The Second Round

Last week, I'd started on a blog post about my feelings regarding the outcome of the most recent US elections. I got most of the way through and ran out of steam, plus I wrote a bunch about it on our family Slack and that blew up. Lots of hurt feelings, lots of not really seeing each other, lots of stuff that we might never fully work through but we're family and we love each other anyway. But it's still an open wound.

Wednesday morning, James's first words to me were, "What do we do now?" If I need to explain to you why we're dumbfounded and upset, then you don't really know my family and there's too much to catch you up on here. Regardless, I had a clear-ish vision: "We take care of our kids. We do what's best for our family." As we spoke, I realized that James was in a tailspin and I was perhaps not as gracious as I could have been. I was in active survival mode and James needed a few days to process and gain his bearings. I know that my inability to suffer prolonged bouts of vulnerability in others is one of my character flaws. I've been thinking on that as I've looked at rentals in Minneapolis and priced snow pants, crampons for all, and winter tires.

The past few weeks, I've been listening to various episodes of a podcast my sister mentioned to me: The Bodies Behind the Bus. The most recent episode I listened to resonated do deeply with me. The guest was Eric Isaac. He was talking about creating his own definition of spiritual abuse. I couldn't find a transcript, so ended up transcribing his thoughts on my own. And I ruminated.

This morning, it all came together in my brain, why I feel like I know where we are, why I feel so personally worn down and discouraged, and why my instinct was to ramp up and do this thing, whereas James needed more time to grieve and come to grips with reality.

First, I'm going to share Eric Isaac's definition of spiritual abuse: "Spiritual abuse is its own umbrella category of abuse. Any form of abuse — sexual, emotional, psychological, vocational, or other — can fall under the category of spiritual abuse if God or the sacred is presented as complicit or used to justify abuse by power-holders through attempting to coerce or manipulate others for the purposes of control. The effects of this unique form of abuse can create unique theological or ontological trauma that can leave a lasting abusive construction of the sacred or God long after the individuals have removed themselves from the abusive environment. Spiritual abuse can also create and inform entire faith communities and institutions that are built on abusive manipulations of the sacred, perpetuating abusive conceptions of the sacred, alongside behavior by institutionalizing the conceptions of the sacred."

By that definition, I've been the victim of spiritual abuse multiple times in my life.

First, I was married to someone for 13 years who would make a decision (for example: that I needed not to talk to my sister as often as I was) and say, "If that's the wrong decision, then someday I will answer to God for it. But I'm responsible for this family, and that is my decision as to what's best for us."

Second, when I set about to leave that man, the church where I'd served for more than 6 years called me into meetings almost every day for two weeks trying to talk me out of divorcing him because "What if Jesus is going to save your marriage tomorrow and you gave up one day early?" They didn't what to appear to support the idea of divorce, so they micromanaged my behavior (or tried to; I'm bad at obeying when I disagree) for over a year before I folded and moved away. This was after they invited me to leave several times.

Third, when James and I got engaged, my church leadership tried to talk us both out of it. Since James isn't a believer, they didn't want me yoking myself to him. In the end, the preacher told me, "If you're not willing to submit to this part of our leadership, I'm not sure what we have for you here." This hurt, but when I found out that he'd groomed another young member of that church and carried on an inappropriate extramarital relationship with them (which started as sexual assault and continued through spiritual abuse over time) for many years, I was just mad.

Mad at the control for their own purposes. Mad at withholding the love of Christ because their priority was maintaining the glowing reputation of the church. Mad that the parable of the 99 sheep doesn't seem to apply to these people and their organizations: When you have a lost sheep, that's where you devote resources and love... you aren't supposed to just say, "Wow, you're a mess. Sacrificing the one for the 99 is just good math."

I have decades of experience in the arena of, "You'll do what I tell you to do or you'll suffer the consequences because God and stuff."

Years ago, when I was cleaning out my closet to prepare for moving from our family home of 7 years into the RV that D and I share for a couple of pretty awesome years, I remember a feeling washed over me. It said, "No help is coming."

For weeks, I'd been telling my story to anyone who would listen, in hopes that they'd understand my predicament, have some empathy, and walk through the process as my corroborating testimony. (To be clear, I did have friends who rose to this occasion, but no one on the church staff; no one who had any ability to make my presence in that body anything other than a thorn in the side of leadership.)

That message that I was on my own was kind of freeing. It allowed me to stop looking for a soft heart where none existed and instead redouble my efforts to move ahead, knowing what I needed to do.

The trauma of that lives large in my life to this day. I think that's why the quote about spiritual abuse felt so affirming and cathartic. It helped me see that when I'm triggered with a certain flavor of despair, I click immediately back into that mindset.

Last week, I tried to explain my hurt regarding the election to people who couldn't hear it. I guess I haven't learned that lesson yet. I'll just commiserate with those close to me who feel the same way I do and keep doing what I always do: taking care of my family and putting one foot in front of the other. Oh, and resisting. Because, as you now know, I do not obey well when I don't trust my leaders.

I Ain't Even Mad (and I'm tired of people who are trying to sustain anger)

So, guys, whew. That election, amirite?! SNL was funny this weekend. Russell Brand had an interestingly insightful video about the whole thing. I'm not posting links, because I'm lazy and I'm sure we're all tired.

Now, first, if you want to know the truth, I did not vote for our President-elect. Second, I was surprised watcing the results unfold (again, you should really watch that one SNL skit about people "like me" on eleciton night. Good good stuff). But very quickly, I saw something so hopeful happening: I saw folks mobilizing to make sure marginalized people weren't going to slip through the cracks, be bullied, or have their rights trampled on.

I'm a member of several groups that have recently sprung up on Facebook to facilitate interracial understanding, to reach out to political leaders to make sure the will of the people is known, and to step out of comfort zones to make a real difference in the lives of people whose civil rights are important to "us" (meaning those with any kind of privilege, almost all of which I have: white, fully-"abled," Christian, straight... pretty much all of it except "male."

Seeing these random acts of kindness, seeing how taking a look at ourselves has made us more empathetic and more motivated to reach out... that's been affirming and beautiful. I want more of it! I want to be a part of it. I want to be part of a revolution that has as its goal to love actively. This is awesome.

But.

OMG, people.

The "but"s.

I get it: some of us were surprised and disappointed and scared for ourselves, or friends, or family members, or society at large. Some of us were happy and aren't thrilled with the way the "others" are looking at us right now and we don't understand their outrage and find their morality high horse consescending. I get those things.

But I'm tired of...

You know what? I'm not tired of the angry. I get the angry. I have felt the angry.

I'm tired of the vitriol. I'm tired of the darkness and the cursing and the wishing ill. I'm tired of the all caps and the yelling and the aspersions.

Examples: People calling Trump voters (who might not necessarily be "supporters," in the strictest sense of the word) racists and hillbillies and misogynists, etc. Conservatives telling "whiny liberals" to stop crying, etc. Big sigh.

I've seen families literally have to spend time apart because they are antagonizing each other. Oh my goodness, peoples, why?! You do not need to make that family member "see the light." I promise. We all have our viewpoints, and if you actually act in an uncivil manner toward someone or do something illegal or shady or whatever, I might call you on it, but otherwise, I'm going to assume you have well-thought-out reasons for voting the way you do... and it's supposed to be secret, anyway.

So maybe a little 1990s "don't ask/don't tell" is in order, if only to keep the family and/or neighborhood and/or reading club peace.

Now. There are a few things that have made me unfollow those groups I purposefully joined recently.

I was going to justify what I'm about to say by explaining my political position, but I decided not to. I don't need to justify this. It's true regardless of my opinions about the election. But let's just say that the criticisms I'm going to voice are of stances coming from what could conceivably be "my" side this election.

First, there's this whole safety pin thing, where allies (or "safe" people) wear a safety pin to indicate that they're willing to stand up for people of color, the LGBT community, refugees, immigrants, etc. Well, now there are people mad about THAT because they say white people don't get to "assuage guilt" by something dumb like wearing a pin. Um. That's not why I was doing it. I don't feel guilty.

Second, someone suggested not buying Christmas presents this year to hit the economy so "the stores" would take notice. "The stores" didn't vote for anyone. If you want to rachet down the commercialism of the holiday, great. Make stuff, do a gift swap with friends and used toys, etc. But to purposefully tank the economy just to prove a point? Hey, guess what? I live in this economy. So does everyone else, including people making minimum wage working at big box stores. And those people have families. The "notice" the stores might take if not performing up to expectations is likely to bear itself out in cutting hours or positions.

I am all for political statements, but I'm not participating in any "scorched earth" scenario, so no thanks.

Third, and probably last, because I really don't want to be vitriolic. I don't. But the #notmypresident thing? Well, it's been done, so it's already tired. However, not to put on a Captain Obvious cape or anything, but unless you defect to another country or you die between now and the new year, Donald Trump will, in actual fact, be your President. You don't have to love him. You are welcome to your embarrassment and horror that he has been elected. But as long as you're a US citizen, he'll be every bit as much your President as Barack Obama has been all of the denial declaimers' from 2008 and 2012.

That might just be semantics to you, but we've just spent weeks and weeks arguing that words are important. Do we mean it? Or do we just mean it for "them"?

Especially if you voted. If you voted, you cast an implied vote of confidence in the system that got Donald Trump elected. (If you didn't vote, you have more of a "right" to say "None of 'em are my President; I ain't part of that system," though you'd still be factually in error.) You would have accepted the outcome happily (more or less) if "your" candidate had won... So you can unhappily accept this outcome, but you really have no choice (except, again, expatriating yourself) but to accept it, since it's reality.

The absolute final thing I don't understand, anger-wise, is most of the people I know who are just ticked off about the past eight years and can't wait for a change in administration. Now, I do know that there are people who are genuinely struggling, financially or otherwise... but most of the people I know are firmly entrenched in the middle (even if lower middle) class, and their lives are not in peril or constant jeopardy, so I don't get the utter relief that this Presidency is closing out.

Also, many of the same ones calling "liberals" "whiny" or "sore losers" or whatever are the same people who have "charming" nicknames for our current President, which I will not repeat here because I don't want to give any of them credibility, nor call anyone out specifically for being rude.

But if you're a little affronted because you've done any of the above things? I'm not trying to hurt anyone's pride or feelings. I just want the ugliness to stop. We're all on the same side. We all want our country to be its best. I think most of us want that not to be at anyone else's expense, too.

So I appreciate the friends I've seen who are channeling their very strong feelings into action. Thank you for being such great examples of how to proactively combat feelings in order to stave off resentment and complacency. I want to be just like you guys when I grow up.