Undateable: Why Single Christian Guys Are All Dented Cans - The Misogynist

[For an introduction to this series, go here.]

There's nothing subtle about misogyny. The word literally means, "the hatred of women."

To me, if a guy is a misogynist, it makes him undateable. Harsh, I know. But a girl's gotta have her standards. If a man hates women and wants to date me, I consider it a conflict of interest. Because I am a woman. Sorry. It's not something that I chose. You could say it chose me.

Recently, I checked out this book from the library and had it sitting relatively inconspicuously in my apartment. Three different women came over in one evening, each arriving at a different time. All three immediately noticed the book and had a strong reaction to it:

Christian Men Who Hate Women

Despite the cheesy title and vaguely 80s slasher flick cover, the book reads as just as relevant and resonant (Mark Driscoll) now as it did when it was published 24 years ago. From the book:

"Christian men who hate women are in some ways even more dangerous than their non-Christian counterparts. Non-Christian misogynists do not have the additional arsenal of church doctrines, God-talk, and the "sanctioning" of male authority, which comes in a Christian marriage. Their wives are not taught from childhood to 'submit' to men 'no matter what' because it is 'God's will.' Thus Christian relationships based on misogyny are much more complicated due to the theological, cultural, and traditional influences that tend to reinforce the misogynist's prejudice against his wife." (Dr. Margaret J. Rinck, Christian Men Who Hate Women)

This leads to an important question as someone who dates and has dated Christian men: How do you tell if a Christian guy is a misogynist? If he doesn't walk around with a T-shirt that reads 1 Cor. 14:34 or ask you about how much you like to cook and clean on the first date, how will you know?

In addition, should we draw a clear distinction between the dude who makes tasteless and unfunny jokes about women (we all know this dude) from a man who uses or abuses women?

The misogynist is probably always sexist, but is the sexist always a misogynist?

Good question. There is probably no foolproof detection method, but I do know that a guy I dated turned out to be both (it was an unpleasant surprise to say the least).

It started with banal, oft-repeated (by men in general) sexist comments and stereotypes and turned into full-blown hatred, emotional manipulation, and abuse.

So on that fun note, here are some things that might be true of the misogynistic Christian guy:

He believes in rigid, non-negotiable gender roles

I'm not talking having complementarian leanings, I'm talking:

"A woman's primary role is to stay home and take care of the children and the household."

"Women should never hold a leadership role in church."

"If a man isn't the sole provider for his family, then he's not a real man,"

I've definitely met guys who say they would prefer for their wife or future wife to stay at home with the kids--but when confronted with specifics, they actually have no hard-and-fast rules, and that's key. 

He refers to his ex-girlfriend(s) as "a bitch," "crazy," "gold digger," "slut," "overly emotional," etc.

This one seems like common sense, but if your date starts talking about how crazy, deceptive, and destructive his ex was, you might think, "Wow, I'm so much better than his last girlfriend" instead of "I wonder if he's going to talk about me that way too."

Of course, a guy may have been treated very poorly in past relationships. This doesn't excuse talking about another human being with a lack of respect, and there's something about gender-inflected stereotypes and insults that is especially telling--of his character, not hers. 

He uses one tone of voice and type of language around his "bros," and another around you.

He may use sexist humor or the degradation of women and femininity to establish or build rapport with other men. He is one way with his buddies and another way around you.

He often uses hierarchical language to describe himself or other men.

He refers to men as either "alphas" or "betas." He's preoccupied with power differences, particularly between himself and other men his age. He's concerned with appearing "weak" or feminine in front of other guys and looks for their approval in subtle ways.

He's racist, sexist, homophobic and/or speaks about "the Other" with disgust

How does he talk about and treat those he sees as "Other"?  Does he talk about UCLA fans as if they are less than human? Use derogatory language to describe muslims or those of other faiths? Make cruel jokes about those he considers unattractive?

He generally blames other people or things for his problems.

This is a larger character defect obviously not limited to men. But if a man tends to blame others for his actions, failures, mistakes, or shortcomings, this will also apply to his closest relationships. He will be able to justify any abusive words or actions, because they will never, ever be his fault. In fact, they will probably be yours.

He becomes defensive or hurt or attacks you if you confront him about his misogyny or sexism.

Defensiveness is a corollary of the last point. Men who do not take responsibility for their actions are by nature extremely defensive. They have built-in defense mechanisms against anything that might threaten their own views about themselves (as caring, loving, rational, good, etc.).

If you find yourself defending your own actions after confronting his, that is a bad sign. If you let him, he will turn the scrutiny onto you and your perceived faults.

He puts you on a pedestal.

"[T]he greater the idealization, the greater the devaluation when it finally occurs."
- Dr. John Townsend in Hiding From Love

You know what you put on pedestals? Things. Idealization is simply another form of objectification, and has far more to do with his needs than your perfection.

He might treat you like an extremely valuable, fragile glass vase at the beginning of the relationship--striving to meet your every need, handling you with care. Unfortunately, objects are made to be used, and when they no longer serve their (his) purpose, or when they cease to be useful, they are made to be destroyed.

How do you distinguish between the man who treats you with love and respect and the man who idealizes you as an object he can worship?

Is he secure or is he anxious? Does he respect your boundaries? Does he hear what you say or what he wants to hear?

He abuses you physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually

I started writing about misogyny, and here I am writing about abuse. I think this because abuse is the end game of misogyny. If you find yourself in a relationship with a misogynistic man, it's only a matter of time before he turns this hatred on you.

Questions:
Is he hurting you?
Is he destroying what you love?
Are you living in fear of "the next time"?
Are you constantly in "fight or flight"?
Are you caught up in a cycle that seems impossible to break?

Please check out more resources about this topic at the end of the post.

I'm not saying that any one of these traits is necessarily indicative of misogyny (with the exception of abuse), but a cluster of them could be a pretty big red flag.

Abusers rarely batter you (physically or verbally) on the first date. In fact, at the beginning of the relationship, an abuser will pour on the love, idealization, empathy, etc., so that when he starts the abuse, you are already "hooked."

The point of this post is simply to point out some of the warning signs of misogyny--so hopefully you can leave before it ever gets to that point.

He eats peanut butter Cap'n Crunch for breakfast

Just kidding about this last one. Peanut butter Cap'n Crunch is my favorite.

Resources:
Christian Men Who Hate Women
Why Does He Do That?
The Verbally Abusive Relationship
Power and Control Wheel
Should I stay or should I go?
The National Domestic Violence Hotline

F*** A Nerd: A Solution to the "Sexodus" Crisis

Ladies, there is a crisis in the land: Cowed and oppressed by the forces of radical feminism, heterosexual men everywhere are checking out of the dating scene and checking into video games and online porn. You might have heard about this crisis, this "Sexodus." It is a terrible, terrible scourge of biblical proportions (the 11th plague) afflicting women everywhere.

But luckily I have come up with a solution:

F*** a nerd.

Find the most pathetic specimen of masculinity possible. The more he loathes himself, the better. The longer he hasn't showered, the more he needs the redemption that only your body can provide. He lives in his mom's basement and watches online porn for 12 hours a day? Perfect.

Throw away those unrealistic and cruel expectations for men manufactured by feminism and romantic comedies. You say you want a man who will treat you with respect, and yet you read "50 Shades of Grey." Twice. Clearly, you don't know what you want.

Plus, you think you're so hot. Well, let me tell you, your expectations are way, way too high. Are you Jennifer Lawrence, Taylor Swift, or Beyonce? No? Then you are fugly at best. However, your female privilege has convinced you that you are all that, two Coach purses, and 54 pairs of shoes. You think you can get a "hot guy" with a job to commit to you. Good luck with that. 

Remember: You can always be replaced with porn and video games. Porn doesn't file false harassment charges. Porn doesn't nag at you to empty the dishwasher or get a job. Porn doesn't say "No" when it means "Yes." Porn doesn't only have sex with assholes. Porn doesn't smile at you one day and put you in the "friend zone" the next. Porn doesn't fight back. Chew on that.

Ladies, if you have sex with a nerd, he might just start to overcome the years of rejection and oppression he has experienced at the hands of our female-dominated society. Sure, he knows he really deserves a supermodel and the six figure job you got just because you are female, but the consolation prize of your subpar body will have to do for now.

Really, it's for the good of humanity, the continuation of the species, and a peaceful resolution to the war on men that's being raged in America.

If we are to end this crisis, drastic measures must be taken. So here's my advice:

Stop trying to get ahead at work. Turn down that promotion. You don't need that promotion. A man needs that promotion.

Stop being good at school [a female-created institution designed to make men feel incompetent and insecure].

Stop volunteering to lead at church. You don't need that leadership position. A man needs that leadership position. If a man stops coming to church, it's your fault for taking the leadership role that was rightfully his.

Stop having expectations for the men you sleep with. It's enough that he condescended to sleep with you in the first place, when he could have been playing Minecraft.

Stop complaining about sexual assault, sexual harassment, and sexism. Men are tired of hearing about it. You are only perpetuating the feminist myth that all men are rapists and pigs. Men will assume that asking you on a date will get them charged with assault.

Stop sending mixed messages. Either you want a real man who forcibly takes what he wants or you want a passive nice guy who treats you as an equal but never makes a move. You can't have both.

Women: the choice is simple. If you don't "lean back" and spread your legs, unemployed men drowning in self-pity who have given up on any semblance of personal hygiene are going to refuse to have sex with you.

Do you want to die single and alone? I didn't think so. Get out there, and start f***** as many undesirable and unattractive men as you possibly can. If you're lucky, one of them might even agree to marry you.

But don't count on it.


Inspirations:
Lysistrata by Eurpides
Matt Walsh
Article about the "Sexodus"

Growing the F--- Up: What I've learned in my late 20s

Adults can still build blanket forts. Right?

When I was 14 and on a rafting trip in Nepal with my family, I did a survey of our fellow travelers that included the question, "Do you feel like an adult?"

All of the 20 and 30 somethings that I surveyed put, "No." [This was an actual survey. I wrote down the questions and asked each person to write down their answers.]

On that theme, I've been contemplating writing this blog post for a while now. And really, I have only one thesis or overarching idea here: 

Your late 20s is when the things that you've avoided dealing with start dealing with you:

This could be anything--a fear of public speaking, a problem with authority, that parking ticket from four years ago that you forgot to pay (oops), your $2 store shopping addiction, your overwhelming hatred for your job, the crap you haven't forgiven your parents for, your beef with God, your lack of a life outside of work, your dread of parallel parking, your out-of-control credit card debt, compounding interest on your student loans, the deteriorating state of your dental health, your aversion to brussels sprouts, your lousy choice in romantic partners, your friends all moving away, and I could go on.

In other words, if there is some area of your life that you have neglected to grow up in, that area of your life is going to make itself felt in a major, probably uncomfortable and possibly painful way (it will bite you in the butt).

If you don't start owning it, it will start owning you. If you don't take care of it, it will take you out. If you don't kick it in the ass, you'll end up on your ass. It's all the same advice, actually.

Why is this? I think in the first half of your 20s, it can be easy to coast on things like good health, natural talents and abilities, friendships you made in college, a solid education, an overweening confidence in your own potential, blatant naiveté, and youthful optimism (obviously, these are not true for everyone).

But unless life is a consistent downhill slope, it's impossible to simply coast forever. Eventually, you will reach a hill. I hate hills.

Like Aristotle said, "We are what we repeatedly do." If what we repeatedly do is eat cheetos for breakfast and complain about a dead end job at the crayon factory, it doesn't matter how talented or healthy or privileged we are. The results won't be pretty.

In your late 20s, things can start to fall apart (or feel like they're falling apart). Things like your body. Or your relationships. Or your career goals and aspirations.

So let's talk about the roles of pain, fear, and grief in this process.

The Role of Pain

Pain is a sign that something is wrong. Where in your life are you feeling pain? Is it in your body? About your body? In your relationship with your parents? In your identity as a man or woman? In your frustrations about your job?

I think it's helpful here (borrowing from Dr. Henry Cloud) to distinguish between the pain of growth and pain that is just simply bad--the kind that screams at you: "GET OUT NOW." Pain can also helpfully point to underdeveloped or neglected parts of our lives.

For example, if you're feeling the pain of loneliness, this could point to a need to develop new friendships or nurture the ones you already have. Now is your chance to pay attention to what the pain in your life is telling you--whether it's, "Hey, maybe you should lay off the spicy Thai food" or "I would like to make new friends" or "It's time to leave this job. It's not going to get better."

For me, years of blithely confident good health gave way to panic when I started experiencing pain, discomfort, and, worst of all, tingling in my upper back and neck. I could barely stand to sit for the 8 hours a day required at my desk job. But although the symptoms (such as pain) were only then showing up, my guess is the underlying issue probably started a long, long time ago.

But it wasn't until pain showed up that I started paying attention.

[Note: Take care of your body. It is the only one you have.]

The Role of Fear

This is about more than just Instagram-fueled FOMO (fear of missing out). There's the fear of missing out on the important things we're meant to do in our lives, whatever they may be.

The fear of never writing that novel or screenplay. Of never making that film. Of never taking that risk to start our own business or apply for that dream job.

Recently, "adventure" has been a theme in my life, and I realized that adventure always involves risk of some kind. And where there is risk, there can be fear. However, the best kind of fear is not the crippling fear of making a mistake that keeps you from ever venturing out on that ledge. It's the kind of fear that pushes you to venture out in the first place.

Am I more afraid of screwing up or am I more afraid of never getting to do what it is I want to do? One kind of fear confines you to a tiny box in which you can almost guarantee you will never make a mistake. The other kind sends you out into the unknown where, yeah, I guess something terrible could happen, but also something wonderful.

Being confined to a tiny box of perfectionism is terrible.

The Role of Grief

When I started going to therapy a few years ago, I was unprepared for the intense waves of pain and grief that tore through me. I had so much unresolved pain over my parents' divorce (that happened when I was 13) and from feeling abandoned, unloved, and unwanted by both parents.

This is the kind of stuff that will make an appearance sooner or later if you leave it unattended. Unattended baggage is a dangerous thing. Given the right conditions, unresolved feelings won't just be a whisper in your subconscious ("You're not good enough," "You're a failure" ), rather they will start screaming for attention at the top of their lungs, forcing you to either pay attention or drown them out with busyness, distraction, addiction, etc.

Dealing with unresolved grief is pretty much the opposite of fun. But the consequences of not dealing with it can be even worse.

Now that we've discussed the roles of pain, fear, and grief, I've written some questions (I like questions) about different areas in life that you may or may not have grown up in. This is not meant to shame anyone or provide some arbitrary benchmark, but instead to say, "Hey, maybe you can work on this now before it gets too gnarly."

Mentally
Do you have your own personal definition of what it means to be mentally healthy? What does unhealthy look like?
Are you challenging yourself to grow intellectually?
Do you read books / watch movies / listen to podcasts that engage you intellectually or are you numbed out most of the time on junk?

Physically
How do you take care of your body and your health?
Do you eat your vegetables?
How much sleep are you getting?
Are you comfortable with your sexuality?
Do you recognize the physical boundaries between you and others and are you able to recognize when your boundaries have been violated or when you are violating the boundaries of others?

Emotionally
How do you deal with difficult emotions like fear, anger, jealousy, envy, shame?
How do you deal with pain, disappointment, and loss?
Do you know how to grieve?
Is there room in your life for joy and gratitude?

Spiritually
Are you angry with God? Are you angry with God and avoiding the issue?
If you go to church, why? If you don't, why?
How do you connect with God?
How do you connect with others in a spiritual community?
What does unconditional love feel like?

Relationally
Do you cultivate and nurture your friendships?
How do you deal with loneliness?
Do you feel comfortable asking for help?
How's your support system?
Are you an adult or a child in your relationship with your father? Mother? Siblings? Significant other?

Financially
Do you pay your own bills?
Are you spending less than you make?
How's debt treating you?
Are you saving for retirement? (ugh)
Do you give to people, causes, organizations, stories that you care about?

Vocationally
If you hate your job, are you doing something about it?
If you're not making enough money, are you doing something about it? (like asking for a raise)
What are you good at?
Are you pursuing your dreams or someone else's?
How do you deal with failure, mistakes, setbacks?
If you have a day job, are you honoring it by showing up on time, working when you're at work, etc.?
Do you have career goals? Do you have a realistic timeline for those goals?
What do you want to be when you grow up?

Undateable: Why Single Christian Guys Are All Dented Cans - Introduction

I love the miscellaneous sale section at Ralphs. Tucked between the dairy section and the packaged meats you can find nine dollar bottles of wine, congealed donuts, leftover Halloween decorations, six-day-old apple pies, Duck Dynasty costume castoffs, cartons of pedialyte, bruised apples, liver-spotted bananas, and Barbie bandaids.

Way, way in the back, hidden behind a few dubious boxes of laxative tea and 100 count bottles of aspirin, it sits.

Our friend, the dented can.

Back when I worked full-time at a book warehouse, I used to read a lot of books (more like skim, but who's judging). One of those books was a chick lit novel called The Big Love written by Sarah Dunn.

The twist in this particular novel is that the heroine was a lapsed evangelical Christian. And there was this one passage that stuck out to me, which I've excerpted at length below, that made me go Yes Yes I SAID YES:

Photo by labullets.blogspot.com

I should have known about Gil, of course. I should have known the way you know about a dented can. But this is the thing: everyone has been warned about dented cans, but surely not every dented can is bad, or they wouldn’t be allowed to sell them, right? Someone’s buying those dented cans. Someone’s taking them home and opening them up and examining the contents and then making a bet about whether or not the stuff inside is safe to eat. And let me tell you, when you’re twenty-five, and a virgin, and you refuse to date anybody but a Christian—and not just any Christian but a certain kind of Christian—your options are all dented cans. When Gil and I finally broke up, I took another look around the church basement, and I had the closest thing I’ve ever had to an actual vision. There sat Brian Berryman. Single. Thirty-two. An attorney. Crown prince of the church basement. So morally upright he didn’t believe in dating; he believed in praying. He’d been praying for a wife since he was sixteen. He’d drawn up a list of all the qualities he wanted her to possess, a list which he was continually revising, and then praying about, and then revising some more, and then informally circulating among the single women at the church. A woman of pure heart, the list would go. A gentle and quiet spirit. A submissive nature. Is this what you want in a husband? I heard a voice saying. Well, not an actual voice, but it was as clear as day. I realized that if I kept searching for husbands in church basements I was going to end up with a seriously dented can. [from The Big Love by Sarah Dunn, emphasis mine]

"So, what, Ms. Blogger, are you saying that all single Christian men are dented cans?"

Yes. Hell, I've dated a few of them.

No, but it sure feels like it sometimes, as if I'm walking by the sale section, scoping out the goods and thinking, "Oh please, Lord. Not that one."

When it comes to dating within Christian evangelical culture, it often feels as if you're screwed if you do, and screwed if you don't (or not screwed either way, now that I think about it).

That's the honesty part of this post--the hopelessness part. But this series (Yes! A series!) is not about hopelessness--it's about those qualities in single Christian guys that make them undateable.

I'm well aware that we are all dented cans. But perhaps a distinction can be made between the can of diced tomatoes sporting a few delightful and adorable indentations from being dropped on its head a few times and the can of sliced yellow peaches in a light syrup that gives you a fatal case of botulism.

Join us next time for a lighthearted take on:

Undateable: Why Single Christian Guys Are All Dented Cans - The Misogynist
Undateable: Why Single Christian Guys Are All Dented Cans - The Coward
Undateable: Why Single Christian Guys Are All Dented Cans - The Racist
Undateable: Why Single Christian Guys Are All Dented Cans - The Myth of Persistence 
Undateable: Why Single Christian Guys Are All Dented Cans - Entitlement

Dating the abuser who isn't

I dated someone who turned out to be emotionally abusive, much like the relationship I wrote about in this post. And so in the aftermath, I'm left wondering how it could happen again, particularly when this relationship seemed so safe and loving in the beginning.

I want to tread lightly here, as I am neither a therapist nor an expert on abuse of any kind. But after reading about Ray Rice (sports, physical abuse) and Mark Driscoll (church, spiritual abuse) and having several conversations with friends, I wanted to write about some of the dynamics of an emotionally abusive relationship that is initially--on the surface at least--not abusive.

But first, a caveat or observation: I think abusive dynamics can happen with someone you are not in a relationship with. They can happen with a friend, a pastor, a coworker, an ex. Also, this is a very limited perspective on abuse and applies only to emotional or psychological abuse, not physical or sexual abuse.

I'll add another note here to say that the tactics that this person used to harm me were initially used to cultivate attachment and build trust in the relationship. It was only when the method was "flipped" that the manipulation became apparent. [i.e. harsh criticism instead of generous praise, both put the abuser in a one-up position, one builds up, the other tears down, they both serve a purpose.]

I'm avoiding putting a moral spin on these tactics or trying to discern the motives of the abuser. I don't know what the motives of the abuser were, honestly, other than to re-establish or maintain control and to continue to abuse. I'm not sure I really care. He (meant generally) did not use these methods because they were good or bad. He used them because they work.

I'm interested in the mechanics of manipulation.

"Alfred" in these scenarios is the abuser.

Triangulation - "He loves you /  she hates you"

Triangulation is initially used to make you feel really good about yourself, as in, "John really likes you. He thinks you're great" or "Everyone thinks you're doing a great job at X." In particular, Alfred will likely cite the approval of those you want to think highly of you. He might call upon someone in authority, someone you respect or admire, or a peer group ("the cool kids") that seems just out of reach.

He might know or sense that because of your past, you tend to seek approval from those in authority and proceed to indirectly give you the approval you crave, "You're a success! Everyone loves you." This increases both your emotional attachment to and dependency on him and gives him just a little more leverage over how you feel about yourself.

Triangulation could also include talking about another person negatively in an "Us v. Them" sense to build rapport: "Stu is doing terribly. I heard he's going to fail the class." This helps build common ground and a shared sense of  "We are above Stu. We are above failure."

The flip side, of course, is when this "feedback" from other people becomes negative, often with the corollary that "I still think you're awesome" (I'm the only one that still "loves" you) and the manipulative twist of "Do what I want you to do and I'll help you fix this."

Example:

"Everyone else thinks you're an arrogant know-it-all, but I know better. If you only let me help you, I can change your image."

Alfred wants you to believe that HE is the only one who really gets you. Everyone else hates your guts.

I would be especially wary of this tactic if you tend to be a people-pleaser or if you are wounded in the area of belonging. Alfred can use your susceptibility and sensitivity to rejection, abandonment, or disapproval as emotional leverage, manipulating your past wounds to meet his own needs.

Idealization - "You're perfect" / "You're worthless"

This one can be tricky: a certain amount of idealization is the norm at the start of most romantic relationships. Even most employer-employee relationships have something of a honeymoon period.

However, the level of idealization that you experience from Alfred can be pretty intense. He might convince you that you are a unique source of happiness, nurture, and empathy for him. You understand him and make him feel better about his [pathetic] life. Never before has he felt so alive. So happy. So filled with a sense of purpose.

Never underestimate the power of praising someone else's comforting aura, example:

"I feel such peace in your presence." or "Spending time with you makes my day brighter."

On the surface, these statements don't appear manipulative, but there's another part to this equation.

It's probably important to mention here that Alfred is usually a sad sack, So, maybe we will refer to this half of the maneuver as Sad-Sacking:

Sad-Sacking - "You are the best thing in my life."

"No one understands me."
"I'm so unappreciated at work."
"Why is it always my fault when something goes wrong?"
"My ex-girlfriend cheated on me."
"I've been feeling really down lately. Nothing in life is going right."
"I would be successful by now if..."

BUT

"You understand me."
"You make me feel appreciated."
"You listen to me."
"You inspire me."
"You are the best thing in my life."

Oh dear. If a sad-sack says that last one, run, run for the hills, or he may sad-suck the life right out of you.

[Note: Sad-sacking can also happen in a group context. Alfred/Alfreda dominates the floor every week with his/her tales of woe, eliciting sympathy and "poor you" responses from the group members, particularly tugging the empathy strings of those with strong nurturing or savior tendencies.]

[Second note: Sad-sacks do not always come out as sad-sacks right away. They may seem relatively happy and productive. They may have strong care-taking skills. They may even buy you lunch before launching into their tale of unpaid bills and victimization. Everyone goes through hard times. Beware the man or woman who is always slogging through the muck, particularly when it never seems to get better and is always someone else's fault.]

To state the obvious, those who practice sad-sacking generally have a victim complex. His ex-girlfriend was a "bitch." His roommate is an asshole. He's under so much pressure at work that of course he makes mistakes. He hasn't booked a feature yet because his agent is an incompetent moron.

Here's the problem with Alfred and his victim mentality: Nothing he does is ever his fault--including hurting you. He always has an excuse and he's incapable of offering a sincere apology, see below.

Why do sad-sacking and idealization work?  They work because you are human. Giving and receiving empathy can feel amazing. It's one of the most emotionally intimate things you can experience with another person. I'll call this the Empathy Trap: 

You become emotionally bonded to the other person and start feeling responsible for their emotional well-being whether they're happy, sad, angry, anxious, or stressed out--after all, you have the power to make it all better.

I would be especially wary of this tactic if you are inexperienced with emotional intimacy, recovering from an abusive family system, or are just beginning to practice vulnerability in your close relationships after reading Brene Brown. An abuser will use this naiveté to emotionally reward you for being attentive, open, and empathic toward his emotional needs. You can easily forge an emotional bond that feels like love. Because whether or not his sad-sacking is manipulative, your empathy is real.

All the more devastating when idealization turns to devaluation, and he doesn't just take you off the pedestal, he smashes you and it to the ground, grinding the little bits that are left with the heel of his brand new high top sneakers. It's akin to being hit with a shame sledgehammer--a shame sledgehammer aimed directly at your deepest insecurities, vulnerabilities, and wounds.

You realize that he built you up only to tear you down when you disappointed, angered, or abandoned him.

Mirroring - "Now you're making me cry"

How is Alfred able to target your deepest insecurities, vulnerabilities, and wounds?

I feel like I need to make a distinction here between empathy and mirroring. Alfred is possibly incapable of genuine empathy. However, he is capable of reflecting your emotions back to you, and this can feel like empathy.

After all, when you cry, he cries. And you think, "Awww, what a sensitive guy! He's so comfortable and open with his emotions, unlike the stereotypical macho dude-bro."

You are correct. He is not the stereotypical man. But he is also not genuinely empathetic, because true empathy would involve seeing the Other as a separate, equal human being and not just as an extension of the Self.

Co-opting someone else's emotions is not empathy. If you find yourself comforting him for having hurt you, something might be off.

But the mirroring that Alfred gives you is powerful. He's already opened up about his struggles without shame (sad-sacking, emotional dumping, too-easy transparency), so opening up feels safe and natural. The grief, sadness, vulnerability, or pain you are expressing is real. And experiencing these emotions in the presence of another person can be deeply healing. This is what vulnerability does: it bonds us emotionally to other people. It's supposed to do that.

But instead of empathy, Alfred possesses uncanny emotional intuition, as mentioned in Triangulation and Idealization. He somehow knows instinctually what will make you feel good and what you will make you feel bad. He has to. This is how he creates the emotional attachment that he can use to manipulate you to meet his needs.

This explains the wildly insensitive things that he will say and do, sometimes to deliberately evoke a certain emotion in you (negative). Example:

"What? Why are upset? I know you're vegan, but I thought you might really enjoy this article with graphic slaughterhouse images about how animals don't have souls and deserve to suffer. Why are you mad? I'm just trying to start a conversation."

[Remember, he is always the victim and he can rationalize any action, no matter how hurtful.]

Unfortunately, this might be part of a cycle in which Alfred hurts you "unintentionally," bringing up painful emotions and triggering wounds from your past, then tearfully begs for your forgiveness, ironically bringing you closer together when you make up. It sounds sick because it is.

But if you get angry and refuse to forgive and forget, he gets angry. Alfred appropriates your anger as his own and projects the blame for it back onto you. You get emotional vertigo, as his mirroring throws you off-balance and puts you on the defensive (a plus for him).  Example:

"You totally overreacted. You never understood me at all." (Sad-Sacking, victim complex callback!)
"What happened to forgiveness?"
"You don't give a **** about my intentions!"
"I can't believe you would think I'm a ___."

Wait. Weren't you the one who was angry? Now he's angry? What the heck just happened?!! This is a level of emotional jiu-jitsu that few have mastered.

His anger is meant to distract you from the original cause--after all, how do you normally respond when someone gets angry at you? Answers might include shock, surprise, defensiveness, sadness, hurt, trying to figure out why they're angry and trying to fix it. All of these responses are far less empowering and direct than your original anger.

The underlying message: You are not allowed to be angry and you are definitely not allowed to stay angry or set real boundaries. Essentially, you do not exist for Alfred as a separate, equal human being. This is perhaps the root of his abusiveness, manipulation, and control.

Of course, anger in and of itself is not bad or wrong. The problem with the abuser's anger is that its goal is to control you. Beware any sense of entitlement in his anger, or these messages, whether direct or indirect:

"You have to forgive me." [Because God says so, because I apologized, because I need you to]
"Your boundaries are stupid and unnecessary."
"Your anger is invalid."

Apologies - "I'm sorry for causing you to hurt" 

Ah, the glories of syntax: "Me not hurt you, but you hurt. Me sorry." I seriously want to create a line of infuriatingly passive-aggressive "Sorry I'm Not Sorry" Hallmark cards:

I'm sorry you slipped on that banana peel and fell into my fist.
I was having a really bad day. Lots of stress at work.
You were PMSing and irrational.
In my defense, you were pressuring me to eat the banana in the first place. 
Can we just agree that we both made bad choices. 

P.S. You totally over-reacted. 

Alfred is really, really good at apologizing. Too good. It is a very useful and necessary tool, as the apology only has to sound sincere to work. He doesn't have to actually feel genuine remorse or have any intention of changing. Example:

"I know that where there is smoke there is fire. But I do not have a problem with women."
"I am working every day to become a better man."
"I'm sorry you feel that way. It was never my intention to hurt you."

How do you tell a sincere apology from an insincere apology?

Well, for one, how does the apology make you feel? Do you feel even more infuriated than before? This is a bad sign.

Does Alfred actually take responsibility for his words or actions, or does he have an excuse or rationalization?

Does he minimize your complaint or use the words "I was just" as in "I was just doing my job" or "I was just trying to start a dialogue" or "I was just having a bad year."

Instead of an apology, you might get a fruit bowl of colorful yet nonsensical excuses for his words or actions, the tactic of Denial. Example (translation in bold):

"I am not a misogynist."
I have no idea what that word means.

"I can't believe you would think I'm racist."
I'm turning the blame back on you for hurting me with your baseless accusations so I don't have to take responsibility for any racist statements I've made.

"I respect you."
I violated your boundaries but I'm hoping you'll let me back in anyway. 

"You pushed me into saying those things."
I have no idea why I said those things. I really don't remember that night at all.

"I still love you."
Despite everything you've put me through, I still want to control you and use you to meet my emotional needs. 

If none of these defenses or explanations make any sense, it's because they don't make any sense. Attempting to apply logic to denial, rationalization, and minimization is a fruitless endeavor. There is no apple nor pear to what the abuser says. He could say one thing today, then deny it completely tomorrow.

The Grand Slam of Emotional Abuse

"I'm sorry for causing you to hurt. I can't live without your forgiveness. I still love you as the amazing person that you are! I don't want to see you suffer, so that's why I'm using your fear of rejection, abandonment, and failure to coerce you into letting me back into your life. Don't you see that we should be friends so I can keep hurting you over and over again?"

What do you think? Are there other tactics of emotional abuse?

Resources:
Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men
Who's Pulling Your Strings?
The Path Forward
8 Ways to Spot Emotional Manipulation
Psychopath Free

Friendship & Grief: Holding the Story Only

I've always been perplexed by how effortless female friendships are supposed to be--as portrayed in movies, books and TV shows. Friendships were never that easy for me.

As a kid, having an incredibly fun, outgoing and winning twin sister didn't help matters. One time I invited a classmate over for a sleepover. We must have been around 9 or 10 years old. By the next day, the classmate and my sister were as thick as peas in a pod, chattering away as I trailed behind them, alone. I may or may not have been crying. Wow, this is a horrible story. Moving on.

Things certainly haven't always been as bleak in the friendship department. And after I moved to LA almost four years ago, I've seen and felt my close friendships deepen and grow.

Friendship is easily one of the best things about life.

I've found that there's an element of mystery to friendship. I'm not sure I can fully explain why I have the friends that I do. [Yeah, not completely buying the genetic similarity explanation, sorry.]

There are some people you meet and everything points to the fact that you should be bff's, but you're not. You have it all: shared interests, mutual friends, the same social group, shared beliefs, a similar sense of humor and appreciation for the finer points of medieval Norse, but yet there's that certain something that's missing.

As one friend explained to me once over tea in a trendy (is there any other kind) LA coffee shop:

"There are some people that you miss when they're gone. You feel it here."--holding her hand to her heart.

That's probably the most accurate definition of friendship I've ever heard. 

And that's the thing--you don't necessarily choose this feeling. You can have it for someone you've just met or someone you've known for 15 years. You can experience it after one conversation or 20. You can have it for someone who could be your personality twin or someone whose ways and means are as mysterious as the origin story for french toast.

To recap: Friendship. Awesome. Mystery. French toast.

All that to say, I'm currently experiencing something that feels a lot like grief.

More recently, friendship has felt a lot like the memoir class I took last year, a class in which each week, several people brought in their living, breathing, gasping-for-air stories.

And Samantha reads her story out loud. And the room falls completely silent in the presence of such naked, vital vulnerability.

And I'm sitting in my seat holding the story in my cupped hands--trying to--struggling so hard not to crush it. And the air is electric and thick with beauty, loss, grief. And I'm completely still as I hear about losing a child, becoming a mother, caring for aging grandparents.

It feels sacred. This story-cradling.

And I don't know how else to describe how friendship feels sometimes.

As if I'm holding my friend's story. Awed by her beauty. Crushed by her fragility. Desperately hopeful for her future and protective of her past.

There is pain in the tension of not yet.

I have these moments. I think everyone has these moments.

All I can do is hold the story. Without altering it to make it easier to take, or trying to "fix" it, or pretending that the painful parts don't exist, or going on as if everything's okay when it isn't.

Sometimes it's just not okay. 

Three Confessions and a Funeral

My Uncle Paul died on July 3, 2014 at the age of 91.

I got an email from my dad asking me to go to the memorial service.

First confession: I didn't want to go. If I'm honest, that was my first thought.

My second thought was this:

"You're selfish."

I showed up to the memorial service. I was late and wearing heels that inappropriately CLACK, CLACK'ed their way down the aisle.

[I can't really walk in heels--even comfortable, conservative size 8W heels purchased at Payless.]

Selfish. Selfish.

I sat in a pew in Sky Rose Chapel--high vaulted ceilings, stone floors, over-cranked AC--and listened to an account of my Uncle's life narrated in Chinese. My Uncle Paul had served as pastor of South Bay Chinese Christian Church for 33 years. He became a Christian in 1950 and moved from Taiwan to the United States in 1969.

I read the bulletin.

Printed there were these lyrics in Chinese and English:

What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer!
Oh, what peace we often forfeit, oh, what needless pain we bear,
All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer! 

Have we trials and temptations? Is there trouble anywhere?
We should never be discouraged--take it to the Lord in prayer.
Can we find a friend so faithful, who will all our sorrows share?
Jesus knows our every weakness; take it to the Lord in prayer. 

Second confession: Shoes.

I once "borrowed" my Uncle Paul's Nike sneakers when I had no comfortable shoes to wear home and "forgot" to return them.

Selfish.

But sitting in that freezing chapel, hearing and reading about my Uncle's life--and not only that, remembering the kind of man that he was--

Gentle. Incredibly gentle. Kind. Patient.

We weren't close, but I can remember him sending me off multiple times over the years after a visit or stay at his and Aunt Mona's house, always walking me outside to the driveway and praying to God for me in Chinese.

For my protection. For my blessing. For my safety.

A father's blessing. A father's gentleness. A father's forgiveness.

I cried. I cried because I'm me and I was at a funeral.

I cried because I had carried this burden of SELFISH for a very, very long time.

I cried because I had accepted this burden from someone that I loved (and it can be so hard to refuse burdens from those that you love).

I cried because in that moment I felt the gentleness and forgiveness of a God who does not condemn me. Who knows my every weakness and forgives me.

I cried because I felt like, "Hey, God wouldn't want me to carry this burden of SELFISH and I don't think my uncle would want me to either."

I cried because God is my father. And he is gentle with me.

Third confession: I'm still struggling to lay down this burden. And that's why I'm writing this.

Why is Church Cliquey? Part 3

A couple months ago I was praying and the story of Zacchaeus came to mind. So I found the story of Zacchaeus in Luke and read it. If you haven't read it, it's extremely short. It didn't particularly resonate with me, but I was like, cool, whatever. There's a short dude who is also a hated tax collector. He climbs a tree to see Jesus. Jesus singles him out and invites himself over. They party. Zacchaeus repents of his scummy tax-collecting ways.

The next day (or soon after), I went to church. It was a Sunday morning service and I found myself weaving in and out of the people in attendance. It was bright and sunny (this is Southern California). There were couples and families and children and babies and people I knew and people I didn't.

And I did something I don't think I've ever done before.

I took a backseat in my brain and just observed what was going on in there (do NOT try this at home, kids).

It wasn't pretty.

It was dark. Judgmental. Shallow. Vile. Ugly. The worst kind of petty envy and jealousy.

And in that moment I realized: I am Zacchaeus. I am the short, ugly (?), hated tax collector and I feel so much self-loathing that I put other people down internally in order to elevate myself.

But rather than feeling only shame I felt something else--I guess you could call it pity or even compassion:

I feel more uncomfortable and unsafe and not-at-home at church than I do almost anywhere else.

That's such a strange sentence to write. And I could, if I cared to, explore the history behind that sentence--the different experiences that have led me to both love and hate church.

But right now I'm more interested in this dynamic of feeling comfortable in the discomfort, at-home in the not-at-home, safety in exclusion.

That being loved--actually loved without condition--is excruciating for me.

That being at home--not a stranger, or a guest, or a foreigner--is unthinkably painful and more than I can bear.

My church recently did one of those research surveys, conducted by an external organization that does these kinds of things, to explore our strengths and weaknesses.

The survey found that there was a significant statistical "disappointment gap" between the sense of belonging desired by the people attending and the sense of belonging experienced. I did not fill out this survey. But I can relate. 

I long for acceptance and belonging--the unconditional kind of belonging that I think most people long for. However, I attend a church where this longing goes unmet and denied. 

Just to be clear, I am not blaming the church that I attend for unconsciously or consciously (doubtful) failing to accept me or meet my needs. I'm saying I feel more comfortable living in a space of ambivalence, and so I choose to attend a church where this ambivalence grows and thrives. 

If I'm really, truly honest, I would say I feel more comfortable living in a place of rejection than of love. 

That is so painful for me to write. 

Previous posts: Why is Church Cliquey? & Why is Church Cliquey? Part 2

Next post: "Breaking up with church"

Pain, Part 2

I wasn't quite telling the whole story in my last post about pain, entitled fittingly "Pain" (with a title like that, shockingly not one of my most popular posts). 

I wrote that the wound was infected and that was why I was still in capital "P" PAIN, pain that wouldn't go away, that didn't fade with time, that lingered in excruciating fashion.

I think there's some truth to that, but the larger truth is that I am still in a context and a situation that is not safe--that does not feel safe--in which I am constantly on alert.

I am still in the mix. And so I am still in the source of the pain.

I am afraid that what happened before will happen again--an instinctual, animal fear. I do not claim that my fear is logical, or rational, or necessary, that there is any way for me to know that it could happen again.

The fear just is. Much like the pain. 

So there it is. I'm not in a safe place--haven't been for months.

And speaking of safety, in particular emotional safety, it's something you only realize you had once you've lost it. I was safe; now I am not. The very definition of safety is that you are not thinking, "I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe..." You are not thinking about it at all.

What I didn't expect after that initial "NO!" to what was not safe but rather violating, soul-battering, wounding--and this "No" felt good and right and true--was having to say "No" over and over again.

"I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe..."

"No" to having my boundaries violated and trampled. "No" to attempts at emotional manipulation. "No" to the endless cycle of brokenness and hurt. And "No" most of all to shame.

There is the thought at the back of mind that because I didn't leave immediately (for rational, adult reasons) I only brought upon myself everything that followed--that I brought all this pain on myself, basically. If only I had just left. 

Shame is such a huge temptation for me. And maybe that's why the fear has been so persistent. You would think that after all this time, I wouldn't be afraid that he would hurt me, again. But I am. 

You would think that after all this time, I would feel secure and safe. But I don't. 

Some part of me is extremely sorry that I am just that weak. That I can't overcome this fear of being emotionally brutalized by someone that I once trusted. That I'm walking around wounded and for the life of me don't have the means to protect myself or feel safe again.

But then maybe that's just the sane thing to do--move to safety as soon as possible. You're hurt, you're bleeding--get off the battlefield, remove yourself from the line of fire.

It's possible that it is impossible to heal while you are still flinching at every sudden noise and movement, when you are too much in fight or flight to even think about recovery. It's possible that fleeing to safety will mean that the wound can finally heal. 

And I'm extremely lucky to be able to do that. I have the means to leave. To get out. And I know that that is a privilege. 

No one deserves this, I remind myself. Not even me. 

Pain

[See a companion post from my friend on this same topic here.]

Last week I was in what you might call "serious emotional distress."

And I was watching a cheesy sci-fi drama called Believe (my apologies if you love this show). The Asian female character had been shot to raise the emotional stakes of the show while not actually harming any primary players, and was running a dangerous fever (they performed emergency kitchen-table surgery on her, but she couldn't go to the hospital because she was a fugitive-on-the-run and would go to prison for life, etc.).

So the leader of the supernatural gang kidnaps a doctor and brings him to her bedside. 

"She's not getting better because the wound is infected," says the kidnapped doctor. 

And at that moment, a lightbulb went off for me. 

Because I was in pain. And the pain wasn't getting any better. 

I was wounded. And the wound refused to heal. 

It refused to heal because it was infected. 

And furthermore, this was the wound. Suffering or hurting alone, in isolation, was the wound. I was in it. I am in it. This particular wound is multi-layered and deep, cutting all the way down to the bone. 

I'm no expert on medicine, emotional pain, or cheesy sci-fi dramas, but in my experience, emotional pain, while intense at first, usually gets better over time. It just doesn't hurt as much as it did when it happened. I cry. I feel better. I talk to a friend. More crying. Maybe some blogging thrown in for good measure. And the pain fades. 

This isn't about that kind of pain. This is about the kind of pain that just doesn't seem to get better. A foreign object enters the wound and the wound gets infected. 

Half the time I feel this force, this pain, stuck in my throat, choking me so that it's hard to breathe. 

How does an emotional wound become infected? 

Shame

Roughly 10 years ago I had an experience that left me hurting for what seemed like forever. I was "betrayed" by someone I trusted and the experience left me struggling to heal from wounds that went deeper in my history than I cared to remember or re-live. 

Even now it's difficult for me to articulate what happened, because on the surface it seems like no big deal. But it left me reeling emotionally, and at the time I didn't have the internal or external resources to deal with it. 

So I didn't. Deal with it. Time went on (as it does), and gradually I felt better, okay. Except I wasn't really okay. Somewhere along the way I decided that the way I felt was my fault and that I had used this pain to hurt other people (by not forgiving them, continuing to be hurt and angry, etc.).

I was wrong and I decided that I would never allow this to happen again. I would never again be so hurt that I hurt other people. 

Of course this meant shutting down vulnerability and keeping other people at a safe distance. 

It wasn't until recently when one of my facebook friends posted a quote by Brené Brown that I realized the connection in my mind between vulnerability and being terribly, gut-wrenchingly wounded. The greater the vulnerability, the greater the wound. The more intimate the relationship, the harder it is to recover.

It was a quote about the benefits of being vulnerable, and my mind went, "But what's missing is that the minute you open yourself up in vulnerability, you also open yourself up to be deeply hurt." 

Shame says, "Something is wrong with me. I hurt other people. I must stop myself from hurting other people." (See also, Frozen)

And so the wound doesn't really heal so much as get covered up with protective scar tissue. And getting wounded in the same place hurts like a $##@$%$%.

Isolation

Shame and isolation are closely connected. I felt shame over feeling shame (fun!). I couldn't kick the shame, the anger, or the hurt no matter how much I prayed, cried, journaled or tried to truly forgive.

The moment some of this shame started to lift I was actually crying to my dad about what had happened. And he said, "You can't make someone feel bad for feeling bad! You can't shame someone for feeling shame!"

And I was less alone. 

Shame says, "Don't let your pain and your grief touch other people. Protect them. Suffer alone."

Forgiveness

What was so frustrating about this entire ordeal was how much I tried--really tried--to do the right thing, namely forgive and move on. 

I read all the right verses about forgiveness. I prayed. I had the "I forgive you" conversation. I did everything "right." 

Because that's what Christians do. They forgive. 

But I now think that one of the worst things you can do is to forgive prematurely. 

Forgiveness is so often touted as the gateway to freedom and healing--forgive and be healed. But so often forgiveness functions as a kind of denial: 

You deny the depth of the hurt.

You deny the extent of the damage.

You deny the past hurts that make this present one hurt so bad.

You deny the process of healing that needs to take place before you can truly forgive.

Denial

I am a slow processor. It takes me an eternity to figure out what I am feeling and why. It's an agonizing process and most of the time I just feel like, "Wait. I'm crying again??" as one more layer of the wound rises into consciousness. 

Why didn't anyone tell me that practicing self-compassion makes you feel even worse? That acknowledging the truth of the wound is excruciating. That letting yourself get angry is scary and confusing. That setting boundaries doesn't mean that other people won't violate them, and in fact can serve as a trigger. That you can feel like &*$# and still not know why. That sometimes you ask for empathy and realize the other person is incapable of giving it. That being vulnerable and brave doesn't mean you won't have to do it again tomorrow and the day after that. That I still don't know how to make the pain go away. That I wonder all the time whether I'm crazy and this is just all in my head--that I'm being too sensitive or a drama queen. That asking for help doesn't mean you'll get what you really want or that you even know what you want or would be capable of articulating it if you knew what it was. That sharing your pain can make you feel even more alone and isolated. 

I wish I could say it's easier this time around, but I actually think it hurts a lot worse. 

As my friend mentioned, sometimes you find yourself telling the same story over and over and over again. It's because you haven't completely figured it out. You haven't gotten relief. The wound hasn't healed. 

Keep telling that story. Go deeper, if you have to. Find safe people who will listen. Don't stop.

A Story Worth Fighting For

I never imagined it would be this much of a struggle to be the hero of my own story, the lead in my high school play, the center of my own narrative.

No one and nothing prepared me for this. Not college. Not courses in feminist, post-modern, post-colonial, or Marxist theory. Not reading Doestoyevsky, the Bronte sisters, Donne, Shakespeare, or George Eliot. Not all the papers I wrote about hybridity, syntax or laughter. Not being good at school or good at my job. Not praise from teachers, employers or peers. 

Nothing. 

Part of being the hero means you get to have layers. So, for example, one of the most jarring things about inhabiting my identity is the baffling (to me) denial that I have a past. That things have happened to me. Not only that things have happened to me, but that I've been affected by these things that have happened to me.

At every fresh encounter with a new person, I'm assumed to be (supposed to be) a blank slate. 

As if you were the first stranger to tell me to, "Smile." 

The first white guy to call me "exotic." 

The first person to ask, "So, where are you from?"

The first man to speak to me in a condescending tone of voice about something technical. 

I'm told that I'm "cynical." That I have a bad attitude. That I "hate white people."

I feel like part of being human is learning from the past, taking in experiences that repeat themselves over and over again, making sense of these experiences and even molding them into a narrative. 

Like any three-dimensional character, don't I deserve a back story too? 

Like Marx said, history repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce. But sometimes it seems like even laughter is not allowed to me. Because to laugh is to have a distinct point of view that sees the cracks, the contradictions, the absurdities of the status quo. 

I think I can say that I've paid a price for not aquiecsing to the dominant narrative. And as I fight for my story, I can't help but feel like I'm fighting for my life. That if I don't have this, I have nothing. That if I don't fight for my story, no one else will. 

Let's stop shaming people for feeling like outsiders at church

Ah, a subject close to my heart--and all I could come up with is this clunky title:

"Let's"--as if there is a unified "US" that goes around shaming people.

"Stop"--as if I can actually get people to stop doing anything.

"Shaming"--Now there's a strong word.

"People"--Who are these people?

"Outsiders"--Okay. They feel like outsiders in some way.

"Church"--Refer to the unified "US" of the first word.

There's a phenomenon on facebook and elsewhere that I've started to think of as "Push Back." Push back is the "But what were you wearing?" of mildly controversial conversation. Example:

"Some guy grabbed my butt while I was riding the bus."
"Maybe he was just having a bad day and your ass reminded him of home."

Or:

"It can be difficult being a woman in the entertainment industry."
"I was the only man in my women's studies class."

Or:

"I don't feel like I belong at my church."
"Have you tried joining a small group?"

I think that at heart, a push back response is a misdirect. It misses the point and steers the speaker in another direction, like, "Well, have you tried jiggling the handle?" The listener in effect avoids, glosses over, ignores, minimizes, invalidates the original statement

I think the underlying message when it comes to belonging and church is, "It's not okay that you feel this way."

At first, this might not seem like a particularly shaming response. But think about it.

"I don't feel like I belong."
"It's not okay that I feel this way."
"There must be something wrong with me that I feel this way."
"I should stop talking about this because it makes other people upset."

It's a double burden of shame. And to state the obvious, people who already feel like they don't belong are hyper-sensitive to the shame of feeling "Not Ok."

Sometimes the response from the listener seems to be rooted in defensiveness, as in, "How DARE you suggest that my church is anything but welcoming and inclusive!" This response makes a lot of sense. If the identity of the church is rooted in how welcoming or inclusive it appears or feels to others, then any threat to this appearance or feeling will be met with incredulity and even hostility.

This is frustrating. As if no matter how much vulnerability, humility or honesty I express or how much humor I use to deflect the pain, or how much I qualify every statement, or how much credence I give to other perspectives, my story will still not be validated because it falls outside the boundaries of how church wishes to perceive itself.

Some of the things that Jesus says in the New Testament are pretty funny, especially when he's talking to the Pharisees. It's like they're speaking completely different narratives (they are) and Jesus is like, "I know you are, but what am I?"

He just, like, says stuff, and it's awesome.

Anyway, I think I feel like this a lot. As if I'm trying to tell this story and it's not getting through because the other person immediately imposes his story onto mine. There's instant denial, defensiveness, explanation or "Have you tried online dating?"

It's exhausting. I'm tired. I'm very, very tired.

Racist people don't think they're racist

I bet Donald Sterling wouldn't call himself a "racist." In fact, I'll bet you three housing discrimination lawsuits that HE is the victim in this unfortunate and regrettable situation.

When's the last time someone was accused of racism and said, "You know, you're right. I am a racist." 

No. No one considers themselves a racist just like no one considers himself/herself a "bad person." It just isn't done. 

It's like the guy I dated who called me a "bitch" and referred to other women as "bitches" but who was certainly no misogynist. 

Or the same guy who, when I called him out on his racist comments, insisted that he "didn't actually believe those things." He was merely throwing softballs at me so I could "knock them out of the park." 

That's all they were. Softballs. Racist softballs. Racist softballs thrown at my head. 

Racism. It's all just a game and somehow I'm always up at bat. Or standing at the free throw line--the outcome riding on whether or not I can make the shot. 

And there's the rub. Racist/sexist people are not even a tad bit bothered by your righteous indignation. They're not interested in your arguments. They're not interested in change or transformation or regeneration.

No. 

If they suffer, it is the world's fault. 

They are misunderstood. They are hurt. They are attacked. They are vilified. Unfairly.

All your righteous indignation does is assure other people--or maybe just yourself--that you are not racist. You are not like that. You are not Donald Sterling. 

I'm struck by the fact that: 

A: Sterling purportedly dated a woman who describes herself as racially mixed. 

B: Sterling donated a lot of money to the NAACP.

I don't find these things surprising. 

After all, isn't love often mixed with hatred, generosity with contempt, kindness with cruelty?

The Upside of Crisis

It's been a rough couple of months. You know when a situation quickly escalates from bad to The Room (except it's too immediate to even be funny yet)?

When I'm not hiding in my closet, crying, or hiding in my closet crying, I've been doing some crisis-induced thinking. Except when it feels like CRISIS and not just unfortunate-situation-I'm-trying-to-deal-with, it gets really hard to think clearly.

When I'm in fight-or-flight mode I really only want to do one of two things:

1) Run away.
2) Punch someone in the face.
3) Punch someone in the face and then run away.

Okay, that was three things, but you get the idea.

That's the downside of crisis. Calm, rational thought goes right into the proverbial whirring garbage disposal (along with, unfortunately, the ability to execute normal day-to-day functions like brainstorming my next crockpot recipe and wearing matching socks. Wait--who am I kidding. I can't even manage that on a good day).

I feel like I'm in the midst of emotional warfare, but they brought a [insert military grade weapon here] and I brought a paper clip and a stick of chewing gum (In case you were wondering, I'm losing).

Add to this the fact that my emotional reaction time is basically glacial. If you stab me repeatedly with a piece of broken glass I might say "ouch" roughly two weeks later. Imagine how long it takes me to heal. Yeah.

And just as the wound appears to be scabbing over, I get stabbed, again, by someone who keeps telling me they would rather succumb to a flesh-eating disease than hurt me. It's confusing as #$@!.

But I digress. The upside.

Recognizing that I am a human person with human limitations

Unspoken Rule #178 - Do not be weak.

Unspoken Rule #3 - Don't be a victim.

Unspoken Rule #65 - If you cry, expect to be made fun of. Oh, and if you do cry, people are secretly judging you for being overly emotional and "weak."

Unspoken Rule #82 - Never allow yourself to be dependent on someone else.

Unspoken Rule #77 - If you are dependent on someone else, they will resent you. For being weak.

Unspoken Rule #34 - Do not ask for help.

Unspoken Rule #91 - You need to figure this out on your own.

Unspoken Rule #117 - The worst thing you can do is feel sorry for yourself.

Learning the signs of "I'm not okay"

I feel like this must be easier for other people. Maybe not. It takes me days (it feels like) to even realize that I'm upset. I analyze and compartmentalize my emotions as if they are completely separate from me, kind of like other people might organize their DVD collection by genre, director or year of release.

"I'm filing all my Wes Anderson movies under M for 'melancholy.'"

Acknowledging some hard-to-accept truths about myself

Hard Truth #35 - I don't have a ton of automatic respect for authority, power, position, or the status quo.

Hard Truth #21 - I have a near-crippling fear of disapproval from authority figures.

Hard Truth #88 - I think I'm better than the rules. See also Hard Truth #35 & Hard Truth #21. See also, COMPLETELY SCREWED.

Hard Truth #103 - Subverting the system makes me gleeful and somewhat smug. [Thanks a lot, Dad.]

Hard Truth #999 - I ride my bike to work, drink fruit-oatmeal-spinach-flaxseed smoothies, and attend the occasional yoga class. Yes, I have become THAT person.

I have really awesome friends

They would be awesome even if I wasn't going through a crisis or CRISIS. Thanks you guys. It is because of you that I have yet to either run away or punch someone in the face or both.

I'm going to get through this.

What side should you hug a girl, dating women at church, and how to hit on girls with a facebook status

More advice from Google searches below. I'm kind of starting to sense a theme here...

"what side you should hug a girl" 

Okay. This sounds like a personal question. But may I suggest hugging the side that is facing you, unless that side is her backside. Hugging from behind is not recommended unless you are already in a relationship. 

As for which side is better to hug, the left or the right, I can't really say that I have a preference. I'm right-handed, so I guess it's more natural for me to side-hug with my right arm. 

Perhaps you can observe the girl in question for a few minutes to see whether she's right or left-handed, then go in for the kill, er, I mean side hug. 

"a lot side hugs from a guy at church" 

Hmm. This is perplexing. Is this guy chasing you around the foyer giving you lots and lots of side hugs? That's kind of creepy. Especially if he's alternating sides. *shudder*

Or is he just giving a friendly, Christian, brotherly hug every time he sees you? 

I'm guessing this is one of two things. 

1. A guy at church is side-hugging you a lot. You do not like him and it's making you uncomfortable. 

2. A guy at church is side-hugging you a lot. You sort of kind of like him and you especially like his hugs (maybe a little too much). You want to know if there's something more than brotherly affection going on here. 

If it's #1, simple, don't hug him. I don't care how nice he is, or how Christian you are, no one should be side-hugged without their consent. Period. 

If it's #2, observe how he interacts with other women. Does he promiscuously side-hug women left and right? Is he just a really friendly, sincere kind of guy? 

Maybe it's nothing. 

I say keep hugging him (and maybe a few other guys too). The bigger your sample size, the better you'll be able to tell "It's so good to see you, person I only feel platonically for!" from "Maybe some day we can take this side hug a little bit further but not too far because that would cheating on our future spouses unless you are my future spouse in which case how do you feel about full-frontal hugging before marriage?" 

"how to hit on girls with a facebook status"

This is a new one. Are we talking hitting on one girl or a bunch of girls at once? 

Let's hope it's just one girl. Here's what I would do: 

Tag her in a status update that either A) Lightly teases her for something funny she did, or B) Challenges her to a friendly and fun competition, or C) Both.

The key here is to keep it light and low-pressure. Think good-natured teasing or something harmless you can be competitive about (progressively squee-worthy pictures of baby animals?).

"dating a guy with no qualifications" 

What kinds of qualifications are we talking about? How's his side-hug technique? 

"dating women at church" 

If you want to date women at church, or if you want to attend church solely to date women, here's what I would do: 

1. Show up.
2. Be attractive or have a good personality or both.

3. Ask a woman out. 

That's all I've got. Best of luck to all you huggers and daters out there. 

Boundaries, Shame & the Peanut Butter Defensive

I recently tried to set a new boundary with someone I used to be close to.

This was hard for me.

And he responded with some version of "Okay. By the way, I think you blew this way out of proportion."

That's the thing with boundaries. I don't expect guys to actually respect them.

. . . . . . .

When I was a young teenager (14) my family visited Nepal. I remember quite a bit about our trip--white water rafting, my sister's bout of dengue fever, the incredible oatmeal at the missionary boarding house--

And the rather sudden objectification and perceived accessibility of my body.

There was something about being 14, being a stranger in a strange land, and having men "accidentally" "bump into" me as I was walking down the street.

It was a confusing business.

I wrote to my dad about this, and in his reply he humorously suggested I coat myself in peanut butter or some other sticky substance so that the offender would get a nice little surprise as he copped a feel.

"Ha! Bet you weren't expecting to get peanut butter on you, you pervert!"

Unfortunately, I could not appreciate my dad's advice at the time.

Instead, I started crossing my arms over my chest and not making eye contact.

. . . . . . .

I was 15 and my favorite, most-worn piece of clothing was an extremely baggy, thin black sweatshirt. It managed to engulf whatever boobs I had at the time.

I'm certain one friend threatened to take it out and burn it.

I loved that thing.

. . . . . . .

I've had guys tell me, "I'm you're boyfriend. I'm supposed to push your boundaries."

I've had guys ask me out after I told them repeatedly I just wanted to be friends.

I've had grown men ignore my (polite) requests to stop harassing me via email. [Pro tip: don't use the word "please" when asking someone to stop harassing you.]

And the thing with boundaries is, they can start closing in on you, until you keep contracting inward, smaller and smaller, barely taking up any space, in a desperate attempt to hold onto whatever is still inviolate about the self.

And I wondered what about my boundaries or my self seemed so fluid, permeable, and defenseless. What about me said, "No really. I don't mean it. Go ahead and cross that line."

And my boundaries felt about as valuable and effective as smearing peanut butter on myself to prevent sexual assault. [So many questions: Crunchy or creamy? Name brand or store brand? Organic or not organic?]

When someone (or lots of someones) tramples your boundaries more times than you can count, you start internalizing the shame of "I'm not worth it."

. . . . . . .

But that's not what boundaries are for--I want boundaries that leap, and bound, and expand, and run, and fight back, and talk back, and that assert that--

YES. I am important. I am worth it. My story is worth telling. And this is MY side of the story that you don't get to control.

These are my boundaries.

This is my peanut butter defensive. Or rather peanut butter offensive--I picture myself running through the streets of Nepal, covered in peanut butter head-to-toe.

And if you don't like it, well--

I've got a jar of Skippy with your name on it.

Is calling someone a "racist" part of white privilege?

Apparently some Americans found this Superbowl commercial offensive because "America the Beautiful" was sung in different languages.

I saw many people on facebook (mostly white) calling these people out and using the word "racist" quite indiscriminately.

There were (bloodless) calls for social media blood to be spilled.

This got me thinking: is using the word "racist" with equanimity and aplomb part of white privilege?

I'm not white (wouldn't you know). And I think long and hard before I even talk about race let alone use such a loaded term as "racist."

Why?

One look at me, and you would know that I have skin in the game (not white).

I'm not white.

Not white.

Got it? I'm not white. And therefore for me to even talk about race means that I am not objective. I am wholly subjective, biased, non-neutral, and prejudiced.

Because of my not-whiteness, I have no credibility.

To be white is to be untouched by history, free from the shackles of the past, free to disclaim responsibility for the actions of not-my-ancestors, free from the burden of guilt and shame that racism represents--

"I am not responsible. Not my past. Not my history. Not my family. Not my burden."

[I feel like this is the crux of white privilege. White privilege says, "I don't care because I don't have to care. I see you over there carrying this burden, but I don't want to know about it. I'm not interested. I'd rather ignore it. That's your problem that you feel that way. I'm sorry, but it's your choice, not mine. Your burden has nothing to do with me."]

My ethnic ambiguity testifies to my lack of clear-headed thinking about racism. And people don't always respond particularly well when I talk about race or when I use the word "racist."

I've experienced some of this righteous indignation before. I've used the word "racist" relatively casually and been not-so-subtly challenged and rebuked.

I've found that using the word "racist" can shut down entire conversations, entire relationships. Except, looking back, I wasn't the one who used the word.

It was more like, "You think I'm a racist? How dare you."

To be honest, blatant racism doesn't really interest me that much. To quote M. Scott Peck quoting Simone Weil, "Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring."

The word "racist" is the exact opposite: inflammatory, loaded, weighted, the worst thing you could possibly call someone (which, if you notice, is not the same as "the worst thing you could possibly be").

So in a world where calling someone a racist is such a terrible thing (worse than actually being racist), I want to ask:

Is there room to talk about the everyday banality of racism. The ordinary kind. The kind that doesn't make the news?

I ask, if you didn't feel righteous indignation, what would you feel?

What would it mean for "racist" to be merely a descriptor, not the word you hurl at your worst enemies?

What if "racist" wasn't used to shut down conversations, but to start them anew?

Racism, Racialism & The Spontaneous Combustion of Facebook Friends

So this happened:

A white man publicly shaming an Asian woman over--get this--prepackaged food sold from a retail grocery chain.

A civilized discourse on facebook about the relative merits of Trader Joe's Authentically Korean Seaweed Salad with Spicy Dressing, and then--

BOOM. He was gone. In a blaze of glory. All that was left was the faintly acrid smell of confusion and freeze dried kimchi.

And oh man. How could it be more perfect. I especially enjoyed the "Have a nice life while I remove you from my friends list" and the reference to calling yourself a Christian and making racist and homophobic comments (has this guy talked to any Christians recently? How about in the last 500 years?).

[How is it that when someone says "Have a nice life" they almost never mean it?]

We don't tar and feather wrongdoers anymore. Worse. We defriend them. Publicly.

What exactly is going on here? What should be considered racist? Is any generalization related to race "racist"? Should we dismiss all cries of racism as politically correct BS?

First, I'm going to make a distinction: racist v. racialist.

Making a generalization based on race is racialist but no necessarily racist, see the helpful tune from Avenue Q, Everyone's A Little Bit Racist for more details.

Obviously, you don't have to be white to make a negative (or otherwise) generalization based on race. Can you spot the racist statement?

"Wow, there are a lot of latino people in this sushi restaurant."

"That guy over there is black."

"I think Indian girls are hot."

"Most Asian people drive green Fiats."

"All white people are racist."

Okay. That was an easy one. Point taken.

HOWEVER

Have white Germans been systematically and historically oppressed, humiliated, excluded, killed or otherwise mistreated for not being able to make tasty Korean food?

No.

Now, before anyone starts picketing this blog holding signs that read "I'm white and I make a mean batch of kimchi," let me point out that context matters. History matters.

People who think that context and history don't matter usually think we shouldn't talk about race at all, which I suppose is the ultimate form of political correctness.

The problem with calling all racial generalizations "racist" is that it obscures real racism, a racism that goes far beyond "white people don't make Korean food as well as Korean people do."

If all generalizations based on race are racist, then we have no choice but to conclude that we are all racist, and isn't that wonderful because we're all the same and why can't we all just get along and laugh about it?

In Mindy Lahiri Is a Racist, the show makes fun of racist stereotypes [LOL] and politically incorrect gaffes without ever pointing out that, hey, inequality sucks.

I would argue that the most insidious form of racism is not "Asian women can't drive," but something much more systematic and subtle.

Ta-Nehisi Coates writes, "Racism is not merely a simplistic hatred. It is, more often, broad sympathy toward some and broader skepticism toward others."

George Zimmerman or Trayvon Martin?

Is the "knockout game" really a thing?

Are white people victims of reverse racism?

I wonder why this spontaneous combustion of facebook friends seems to happen to white men. White dudes: battling for equality and respect one incendiary facebook comment at a time [See what I just did there?]

There must be something more going on. No one gets this upset about Korean Style Beef Short Ribs.

Just don't dis my Chicken Tikka Masala with Cumin Flavored Basmati Rice. If Trader Joe's ever stopped carrying it I would probably starve.