lThere are a few things in my life that I don't understand that everyone else seems to. Actually, probably more than a few but two of them feel more pronounced to me. Sarcasm and Othering.
Sarcasm (I'm going to lump teasing in with this one too). I hate it. I think it's just plain mean and I always have. There always felt like there was an element of truth in it and that people used it as a way to say what they really meant while still having the excuse of, "oh but I was just joking" if it didn't land well. I grew up around an extended family full of sarcasm. It was traumatic to not know what to believe. It left me feeling stupid most of the time. I often heard, "don't be so sensitive" or "I was just joking, jeez". If it was just a joke, why did it hurt so bad? Those were some of the moments that made me feel like I didn't belong. It seemed like everyone else was either in on the joke or understood when someone was being sarcastic. It seemed they didn't feel as hurt by it as I did. I felt too sensitive. I felt confused. And, I learned to play along. I learned to fit in and pretend it didn't hurt me. I even learned how to use sarcasm but every time I did I felt a part of my soul wither away. It just wasn't me. I felt cruel and deceitful when I did it. It has taken many years to unlearn this bad habit but I am in the process of living in integrity with myself and sarcasm has no place there. Othering. This has been something I have struggled with for years. I couldn't understand how people could judge one another based on one aspect of their life, because that's truly all othering is. They are republican therefore they are x, y, z. That person is autistic therefore they are x, y, z. That person is introverted therefore they are x, y, z. The list goes on. These are labels that I watch people use to distinguish themselves as different from the person they are othering. This is hurtful on so many levels even when the person that is being othered is placed on a pedestal. Othering allows us to see someone as less than human (or greater than ourselves). This othering is a slippery slope that lets people fall in to finding justification for being cruel to another or themselves. When we other, we stop seeing a person as an individual. We stop seeing their humanity. When we stop seeing their humanity, we stop being human to them. We justify laws that deny their basic fundamental rights. We justify refusing to allow them into our social circle. We even justify self-harm by way of eating disorders and addictions because we can't stand the judgements we place on ourselves for not being more like them. Othering has broken my heart since I was five years old crying into my dad's arms wondering, "why are people so mean to each other?" Just last week I cried into my own arms wondering, "why are people so mean to each other?" (This includes me being mean to others and myself. I am not exempt despite the way it breaks my heart.) Today I listened to a We Can Do Hard Things Podcast with Dr. Orna Guralnik. She offered up a reframe of othering that I appreciated and am excited to dive into for myself. She expressed the importance of othering in relationship. If we simply surrounded ourselves with people that are just like us, our world would be so boring. It's the variety that we bring to each other that gives life meaning. This got me to thinking differently about othering. I think it comes down to the way we are speaking about the 'others'. What if instead of saying, "they are a republican" and automatically assuming x, y, z about them, we said, "they believe in republican views, I wonder what else they believe in." Curiosity is the way of nature. Maybe if we began approaching others with curiosity instead of judgement we could find ourselves in a brand new landscape of relationships. Maybe we could start looking out for one another. Maybe we can begin to look for the humanity in each other first and allow judgement to be a tool we use to discern who we choose to be around and love while still honoring that other person (or other people) and all of who they are. I'm just so tired of being different. Scratch that. I'm just so tired of trying to fit in. Look y'all, if you use sarcasm on me, I will probably look at you funny wondering if you are being truthful or not and I certainly will not find it funny. Ever. And, if I hear you othering someone, I will continue to redirect the conversation. Yes - I have even redirected conversations about some of the most horrific evil-doers in history. They are all still human, whether we want to believe it or not and I believe it's important that we do. Which brings me to the topic of oneness-but that's a blog post for another day.
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Hurt people hurt people. It's true. I confess, I have been one of those hurt people. Still am sometimes. It's apparent every time I yell at my kids to clean their dishes to my standards exactly when I tell them to. There is wounding there that says, if they don't listen and follow direction, I am a bad mom. So, I take my pain out on them.
I have rewritten this next line a few times because I want to keep a comfortably safe distance between me and the shooter that opened fire on Club Q (a queer club) in Colorado Springs last week. But honestly, everyone's decisions start somewhere. I don't know the circumstances around his life. I don't know what led him to this horrific act. I do know that societal rhetoric is what leads me to yelling at my kids. I don't want to be perceived as a bad mom, so I have to control my surroundings. I have to control my kids. The societal rhetoric around gay people 'others' us. It says we are unholy; perverse; predators. A threat to society. Perhaps the shooter personally experienced this to be true. Is it unreasonable to imagine that he thought he may have been doing a service to society based on the beliefs he may hold? Beliefs that aligned with the societal rhetoric? Perhaps this was his way of controlling the kids. I may be going out on a limb. I may be stretching things here, but when I look at my own experience with the gay rhetoric, it doesn't feel so far fetched. I will spare details of my trauma as they are irrelevant, but at a young age I had multiple examples of proof that gay people were unholy, perverse, and predators. This proof led me to whole heartedly believe the rhetoric about gay people so deeply that I hid my sexuality from myself for 37 years. I may not have physically harmed another, but make no mistake, I have harmed myself and people around me that I love unintentionally and subconsciously to uphold the societal beliefs that surrounded me. If societal expectations are so strong that I believed the only thing that would keep me safe is hiding in the closet from everyone, including myself; is it unreasonable to imagine it can reinforce another's belief that killing the 'enemy' is the right thing to do? What if the only difference between the shooter and me is that I had supportive loved ones around me my whole life that continued to also provide an equally true rhetoric that all people are genuinely kind and good. What if he didn't? What if I didn't? Hurt people hurt people. And also, healed people heal people. Since coming out, I have discovered an amazing community that has supported me, accepted me, listened to me, and believed in my humanity. Some of them are my family and friends, but mostly they are others who were once like me. I am beginning to question a lot of universally accepted societal rhetoric, including the one that says the media focuses on tragedies because that's what keeps people watching. I call bullshit on this. I witnessed the story of My Year of Hugs go viral in 2012 with people reaching out from countries as far away as Vietnam and India. Universally we all desperately need and want more of the healed stories. We all desperately need a change in rhetoric across the board, in our media, our politics, our entertainment, our communities. We need a change in rhetoric that encourages unity, community, and most importantly love for all mankind. We need to be brave enough to look at the stories we are telling and question whether we even believe them anymore. The more of us willing to question, heal and change the stories, the more of us there are to support, accept, listen to, and believe others. I am certain the shooter needed it. Perhaps you do too. Why can't I do that? This is a question I have been asking others and myself for as long as I can remember. It seemed as though there were far too many universally accepted "rules" that I was simply expected to know. As a child when I broke one of these rules I was reprimanded with "you can't do that. You know better!" Whether it was asking someone about their pet that passed away or being curious about and touching a dangerous tool in my dad's garage. How was I supposed to know better if I had not already been given a book of the rules? Where was this book? How did everyone else know what these rules were? I felt frustrated, rebellious, and ashamed.
Why were these rules there in the first place? I needed to know so I asked over and over again. Why? "you just can't." Why? "Because if everyone broke the rules all hell would break loose." Why? "do you want it to be ok that people are just allowed to go around murdering each other?" What? That escalated fast. I learned to stop questioning. I learned to stop getting curious. I learned to follow the rules to a T. I became aggressively angry at anyone who DARED break the rules. The person in front of me that turned at the red light when there is a sign clearly stating, No Turn On Red? I get pissed. How dare they? The person that spoke out of turn in a meeting when everyone else was obviously following the rule to 'take turns'? What the fuck? My children that do not say, "how high?" when I say jump? Inconceivable. (sorry kids, I'm learning) On my quest for understanding the "rules" and why they were even there in the first place, I started breaking rules in ways that I thought could be acceptable and I was willing to risk it. The rule: "You can't follow your passion and be a good mom." Me: "But, I am going to hug people for a year and blog about it. Isn't that showing my kids the power of kindness? Besides, they will be with me the whole time." The rule followers: "That sounds ok." The rule: "You can't leave your children for a whole month to travel the country! Who will take care of them?" Me: "Their father has agreed to this adventure. He supports me and will continue to support his kids while I'm gone. Besides, I am on a mission to show others that people are all generally kind and good. Isn't that important in this day and age?" The rule followers: "Yeah, we see how that could be important." My reasoning was acceptable. I was given permission to break the rules. Which led me down a new rabbit hole. So, rules can be broken, but only in ways that are deemed acceptable by society? Who is this society? Why are they in charge of the rules? What happens if I break a rule that isn't deemed acceptable? Will I really be shunned? Is it truly as unsafe to break the rules as I have been led to believe? A few weekends ago I was at an Abraham Hicks workshop. If you are not familiar with them, check out one of their many free videos on YouTube. In the beginning of their Law of Attraction workshop, Esther (who channels the beings called Abraham) shared a video clip of the "rules" of the workshop. It was done in a super fun way explaining how people will be called upon and what they are to do in order to join Abraham on stage to get their questions answered. It was made clear that if you think you are being called to the stage, take a few steps forward and if it isn't you then you sit back down. They even made it a point to show someone who didn't follow the rules and continued to walk on stage anyway. Laughing, Esther said, "just don't be that person." Yes, they were rules; yes, they were important; and Esther wanted us to know that the vibe of the day would be fun within those rules. At the end of the day as the last person was called up, they were hesitant. They took a step forward then sat back down. At this point, Abraham was running the show in Esther's body (not as creepy as it sounds, you should really check them out!) and they said, "go ahead and stay sitting, I'm sure someone else wants to be on stage more." The person that sat back down had another change of heart and jumped back up saying, "no. I want to be up there." and her and Abraham began their back and forth spar. Meanwhile, a woman who had her hand raised the whole time began slow walking forward. She slowly walked past the woman arguing with Abraham, gingerly waiting for the moment Abraham told her to stop. As she made it past the bickering woman with no one stopping her yet, she looked out at the audience and gave a big mischievous smile. We all laughed. She continued while the bickering continued. This brazen woman made it all the way to the stage steps and... broke the rules. She stepped on stage and sat right down in the hot seat (that's what they called it). She took her place out of turn. She did the thing Esther warned not to do in the beginning of the workshop. The audience roared. Abraham turned to this woman now sitting in the hot seat and declared, "That is the best thing that has ever happened during one of our workshops." (they have been holding them for over 20 years) She broke the rules, got what she wanted, and the audience (well most of us) loved her for it. Abraham loved her for it. On that day she reminded me that the rule breakers are the ones who get noticed. They are the ones who make waves. They are the ones who create new rules. They are the ones living their best life despite what society deems as acceptable. They are the money makers, the world travelers, the inspirers, the icons, and the revolutionaries. They are the bad asses. I resonate with them. I am one of them dressed in sheep's clothing. It has taken me years to fine tune my sheep costume. It may take me years of tugging at the thread that will unravel it all, but make no mistake: The unraveling has started. I have set my inner navigational system to True North. It's leading me to a life of rule breaking and bad assery as mentioned in the previous post. I just have one big complication:
I have a deeeeeeeeeep rooted belief that if I don't follow the rules I will be unloved, misunderstood, rejected, and become a social pariah. I will not belong. As a human being, I am wired for this belonging and it feels so unsafe to move beyond the "rules" that any attempt at rule breaking causes me to do one of the F's. (fight, flight, freeze, fawn). Last night, I fought. Today, I have frozen with a massive desire to flee. Is there such a thing as too much grace? I feel I continue to give myself grace over and over again during these times and then worry I have allowed grace to become another crutch, another explanation (to myself) of why I am not taking action on following my True North. But, many days just feel hard. Even on the days when it's not hard, I feel like I'm spinning my wheels toward a goal that seems to stay *just* out of reach. I often wonder, "Is this what it's like to be normal?" "Will I even recognize a life that is not lived in survival mode?" "Am I really that far off the mark from the people I admire? Or, are they just like me with a bit more chutzpah?" I think "normal" is just a perceived expectation of what it looks like when we follow the rules. I tried on normal. It really didn't fit me well no matter how many times I altered it. I am beginning to understand that perhaps the days that feel hard are not because I'm doing something wrong but because I'm doing something very right. I'm unraveling the thread of the sheep's costume and allowing myself to become more naked and exposed. Vulnerable. It's unknown space and the more I recognize this, the more I feel a different standard of grace. One that allows for action rather than reaction. It is the grace that appreciates the safety measures my body has in place while continuing to lean into the unknown rather than retreating. The trauma response in the body is real y'all. It is convincing. It powerfully stands guard at the doorway to freedom with prophesies of the many varieties of death available to me if I so much as twist the doorknob. I am not strong enough to slay the trauma response on my own. My new standard of grace includes all the tools I have learned and the community I have built as a shield that protects me as I crack open the door for a peek at the unknown I am destined for. I have been terrified to write this blog post. Even as I was scrolling through my pictures deciding which one to use, my hands started to shake (they still are), my stomach got queasy, my entire body tensed up and I felt my face begin to flush. If you are not familiar with nervous system dis-regulation you may not be aware that I was in fact activating my f-responses. Fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. Let me share how that shows up in my thought process:
I can totally write about how fucked up it is that I was taught all my life it wasn't ok to demand or even request attention without being shamed (fight) I could wait another week until I feel more ready to write this blog post (flight) I don't really have anything to say so maybe I won't write a post at all (freeze) Ok, wait. I can write about the ways I like to seek attention and how that's good and important because I can use it to benefit the greater good of humanity (fawn) The truth of the matter is I freaking love attention. I love being the center of attention. I love being known and seen and heard by masses of people. I have been this way since I came out of the womb, I'm certain of it. But, it was shamed out of me before I even hit 1st grade. I know this because of my response when I was given the opportunity to be Cinderella in the school play. It was perfect. A role that I was born to play. As I sat staring at the large script of lines I had to memorize, a friend(?) leaned over and said, "you know, Cindy really wanted that part." I already felt like the outsider in this classroom after having been pulled from another because they didn't have enough books for me to read. I was desperate to fit in. I looked again at the large script and made it make sense in my mind to give up my dream role. I'm not sure I can memorize that many lines anyway She will probably do a better job Everyone would probably rather see her up there than me, everyone already likes her If I don't give it to her everyone will probably be mad at me and then no one will ever like me Besides, she is prettier than me I also knew that my selfless act of giving up the role to her would allow me to be perceived as a kind, generous person who is worthy of being liked. So, I handed the script over to her squeals of "really? oh my gosh, thank you so much!" And, instead I played the supporting role of raccoon with only one line. I regret that to this day. Yes, my hug journeys were a way of attracting the attention I was desperate for. And also, yes, they helped to serve the greater good of humanity. Which has led me to wonder... What if my innate desire for attention is the exact formula I need within myself to be able to make the impact on this world I came here for? And also, what if I can just accept being someone who craves attention? Who can I become in embracing this beautiful gift? What if the only impact I make in embracing this shameful side of myself is that I create a life that makes me feel happy and fulfilled? Isn't that enough? You may notice in the picture above that my best friend is hanging out in the cool morning air wearing a shirt and sweater. Meanwhile, I am not only in my own shirt and sweater, but also big winter coat, hat, and gloves (not shown). I am certain the only reason I am not wearing a scarf is because I didn't bring it. (I absolutely LOVED having to wear masks during covid simply because it was an extra layer of warmth that didn't look out of place.)
After the birth of my firstborn, I discovered I have Raynaud's Syndrome. Now, before you start feeling bad for me, let me tell you a little about it because you probably haven't even heard of it. Ok, scratch that. I still don't know a lot about it, but I will tell you how it shows up for me. When I enter a hot bath on a cold day, my toes feel like they are going to burn off my body until they adjust to the temperature. It took me awhile to recognize that my toes were lying and the bath wasn't actually a scalding 500 degrees. This led to more than a few tepid, disappointing baths as I adjusted the water to something my toes deemed acceptable while the rest of my body was wondering how we ran out of hot water that fast. On cold days I must always have on thick socks, boots, gloves and something covering my ears when I'm outside. That's to keep all of my extremities warm but also so you don't freak out at the way my fingertips have turned ghostly white. Inside, I keep my home a toasty 74 degrees and still wear cozy onesie pajamas with a sweater over it and a blanket over my lap in fall and winter (and the early part of spring). My body has a difficult time regulating extreme temperatures. And by extreme I mean anything outside of 70-99 degrees. Yes, it likely is a huge part of the reason I moved from CT to the south and am now living in Georgia. It's the mildest I could find along the eastern seaboard where I can still remain within a relatively close distance to my family. Anyway - the biggest challenge I have with this syndrome is the food I eat. I prefer warm foods always. Hello soups and stews! My water is always room temperature. BUT - I love smoothies! This is fine in the summer when it's hot out and the smoothie helps cool me down. The challenge is in the winter. Typically I avoid smoothies in the winter, but they are just so dang healthy and delicious. So, I have had to find workarounds. And, that leads to the point of this blog: to share with you the quirks I have created for myself to enjoy the sweetness of life despite my limitations, in case you wanted to know. My favorite workaround is to drink my smoothie while taking a shower. Yes, I bring my mug into the shower, turn my back to the water stream and drink through a straw. My body stays warm and I enjoy the pleasure of a smoothie in winter. This works really well. However, I don't like taking too many showers in the winter because I don't want to dry my skin out. If I want a smoothie but it's not shower day, I have to resort to the next best thing. I place my smoothie in a to go cup and drive around in my car with the heat blasting and my seat warmer on. (This has been known to happen even in summer if it's a cloudy low-70's kind of day.) So, basically, if you ever see me around town and I look ridiculously over dressed for the mild weather, know that I know how ridiculous I look and also that I don't give a shit because I am warm. Your turn! What's one of your quirks? I have been a fan of the Buffalo Bills since the 4 Super Bowl 90's. I was in high school at the time and certain that they had to win at least one of those games, I bet on them every year. And, lost every year. No matter. I became an FFL (fan for life). I lived in CT at the time so most of the people I knew rooted for the Patriots, Giants or Jets. I couldn't be swayed, so when I met my ex-husband and he was a Bills fan too - well, I was certain it was meant to be.
We solidified ourselves as Bills Mafia with each year we traveled for a game in Buffalo. With each time we sought out fellow Mafia members at local Bills Backers bars to watch the game with them. Even now, as my ex and I are divorced, I will seek out those bars by myself because I know I am not alone the minute I walk in waiting for the game to start. My family is there too. The one I don't know but that I am inextricably connected to by the strength of our mutual love of the Bills. As a member of the Bills Mafia, I feel a strong sense of belonging. It doesn't matter if another member doesn't agree with my political views, my profession, the way I live my life or vice versa. On Sundays (and some Thursdays and Mondays) we belong to one another and nothing else matters. Sitting next to and with my fellow Mafia, I feel seen, understood, loved, and accepted. Isn't that what we all want? To be seen, understood, loved, and accepted? Do we need to belong to a team, society, clan, group, for this? Do we need to identify as Republican or Democrat; Straight or Gay; A Bills fan or Dolphins fan? Most of my life I have believed that I did. I believed I had to fit myself into one box or another; one cage or another to belong. So began my lifelong search of which cage suited me best. Being a Bills fan was a strong fit, but who was I among them outside of football season? I tried on being a Democrat, but well... politics. I felt certain I could easily identify with and definitely belong in the heterosexual cage, but the bars began closing in on me. Some cages feel better than others but in the end, they are all cages, even ones as broad as identifying as a woman. It took 47 years, two social experiments involving hugs, trying on hundreds if not thousands of identities to come to the conclusion that I will not belong anywhere until I belong to myself first. That is the key to all of the cages I have locked myself in. Pulling that key out of the pocket of my heart I had hidden for so long, I continue to stare at it uncertain if I am brave enough to free myself. All the while my soul whispers enticingly from the vast expanse of freedom, "come play where you truly belong." It's not actually a lesson, more like confirmation.
People are kind. Growing up I was taught that people are only out for themselves. I was taught that if someone has a chance to "screw you" they will. I was taught that people will take advantage of you. I was taught that if you offer them kindness, don't expect the same in return. I didn't believe any of it. Yet, I behaved as though I did because what if it was true? I didn't want to be that naive girl that was taken advantage of and have the people around me laughing and pointing their fingers, "we told you so." But, the Truth within me never gave up. Over 10 years after My Year of Hugs, where I hugged strangers every day for a year, and 3 years after my cross country hug journey I can say with absolute conviction: I WAS RIGHT. Staring down at my phone I tapped on the Home button on the maps app. Why isn't that called iMap? I have an iPhone, that makes sense. Instead I am stuck calling it the maps app. That just feels awkward. I digress.
Last Sunday I spent the day with my friend Amanda. After spending way too long away from my chihuahua, it was time to go. Too lazy to change out of my bathing suit and in to appropriate, more comfortable clothes, I was grateful that at least it was mostly dry after spending the day by her pool. Gathering up my belongings in the kitchen, I waited for her to return with a pen; the one she intended to use to write down the book I was recommending to her. Looking up I saw her striding toward me with her arm outstretched. "Do you want a pen?" She was carrying two but only one was stretched out toward me. "um, yeah. I could always use a pen." We carried on with our conversation as I told her all about how Brené Brown should be a required read for everyone but in the back of my mind I was still stuck on the pen that was now tucked away in my purse. "Amanda, why did you give me a pen?" She looked at me like that was the oddest question. "I was in the drawer, saw the extra pen and thought you might like one." It was the answer I unknowingly hoped for. When she handed me the pen I was overcome with gratitude and love. I felt cared for, appreciated and loved. I felt important and worthy. As these are emotions that I am still learning to be comfortable with - especially the worthy one - I felt compelled to find out if, in reality, she was just giving me the pen because she had too many and had been attempting to give them away to anyone she could find. She didn't. She wasn't. She just thought I might like it. To most people - and based on her reaction - her included, it was just a pen. To me, it was a life-giving affirmation of all the self-love work I have done over the past few years. It was a meaningful gesture of connection and belonging. It was a reminder of why she is in my life. It was a beautiful expression of love. To most people, it's just a pen. In a recent yoga flow class at my beloved studio, Haven Yoga, my right quadriceps were on fire. We were flowing through a yoga sequence involving the Warrior Two pose, Reverse Warrior, and Side-Angle pose all of which involve keeping your legs stationary with the front leg bent at a 90° angle. This particular flow is the reason I typically avoid flow yoga. Hell, I'll even take a power yoga class because I have yet to experience a power yoga where we hold our legs in that same position for longer than a few seconds. We are too busy moving and grooving and getting our sweat on.
But, in the yoga flow class it's different. I am fairly certain our legs are only stationary through that flow for no more than a minute - hell it could be no more than 30 seconds - but in that minute, I am convinced I will die. Or at least fall to the floor unable to ever move my legs again. Typically I allow the fire to burn for about 5 seconds before I straighten my front leg in a modified triangle pose before returning once again to the posture I am supposed to be in. If the instructor keeps the flow going for longer, I may flow in and out of that modified triangle a few times praying for it to be over. On this particular day as I felt the burn and prepared to ease out of the posture and straighten my leg, something inside me said, "Don't. Let's see what will happen if you stay." What? OMG - something's hijacked my brain. Shit. But, I listened. And, I stayed. Using my breath like we are taught in yoga, I breathed in the pain and breathed out the pain. There was only pain; burning, molten lava pain. My eyes welled up; not in pain - but in emotion. Before I had time to examine what the hell that was all about, it was over. We moved in to triangle pose and I got sweet relief. A warrior's smile lit my face the rest of the class. I did it. I conquered the burn. I knew that in that moment by choosing to stay I grew stronger in more ways than one. My writing practice has mirrored the way I practice yoga. When it burns too much and the pain is too great, I back out. I straighten my leg. I leave the pain. I don't want a good book. I want a great book. I know that in order to flow from good to great, I have to stay with the pain longer than I think I can stand. I have to feel the burn until perhaps the tears flow. It's beyond those tears that my greatest wisdom lies. It's how I build more strength to share the things that need to be shared in order to deliver the book that's been sitting on my heart waiting to be unearthed. Anything less is just an anecdote. I am not here to write an anecdote. I am here to change lives. |
AuthorMelinda Lee is a mom of two adolescent boys, a devout student of all things spiritual, a recovering perfectionist, and immensely fascinated with achieving the unachievable. Currently writing a memoir about hugging strangers. Archives
February 2023
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