"Profiles" in Abuse: You Don't Need a Reason to Leave

In the latest scandal to rock the theater world, Profiles theater recently shut down due to allegations of abuse, sexual harassment and exploitation published in an extensively researched article by the Chicago Reader.

Before this, I had never even heard of Profiles theater. And now, sadly, I will never get a chance to see one of their shows (sarcasm alert).

Despite my lack of personal connection, I wanted to lay out some of the most striking and familiar aspects of this particular story—the things that strike me as uncanny (because abusers and abusive environments often share a lot in common) and the things that strike me as indicative of abuse as a system/structure (not merely the actions of one evil person).

Good.

This story doesn't come from the Chicago Reader, but from a blog post published by an actress who worked with Darrell W. Cox at Profiles.

Emily Vajda describes sitting in a chair "being abused for hours" by Cox after he misinterprets something she said:

I remember thinking, “Listen, breathe, rebuttal.” And so that is what I did. I would listen to his abuse, take a breath, and refute it. I threw his teachings in his face. I didn’t back down. I had no idea I possessed this much strength. And that is a beautiful thing to realize, to recognize one’s own power. 

Later that same night (after a break) she comes back to the theater for "round two":

There was one lone chair in the center of the stage, presumably for me, while the rest of the company sat in the audience, watching. I sat down in the chair and said, “Round two? Bring it.” And he brought it. And I fought. And no one stopped it.

There is much that is troubling about Vajda's story—she points out twice that no one attempted to stop the abuse. No one stood up for her. Instead, they watched.

But reading this, what strikes me the most is this:

She didn't leave. She didn't walk out. She didn't even seem to know that she had any choice but to endure the abuse and fight back.

By "leave," I don't even mean quitting the theater or the production. I mean simply leaving the physical space in which you are being abused.

I'm not saying this to place blame, but to point out how abusive environments work. They mess with your head—and the effects can linger long after you've gone.

Back when I was in an abusive work environment, I promised myself that as soon as my boss said or did anything even remotely abusive to me personally, I would leave. I prided myself on what I referred to as my own personal "Zero Tolerance Policy."

But of course, it wasn't simply the person who was abusive—it was the entire system.

What I wasn't able to fully articulate at the time was this: You don't have to wait around for blatant and outright abuse in order to leave. You can leave at anytime. You don't need a "good" reason.

As a culture, we seem to pride ourselves on sticking it out, perseverance, when the going gets tough, etc. But what about leaving the first time he calls you a "bitch," what about looking for a new job the moment your manager starts making veiled threats—what about walking away before something terrible happens.

We all want that one moment—that one, undeniable, awful thing that justifies us and our actions. So that when anyone asks, we can point to it and say, "See? I had to leave. I had good reason. I made the right choice."

Often, there is a part of us that knows before we know—that sinking in our stomachs. That awful feeling of shame. That primitive knowledge best expressed as, "This feels like shit." Even if you can't express the "why."

Personally, I tend to overestimate my ability to stay emotionally detached (read: safe) in certain situations (I believe I am the exception to the rule).

The voice in my head is saying, "This is crazy. This is not normal. This is wrong." But it is the nature of extreme communal activities (like theater or working at a start-up) to get inside your head, to justify what in any normal situation would seem insane, so that you are no longer thinking clearly.

Part of this is just the sheer camaraderie involved—the good feelings, the connecting with other people, the genuine affection you feel for those you are in the trenches with.

None of this (the staying, the personal investment) makes you a brainless herd animal, it is simply part of what it means to be human. And abusive systems take advantage of that. The system is f***ed up. Not the person.

I applaud Vajda for fighting back against an abusive bully. I only wish she hadn't felt like that was her only or best option.