Interview with a Therapist: Anonymous, Part 2

If you missed it, here's Part 1 of the interview.

In Part 2, we talk about the stigma of going to therapy and taking medication, the definition of mental health, the role of spirituality in the therapist/client relationship, and more.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

Photo by Eje Gustafsson

Q. Any thoughts on the social stressors that might lead to a mental health crisis, such as losing a job, unemployment, divorce, abuse, trauma, etc. and how the church might address these?

All those things are considered losses—it's the same as losing a person in your life. Divorce can affect you as much as the grief of losing a loved one and so can losing a job. They impact you in the same way as far as pain and the loss of who you are, your identity.

I think the church should address [divorce]. I feel like no one likes to talk about it. People get divorced. People lose their jobs. There are a lot of freelance [workers] who are constantly without work—that can affect you.

Luckily, if you find a good community group where you're able to discuss [these things] and be vulnerable, hopefully they'll be supportive. That's happened in one of our small groups. People have started opening up about their trauma and the group has been very supportive.

Q. In your experience, are Christians more or less resistant to seeking professional help?

They're more resistant. Because they feel like God is going to heal them already, or if they go to a therapist there is something wrong with their spiritual faith.

Some people feel like going to a therapist is very taboo, like dating someone who works for the IRS. No one likes the IRS.

Usually, it's seen as a last resort [in] getting help. And it shouldn't be. It should be one of the first things that you do if you feel like you're not being the person that you want to be.

"If you go to a therapist, then there's something wrong with you."

And that's not what it is. You're going to someone who has experience and can help you achieve your goals.

The worst thing I've heard was someone who was sexually abused (the family was Christian) was told, “God will make you forget that and make it go away.”

Forgetting about it is not really dealing with it.

Q. Any thoughts on integrating your spiritual life with your practice?

I think for me, it's being open. People think that psychologists aren't Christians, and that's not true. I've prayed for some of my clients—not in the room. But I've been open spiritually to whatever they bring into the room.

And that really helps me get a sense of what's going on. Because we have all these senses and a spiritual sense is something that I feel like people leave out. [But] it's a part of you—you can't leave yourself out of the room.

You bring your whole self into a room to help integrate what the client wants to do—what their goals are, what they want to achieve—and they sense that.

I never talk about God in the room unless my clients ask me:
“Do you believe in God?”
“Yes.”
I'm not going to lie.

I've had [times] where I was going through a spiritual process, and the client started a random conversation, just talking about God. So you never know.

If you incorporate every aspect of yourself into a room, your client will see that and they'll connect with it—because you're being your most authentic self. You're being vulnerable to them, so that they can be vulnerable to you.

Q. Any thoughts about the intersection between being a therapist and being a Christian?

I will say that there was a moment where I was very rational and I didn't incorporate that—especially in my early years in clinical work. I didn't incorporate that because I didn't understand how to.

And then one day I was like, “Well, it's a part of me, why am I leaving that out?”

Once that clicked, I was able to work further with my clients than just at the superficial level. I was able to do deeper work because they sensed that I'm bringing myself into the room wholly—I'm there and I'm present.

And then we were able to share more—without me having to disclose anything [about religion]. Just that open energy and being able to share and be vulnerable actually helped me help them in their work. It's so weird. But it did.

Q. It's interesting, because I've gone to therapy, and I don't think my therapist was a Christian (that I can tell). It makes me want to know, [laughing] I wonder if they believe in God?

I mean, you can ask them.

But that's the thing—you have to be in a place where you feel comfortable asking your therapist—It's a very personal, private relationship, it's very intimate. It's very strange, but it's an intimate relationship that you have with someone.

If you're not able to ask them these types of questions, then what is going on in the room?

Yes, therapy is focused on you, but I think there's nothing wrong with asking your therapist a question. It might actually surprise them.

Q. Sometimes I like it when therapists tell you something about themselves, because it feels a little less one-sided.

It feels authentic.

Q. How do you help a friend you think might be going through a mental health crisis?

If it's just something that's been going on for a couple of days, then you might want to wait a month or two to ask them about that again. But if it's been going on for years and someone hasn't been getting any help, then you can be like, “Have you thought about therapy?”

Oh, I almost forgot: there is also a huge stigma against medication.

And I think being open, “Have you thought about medication?” I don't think there's anything wrong with it, some people do need it.

I don't think everyone needs it, but that's for a psychologist and a psychiatrist to assess. So just being open about it and supporting your friend if they're taking medication—like I said, “If it helps you, that's great.” But I don't hear that from many people.

Q. Because you don't want to be like, “You should be on meds!”

But just being supportive of their struggle. 

The medication part is always [about] whether the client wants it or not. No one is ever going to force them to take it.

It's like, “Hey, this is an option for you. Therapy is an option for you. Different types of therapy are an option for you, what do you think? Do you think it would help, would you even try it?”

Even suggesting things like this without judgement is so important—having friends feel comfortable talking about these things.

Q. I feel more comfortable suggesting therapy because I go to therapy, but the medication thing I feel like I don't know much about it. But taking away the stigma—thanks for bringing that up.

I almost forgot about it, but I'm like, “That one's big. That's really big.” [laughing]

Q. Especially in the Christian world.

“Your healing will come from God,” but what does that look like?

Q. "You're not supposed to take medicine"—

But maybe I do, people take antibiotics.

Q. Right, they take it for physical stuff. Anything else you want to add?

I think that mental health is not exclusive of the church, it's part of it—it's there, people are struggling. And I think it should be taken into account when someone comes to you for advice or help.

It's just like [any other] field, like a doctor who's a Christian or a therapist who's a Christian. I don't think that you have to pick one or the other.

Spirituality is just as important as mental health and together they really help a person have breakthrough [in their life]. I use spirituality in my own individual life along with mental health practices, just to maintain mental health.

Q. What's your definition of "mentally healthy"?

It's not having a perfect life—that's not what mental health is—it's being able to cope with difficult things in your life. And even being able to be happy. [laughing] Yes, it's very hard. It's very hard.

Three Reasons Christians Make Dating Weird

We had been dating for a few months when he brought up the question of whether we were "boyfriend and girlfriend."

Does this mean we get to hold hands now? [Photo by Brett Sayer]

This was soon followed by, "So should we call my parents? Book a flight back home so you can meet them?"

I was confused—it felt like something we might do if we were engaged, not just officially exclusive.

We had gone on two dates (different guy, because I really get around) when he tried to shove his tongue down my throat when we hugged goodbye.

I was confused—we had seen each other in person exactly three times. Was there some memo about making out on the third meeting that I hadn't received because of a glitch in the Christian worldwide dating protocol server?

Christians. They make dating weird.

It feels like I'm stating the obvious, but dating while Christian can feel like swimming in a pool full of jello, snapping turtles and dynamite—except that getting out with all your extremities is the least of your problems.

From side hugs to guys who won't date you but will let you wash their socks as they pour out their hopes and dreams, Christian dating is just weird.

Why? Here are three reasons:

1. Traditional gender roles

I have heard so many Christian women say some version of either, "No one asks me out" or "I want to be pursued" (including me). Unfortunately, this can extend to every phase of dating—if no one asks you out, then you don't date.

Ever.

Even expressing interest in a guy is suspect—because isn't he supposed to pursue you, as God meant for male/female relationships to play out, from the Garden of Eden on? Adam didn't have to pursue Eve, and look what happened to them.

In this construct, Christian women have to come up with extremely roundabout and sneaky ways to communicate interest in a guy—signals that the guy is somehow supposed to pick up on.

"Would you like to, um, go to Bible study together on Thursday?"
or
"I would love to get your exegetical take on 1 Corinthians 13."

This is all very confusing and great for angsty, 2AM conversations with friends. Not so great for actual dating.

2. Sex

I don't know if I can really explore here all the ways that sex makes Christian dating weird.

There's this idea floating around that if you hold out for marriage, you will have (amazing) sex. No wonder Christians are marriage-obsessed.

Awesome married sex is predicated on how much I save my body for my future husband or wife. If I hold hands with you and we don't get married, does that mean I'm cheating on my future spouse? What if we kiss? Every act of physical intimacy is potentially cheating.

On the flip side, I've encountered guys who grab me and try to kiss me when I've given no indication of interest. At best, it's awkward. At worst, I feel like my boundaries are invisible or irrelevant. The guy has no interest in my comfort level or what I want.

3. Marriage

The threat of marriage hangs over every, "Will you go to coffee with me?", every tentative flirtation, every first, second, 20th date.

Marriage plus gender stereotypes mean that every girl is gunning for a dress, a cake, and a husband in that order and every guy is too scared to actually ask anyone out.

Because marriage is everything, we ask the wrong questions at the wrong time.

At the beginning of a relationship, instead of asking, "Do I like him?", "Do I enjoy her sense of humor?", "Do we have fun together?"—

We ask, "Could I marry her?", "Do we want the same number of kids?", "I wonder what he thinks about living on a farm in New Zealand and raising llamas?", "Do I like her laugh or will it drive me insane after 45+ years?", "OH MY GOD WHAT IF I HAVE TO SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE CRINGING EVERY TIME WE WATCH THE OFFICE GET ME OUT OF HERE I CAN'T BREATHE."

Ahem.

It's enough to make any sane, commitment-phobic girl bolt.

How do we make Christian dating less weird? I feel like that is fodder for a different post.

More about dating:

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

10 Reasons You Should Think Twice About Dating Someone Who Goes to Your Church

Interview with a Therapist: Anonymous, Part 1

Next up in the series on The Church & Mental Health where I interview Christian therapists to talk about the intersection of spirituality and psychology:

Today's interview is with Anonymous Therapist. We talked about what the church can do to support mental health, dealing with depression, suicide and abuse, the stigma of seeking help and taking medication, integrating spirituality with therapy, and knowing when to call the cops.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

Q: What can we do to de-stigmatize mental illness within the church?

AT: By being open—for instance, I noticed that bigger churches—I think it was Saddleback or another Christian church in Orange County—they offered mental health services—referrals. Our church doesn't really do that, as far as I know, unless you ask around specifically. 

I think a lot of it—certain issues like trauma, sexual abuse, depression, the church doesn't really want to address. I've had friends who have been suicidal and they didn't know who to turn to. So, being open that healing can come from different avenues besides the church.

Photo by Eje Gustafsson

Q: Do you have any ideas or concrete ways that the church could do that?

AT: Sure, there's another issue—domestic violence—how is that addressed in the church? It happens. How does the staff deal with that? Do they refer anyone? 

That one church that I was talking about, they had domestic violence classes and they offered a list of things for the congregation. 

Just being open: “Hey, if you have an issue, come meet with us. And if we're not the appropriate person we can refer you to someone else.” But there's nothing ever said about that, at all.

The one positive thing that I've seen is when Erwin Mcmanus [pastor of Mosaic] did his talk about being severely depressed. Because no one really wants to talk about that. No one wants to talk about, “Well, okay, you're a Christian, but what happens [when] you're depressed, what happens if you get prayed for and, “I'm still depressed.” 

Everyone wants that instant healing, and it doesn't happen that way. People deal with depression for years, on their own, without any help.

Q: How can we as individuals talk about mental health in a way that respects individual experience and takes away the stigma? Not, “There's something wrong with you"—

AT: Yeah, like “You need to get prayed for,” “You don't believe."

The best example I heard was from Erwin: We don't look at mental health issues or illness like physical illness, we treat it like, “You'll get better,” “Don't feel that way,” “Just pray.” And that's not how things get better.

Someone has an issue that they're dealing with and it's internal—and it's like [telling] a cripple, “Hey, you can walk, if you just believe enough.” 

It may not happen for him—he may be crippled for the rest of his life. That doesn't make him less of a person, it's just a part of him that he has to deal with. 

That was the best experience that I've had as far as the church being open about mental health issues.

I think individually we need to stop saying, “Hey, don't feel that way.” I do it sometimes and I have to stop myself, and I have to be like, “No, they're coming from a place—they feel this way."

“Okay yeah, I understand what you're saying.” And trying to give them advice like, “Have you prayed, have you done this—”

They may have done all of those things and it didn't work. Their healing may come from multiple sources. And it all goes back to God. But how it comes about, it might be through different people or experiences. I don't necessarily think it just has to be one thing and that's it.

Q: What resources should the church offer and invest in related to mental health?

In general, the church should attach itself to some type of psychologist or Christian [therapist]—people that they feel are going to be able to handle this type of work—it's specialized work. 

There are some programs where pastors also take therapy classes and they have a dual role as a psychologist and a pastor, but not everyone does. 

And what we're seeing now is a [greater] need for mental health services because of drugs, prolonged trauma...and you do need specialized care for this, someone to work with you who understands these issues without judgment.

Even referring people, [saying] “Hey, we don't have the expertise in this area, but we want to support you. Here is a list of people we work with that we would recommend to you for these certain issues.”

M: So basically just having a list of referrals—any church could do that.

But if you notice very few churches have it on their website.

I honestly don't know if our church—I'm sure that they do, but I don't want to say that Mosaic has it. It's mostly word of mouth and I don't think it should be like that. 

Because people find it hard to open up to others about their issues and sometimes they just need a referral, “Who can I go to?”

A: What helpful or not helpful things do you think churches do?

If someone is suicidal, prayer is great, but you need to call the cops. [We both laugh]

Don't just leave them there and pray for them, you need to call the cops—[prayer] is not enough, it's so not enough. 

If you know that if you leave them alone and you walk away that they're going to hurt themselves and they have a plan, then you have to call the cops. Even I would. 

It's a crisis—if you're in a crisis situation, that's the only thing you can do. Even if you're a therapist. The number one issue right there is safety—safety for yourself, safety for your client. 

Q. What if a friend is not suicidal, but you can tell that something is wrong? If you don't feel that they're going to hurt themselves, but...who do I talk to?

It doesn't hurt [to call the cops]. Some police officers have been trained in assessing suicidal clients or clients who are in harm's way—they don't know where they're at, they're unaware of their surroundings and someone can hurt them. 

The emergency operators have a feel for the situation. That's always your best option.

If someone's just depressed—

There's a difference in the type of situation that becomes a crisis versus someone going through a very difficult time. 

The intensity is different. And if you're in a crisis mode where you feel like they're in danger—immediate danger, there has to be a sense of immediacy—then I would just call the police. 

Because there's nothing that you can do without having law enforcement help you. I would say that law enforcement is good about at least taking them in if they're suicidal, and then they get assessed by someone. 

It sounds a little scary, but in the end you have to think about safety and what you can do.

[To be continued...]

When Churches Abuse

I've been reading survivor stories from people who were abused by Mars Hill Church (pastored by Mark Driscoll--possibly my favorite person ever).

It's brutal stuff.

One of the more OT (Old Testament) methods Mars Hill used was "shunning," which is exactly what it sounds like. A person or an entire family would be formally ostracized from the church with all their remaining friends (or, if you like, brothers and sisters in Christ) instructed to go no contact--all in the name of biblical discipline and restoration.

I read one account by Jonna Petry, whose husband was abruptly fired from leadership in 2007. She describes how the church turned on her and her family, and the devastating spiritual, emotional and relational consequences.

It might not be physical, but it's still violence, and all in the name of God. Petry writes:

Spiritual abuse occurs when someone uses their power within a framework of spiritual belief or practice to satisfy their own needs at the expense of others. It is a breach of sacred trust. Christians are commanded by Jesus to love one another. When that is projected, articulated, enjoyed and then treacherously betrayed, the wounded person is left with “a sense of having been raped, emotionally and spiritually” – not by a stranger, but by someone who was deeply trusted. (See Recovering from Church Abuse by Len Hjalmarson)

One of the biggest selling points of today's evangelical Christian church is "family"--belonging and love and connection and acceptance, as in "You belong here."

I've talked to friends about the almost mythical nature of "community" in Christian churches. There's this idea that real community can only happen in the context of church-that a church is the only place that you as a Christian will ever belong.

Your sewing group? Heathens. Your coworkers? They want your promotion. Your college friends? They've moved on. Your biological family? They may or may not be there for you when you need them.

When these expectations for community aren't met--or when you never really feel like you belong in the first place--the emotional pain can be devastating. After all, churches often hold this out as an enticement: One church I attended had as part of its mission statement, "To give every orphan a family."

Furthermore, when Christian community is the only genuine community, it can take over your entire life. Often, members are encouraged to become more and more invested in their church, particularly by serving or by taking on a leadership role. The underlying assumption is that this is both a means to and a sign of spiritual growth.

Church Bubble

The people you worship with Sunday are the people you community group with Tuesday are the same people you party with Friday. If you are single, often you expect to date and marry within your church. Don't get me started on how depressing that can be.

Christians are encouraged to make non-Christian friends, but only from the standpoint of evangelism--convincing them to join the family (wow, that sounds creepy).

When you spend all your time with the same people, you tend to get attached.

Petry reflects on her own culpability in the abuse, in a narrative that I've heard many times from other Christians, and from myself:

I have come to understand that I was wrong in the way I entrusted my heart to people, looking to them for approval and affirmation, finding my identity in my relationships and in my ministry instead of completely and solely entrusting my heart to the Living God and finding my identity and security in Jesus Christ alone, who loves me and died for me and calls me His own. For we are all capable of great sin. And, no doubt, the wrong way I entrusted my heart to others coincided with the depth of my pain at their betrayal and rejection.

In sum, "I didn't love or trust God enough. If I had, I would have avoided some of this pain." I disagree. To me, it seems perfectly human to entrust your heart to other people--especially people that you have laughed with, cried with, served with, suffered with all in the name of Christian community. Emotional and relational attachment is less a conscious choice than a gradual, organic process that happens when people spend a lot of time together.

Hyper-vigilance about loving God more than I love my friend, my  boyfriend, my spouse, my children, does not solve the problem of human attachment or somehow make betrayal hurt less.

We were meant to love and trust other people. It's one of those things that makes us so incredibly vulnerable.

How many times have I emerged from a relationship feeling broken and empty, only to conclude that my mistake (or sin, as Petry characterizes it) was growing attached to a person instead of to God.

I can't tell myself this story anymore. It doesn't hold up.

I will say that based on Petry's story, I would advocate for diversifying your social portfolio--don't invest all of yourself in any one social group, whether it's a church or a motorcycle gang. Diversify. Make friends with people who don't share your religious or political or sports affiliation.

If you are embedded in a single group, when and if abuse does happen, it can be even more overwhelmingly devastating. Not all churches are abusive, but any church can let you down.

What's striking about Petry's account is how doggedly her family sought healing and reconciliation with the church that destroyed them. Some of it was just shock and disbelief--that those who had "loved" so much could now be so cruel. It reminds me of a woman who returns again and again to an abusive relationship before finally leaving for good.

You never know who will be there for you when everything falls apart--it could be someone you only have a tangential connection with, a friend of friend, an atheist, a Republican, a Lakers fan, a devout Christian, someone who watches Bachelor in Paradise for fun. We just can't predict these things.

Inspiration:
Jonna Petry's account
My friend labullets for calling my ideas "blog-worthy"

More about church:
Why is church cliquey?
Why is church cliquey? Part 2
Why is church cliquey? Part 3
Why is church cliquey? Part 4

Stories That No Longer Serve

When I graduated high school, I had one or two stories hanging off me, like particularly clingy mollusks. One of those stories was this:

Photo by Jason Rogers

I have no self-discipline.

In high school, I tried to homeschool myself (don't try this at home, kids) and with insane ambition but complete lack of structure, didn't quite manage it. I slacked off for about three years.

Failure #1

When I got to college (or more accurately, Bible college), I took two correspondence courses, one in American literature and one in American history.

There were no deadlines, only a free form "You have 9 months to finish this course." With inane ambition and a complete lack of structure, I did the first assignments for both courses and then nothing after that.

Failure #2

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I decide to write a thorough literary analysis of the book of Lamentations for my Old Testament class. Line by line. Line by line.

I ended up sitting in my professor's office completely stressed out and overwhelmed, describing how this paper on Lamentations had consumed me, taken over my life, turned into a monster. Oh, and by the way, I hadn't finished it yet.

And then my professor said something about monsters or about this paper being a monster that I strain to remember. It feels important. I don't remember. It was probably some combination of smartass and profound.

In that space of lost memory, I have only the image--that in my life I have two modes of being:

One--Painstakingly, perfectly, picking my way through the rubble of Jerusalem.

Two--Running, screaming from a nameless, faceless terror.

One--Struggling, straining for complete control.

Two--Drinking, smoking, drugging (or in my case, getting loopy as a can of worms on lack of sleep), all to turn off the perfectionist and tune into divine possession.

Whether I was being pursued by the monster or slave-driven by the perfectionist, my story had no space for ordinary, everyday divinity:

The holy normal of 2:34PM. The spirit-filled comma. Visions of eternity punctuated by trips to the bathroom. The transcendence of non-linear video editing. The glory of God. The glory of a perfectly timed cut.

It feels odd to look back now on what might have been the most productive period of my life and realize that this story of "no self-discipline" defined me. It turns up again and again, despite the overwhelming evidence of things made.

Fifty-eight pages, later, I even finished what was meant to be a 10-15 page paper.

I slayed the monster, before it could slay me.

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

I've written about anger in this series before--in the entry on Entitlement and in the entry on Cowardice. In fact, if I've written about anger in every entry in this series, I wouldn't be surprised in the least.

Photo by Ferran Jordà

This is not about a normal, everyday kind of anger. Anger--the kind of anger I'm talking about--is tightly wound up with entitlement and an underlying sense of victimization:

Victimization: I have been injured.
Entitlement: I have a right to be angry.
Unspoken Assumption: I have the right to enact revenge and/or even the score.

This kind of anger feels dangerous, because it is so deeply rooted in a sense of righteous justification.

Instead of calling it "anger," it might be more accurate to refer to it as bitterness, resentment, or rage--an anger cherished, nurtured, held close.

I'm writing about anger not just because I drew it out of the jar as a writing topic (which I did), but because--

Anger is my Achilles' heel.

If you want something from me, try getting angry. I might just crack.

For whatever reason (maybe getting yelled at as a kid, I dunno), anger has an unpleasant effect on me: My throat tightens. I get quiet. I go numb.

I've learned that anger can be a form of manipulation and control. And it works. I can't think of a single abusive dynamic that I've been a part of that hasn't involved this kind of anger.

One guy I worked with would yell at me, then get even angrier when I responded neutrally instead of emotionally.

He would consistently tell me about how angry yet another guy was with me (triangulation).

This happened again in another situation, where one dude capitalized on the anger of another dude to overcome a break in our relationship (bonus points if it's someone in a position of power, authority, or influence):

"___ is very angry with you. You need to do something. I can help you fix it."

Essentially, Dude A used fear of authority, specifically fear sparked by someone in authority (Dude B) being angry with me, to get what he wanted.

I mean, it worked--maybe a little too well: I soon after entered into an abusive dynamic with Dude B, a dynamic centered around anger, fear and control. It felt a little too much like being handed from one abuser to another.

That was last year. This year, I found myself once again sitting across from one man telling me that another man was "very angry with me." I find this funny (rule of 3; first time tragedy, second time farce). If you find yourself in a conversation where one person is earnestly telling you that another person is angry with you, and what are you going to do about it, I can say with certainty that something is wrong.

But I digress. Achilles' heel.

This is about anger and Christian guys and being undateable.

I had an epiphany once, while working on this series: "Christian men don't actually respect women." And then that thought kept me up all night the way that 3am thoughts sometimes do.

I think there's some truth to it: some men and some Christian men do not see women as equals. They do not see women as fully human. And it's hard to respect someone unless you view them as fully human.

I've heard from a reliable source that "anger is a gateway emotion." If we think about shame as the root of this kind of anger (abusive anger), a disproportionate response to perceived slights* makes a lot of sense:

How would you feel if something not quite a person (that you don't regard as an equal) made you feel completely worthless? Especially when everything you believe about yourself and everything society encourages you to believe tells you that you are superior, the genuine article, the real thing?

It would be incredibly enraging. The balance must be restored. Someone or something must pay. Shame is an unbearable emotion, and it must be displaced onto the body of another.

In this case, violence is just settling the score, evening the debt, restoring the equilibrium.

Where does the shame go?

I've written before about how the burden of shame accrues to women. Even the way we talk about and think about anger contributes to this burden. Anger more than almost any other emotion is seen as "out of control" or "out of my control," serving as a justification for violence.

The less that men are "in control" of their own emotions or passions, the more women are responsible for the outcome of those emotions.

This is not to blame shame for the abusive anger of men--rather, the underlying belief that men are more valuable than women, more human than women, more entitled to respect, dignity, rights, justice, power, autonomy, etc.

Yes, I blame misogyny. I blame Christian teachings that emphasize complementarian gender roles. I believe that a system that enforces rigid, narrowly defined gender roles enables and encourages the abuse of women.

As men displace their shame onto women, they feel better, while women feel worse. Messages from our culture that implicate women in their own victimization serve to reinforce this sense of reverse responsibility: You are the one at fault. You caused your own abuse. You caused your own assault. You were not hyper-vigilant enough.

I suspect that just as men cannot heal the shame of women, women cannot heal the shame of men. And women are definitely not responsible for the underlying misogyny of men's anger.

Another important point: Submission to this type of anger is a bad idea. For so long I bought into a conception of Christian reconciliation that entailed submitting passively to unhealthy and abusive anger. I thought that by demonstrating humility I could heal the relationship and reestablish equilibrium. I even apologized to my very first abuser for treating him poorly (not listening to him, not respecting him). Not even joking.

For one, it doesn't work. It can even intensify the abuse. For another, there is nothing Christian or holy about submitting to dehumanizing behavior. Any theology, church, person who tells you otherwise is selling you an abusive crock of ****.








*I owe this idea to a discussion of Roy Baumeister's writing about abuse at WenatcheeTheHatchet. While I don't agree with Wenatchee's interpretation, I did find Baumeister's ideas about men's rationalizations for domestic violence helpful.