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.

Day by Day: The Quantified Self: Future Me

The premise is simple: Write a letter to your Future Self.

At futureme.org, you can write a letter and send it far, far into the future. What would it be like to get a letter right now from the You of one year ago? Five years ago? Ten years ago?

What would you want to read about your Past Self?

I've found that Future Me can be a powerful tool for both imagining the future and reimagining the past. There's nothing quite like getting an email in your inbox from your Past Self. It's trippy, in the best possible way.

The layout is quite simple:

Dear Future Me, How are you?

You can choose to make your letter public or private. You can also choose to add a picture--perhaps you wish to attach a picture of yourself on the date you write the letter, so that your Future Self has a visual reference.

Tips & tricks for writing to your future self:

1. Be specific

There's nothing quite like getting a vague, angsty email from your Past Self. What is this, Past Self, middle school? Save the vagueness for your facebook status updates and be specific:

What are you doing?
How are you feeling?
Why do you think you feel that way?
What do you want to happen?
What do you think will happen?
What challenges are you currently facing?
How are you coping or not coping with those challenges?

The awesome thing about writing to your Future Self is that you get to connect the dots later. "Oh, right, I had a huge crush on Matt from the beginning" or "I was unhappy with my job but didn't want to admit that to myself."

The dirt is in the details, so try to be specific. You might know exactly what you are talking about, but chances are, Future You will need some supporting data.

Reading letters from your Past Self will help you see how far you've come (or alternatively, how much things stay the same!).

2. Use writing to your Future Self to visualize who you want to be today.

Talk to Future You about your goals, dreams, hopes, and aspirations for the future. If you have no goals, dreams, hopes, and aspirations for the future, brainstorm about these with Future You. Write about who you are, and who you hope to be.

Perhaps you will feel a twinge of what could be. Hope. Write about that. Perhaps it will prove prophetic.

3. Try writing to yourself at 30, 40, 50, 60, 80 years old.

It's hard to think about growing old--but eventually, if we don't die first, it happens to us all. Instead of only sending letters to next year, write to yourself at various ages, especially milestone years. Think about how much your 80 year-old self would appreciate getting letters from you!

I've been working on writing to my 40 year-old self. It's weird to think about being 40. But it helps me to realize that my time is finite. There are things that I want to accomplish, and if I don't start on them now, I may never accomplish them. It's a sobering feeling.

4. Put writing to your Future Self on your calendar to remind you.

Writing to your Future Self once a month seems like a good goal.

5. Write to your Past Self...

But send it to your Future Self.

It sounds convoluted, but I recently wrote a letter from my 80 year-old Self to my Present Self (an exercise from the "Artist's Way") and sent it to my 40 year-old Self.

Write a letter to your 10 year-old Self, but send it to your 50 year-old Self.
Write a letter to your 20 year-old Self, but send it to your 33 year-old Self.
Etc.

Writing to your Past Self tends to open up a well of understanding and self-compassion, because you are able to see yourself from a distance. And sometimes the things that we wish our Past Self knew are things we could benefit from, even now.

So, write a letter. Future You will thank you.

Day by Day: The Quantified Self: Morning Pages

I recently started doing the Artist's Way study. Described as "A spiritual path to higher creativity," it's basically rehab and recovery for your creative, artistic, imaginative self.

One of the core components of the book is something called morning pages: everyday, you wake up early and write three pages, stream-of-consciousness--no stopping, no editing (free-writing).

I've kept a journal since I was 11 and I've always been partial to writing longhand. But at the suggestion of someone else in my study group, I started using an online app called 750 Words.

The premise is simple: Write at least 750 words every day. That's it.

So far it's been extremely helpful. Something about going to the same place online everyday and seeing virtual confirmation of my consistency and word count makes a big difference. Plus, 750 Words will give you a breakdown of not only your words per minute, but also things like what you are feeling and thinking (I know, it's weird).

Accurate.

Hmm. Not accurate. Though I do love bacon.

Granted, some of the conclusions feel either far-fetched or a bit obvious (it regularly records that my mindset is "introverted" when I write--no kidding). 

Sounds about right.

Hug me. Now.

There is also the opportunity to include metadata in your daily entires. I haven't tried this feature yet, but it would be interesting to graph everyday data as a quantified self.

I just discovered this feature: If you click back on your daily entires, there's an option to view your words with the analytics applied, explaining how they come up with their results.

Choose the second option.

750 words is free for the first month. After that it is $5/month.

There is also a free French site that operates on the same concept. I haven't used it yet, but I may be giving it go when my free trial runs out at 750 Words.

So far I've been writing (almost) everyday, sometimes longhand, sometimes in the app. I highly recommend trying morning pages no matter what the medium. They provide a blank space in which to reflect, rant, process, emote, feel good, feel bad, feel into.

Morning pages are awesome.

The Church & Mental Health: Interview with a Therapist: Bryan Hall, Part 2

Photo: "Memorial Church" Don McCullough

Yesterday, I began a new series on "The Church & Mental Health." I'm interviewing Christian therapists to talk about the intersection of spirituality and psychology. 

My first interview is with Bryan Hall. Here is Part 2 of the interview. 

Bryan is a therapist who specializes in the entertainment industry. In this section, we talked more about family systems theory, domestic violence,  putting a smiley Jesus face on everything, and why the hot girl in AA is always the last to get sober. This interview has been edited for clarity.

BH: I get parents dropping their kids [teenagers] off, [saying], “Fix my kid. Tell them to stop doing drugs. Tell them to stop being angry." They think I'm just going to get out a bat and beat someone's head in so they stop doing this stuff.

...I know what's going on but I do therapy with the kid. What you find then is that it's not a “this kid” problem, it's a bigger problem.

"We need family therapy," so I bring in the whole family. And then what you find there is, this isn't a family situation, it's a couple's thing.

Because the kid is doing nothing more than acting out the unaddressed psychological issues of the parents. And sometimes these guys are preachers and sometimes they're cops. And sometimes they're like, “I'm not the angry one, you're the angry one.”

I've literally had parents right in front of their kids in the middle of a session call them “a piece of shit,” say, “If he would get his act together, this whole family would be fine. He's 95% of the problem," and sit there looking at me.

And I'm sitting there thinking, are you listening to what you're saying? No wonder the kid—I'd want to get high too, if I had you [as a parent].

And there few things that really—I'm not at all a violent person, but I hear that stuff, and it's like, we're on the 12^th floor right now, I bet I could throw you through this window and see what happens.

But I just have to sit there and be like, “Okay, okay.”

And then what you find is--I'll ask the parents, “Okay, I talked to little Johnny here for a while, and yeah he's doing some things that are not in his best interest. No one's going to argue with that. Never gonna say drugs are okay, anger—I get it. What about you? He told me about how you grew up, and his grandma and grandpa, your parents, and, wow, your dad was a really violent, abusive guy, he was drinking a lot too, huh. So what are you doing to take care of yourself?"

“Oh no no, I don't have time for that. It's all his fault--he needs to stop—I'm not gonna--”

So you get the parents--because by definition there's a power differential between the parents and kids--saying, “No no, we're not looking at our issues, we're looking at the kid's.”

And so you find that when you do couple's therapy, it's not a couple's problem, it's two individual problems. Because what happened was these two people never dealt with the issues of how they grew up.

And the mindset is, “Well, I've got 10 problems. You're hot. Let's get together—you've got 10 problems—and so we'll get together and cancel those problems out.”

Last time I checked, 10 plus 10 equals 20, and not zero.

So now, what really happens is—I've got my problems, you've got your problems, let's get together—oh, well now we're actually really connected, so I kind of have your problems and you sort of have my problems.

So now we're going to have this fire going on and this problem back and forth, but we can't say anything to the church because everybody's gotta put a smiley Jesus face on everything, right? We wouldn't ever want to be honest. Because God knows Jesus was never honest, he just went around lying about things.

And I get this all the time:

“Well, if my husband would do this and get his act together”

“Well if my wife would stop doing this--”

“My girlfriend that--”

So where I spend most of my time is trying to get people to look into the mirror:

"Well dude, hate to tell you this but the only person on earth you can control is yourself. The only person that she can control is herself. So you are 100% in control of your 50%. But no more no less. So you can't control her. You can't force her. At the very most you can scare the crap out of her."

I was magnetic north for domestic violence situations about a year ago. I don't know why, I just got a lot of them at once.

If you're some huge weight lifter dude--or maybe if you're not—you can scare the crap out of your girlfriend or your wife, beat the shit out of her, whatever, okay—she might do what you say in that moment—but in the long run, she's not going to like you, your kids aren't going to like you.

But she's too scared, she's too codependent, maybe there are economic factors, maybe there are kids involved. Maybe there are reasons that she doesn't leave.

In an average DV [domestic violence] case, it takes the abusee—and one out of five times it's the female that's abusing the male—an average of thirteen times leaving and coming back, before they leave for good.

So you would sit there and say, “What is your problem? This guy's beating you up. You had to go to the hospital. Why don't you just leave?”

Which is kind of the equivalent of talking to an alcoholic and saying, “Why don't you just put down the alcohol? Why don't you just stop doing it?" Oh no crap! I had never thought of that before I lost my house, my kids, and everything else.

So there's a lot more to it, but you can see how in that situation, the obvious person is the violent perpetrator. If you're the guy and you're beating up your girlfriend where she has to go to the hospital, that's easily seen.

What's not so easily seen is why does that girl feel so poorly about herself that she would be with this guy? Is she trying to fix him? And what you find is there's a lot of issues from the way [she] grew up.

So, back to your question, if everyone looked at themselves, then all of a sudden, people's level of overall health would change--it would go up. Then you would find much healthier relationships. Because if a person is unhealthy, by definition they cannot have a healthy relationship.

Again, they can be the pastor, they can be the worship leader, they can do all this fancy crap and look really good, and go home and beat the crap out of their kids. And that stuff goes on. Big name preacher, "oh praise Jesus" and all that, and their kids need to go to the hospital.

But, “Oh no, we're not going to tell anyone about this stuff, we're going to keep secrets. We're going to keep feelings buried."

There's an old saying one of my bosses likes, it goes: “Feelings buried alive never die.” And what happens is they come out in other very nasty ways. 

There are people that come in and say, “I want this guy to be like this and I want him to have that and I want him to be like this and have this list--” And that's fine.

I just say, okay, so if this guy came by right now, would you be his dream girl that had this and this and this together? They don't really like to think about that.

But there's an old Al-Anon saying that says, “2s don't attract 10s.” And there's a bunch of 2s walking around going,

“Well, I want this 10 as a girlfriend or a boyfriend.”
“Dude, you're a 2.”

And we're not talking supermodel girl with less attractive guy, we're talking about psychological-level functioning. So, okay, you want a 10, I get it. But right now you're a 2.

Go work on yourself. 'Cause all you're gonna get at this point are 2s. You can't figure out why your last 25 boyfriends have been such jerks? What's the common denominator there? I try not to be that blunt, but at the end of the day, that's the question. Because it comes back to: I gotta look at myself.

And if you're young, if you're hot, if you have money, if you're successful—you don't need to do that. Because there's always going to be somebody else to pick up the slack. There's always some other drug to do. There's always some other credit to get.

So when they say that the hot girls are the last girls in AA to get sober, that's true. Because it's only when they get old enough to where, “Oh, every last guy isn't throwing themselves at me to get me this or do that, well I guess something ought to happen here.”

...to be continued.

You can find Bryan at his website. 

Going to Therapy Changed My Life

Not my notes, but a pretty cool idea. Photo by Sacha Chua 

I first sought help for my brain because my body was killing me.

I had been experiencing severe pain and discomfort that seemed to have no tangible physical explanation. A few WebMD searches later, and I was either headed to an early grave or doomed to spend the rest of my life with a debilitating, painful disease.

The fear was overwhelming.

I signed up for therapy, online (Thank you, technology).

I had been thinking about going for years, but it was pain and fear that pushed me over the edge.

Going to therapy changed my life, and all I could think was, "Why didn't I do this sooner?"

Therapy is not a panacea: a cure for every kind of physical, emotional, spiritual or mental pain. But it has been a powerful, healing force.

So in case you've been thinking about going, or you went once and never went back, or you used to go, but stopped--

My intent is to address some of the barriers that kept me from taking the first step. Maybe you can relate.

I didn't go to therapy because...

1. No one in my family ever went to therapy, talked about going, or mentioned it as an option.

There are certain kinds of pain that are not okay to talk about. It could be physical pain--to be transparent, part of what propelled me into therapy was the way in which my family both did and did not respond to my physical (and by extension, emotional) pain.

It might be helpful to ask:

What kinds of pain are okay? Not okay?
How am I allowed to talk about pain?
What does empathy look like in my family?
Is there a distrust around being vulnerable? Is there an escape from it, such as humor, sarcasm, distraction, ridicule, ignoring, anger, silence?
How does my family treat vulnerability in general?

2. I had never experienced a major, identifiable trauma that would justify going.

There's a social stigma to seeking therapy: that something deep and terrible must be wrong with you. Well, I definitely felt like there was something wrong with me, but I had nothing to point to, to say, "This! This is why I feel broken."

There's a false sense of shame that tends to go with trauma, even vague, unidentifiable trauma. There's a false sense of shame around needing help. But shame doesn't mean there is something wrong with you--and neither does going to therapy.

If your buddy sprained his ankle, would you ridicule him for going to the doctor instead of playing full court basketball?

"C'mon! What's wrong with you! Why can't you keep up?"

Just like you wouldn't feel shame over going to the hospital for an infected wound or broken bone, seeking therapy merely means that you are human, and that it's possible that things could get better, could be better.

3. I had a traumatic experience with pastoral counseling.

Just as there is a social stigma to therapy, there can also be a spiritual stigma--the belief that God, the church, your pastor, small group, the Bible, and ten hours of prayer per day should be able to cure all that ails you emotionally and psychologically.

There's the belief that simply grasping the truth of "God loves you" and maybe a few cathartic crying sessions at the altar will bring healing to even the deepest, most ingrained sense of shame.

I really wish that were true.

I'm not completely discounting pastoral counseling or any of the spiritual practices listed above. But I have also experienced firsthand how damaging it can be to receive non-professional counseling that both goes too far and doesn't go far enough.

I believe the intent of my pastor was not to harm me, but to help me. However, emotionally it was akin to performing surgery without proper training, exposing a deep wound to the air and the elements, and then expecting my heart to heal itself.

It didn't.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with seeking professional help outside of the church. There is nothing wrong with going to a non-Christian therapist, even if you are a Christian.

There is nothing wrong with being hurt because someone dug around in your emotional guts with a penknife and had absolutely no clue what they were doing.

I wish at the time that instead of shutting down because I was "broken" (and if not even God or my pastor or my spiritual community could help me, who could?), that I had sought out a professional therapist.

4. I thought I couldn't afford to pay for therapy.

This was a huge barrier for me.

Therapy is expensive. I had no health insurance. However, I was also unaware that there are many low-cost and affordable options for seeing a therapist.

I eventually found a non-profit organization in Los Angeles that provides sliding scale membership and counseling services. If it weren't for the availability of low-cost counseling, I don't think I would have ever gone.

Again, therapy is not a panacea. Not all therapists are created equal. It really helps to find the right fit.

If you are thinking about going to therapy, I hope that you take the leap. The barriers are real, but you are definitely, definitely worth it.



[If you would like information on low cost therapy options in the Los Angeles area, please contact me.]

Pain, Part 3: Dealing with Trauma

I'm driven to understand things. To dig deep and find answers (Blame it on the INTP. I certainly do).

I mostly do the opposite of shrugging my shoulders and going, "That's just the way it is."

Even when it comes to pain. Especially when it comes to pain.

Unfortunately for me, you can't analyze your way to healing. Not that I don't try.

Why is this not comforting

Pain doesn't have words. Pain just is.

After going through a traumatic experience (or sequence of traumatic experiences) last year, I've been struggling with how to deal with trauma. This leads to quite a few questions:

How do you heal from emotional trauma?
What do you do if the pain doesn't seem to get better or go away?
How do I deal with the layers of betrayal--not only by the person who originally hurt me, but by the surrounding social contexts that enabled the original betrayal or responded with indifference?
How important is it to understand the motivation and psychology behind the person who hurt me?
How do I process and integrate the positive experiences that I had with this person without simply experiencing more pain?
How do I balance processing trauma in the way it deserves while also moving on with my life and seeking out new relationships?
How do I protect myself from situations or people who are abusive while also not shutting down all possibility of intimacy or vulnerability?
How do I deal with people or situations that trigger irrational and intense fear because they remind me of the abuse?

And on it goes.

And while I think there is nothing wrong with asking a ton of questions (I live for questions. Occasionally I die for them to), I feel like this mountain of questioning also betrays something of a perfectionistic streak--

I find myself operating in a strange place of perfectionism--that inescapable drive to be perfect--even perfect at dealing with trauma.

I hover consistently between "Don't be a victim" and "Why do I still feel like this?" I struggle with thinking that perhaps I seek to memorialize my pain rather than to let it go. But I suppose it's a bit like trying to rip out a jagged edged weapon embedded deep in your flesh--you can't pull it out without also taking some blood and guts with you.

I struggle with thinking that there is a right and a wrong way to deal with trauma, and maybe I'm doing it wrong. I'm failing.

Then of course, there's the occasional odd flash of pride: "I'm dealing with it. I'm neither numbing out, nor engaging in self-destructive habits!" Yay me!

But I also struggle with either leaning into the pain, "living in the present" as they call it, or doing everything I can to distract myself.

And when I'm not perfect at dealing with trauma, shame is ready to pounce.

That's the weird thing about shame--that it tends to spiral outward in layers--

Layer upon layer upon layer upon layer upon layer:

The shame of the trauma itself.
The shame of being responsible for the trauma (abuse) or somehow responsible for not preventing it from happening. ("If only I had...", "I could have...", "Why didn't I...")
The shame of not doing trauma right. (What's wrong with me? I should be over this by now?)
The shame of perfectionism. (It's stupid to think that I can "perform" and be good enough at something like dealing with trauma.)
The shame of self-pity. (I must be feeling sorry for myself right now, because it still hurts.)
The shame of wanting support. (Why doesn't anyone care? I shouldn't expect them to. This is mine to deal with.)
The shame of wanting revenge. (I shouldn't want someone else to suffer like I did.)
The shame of not forgiving. (If I really forgave this person, I wouldn't still feel this way. It's wrong to not forgive.)

And on it goes.

At it's core, is it not some basic shame about being alive?

I've written so much about how pain is a sign that something is wrong. What if pain is also a sign that something is right--a sign of pulsing, breathing, sensing, feeling, painful, vulnerable, life?

I feel pain because I am alive. And I am healing. And I will heal. And I am more than the shame.

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.

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

Three Confessions and a Funeral

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

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

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

My second thought was this:

"You're selfish."

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

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

Selfish. Selfish.

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

I read the bulletin.

Printed there were these lyrics in Chinese and English:

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

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

Second confession: Shoes.

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

Selfish.

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

Gentle. Incredibly gentle. Kind. Patient.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pain, Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

The fear just is. Much like the pain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was wounded. And the wound refused to heal. 

It refused to heal because it was infected. 

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

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

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

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

How does an emotional wound become infected? 

Shame

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isolation

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

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

And I was less alone. 

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

Forgiveness

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

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

Because that's what Christians do. They forgive. 

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

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

You deny the depth of the hurt.

You deny the extent of the damage.

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

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

Denial

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Why You're Not Angry Enough

Because he's a really nice guy. One of the nicest you've ever met.

Because if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything.

Because you don't want him to think you're crazy, emotional, irrational, PMSing, or all of the above.

Because maybe this is God's will.

Because you don't want to scare the boys away.

Because what's done is done. You can't change the past.

Because if you're angry, you might start crying.

Because if you're angry, you might be told to "calm down," "don't over-think it" (too late), "you need to lighten up."

Because what happened to me wasn't all that bad.

Because God doesn't like it when you're angry.

Because if you're not nice, then you're a bitch, and you don't want to be a bitch.

Because women are allowed to be angry, but not too angry. [See, "And you'll scare the boys away," above.]

Because your parents did the best that they could.

Because anger feels like a destructive emotion, and you don't want to destroy anything (except patriarchy, of course).

Because you want to protect him.

Because you want to protect her.

Because maybe I led him on.

Because maybe I deserved it.

Because maybe it was my fault.

Because you don't want to "hold onto unforgiveness" or "allow bitterness to take root."

Because why can't you let go already and stop blaming other people for your problems?

Because anger hurts.

Because we don't talk about that in this house.

Because no one will ever love you if you're angry.

Facebook & The Outrage Machine

I can't BELIEVE something like this would happen in AMERICA!!!!

WHERE HAVE ALL THE REAL MEN GONE!!???

Proof that all politicians are SLIME and a giant BOIL on the face of humanity!!

Sound familiar? 

Welcome to the outrage machine. The only rule of the outrage machine: Be angry. Very, very angry.

And there's a lot to be angry about, in this world. Just look at the news: rape, murder, genocide, natural disaster, child neglect and abuse, and on and on. Too many terrible things, too few Twitter characters to contain them all.

Outrage is often the best response--or if not the best, then the most instinctive.

That being said, I'm taking a step back and looking at outrage from several different angles.

Outrage as drug

The dirty little secret about outrage is that it feels good. It feels right. It feels righteous.

Surely righteous anger has been the catalyst for many courageous and revolutionary movements throughout history.

Anger can rouse us from depression, from angst, from feeling like a victim, from passivity, from fear.

But what if it becomes a drug? What if outrage forges familiar neural pathways that we revisit over and over and over again?

Outrage as manipulation

A lot of the outrage on facebook (or other forms of social media) is manipulative, flat out. That doesn't make it right or wrong, but it does make it too easy--

Too easy to go to that place of outrage, to the chest-heaving, eye-dilating, fist-clenching, teeth-gritting, heart-racing automatic and autonomic response.

Some of us have that one facebook friend who functions as our own personal outrage machine. I used to have one of those. Then I blocked their feed. It was that simple. I had so much free time on my hands I took up knitting AND making pie crust from scratch. I was a much more peaceful person (not really).

It seems easy to acknowledge that certain status updates, links, articles, blog posts, etc. are specifically designed to elicit outrage. They manipulate our emotions to get a certain kind of response.

Outrage as money

It's weird to think of outrage as dollars and cents, but that's exactly what it is in click-baity journalism. Just think about it. Someone is manipulating one of your most powerful emotions to make money. [Oh wait, that's all advertising.] And again, this doesn't make outrage right or wrong. I would, however, question the motives of those peddling outrage for profit.

Outrage as narrative

Here's where it gets interesting (for me).

I'm worried that as outrage becomes a default response, we will begin to tune out the things that don't push our own personal outrage buttons. If it doesn't match our own particular "narrative of outrage," it doesn't register.

I'm concerned that many outrage narratives foster an "Us v. Them" mentality, not necessarily an "Us v. Rapists" mentality (Note: Rape = Bad) but an "Us v. Small Town Football" or "Us v. Republicans" or "Us v. The Idiots Who Voted for Obama."

There simply isn't enough outrage to go around. Even I, a feminist, have a limited supply (And I eat outrage for breakfast, like cheerios).

And the not-so-shocking truth about racism, or sexism, or homophobia, or many other social evils is that in real life, they're depressingly banal and hardly outrageous enough to earn a stint on Jerry Springer, let alone 45,634 shares on facebook.

"And now for a very controversial after school special wherein Connie's coworker rolls his eyes condescendingly when she offers to help him create a PDF in Microsoft Word."

Oh the humanity.

I'm more interested in the ordinary, the blase, the familiar and unquestioned. I want to interrogate the logic of sexism, of racism, of all kinds of violence and prejudice. 

I think there are "good" people who believe some pretty messed up things. I think there are good people who participate in and perpetuate a culture that I don't believe in, a culture that (honestly), I hate. To state it more blatantly, there are people that I like, people that I love or would have loved had I known them, who participate(d) in and perpetuate(d) a culture that I hate. 

And the "Us v. Them" binary starts to crumble.

So, to recap, the downsides of outrage:

• Outrage puts you in "fight or flight." [Which can be useful if you need to fight!]
• Repeatedly posting outrage click-bait might cause people to start tuning you out (or blocking your fb feed).
• Outrage creates "buttons," not stories. 
• Outrage is where nuance and subtlety go to die. 
• Outrage is exhausting

Humor as an alternative to outrage

I'm not saying that the opposite of outrage is bland amusement, or that rape jokes are always the best response to rape (although rape jokes can be one of the most subversive responses to rape culture, and no, "I'm going to rape you right now! Hahahahahaha" is not a subversive rape joke, or much of a joke, for that matter).

I'm saying that humor can accomplish what outrage cannot. It can turn things on their heads. It can offer a fresh perspective. It can tilt the world just enough that you see a piece of the sky that you've never seen before. It can feel like hope.

Which is perhaps a post for another time.

Crying. In public.

It was 9pm last Wednesday night and I was crying in a booth at Canter’s Deli on Fairfax. I pushed at the corners of my eyes with my knuckles and dabbed the snot leaking from my nose with a napkin. The edges of my vision blurred with tears, like a watery postcard. At the center of the postcard, still surprisingly in focus, sat my friend. 

I get ugly when I cry. My entire face turns blotchy and red. The salt stings my nostrils. My eyes puff up, causing me to look more Asian than my usual fifty percent. My nose swells. My eyelids start to itch. The corners of my mouth dry out. I can’t breathe through my nose. 

I try to avoid crying in public, mostly because of the ugliness and the sluggish way the signs of it fade from my face. I feel marked long after the impulse to weep has gone. As a kid, my dad would call me “red eyes” as I sat at the dinner table, unable to hide the signs. 

I’ve locked myself in countless stalls in countless bathrooms at countless churches, waiting for the telltale puffiness to leave my eyes, giving the all clear. 

I’ve always felt shame at any strong display of emotion. 

I have a good memory too, for emotions and things. How do I know this? Because when I say to a friend or family member, “Remember when such-and-such happened?” or “Remember when you said this-or-that?” they almost never remember. For example, my sister doesn’t remember the hurtful things I said to her when we were eleven, but I do. I remember the emotional charge of hate, fear and pain. 

My dad recently told me, “When you were little, you would burst out crying at the dinner table because of some promise Mom or I had made to you months ago.” 

It’s like I was born to hold grudges, to internalize forever the hurt and unmet expectations of the moment: “You wounded me on this day, at this hour, wearing this blue shirt.” 

Last Tuesday night, I had a dream that my sister was telling me that it was over between us. There was no yelling, no screaming, just calm, rational argument. She was making several very valid points: I had said this. Done that. Sure, it was in the past, but still the facts were there and the only logical step would be to cut ties. 

I dreamt this, knowing my sister. I dreamt this, knowing that she would never reject me. Never. In the dream, I felt numb. 

My dad and I had a fight about a year ago that ended in my tears. And honestly, I despised myself for crying. I hated the vulnerability of it. 

And sitting there in that booth, in Canter’s, on Fairfax, in Los Angeles—all I could see was how I needed to forgive myself. That it was okay to be hurt, okay to remember, okay to cry. 

Perhaps God made me this way for a reason. Perhaps it’s part of being a writer—this emotionally fraught memory of mine. 

I looked across the booth at my friend. All I could see in her eyes was empathy. I was crying, but I felt no shame. 

Love in the Third Grade and How Things Never Change

We're standing, alone, in the middle of a field, just me and the boy that likes me. It's recess. Is there snow on the ground? Maybe. Maybe not. I'm in third grade. I live in Maine. There probably is snow on the ground.

"What do you think?"
"What do I think about what?"
"What do you think about me?"

I pause. What kind of question is that?

"I guess...I'm amused."
"Amused??"

But wait, it gets worse.

"Yeah, amused. Do you need to look it up in the dictionary??"

Emotional confrontations. Never my strong point.

I would say, never corner a girl in the middle of a field during recess and demand to know how she feels about you. But really, isn't that what we all want, to some extent?

Not the recess part necessarily, but the clarity--I've made my feelings clear. Now you can tell me if you feel the same way.

When I was in fourth grade, I moved to China. Do you know what fourth graders think China looks like? Little grass huts, everywhere.

In third grade, I was in the advanced reading and spelling groups. In spelling, we learned words like "vacuum" and "restaurant."

I told a boy I was "amused."

Years later, and not much has changed. What if your entire romantic future is basically laid out for you in the third grade? I don't like people easily. I'm bad at discussing feelings. I'm a bit arrogant about my large vocabulary. I say the wrong things at the wrong time, in the wrong tone of voice. Perhaps, one day, someone will find these qualities endearing.

You know what China looks like? China looks like a big city where I don't speak the language and there are too many cars and too many bicycles. I will learn the language. I will explore the city. I will write back to my fourth grade class and disabuse them of their little grass huts, everywhere. But not yet. For now, China looks like a big city where I am a foreigner and I don't speak the language.

You know what? There was definitely snow on the ground. Definitely. I'm sure of it.

Girls, Guns, and Beer

When I was a kid, I was in Girl Scouts and my brother was in Boy Scouts. I remember being jealous about the cool things my brother's troop got to do. Why were their activities so much more fun than ours?

Now that I've graduated into adulthood, life is rarely divided into gender specific activities--with the exception of the women's ministry at church.

If you hadn't noticed, churches approach men and women's ministries differently. Take this hypothetical announcement:

"Men, it's time for the [monthly men's ministry event]! This month we will [do something stereotypically female by sharing our feelings and having a good cry] ... Not! We will actually be [doing something extremely manly like shooting guns or lassoing cattle.]"

Wait a minute. Just because I'm female doesn't mean I don't want to shoot guns or lasso cattle. Why are their activities so much more fun than ours?

Well, from the previous non-quotation, I can make the following gross generalizations about men:

Men don't actually want to hang out with each other. They need an incentive (beer, poker, guns). Men do not like to share their emotions. In fact, they are terrified by the thought. Men are afraid of being perceived as overly feminine, thus they define themselves in opposition to the feminine qualities of vulnerability, sensitivity, and empathy.

Women, on the other hand, love to talk about their feelings. Put a bunch of women in a room together, and they will bond [paraphrased from a friend].

I took the opportunity to brainstorm words/things I associate with men's/women's ministry. The results are below.

MEN	WOMEN
Fun	Food
Bros	Bonding
Play	Crafts
Football	Tears
Accountability	Affirmation

These items are pretty funny in juxtaposition. Which would you prefer, football...or tears?

[As an aside, women's ministry events have the BEST FOOD EVER and/or I have cried into some pretty quality mini quiche bites while making hand-painted ornaments that say "Jesus is the BOMB!"]

I also brainstormed words about assumptions men's and women's ministries tend to make about men and women:

The church assumes men are…	The church assumes women are…
Bored	Tired
Concerned with work	Concerned with family
Lazy	Insecure
Disengaged	Overwhelmed
Distracted	Stressed
Lustful	Wounded
Desire entertainment	Desire comfort
Need encouragement to “man up”	Need validation

The assumptions [I'm assuming] the church makes about men seem blatantly insulting. As for the assumptions the church makes about women--

A lot of books, talks, and events seem to revolve around the issue of worth. And that's great. But there's more to women than their need to feel loved.

For a purely hypothetical example, I might be insecure, but also kind of arrogant. I might need validation, but also a kick in the pants. Yes, it's great knowing that God loves me just the way I am, but I also want to do something about it.

In my experience, issues related to worth and self-esteem tend to manifest cyclically throughout the seasons of life. And what brings me out of myself is usually acting as if I am loved, not the feeling itself. 

As for whether guys bond better by doing things together rather than by having deep, heart-to-heart talks--

My brother is two years younger than me. When we were kids, he was always trying to get me to play with him (maybe other older siblings can relate). On one family roadtrip, my mom taught us how to play poker with toothpicks. My brother was so enamored with the game, that he kept the game going long into a night of sleeping in our Jeep Cherokee (it was an interesting trip). 

So yeah. Maybe there's something to it.