Christians Suck at Consent, Part 2

It gets worse.

Chuck II

The same day all that other stuff happened, another guy messaged me. We'll call him Chuck II, because, again, I don't know anyone named Chuck. Unfortunately for Chuck II, I was on an honesty kick, because of a lack of sleep and what had just transpired with Chuck I.

So when Chuck the Second sidled up to me via facebook messenger and said he was also interested in the project I was working on (translation, "Heyyyyyyyy there"), I told him the truth:

That I felt like he was physically pushy when we dated (we went on two dates total) and that it made me feel disrespected.

His response wasn't great. In fact, it may have filled me with inchoate rage.

Let's go back in time again to a few years ago.

On our first date, we went to coffee. So far, so normal.

At the end of our second date, Chuck II tried to shove his tongue into my mouth after we hugged goodbye. I was taken aback. Again, it felt like it had very little to do with me or with us having a "moment" (I've had moments before. This was not a moment). There were no signals coming from any direction that said, "Now is sexy, sexy make-out time." Was it the bright sunlight of a Hollywood afternoon? The ambiance of the brick walkway in front of my rent-controlled apartment? Who knows.

I pulled away in surprise and soon texted him that I "just wanted to be friends," because apparently things were escalating quickly. He apologized and said he wanted to take things at my pace. I think we settled on something like friends with the potential for more.

The next time we hung out, he was all over me. And when I went to hug him goodbye, he didn't let go of me at first, but instead held me tightly and said, "What if I ask this time?"

And then he pressed me about why I just wanted to be friends as I was about to get into my car to leave.

THIS. This is why.

So when I told Chuck II that I felt like he was physically pushy and he didn't respond well, I got angry.

His response? He wasn't physically pushy—not from his perspective. In fact, he is "hyper-aware of [implied: all] the choices and moves" he makes. Respecting me had been really important to him because he liked me. And I had judged him too quickly.

Not only that—he was hurt that I felt disrespected

Come again? He had violated my personal boundaries—violated my body—but it was his feelings that truly mattered. I had misjudged him. I was wrong, and it was all my fault.

When I said that the conversation was upsetting me and I was ending it, he blithely suggested we meet up for coffee so we could "make amends." And that's when I really lost it.

Again, I felt like a face and a body that a man had projected his wishes and desires onto, not a real person. Hyperaware though he may have been, Chuck II made no mention of being aware of what I was thinking or feeling. I guess he meant, "I was hyperaware that I wanted to kiss you. And so I did."

I felt like a non-entity—Chuck II didn't think he was disrespectful, Chuck II thought he was very respectful. In fact, Chuck II was extraordinarily confident and wildly intentional about all the choices he made during the brief time we dated.

To put it graphically:

Chuck II was more confident about sticking his tongue in my mouth and pressing his boner up against me on a second date than I have ever been about anything in my entire life, ever.

It feels like I'm mocking him (which isn't nice, I know), but I'm actually dead serious: I wish that I had that much confidence about anything—ANYTHING at all—choosing which mismatched socks to wear in the morning, my career, my decision to live in Los Angeles, anything.

With credit to Sarah Hagi for the original version of this

Lack of dating experience or something else? 

It's not like I met these guys on the internet—we met through mutual friends and still have many, many mutual friends. We met in "Safe," "Christian" contexts. They are "nice guys."

It's easy to look at these incidents and think, "Well, maybe he just doesn't have a lot of experience."

I've dated Christian guys like this. They're not always good at dating. They make mistakes. Obviously, not all of them are this bad.

But there's something deeper going on when a guy corners me in his car and almost demands that I give him a chance and go on a date with him (Chuck III?) or when a guy takes my picture after a couple of dates so that he can show his friends a picture of his "girlfriend." Or when a male friend tells me I'm too closed off and judgmental because I don't automatically assume that a stranger who approaches me in parking lot, at night, is safe (because what if he's just a nice guy, standing in front of a girl in the parking lot of Sprouts, asking her for her number, even though all she wanted was to buy some Brown Cow maple yogurt because that sh** is delicious?).

I feel like something is deeply wrong when I'm expected to educate men in their 20s, 30s or even 40s about the fact that women are people too, or when I'm expected to "give a chance" to someone who doesn't even respect me as a real person entitled to make her own decisions.

What doesn't seem to factor into any of these situations is me—my thoughts, my desires, my body, my decisions, my judgment, my intuition.

And I'm tired. I'm tired of feeling like I have to scream "NO" at the top of lungs to get someone to leave me alone. I'm tired of feeling like my pain doesn't have any meaning or significance unless I'm literally bleeding to death or dying of cancer.

I'm tired of being so disconnected from my own body that I only feel the rage of physical violation weeks, months, or years after the fact.

Consent isn't just about sex

Consent is about treating the other person like a person—not a body, not a good-looking accessory, not a blank canvas on which to project fantasies of marriage and children, not a character from a movie—but an actual person.

And these two stories in particular (though kind of funny) have been painful to write about—I've had to sit in it and think about why I felt so violated in the first place.

I've thought about how scary it is for a man to physically grab me out-of-nowhere, against my will, and start tipping me backwards. I've thought about how f***ing scary it is to have someone you don't know very well not let go of you (restrain you) and pressure you for something sexual that you don't want to give. How out-of-control and terrifying it is to feel like in that moment your body is not your own, is out of your control, is in the hands of someone who doesn't even see you.

I don't know how to describe it except to say that it cuts you off from your own physical being. That when you do start to tune back in from the numbness, all you can feel is pain.

It feels like sh**. That's what.

Christians Suck at Consent, Part 1

We've all heard (and in my case, written) about how weird Christians can be about dating.

But I believe it goes much deeper than that.

A couple weeks ago, two different guys messaged me on Facebook after I posted about a project I've been working on.

One of these guys, we'll call him Chuck because I don't know anyone named Chuck, was someone I've had on my DO NOT ENGAGE radar for a long time, ever since I moved to LA five years ago.

You see, we kind of had a thing. Except that this thing was exclusively one-sided.

I had just moved to LA and didn't have very many friends, but somehow Chuck was always available to hang out. I can't really remember the first time he hit on me. He was the brother of a close friend, so I assumed he was safe.

I explained I just wanted to be friends and left it at that. Except, that wasn't enough for Chuck. It wasn't enough the first time. It wasn't enough the second time. Guess what, it wasn't enough the third, fourth, fifth, sixth or seventh time either.

You might wonder why I kept hanging out with this guy. I wonder the same thing. Was I leading him on even though I had explicitly stated that I didn't want any kind of romantic relationship with him?

One night he grabbed me suddenly and tried to dip me for a kiss (this after I had just given my semi-tri-annual "just friends" speech). I was shocked and taken aback. He explained that he was taking notes from the movie "Hitch" where the titular character explains that you go half way in for the kiss and then wait for the girl to go the rest of the way.

I'm not sure which was more disconcerting—that this guy was taking notes on dating and romance from a Will Smith/Kevin James comedy or that physical contact bordering on sexual assault was now somehow considered a move that you pull on someone who has just turned you down.

I stopped hanging out with him (finally). And yet still, he would call me, wanting to go to an event that I had posted on Facebook. Or he would text me, referencing a show that I liked and suggesting that we watch it together.

I felt threatened and alone—how could I explain to anyone else, especially my friends, that I felt harassed by the sweetest, gentlest guy in the world?

It took me a long time, but I eventually got angry. How dare he disregard my stated wishes and boundaries. How dare he GRAB ME AND TRY TO KISS ME.

Back to the present: he messaged me on Facebook asking about working on the project together—and I said, "No." He apologized for his immaturity. I said that I didn't think that not taking "No" for an answer was simply "immature." He apologized for not respecting my boundaries, and then...

HE HIT ON ME.

I kid you not—after I referred to his actions as "more scary than anything else"—he told me I was "beautiful," and wrote, "I never want to take myself out of the running for more." He ended with:

"I will always think of you as a friend, Mulan."

It was too perfect. It wrapped a huge, obnoxiously pink bow on everything.

It proved to me that I could say anything to him, ANYTHING: "F*** you. You disgust me. I hate you. I never want to see you again. I will never, ever date you" and it would not matter one bit. Why?

BECAUSE I DON'T MATTER. I don't even exist to this guy. I am a fantasy, not a real person. I might as well be a two-dimensional drawing from the Disney canon.

So often with Christian men, what I think or feel or desire or say just doesn't matter. All that matters is that he wants me. I'm less a "person" and more a face and a body that he can project his own needs and desires onto.

In the end, I feel strangely justified—because so often women are faulted for "leading him on" or "Obviously, you didn't say 'No' loudly enough or firmly enough for him to get the message."

NO. He violated my boundaries. And it was not my fault.

We whittle women down into finer and finer points—Don't wear that. Smile. But not at the wrong guy—that could get you killed. Don't walk there at that hour. Don't drink. If you must, make sure it's around people that you trust with your life. Don't encourage him. Stop breathing. Why are you breathing? If you would just stop breathing, then he would leave you alone. If you could just—not exist—for a minute. Thanks.

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.

The Church, Dating & Mental Health

This is a scary place to find a date. Probably because it's haunted. [Photo by A Quiverful of Fotos]

I wanted to write a brief (or maybe not so brief) companion piece to my "Undateable" series about the complexities of mental health within the context of church dating.

Let's say you are a Christian and you want to date someone who shares your beliefs. Are you more likely to end up dating someone with a personality disorder (or other mental disorder) if you choose to date within the context of a church?

To be clear, I am not saying that suffering from depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety, OCD, or any other mental disorder or illness disqualifies anyone for dating or makes a person undateable. I do not believe this at all.

Nor am I saying that a person must have resolved all of their emotional issues before dating. If that were case, no one would ever date, myself included.

Disclaimers aside, I think there are certain personality disorders that might make a person more likely to cause harm to others within the context of dating. And those who have these personality disorders may be predisposed to attend church.

In my "Undateable" series, I write about different attributes I've encountered dating (or not dating) Christian men--things like misogyny, cowardice, racism and not taking "No" for an answer.

Although these attributes are not necessarily related to mental health, in some cases, I feel like they are caused by or co-occur with a personality disorder.

[This is not to take away from the fact that a person with a personality disorder is fully human and fully worthy of love, respect and acceptance, but never at the expense of another person's safety.]

Some examples of potentially damaging behavior within the context of dating include physical and emotional abuse, stalking, obsessive pursuit, disrespect of communicated boundaries and rigid gender roles.

I want to be careful here--diagnosing anyone with a personality disorder is obviously not something I am qualified to do.

However, I can hypothesize that in some cases, mental health is the issue. I would also argue that the culture of dating within the church is inherently dysfunctional, and thus encourages dysfunctional behavior and ways of relating to the opposite sex.

So, to make the point I came here to make:

I think that racist or sexist remarks can be a sign that the person you are dating has a personality disorder, particularly if they make little sense within the existing social context (i.e., the surrounding social group is usually neither blatantly racist nor sexist).

Also, racist or sexist jokes or statements can be a precursor to abuse. It might be worth thinking more about our collective tolerance for hateful or devaluing statements about the Other and whether or not we are encouraging or enabling an abusive dynamic to take place between the church and the culture, as well as between one individual and another.

To what extent does the church tolerate sexism, racism and homophobia and to what extent does this tolerance contribute to abuse, particularly of those who are the most spiritually and emotionally vulnerable?

Perhaps we could love and accept the broken (all of us, according to Christian theology) while also being wholly intolerant of anything that devalues another human being.

Should I Stay Or Should I Go?: Knowing when to quit a job, relationship or kickball team

Ever have a job you hated from the first minute of the first day? What about a boyfriend who made you feel small and alone after two weeks of dating? Rarely do jobs or relationships start out as toxic or abusive. If they did, we would leave right away.

So how do you know when to quit? What might happen if you stay?

Dr. Henry Cloud makes the distinction between "pain with a purpose" and "pain for no good reason."

Pain means something is wrong. My friend and fellow blogger goes into detail about that here, and I also wrote a post about pain here.

Bottom line: Pain Bad. Also, there are different kinds of pain, and it can be useful to define which kind of pain you are currently experiencing. Is it getting better? Is getting worse? Are you feeling numb to the pain? How does the person/atmosphere/task make you feel on a regular basis?

There are some kinds of pain that are inescapable--akin to being stuck on the 405 at 5pm on a Thursday. If you can avoid it, by all means do so. If you can't--that's life.

But there are other kinds of pain that are simply not worth it.

I read somewhere that there is a name for pointless suffering: torture.

Sometimes we buy into the idea that it's supposed to be hard--marriage isn't easy. Learning to play the violin or make the perfect pie crust might require long, tedious hours of practice. But there are some kinds of pain that are not in the service of a greater good. There are some kinds of pain that only break you down over time.

So, is this suffering (assuming it's not inescapable) making you a better or a worse version of yourself? Are you suffering for no good reason?

It's also good to process how you are coping with the pain. Are you using healthy or unhealthy coping strategies?

For example, disassociation from your environment, from people, from a hostile relationship can be an extremely useful coping strategy--however, rarely is cutting yourself off from your emotions a good long-term strategy.

Even if you are not working in an abusive or toxic environment, emotions like frustration, boredom, and dissatisfaction are worth paying attention to. Maybe they don't mean you should immediately quit your job--but they do mean something. Like maybe now is good time to move on, if you're able.

As for work situations and relationships that are abusive, the first step is recognizing the cycle of abuse. Here's an example from a work situation:



"Cycle of Abuse" by Avanduyn -  Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Cycle_of_Abuse.png#/media/File:Cycle_of_Abuse.png

1 - Tensions building: As the deadline closes in for a project at work, I start to feel a sense of dread. Although I am doing all I can, I still fear that my boss will be displeased with the final product, no matter what I do or don't do. I have seen him explode in the past, usually the night before the project is due. He has also made threats about what might happen if there is a repeat of past "failures." I feel like something terrible yet undefinable is about to happen.

2 - Incident: The night before the project is due, as predicted, my boss explodes at me in a company meeting in front of our entire team for "Not presenting it in the right way." I feel helpless and unable to defend myself. I feel worthless and doubt my ability to ever get it right. The entire room is thick with tension, anxiety and fear. Everyone else looks completely cowed and no one stands up for me. My boss justifies his belittlement as necessary because other tactics (praising me, telling me I'm doing a good job) have not worked.

3 - Reconciliation: My boss is absent for much of the rest of the week. When I see him again, he appears to be in a better mood, and no mention is made of the meeting.

4 - Calm: My boss tells me he is just trying to help me develop in my career. He seems to want to work more collaboratively and tells me that I have a lot of potential.

A note here about anger and distinguishing between normal, reactive anger and anger that is abusive:

I think there is a difference. As far as I can tell, abusive anger (unlike normal anger) tends to fill the room. It has layers of hurt, shame and blame that go far beyond the context or situation at hand--imagine that you and this person are in a relationship and you cheated on them and ran over their dog on purpose--that's what it feels like. The goal of abusive anger is to hurt, control and punish the other person.

If you are in an abusive situation, I would recommend getting out now. Instead of thinking about what could be--he could be the man of your dreams, this could be the job that catapults you to success, it could get better, there could be an opportunity here to do something you love--think about what is.

Think about what might happen if instead of getting better, things actually get worse--whether it's your partner's anger or an abusive cycle at work. Abuse tends to escalate gradually over time, so that boundaries that you never thought would be crossed are suddenly fair game. When you are in a toxic or abusive dynamic, it can be impossible to see the situation objectively--even more so if the relationship or job constantly puts you in fight or flight.

Here are some not-so-great reasons for staying in a bad situation:

1. You keep thinking about the good 'ol days when you first started the job/relationship.
2. There's a small chance conditions will improve.
3. He/she can change. You believe in them!
4. You're afraid that no one else will ever love you or hire you again.
5.You want to prove "them" wrong.
6. You are seeking justice for wrongs done to you.
7. You are waiting for permission to leave.
8. You think that the pain is making you "better."

I once overstayed a bad job situation by roughly three months--three of the worst months of my life, not to put too fine a point on it.

I kept thinking that when I finally left, things would start getting better. What I didn't expect was that, instead of getting better, things just stopped getting worse.

I feel like this is an important distinction. Are things getting worse? Is the abuse escalating? Are you continuing to put yourself in a situation that you know is harming you emotionally, physically, mentally? Get out. Stop waiting for them to get better. Stop waiting for him to change. Stop waiting for people to listen to your side of the story. Get out get out get out.

You are more important than any job or relationship.

If you do choose to leave an abusive relationship of any kind, take steps to protect yourself from retaliation by making sure that person has no access to you (preferably), zero leverage over you, or if that's not possible, that you have a support system and a safe place to go.

I'm rooting for you.

Undateable: Why Single Christian Guys are All Dented Cans - The Myth of Persistence

Photo by quinn.anya

So I've started doing this thing where I'm completely honest with men. Why?

Well, for one, it amuses me and my dark sense of humor. I get to say fun things like:

"I'm not interested in pursuing anything romantic with you."
"Hitting on one person on the fb status of another person is kind of a douche move."
"You fondled my earring at a BBQ and it made feel uncomfortable and disrespected."
"When you grabbed me from behind around my ribs directly under my breasts [yeah, that happened], I felt unsafe and violated."

Yep. That's right. Just waiting for the marriage proposals to roll on in.

For another, I'm done protecting a man's feelings at the expense of my own personal safety.

And that brings me to the topic for today in dented cans: THE MYTH OF PERSISTENCE. And yes, it definitely deserves to be in all caps.

There's this weirdly longstanding myth out there that women want men who will continue to pursue them even in the face of blatant rejection (see also, "The Notebook").

You say, "I just want to be friends."
He hears, "I just want to be friends until I change my mind and decide we should definitely get married and have five kids."

You say, "I'm not interested in you in that way."
He hears, "I'm not interested in you in that way, but you should definitely grab me and try to kiss me."

You say, "I like someone else."
He hears, "He's probably a douche-bag--so you still have a shot!"

To the men that believe this myth, "No, I'm not interested" means "Try harder. You're not trying hard enough. Persist long enough and I will say 'Yes.'"

Except it doesn't mean that.

No--when you persist in pursuing me after I have made my feelings clear, I can only assume that there is something wrong with you either emotionally or mentally. And the last thing in the world that I desire is to have an emotionally or mentally unstable man pursuing me, or worse, believing that I owe him something--a date, friendship, my time, a second chance.

In short, when a man will not take "No" for an answer, all my self-preservation instincts kick in, and all I want is for him to stay the **** away from me.

I feel fear and anger.

Fear--because if this man apparently can't understand or chooses not to understand the words that I use to communicate (perhaps if I did an interpretive dance?), who's to say what other boundaries of mine he won't violate due to this "misunderstanding"? If he has already violated my verbal boundaries and made me feel unsafe, there are still other boundaries he has yet to cross: emotional, spiritual, mental, physical.

But truthfully, I have trouble understanding the level of pure terror I feel when a man refuses to take "No" for an answer.

My best guess is that this is a dehumanizing experience--I am not a person to these men. I am the projection of all of their baggage about women. I "owe" him something--my body, my "Yes," a chance for him to prove that he is the man of my dreams and we are meant to be together-- In short, I cannot give consent because I am not fully human. His pursuit has very little do with me, and so much to do with the fantasy world he has created in his mind: A world in which I should say, "Yes."

At a certain point this fantasy becomes far more important than my humanity. And that is terrifying (cue visions of being chained up in a dungeon somewhere by a man who "just wants to love me," and is willing to wait as long as it takes for me to realize that).

My guess is that many men fail to understand this as well--they have never experienced fear for their personal safety in the context of romantic relationships, partially because women are not encouraged to pursue in the face of rejection, in fact, quite the opposite. Any romantic rejection is humiliating and shameful.

And what about "Not Leading Him On," that crime that women seem to be accused of at a substantially higher rate than men? Why do women so often take the path of least resistance, trying to "let him down easy." It goes back to fear, again. Women have been taught that saying "No" is not only rude, but also dangerous.

A stranger came up to me in the 99 cent store and told me that I was "beautiful." He followed this up immediately with, "That's a compliment you know."

Of course, I enjoy compliments most when they are followed by vaguely hostile or threatening statements. I also enjoy being put in a situation in a public space where I am expected to thank a stranger for harassing me or be subjected to the accusation of "ungrateful b___ who can't take a compliment."

Unfortunately for me, as a woman, I fear for my physical safety. Therefore, I try not to engage with men in an aggressive or potentially escalating manner.

The same goes for turning down men who are romantically interested in me--but as it turns out, it matters very little what I say:

I've had different Christian guys: Corner me in a car and demand repeatedly that I go out on a date with him, then text me to apologize and tell me that he really "respects" me; Tell me my job is on the line unless I let him back into my life (as a friend, of course); Ignore my request to be "just friends" by grabbing me and dipping me for a kiss, all while citing the scene in "Hitch" when Will Smith and Kevin James accidentally make out ("You lean in half way, then wait for her to go the other half").

Then there's the anger--yeah, being seen as not quite human kind of pisses me off. And there's the icky, would rather not think about it, idea that my biracial, "exotic" looks only contribute to the extent to which men are able to project their own fantasies onto my very real, non-white (but still human!) body.

The intersection between race and perceived sexual availability is a fraught one at best--but whether it applies here or not, let me just say:

I don't want to be touched, grabbed, or groped in public by men I don't know.
If I say I don't want to date you, I mean exactly that, and I don't care to repeat myself.
I am in no way obligated to explain to you why I am not interested. I owe you no justification whatsoever.
If you won't take "No" for answer, consider yourself banned from my life.

So why is it that Christian men are so horrible at grasping the concept of women as fully human?

The word "consent" is quite the buzzword these days, but I believe there are many Christian men who do not grasp the concept:

Consent (or if you prefer, "Respect") isn't just about sex. It's about respecting the boundaries of another human being--seeing them as fully human--in every single interaction, romantic or not.

There are certain things that "Nice" Christian guys tend to believe or say that are inconsistent with consent:

One, believing that if you go to the trouble of asking a girl out, she should say, "Yes," just because you took a risk and put yourself out there.

Two, if you ask a girl out and she says, "Yes" even though she is not ultimately interested, then she is leading you on.

Three, you are a "Good Christian Man" but every girl you ask out says, "No," meaning that there is something wrong with them, not you. You are a victim of feminism, shallow female whims, or unfair discrimination.

Four, if a girl says "No" before the first date or after five dates, you deserve a full, complete, and honest explanation as to why.

Five, women don't actually know what they want. They read romance novels and "Fifty Shades of Grey" and then complain that they don't want to be raped, beaten, sexually harassed, or coerced into sex. What gives?

One and two are obviously contradictory, but I have heard both. Trying to control whether or not someone says "Yes" or "No" to a date is contrary to the idea of consent--and trying to control a person's motivations in general feels fishy.

For three and four, being rejected sucks, obviously. But believing that someone else is "wrong" for rejecting you or that the the entire female population is delusional because they are not romantically interested in you is also contrary to the idea of consent--particularly to the idea that a woman should be able to choose to date or not date someone for any reason. Yes, any reason, even one you think is shallow or stupid.

Also contrary to consent is manipulating a person into unwanted contact of any kind.

For five--well, perhaps that is the subject of another blog post, but it boggles the mind that women are still not allowed to be complex or contradictory beings with a freedom of choice and personal autonomy that transcends one particular sexual fantasy or choice of reading material. "Women don't know what they want" seems highly correlated with the myth of persistence--"Women don't know what they want" but "I (a man) know what they should want." Gross.

In conclusion, if a guy will not take "No" for an answer he is, in my opinion, undateable.

Up next in the Dented Cans series, a post on entitlement.

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

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

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

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

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

Christian Men Who Hate Women

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He believes in rigid, non-negotiable gender roles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He generally blames other people or things for his problems.

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

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

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

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

He puts you on a pedestal.

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

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

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

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

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

He abuses you physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually

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

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

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

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

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

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

He eats peanut butter Cap'n Crunch for breakfast

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

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

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

Adults can still build blanket forts. Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Role of Pain

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Role of Fear

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

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

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

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

Being confined to a tiny box of perfectionism is terrible.

The Role of Grief

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dating the abuser who isn't

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

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

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

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

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

I'm interested in the mechanics of manipulation.

"Alfred" in these scenarios is the abuser.

Triangulation - "He loves you /  she hates you"

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

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

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

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

Example:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BUT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mirroring - "Now you're making me cry"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

P.S. You totally over-reacted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Grand Slam of Emotional Abuse

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

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

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

Pain, Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

The fear just is. Much like the pain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"People"--Who are these people?

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

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

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

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

Or:

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

Or:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Upside of Crisis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I digress. The upside.

Recognizing that I am a human person with human limitations

Unspoken Rule #178 - Do not be weak.

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

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

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

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

Unspoken Rule #34 - Do not ask for help.

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

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

Learning the signs of "I'm not okay"

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

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

Acknowledging some hard-to-accept truths about myself

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

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

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

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

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

I have really awesome friends

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

I'm going to get through this.