by society, our family, our peers, our perps that make us doubt our experience, and our feelings  Strange things like "it wasn't that bad", "nothing REALLY happened", "you're crazy/wrong/bad", "you're over-reacting", "you asked for it by (fill in the blank with something stupid)"...and so on...we all have that phrase we've heard that set us off kilter, when we are already thrown off course by what has happened... And we are silenced...we are silenced by these messages that tell us that some how WE got the experience wrong.

We are further silenced by the impending shame that comes from all victim-blaming messages that we are gifted from Rape Culture, directly and indirectly, that we internalize and make our own. Messages that tell us that we mustn't really know our reality,  that we somehow "let" this happen, that we should have known better, that we must be the only one (so WE must be bad/wrong/damaged for this to have happened), that it could have been worse (so, get over it)...again the list goes on and on... is it any wonder that we lose our voices, and doubt our truth?

But we know all of that, don't we? Here's what I haven't really figured out...why is it that society is so willing to believe a perp over a victim? Why is it we have to question the motives, actions, integrity of a victim, as if they are the ones guilty of some crime, while we allow perps to be considered innocent until proven guilty? Why is it so much easier for society to believe that victims are lying, and that perps couldn't have possibly have committed the atrocities that they are accused of? I have answers to these questions based on my research, and my work...how if we acknowledge that there are monsters among us that maybe WE could be a monster, or someone we love could be a monster; or that if we acknowledge that someone else was victimized we might have to acknowledge our own victimizations, that the perps have shouted so loud for so long that we started to believe their "truth", etc...yes I have some intellectual answers...but these answers don't satisfy me in my gut, and they don't satisfy my sense of justice.

What is the answer? Maybe, at least part of the answer is Honoring our Truth. Honoring the Truth of our Sisters (and Brothers). Letting our voices be heard. Letting all of our voices drown out the voices of the people who would blame us, shame us, dismiss us.

Here is one of my Truths that I will Honor today:
I was 7, John McA$$hat was 15.  For years I thought "I should have stopped it, I should have fought harder." Truth: He was literally twice my size. And even when my brother, who nobody messed with threatened to kill him, he still didn't stop. I couldn't have stopped him.

Finding our Voices

So, there was this AA speaker that would always say that her sponsor told her "some people grow from love...some people grow from pain; YOU grow from pain." I used to think that was such bull$hit, and it kinda made me angry, this idea that we can't all grow from love. I can look back over my life and see many times that I have grown as a person because of the love I was shown, and how I was stifled as a person by pain. 

Recently, though I think I grew from pain. The Stanford rapist-$hit-a$$ thing was very painful...it made me angry, it broke my heart, it triggered my $hit...but somewhere in that mess I finally got angry enough to find my voice, and start breaking free from the shame I have been carrying for so, so many years. And I see others, who like me have carried their not-so-secret secret who are now stepping into the light, and letting their voices be heard. In doing so, in seeing my Sisters do so, I DO feel stronger, and I feel connected to something greater...to the Sister-Warriorhood. 

As we find our voices, as we share our fears, shames, strengths, vulnerabilities; we become stronger. We've been shouted over, silenced, belittled so long that we believed that we were wrong...but no more...as each of us shares our story, and lets our voice be heard, we make all of our voices stronger, until WE are louder than our attackers...and those men and women who have hurt us finally have to carry their own shame, and we can be free. We can live in the Power we were meant to have. We can finally honor our Voice, our Experience, our Truth.

I am still angry...but no longer blindfully rageful...that blind rage allowed me to crack myself open and break my silence, but it was a rage that was going to burn me. This anger will allow me to continue hold onto my voice, and to support my sisters (and brothers) as they find their voices, and their power. So, yes, sometimes we can grow from pain. Look out, The Revolution is coming...