Jessica Jones, Sex Robots for Jesus, and the Love/Respect Binary

I. SEX ROBOTS FOR JESUS

What causes someone to voluntarily become a sex robot for Jesus?

I once listened in horror to a podcast subtitled A Good Woman's View of Sex on the Love and Respect Podcast that appeared to answer just this question. 

She doesn't need your respect. Photo via collider.com

If you're not familiar with Love and Respect, it is a popular Christian marriage book written by Dr. Emerson Eggerichs. The book purports to rescue and redeem marriages through the universal application of a simple gender binary: 

Women need love; Men need respect ("desperately"—his word, not mine). It's all based on this verse:

However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband. (Ephesians 5:33)

Although Eggerichs repeatedly says in the book and throughout the "Love and Respect" franchise that both men and women need both love and respect, his application of these two concepts proves otherwise.

Essentially, he places any need or desire women have for respect and puts it under the heading "love." He places any need or desire men have for love and puts it under the heading "respect." A woman's core need is love. A man's core need is respect. If you put a gun to a man's head and asked him to choose, he would choose respect; if you put a gun to a woman's head and...you get the idea. If I just keep saying this over and over again, you'll eventually buy into it, right?

The truly "revolutionary" concept in "Love and Respect" is not the idea that husbands should love their wives (which as Eggerichs points out, is old hat by this point), but the idea the wives should unconditionally respect their husbands (109). 

Yeah, you heard that right. Husbands deserve unconditional respect, especially when they are undeserving. 

It's important to emphasize here that in this context respect has everything to do with power. The key to respect is for the wife to consistently demonstrate by word, deed, and tone of voice (or even better, silence) that her husband is in a hierarchically superior position within the marriage. 

A man's power is his God-given right. A woman's power lies in respecting her husband—she gives power away (unconditionally) in order to get it back. Make sense? I didn't think so. 

Now, back to A Good Woman's View of Sex, which is, now that I think of it, demonstrably the worst possible title for this podcast. 

In the podcast, a good woman writes in (we'll call her "Martha") to describe a painful marriage. Martha believed that in order to honor God and be a good Christian wife, she needed to make every effort to meet her husband's sexual needs.

Therefore, she went from "never saying no to sex," because that would be sinful, to initiating sex with her husband every third day, without fail, although he continued to treat her poorly. Basically, he came to expect regular sex. He refused to ever initiate, but would subtly punish her if she didn't offer herself up to him every third day.

In her letter, Martha describes weeping uncontrollably in the shower, knowing that sex would be expected of her that day—knowing that if she did not initiate as expected, her husband would treat her with even more coldness and contempt than usual.

This story is upsetting—this wasn't just a woman submitting to unwanted sex with a selfish and emotionally distant husband because "that's what Jesus would want," but a woman who took it a step further and became the only person in the marriage to initiate sex—emotionally (possibly physically) painful sex that she did not want, but believed God required of her.

In essence, she became a sex slave within her own marriage.

Okay, now we get to the good part. How do Eggerichs and his son Jonathan Eggerichs respond to this letter? Do they mention the concept of self-respect? Do they tell Martha that no, Jesus does not require her to die emotionally every third day in order to meet her husband's sexual needs? Do they perhaps suggest that Martha's husband might want to be married to and have sex with a fully realized, equal human being with thoughts, feelings, inclinations, or a will of her own? And if that doesn't interest him, she should think about getting out of what sounds like an abusive marriage?

No. No, they do not.

Instead, Emerson Eggerichs says stuff like, "I honor you for your obedience to Christ" and "If you worship Christ in the sexually intimate area, [. . .] you are touching Christ's heart" and "this is a good-hearted woman" (refer back to the title of the podcast). At one point, he calls a wife like Martha a "goldmine" for sexually starved husbands everywhere. Most husbands would kill for such regular sexual activity. Who cares that she has to shut down every other aspect of her humanity?

"Love and Respect" the book devotes an entire chapter to "Sexuality—Appreciate His Desire for Sexual Intimacy." Because everything in this book is drawn along a gender binary, men have sexual needs and women have emotional needs. For men, "sex is symbolic of his deeper need—respect" (250). Eggerichs equates respect with sex, and let us not forget the oft-repeated phrase "unconditional respect."

Although Martha's story might seem like an outlier, it's hard not to see it instead as the logical conclusion of "unconditional respect": unconditional sex, or "Sex Robots for Jesus."

Now, let's talk about Jessica Jones.

Watching the new Netflix series was as bracing as the Atlantic ocean in December. I've never seen the issue of abuse tackled like this before—somehow it takes a woman with superhuman powers to show the effects of mental, emotional, physical, and sexual abuse. Jessica is nobody's fool, but even her superhuman abilities and dour wit don't save her from the harrowing trauma of an abusive relationship.

What the show makes plain is that mental and emotional coercion can be just as powerful as the threat of actual physical violence.

Kilgrave abuses Jessica through the use of mind control. He wines and dines her as his perfect, ideal woman, going on and on about how much he "loves" her even as he turns her into his sex slave. As the show demonstrates, the worst kind of emotional and mental abuse eventually destroys a person's will. It breaks down their humanity. Over time, they have no willpower left to resist the abuse, no ability to say, "No."

Christian marriage advice, on the other hand, uses spiritual coercion to guilt women into unwanted sex. It's essentially a form of mind control—the woman submits her will to the "will of God," losing some of her own humanity in the process.

If you tell a devout Christian woman, "This is what God requires," you don't need to put a knife to her throat.

So when you encourage a woman to treat herself as less than human—when you praise her for making herself into a sex robot whose only purpose is to "respect" her husband by meeting his sexual needs—when you tell her that Jesus is pleased—then yes, you are encouraging and enabling abuse.

II. RESPECTING YOUR ABUSER

Ending an abusive relationship (that I initially didn't recognize as abusive) has caused me to more carefully examine words like "love" and "respect."

I've learned that if someone does not respect you as a human being, they cannot love you. Lack of respect, not lack of affection or care (often confused with love) is the cause of abuse. And as bell hooks puts it, "Love and abuse cannot coexist."

In "Love and Respect," Eggerichs addresses the question of whether his conception of "respect" will cause abuse:

Will the concept of biblical hierarchy lead to abuse? [...] Yes, this is possible, but because it is possible does not mean a woman should refuse to allow her husband to be the head. If a husband is evil-willed, the abuse will happen anyway, no matter what the family structure is. Any hierarchical role given to him has nothing to do with the abuse. The evil-willed man always treats those around him abusively (207).

I absolutely disagree. Shrugging and saying "Evil be evil" or "Abusers gonna abuse" is both misleading and f***ing irresponsible. 

Eggerichs fails to admit that he is putting powerful, ready-made, "biblical" (his word) tools into the hands of the abuser. Will reading "Love and Respect" turn an ordinary man into an abusive jerk? Doubtful. But an abusive man would have a field day with the concepts presented, and could easily use them to further control and manipulate his wife or girlfriend.

Here's why:

The words "love" and "respect" are deliberate. They are words favored by abusers.

I can't stop hearing Kilgrave's voice in my head:

"Jessica! Jessica! I love you!"

Nightmares for days

My abuser said the same thing (minus the Jessica part). He told me, "I still love you." And then he indirectly threatened me (but only because he was trying to help me and he didn't want to see me suffer!)

Hearing "I love you" from an abuser creates a huge amount of cognitive dissonance: "But he told me he loved me! Over and over again with tears in his eyes!"

Only when I began to see that the "love" itself was abuse did the fog start to lift.

And then there's that other word: respect. I've written about how another abusive man in my life used to repeatedly say, "You don't respect me!" By "respect" he meant exactly what Eggerichs means in "Love and Respect". He meant, "You don't submit your will to me. You don't treat me as being above you. You won't give in to me."

You see, respect as Eggerichs conceives of it—that is, the respect men "desperately need"—is always a hierarchical value. Men need this kind of respect in order to feel like men. It's an odd setup, where men are the more powerful entities (by God's design), but without a woman following them around all the time telling them how much they respect them, men collapse emotionally, spiritually, and probably sexually (Eggerichs writes that "respect beats a dose of Viagra any day!"). It's a spiritual variation on a common theme: men need women to prop up their fragile egos.

I can still remember the time I told my ex-boyfriend that I respected him. He lit up like a Christmas tree. I don't even know why I said it—maybe the love/respect doctrine had trickled down to me somehow. I had just confronted him with some things that he had said and done that troubled me—so perhaps this was my way of restoring equilibrium in the relationship.

I wonder whether I used "respect" like Trish Walker does with Kilgrave in "Jessica Jones"—to prevent him from turning, and tearing me to pieces. Now, this is a type of respect that I can relate to—the kind of respect that I pretend with men so that they will stop hating me, stop abusing me, stop treating me with contempt, or just simply leave me alone. Did my "respect" keep my ex-boyfriend from treating me abusively later on? No. It didn't.

Joy Eggerichs, the daughter of Emerson and Sarah Eggerichs, talks candidly on her website (billed as "Love and Respect" for the current generation) about being in an abusive dating relationship where the guy would tell her she was being disrespectful in order to manipulate her. By her own account, she went to her parents and asked them if she was really being disrespectful.

Luckily, she got out of that relationship. But here's my question: Why would Joy (as an adult, presumably) need the outside validation of her parents to confirm that she was being manipulated? Why would the progeny of the love/respect dynasty fall prey to a common tactic of abusive men?

Perhaps because the only guidance that "Love and Respect" gives about abuse is that we need to somehow discern between "good-willed" people and evil people, without giving any real guidance on how to tell the difference.

III. LOVE AND RESPECT AND ABUSE

Eggerichs grants that at times, women might need to submit to God instead of to their husbands, for example, in cases of physical abuse.

Later on, however, he relates the story of one woman who went back to her previously abusive husband (he repented), but was still struggling to show him respect. She writes:

My heart's desire is to win my husband to the Lord through my respectful behavior. I must admit I have to "mull over" some of your teaching, but it IS biblically based, and the Holy Spirit keeps revealing my rebellion, contempt, disobedience, etc. I keep asking the Lord for strength to implement your suggestions, and He is so faithful!

This letter creeps me out.

Basically, the husband abused his wife, but she is the one who needs to work on her rebellion, contempt, and disobedience. This reeks of Stockholm syndrome. Any time a thought arises within this woman's mind that even hints at self-respect, anger, or, I don't know, boundaries around being abused, she beats it down as a sign of rebellion—against God!

And this is not the first abused wife in the book jonesing for more ways to unconditionally respect her husband. In another story, a woman emails Eggerichs wanting more resources and guidance about respect, but fails to mention how her husband once threw a dish at her, cutting her face.

Eggerichs' response to her selective account of her marriage: "What a woman!"

I'm not kidding. Her husband threw a plate at her face and she needed to learn more about how to respect him (he apparently repented while sitting in jail).

The connection between "Love and Respect" and abuse is not a coincidence. The false binary between love and respect is textbook spiritual abuse—"scriptural" mind control.

IV. CONTEMPT IS FOR WOMEN

Eggerichs deliberately uses the word "contempt" only in the context of a wife having or showing contempt for her husband—as if contempt, the opposite of respect, were a gendered phenomenon.

Women treat men with "contempt" (the word or its variations appears a total of 48 times in the book, always gendered female), while men are "harsh" (20 times, gendered male). Notice that women are described as contemptuous more than twice as often as men are described as harsh.

Men are never described as having or showing contempt for their wives. Why is that? My theory: It is impossible to show contempt for someone who is already beneath you, see also the phrase "beneath contempt." Eggerichs encodes his own misogynistic attitudes into his use of language.

It goes further: women are overwhelmingly portrayed as the ones responsible for marital problems and strife. I believe this is also deliberately gendered: women are the ones expected to buy the marriage books. They are the ones who should shoulder the emotional burden of improving a troubled marriage—see the previous two stories from women who were abused. 

Eggerichs' overwhelmingly gendered use of the word "contempt" sends women a clear message: It's your fault; it's your responsibility.

On the Love and Respect Now blog, writer and former missionary Alece Ronzino writes about her husband at the time literally throwing the book "Love and Respect" at her and saying, "Maybe this will teach you how to respect me like you should instead of accusing me of having an affair."

What do you know. He was having an affair.

Mindblowingly, Alece concludes this story by affirming her own ongoing struggle to respect her ex-husband despite his manipulation, abuse, and infidelity.

Yes. The moral of the story is: How do I continue to show respect to a man who has betrayed me and treated me with overwhelming contempt?

In a way, I appreciate the incredible effort Joy and Alece make to shoehorn even this traumatic story into the love/respect binary.

But on the other hand, someone throwing a book titled "Love and Respect" at you is the equivalent of a gigantic, neon, glowing sign that reads, "GET THE F*** OUT OF THIS ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP", not a gentle suggestion that maybe you need to learn some respect.

Trying to demonstrate unconditional respect to a person who is only interested in manipulating and abusing you is, needless to say, a very, very bad idea. Telling an abuser or a controlling person, "I respect you," doesn't tend to make them less abusive or controlling. Instead, as I found in my own personal experience, they are more likely to escalate the abuse.

If you are in an abusive relationship, the last question on your mind should be, "How do I respect my abuser?" That's hyperbolically equivalent to asking during an attempted murder, "How do I show my murderer that I genuinely admire his skill with a knife? Perhaps a mid-stab compliment is in order."

Notice that I used the "C" word to describe how a man treated a woman. I think my use is perfectly valid, and anyone who tries to convince you that it is impossible for a man to have or show contempt for a woman is either delusional or has a deeper agenda at stake.

Going back to Martha's story, I can't imagine a greater expression of contempt for another human being than to use her body but reject everything else about her.

What Eggerichs and Eggerichs fail to acknowledge in their podcast is that this woman's supposedly godly and praiseworthy behavior only caused her husband to treat her even more like a sexual object and less like a human being.

V. SEX ROBOTS AGAIN

As far as I can tell from reading Joy's comment on Alece's post, women can potentially save "disobedient" men by showing them respect. But it doesn't always work. Sometimes people are just evil (there's that helpful advice again).

Wives saving their disobedient husbands through unconditional respect is a huge theme in "Love and Respect," based on these verses:

In the same way, you wives, be submissive to your own husbands so that even if any of them are disobedient to the word, they may be won without a word by the behavior of their wives, as they observe your chaste and respectful behavior. (NASB, 1 Peter 3:1-2)

Which Eggerichs shortens to:

The apostle Peter reveals that husbands who "are disobedient to the word" (meaning they are undeserving of respect) "may be won . . . by . . . respectful behavior."

Notice that the burden is on the wife to save her husband. And how does one save a husband? By having sex with him as often as possible—um, I mean, by respecting him.

Eggerichs' comments in the "Good Woman" podcast make so much more sense now—Martha is literally worshipping God by having sex with her husband. She may be dying on the inside, but all that matters is that her vagina is winning him to the Lord.

Eggerichs claims that it's not like she's being "tortured" or "crucified" or anything. I feel like the fact that he even uses these words implies the opposite. She is crucifying her own will. She is crucifying her emotions. She is crucifying her body. She is emotionally tortured every three days over a two year period.

And to be consistent here, isn't that what women are supposed to do? Be Jesus for their husbands? Die a little more each day so that he might "live"?*

Sex Robot = Sex Martyr

VI. LOVE AND RESPECT AND JESUS

I have yet to read a single story in the entire love/respect canon that describes a woman standing up for herself and saying, "No." No, I will not abused. No, I will not stay in a situation that puts my life at risk. No, I will not stay in a marriage in which I am emotionally and sexually degraded.

Women are being counseled to trust the love/respect doctrine over their own self-preservation instincts—and I'm not just talking about life-threatening situations, though of course those exist.

I'm talking about preserving your life—your emotional, spiritual, rational self—precisely the self that abuse seeks to destroy. Precisely the self that, according to Christianity, Jesus died to save.

And that's probably the primary reason that "Love and Respect" the franchise makes me so f***ing angry, and what makes it so spiritually abusive at its core:

"Love and Respect" uses the gospel of Christianity to keep women enslaved in hierarchical, if not abusive, relationships, where they are told to subjugate their anger, their intuition, their analytical abilities, their desire for meaningful work and a career, their sexuality, their bodies, their voices, and their facial expressions* to the overriding goal of "respecting" their husbands.

So I'm going to call "Love and Respect" what it is: a false doctrine. Idolatry. A dangerous, misogynistic, and abusive ideology masquerading as the biblical, magic pill solution to all male/female relationships.

VII. LOVE WITHOUT RESPECT IS ABUSE

It feels ironic to read a book about how much men need respect when I've been writing about how disrespected I've felt in relationships with Christian men.

Usually, love or romantic feelings are used to justify or gloss over disrespectful behavior—so that the men who have treated me the most abusively or disrespectfully are also the ones who have expressed the most love, affection, and attraction.

When a man tells me that he "respects" me, it's usually after he has treated me in an incredibly disrespectful way—this seems to indicate that men understand how manipulative the words "I respect you" can be.

I've struggled with how to characterize this lack of respect for women in the Christian world. It's more than a simple lack of respect. It's not even contempt, because "contempt" implies that you actually see the other person.

I think it really comes down to the idea that women are less human or not fully human. This is the only way I can explain the abuse, especially as it coexists with "love." It's the only way I can describe a man who violates my boundaries even as he sheds crocodile tears over the depth of his love for me.

"Jessica Jones" captures just how terrifying it is to have such a man tell you he loves you.

Give me respect any day.









*Eggerichs makes a huge meal out of the fact that men are willing to die for their wives. He uses this willingness to die to justify a man's inherently superior station in the marital hierarchy. I once watched a baffling video clip of him telling women something like, "Remember that your husband would die for you. He may never open up to you emotionally, but he would die for you" as if this were somehow sufficient consolation for having an emotionally distant husband. I just picture lonely women rocking themselves to sleep every night saying over and over again, "He would die for me, he would die for me, he would die for me..."

Given the statistical probability of a man ever having to die for his wife, what about the slow death of living in an abusive or unloving relationship? What was that saying again: "Death by 1,000 Cuts."

*"A simple application is that a wife is to display a respectful facial expression and tone when he fails to be the man she wants" (43)

*"Right or wrong, men interpret their world through the respect grid, and a wife's softened tone and facial expressions can do more for her marriage than she can imagine."

*"Love and Respect" includes two letters from wives who have learned how to control their facial expressions (191, 302) and the glowing effect it has had on their marriages.

All pages numbers are from the Kindle edition of "Love and Respect."

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.

"Give Me Sex Jesus"

I watched Give Me Sex Jesus, a documentary about the Christian evangelical purity movement, for the first time last night.

That title though.

The film is streaming for free on Vimeo. 

Background: I've had my eye on this documentary ever since the Kickstarter campaign in 2012 when the title was "Jesus, Don't Let Me Die Before I've Had Sex." I attended the same church as Matt Barber (the director) for a few years, and I know some of the people interviewed. 

No, I never signed an abstinence pledge (though memories of doing so are notoriously tenuous) or wore a purity ring--though I might as well have. 

Purity culture raised me, and I fully embraced its principles. 

So, watching this documentary, I had quite a few thoughts and emotions--

I laughed. I cringed. Many of the interviews were some combination of funny, poignant, and heartbreaking. In the end, I wanted more.

I wanted to know how it all turned out--how the gay son of a prominent Christian family worked out his faith and his sexuality, if his dad ever spoke to him again or invited him to family dinners.

I wanted to know what happens when getting married doesn't give you the amazing sex life you were promised, how purity culture affects Christian dating culture, and how the filmmakers came to make the film that they made. 

Truthfully, it is the story behind the story that intrigues me the most. And it's a quite a story: 

Matt Barber left his faith and his marriage during the making of this film, as he details in this Life After God podcast. He is currently in a relationship with producer and co-filmmaker Brittany Machado.

Machado tells a similar story about leaving Christianity. She writes about having sex for the first time in college after a youth spent embracing purity culture:

"If my faith were a Jenga tower, then this brick of sexual truth was pulled from the bottom of the stack. From there everything started wobbling a bit."

This. This is the story that I'm interested in. Matt and Brittany's stories make plain what I have long suspected: That if you give up on the sex part, then you might as well give up on the Christian part too--

Richard Beck at his blog "Experimental Theology" writes about how purity is a metaphor, and not a good one, for sexual morality. Unfortunately, the purity metaphor seems to hold true in another way: 

Essentially, just as there is ONE way to have sex (in heterosexual marriage), there is also only ONE way to think and feel and talk about sex. Anything I might think or say or feel about sexuality that contradicts this doctrinal purity throws my entire faith into question. 

It feels like heresy--which is probably why I find stories about leaving Christianity so fascinating.

Watching this documentary, I realized that for me, sexual morality and what I do with my body are so intertwined with my identity as a Christian, that I can't even begin to untangle them. 

It's hard to imagine other aspects of my identity in the same way:

For example, if being a feminist or a writer or a college graduate or heterosexual or writing about racism seemed to be incompatible with Christian faith, would I have left long ago?

Maybe this happens to us all. We hit a wall--something that seems irreconcilable--whether it's our sexuality, our beliefs about the nature of men and women, racism, evolution and the study of science, "Christian" political beliefs, etc. 

In the end, I don't think it's about sex (YES IT IS! EVERYTHING IS ABOUT SEX!), but about purity--about a certain kind of certainty that I can no longer embrace.

It's about asking the kinds of questions that I want to ask, having the kinds of conversations that feel taboo, writing about what I want to write about.

Wanting these things and pursuing them doesn't feel like leaving Christianity, but it does feel like leaving behind being a certain kind of Christian, if that makes any sense.

Even if I didn't have to give up faith itself, I would have to take a leaving of a different sort--leaving behind evangelical Christianity and the community that has felt the most like home here in Los Angeles.

More conversation:

Watch the film HERE
Life After God podcast
Hot Buttered Shame on the Dana Gould podcast
How Christians Have Sex - Personal response to watching "Give Me Sex Jesus" from a lapsed Christian (?) slash LA comedian

If you've watched the film and want to talk about it, or you haven't the watched the film and want to talk about it, I'm here. Let's talk.

What About Grace?

These three words have stuck with me.

I had just set clear-cut boundaries in a relationship. Someone I had been close to hurt me--intentionally or not, I have no idea. I set boundaries in order to protect myself, not punish him. And he responded with anger:

"What about grace?"

I remember how much he seemed to hate me, even as he uttered these words.

What I was doing was the opposite of grace: Not-Grace--condemnation, judgment, bitterness, unforgiveness (a sin for Christians).

By setting boundaries in a relationship, I was refusing to extend "grace." How often is grace invoked when a public Christian figure has an affair, sexually abuses children, uses shame and ostracism to control church members. How often is grace invoked by Christians in an--as far as I can tell--ungracious tone of voice.

Here, let me lecture you about what grace is, right before I bash you over the head with it, you sinner.

Grace as artillery. Forgiveness as a weapon.

What is grace, anyway?

I picture something beautiful. Something quiet, yet unrelenting.

In that moment, I didn't feel grace. I felt anger, hatred, and blame--if he hated me, if he abused me, it was my fault for not being graceful, or full of grace.

In this lopsided arrangement, grace is always for the perpetrator, never for the victim. It shames you for not being more forgiving. It reminds you that you too are an imperfect person in need of grace. It urges you to forgive, well before you are ready. It puts the burden on you to restore the perpetrator to wholeness.

So, what about grace?

Reflecting from a distance, Grace was setting boundaries. Grace was asking for help when those boundaries were violated. Grace was having the courage and the freedom to leave. Grace was feeling safe again. Grace was and is refusing to blame myself for the actions of another person.

Grace is not intimidation or threats. Grace is not a tool of manipulation or coercion. Grace is not an angry, 6'4'' man cursing at you, getting in your face, and demanding that you forgive him.

I crave the grace of small, tiny moments when I am allowed to grieve. When it is okay to be not okay. Where my reactions are not judged or rejected.

Grace. What about it.

Why I Kept Quiet About Being Sexually Harassed

Recently, women in the Los Angeles improv community did the unthinkable: They named names--on facebook, no less.

One man in particular was credited with so many stories of sexual harassment that I'm tempted to think his daily schedule goes something like:

8:00AM: Wake up
8:30AM-8:30PM: Sexually harass women
8:30PM: Tinder date
12:00AM Go to sleep

[Personal connection: I was matched with this gentleman on an online dating platform. We never actually communicated.]

I kid you not. This crap has been going on for years. And women are finally speaking up. It's incredible to watch--equal parts inspiring and horrifying--inspiring, to see the support that these women are receiving from the community--horrifying, that this guy got away with sexually harassing so many women for so long.

It made me think about my own stories--about why I didn't speak up about being harassed. I've written before about the burden of secrecy: How women are so often burdened with keeping things quiet--don't cause trouble, don't make a scene, don't smear someone's reputation, don't accuse someone (particularly a powerful, talented, or likable someone) of misconduct.

There are so many valid reasons for keeping silent. And until the culture changes to one that prioritizes victims over perpetrators, it will always be extremely difficult to come forward.

[Ironically, even as I write this, I'm running through in my mind all the possible ways that the men I write about could be identified by readers.]

Story #1:

When I was in college, I wrote a blog for the school's marketing department about my experiences in the honors program.

I was connected to a staff member at the college who would post the blogs that I wrote every week. He was a man in his 40s (we'll call him RC)

At first, it was great. I loved blogging. Loved it. Because writing is fun.

Then, things started getting weird. From the beginning, RC and I had bantered back and forth via email. He was eccentric, borderline unprofessional and didn't act his age, but I didn't think too much about it. I knew he was in a relationship, and that made me feel safe, as if he couldn't be flirting with me (plus, I was a student).

Things took an odd turn when he created a facebook profile in the name of my college and started leaving weird comments on other people's pages and messaging me nonsensical things, to the point that I blocked him on facebook.

Then, he started harassing me about not sending him new blogs to post every week, repeatedly sending me pushy, sarcastic and vaguely threatening emails.

Something about the emails made me deeply uncomfortable and fearful. I asked him to stop. I used the word "Please." He didn't stop. I asked him again. I felt like no matter what I said, he wouldn't stop sending me harassing emails.

Conclusion: I stopped writing. I concluded that my blog made him feel as if he "knew me" or had some kind of personal connection to me. The only way to stay safe was to stop writing.

Blogging was something that brought joy and meaning to my life, but I stopped doing it--all because of this one guy.

Now that I think about it, this guy was on the clock when he sent me those emails--so he was basically being PAID to harass me. That just feels wrong on so many levels.

So, why didn't I say something to someone? Here are the reasons I came up with:

1. I was afraid that my bantering emails with him would be considered "encouragement"--that I had brought this on myself by not being completely professional. In other words: it was my fault that I led him on.

2. I had enjoyed the (seemingly harmless) attention from him. (My fault, again.)

3. I perceived those at the college I could have gone to for help as either distant or ineffectual. I couldn't imagine them helping me in any real way.

4. What about his reputation? Would I be putting his job in jeopardy?

5. Although our online interactions felt inappropriate and unsafe, he never said or did anything overtly sexual. So although I felt like he was both hitting on me AND engaging in some kind of weird power play, I really had no "proof."

Reading the accounts from women in the improv community, I'm struck by how many stopped doing what they loved because they felt unsafe. That makes me f***ing furious.

Story #2:

When I first moved to Los Angeles, I worked on a low-budget feature film for no pay.

At our very first crew meeting, I started talking to the editor, asking him about what system he used, etc. (I was interested in editing at the time). Later, he visited the set. We talked more, and he offered to let me help cut the film once it entered post-production. He had worked on several films by a director that I greatly admired, so I thought this was pretty cool.

Later that same night, I had to drive an actor home. When he offered to accompany me and I didn't immediately jump on the opportunity, but instead asked other people, he started acting like a petulant five year-old. I swear, this man in his early 40s started pouting and crossed his arms over his chest like a small child. He was angry with me and would barely talk to me. I had no idea what was going on, but something didn't feel right.

Then, early the next morning, I got the email, and my heart started pounding faster.

He explained that he had fallen in love with me from the very first night we met, felt a deep connection to me that was not just sexual (e.g., I'm not just interested in sex!), explained he had been angry because he thought I didn't want to be alone with him, something something something, hoped we could still work together.

I responded that I was not interested, but hoped we could still work together as colleagues. I didn't tell anyone about this email, even though it stressed me out. I thought I could handle it on my own and save him any embarrassment.

That same day, the producer called me over and said that I had to go pick up the editor from the train station the next day (the producer had no idea about the email). I was then forced to go pick this guy up and spend at least an hour alone with him. I can remember how he casually put his arm up around and on my headrest in the car as if we were at a movie and he was about to make a move. Under the circumstances, it made me uncomfortable. I tried to pretend like nothing had happened.

Later, other members of the crew told me how he was in love with me and ranting angrily about how much time I was spending with another guy onset, "I'm gonna f***ing kill him," he was saying about this guy, repeatedly.

One guy half-jokingly suggested that I get a restraining order.

I noticed that he had a camcorder and seemed to be filming me, but I wasn't sure. Later, after we wrapped, he sent me an email with pictures (screenshots from video?) that he had taken of me unawares. I never responded.

A week or so after shooting finished, I went into the production office to reconcile expenses, and the producer mentioned that the editor had said he wanted me to help out with editing.

I said, "I don't think I can do that." The producer was like, "Okay, cool." But then I tried to explain why.

"Oh, he has a crush on you?"

It was a little more than that. I told him I would forward him the email. That the email was funny.

"I don't think it's funny."

So, why didn't I (initially) say anything?

1. I felt like it was my problem to handle and that I could handle it.

2. I thought that after I responded to his confession of love with a professionally worded "let's just be colleagues" that he would leave me alone and respect my boundaries.

3. I thought he would be embarrassed and shamed if I told someone, and I didn't want him to be embarrassed or shamed (I put myself in his shoes).

4. I used humor to minimize how unsafe it made me feel.

Sadly, practically every single woman has a story like this--not these exact details, no, but the same dynamic.

Writing it all out like this feels clinical and distant--but it's helped me see that men who sexually harass women are not playing by the rules--

We ascribe shame to them (normal, healthy shame that you should feel for violating someone else's boundaries) when nothing of the sort actually exists.

We mentally and emotionally put ourselves into the shoes of the harasser--"Wow, I would feel awful if dozens of women accused me of sexually harassing them"--without realizing that they exist in a world where their actions are perfectly acceptable, understandable, normal, justifiable.

[Exhibit A, the same guy above who has dozens of sexual harassment incidents to his name is still by all reports setting up dates with women in the improv community via apps like Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge. I'm sure he feels just "Terrible, terrible!" about all the pain he has caused. 'Cause those are the actions of a man overwhelmed with shame. Right. I just feel so bad for him and all the humiliation he must be going through. My heart goes out to him.]

This plays out in the way that women respond to harassment. I assume, "If I say no, stop, I'm not interested, he will stop"--sometimes realizing too late that when I said "No," all he heard was static.

In this case, if there is no support from other people, and particularly from those in authority, then my best option is to disappear, because then at least he doesn't have access to me.

Think about it. Women are disappearing because that is their best option. It can be a kind of personal, professional, spiritual or creative death.

After cutting ties with an abuser, I have not only had to heal from the relationship itself, but also from the ways in which people responded (or didn't) to my story.

One person that I reached out to immediately after a traumatic incident was adamant about remaining neutral and hearing "his side of the story."

I get it. I feel like I get it. But to remain neutral is to side with the abuser. Every time. And I know that this is just one more layer to this wound that I'm going to have to deal with.

Intellectually, I totally get it. But emotionally, it's devastating.