Butterfly Cauldron
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Remember
International Transgender Day of Remembrance
I'm posting this a day early, in case anyone is looking for an event to go to. There's a list of events around the world at that site.
This is not an easy post for me to write. It should be, because I believe deeply in the power of saying things outloud. I believe in the power of naming -- speak your fear and it can no longer control you. Give voice to your grief and it can no longer destroy you. But the truth is, I'm crying as I write this. Not only because so many good, decent people have died. I'm crying because I know that my sweet, amazing, gentle Emmy could be on that list one day and I cannot imagine being able to survive that.
I will never understand what motivates someone to kill another human being when their life is not in danger. I will never understand what it is inside someone that makes them pick up a weapon instead of simply walking away. I will never understand how human life can have so little value to some people. But I know that there are people in this world, far too many people, who can kill. Who can pick up a gun or a knife or a rock and strike out. For what? Because someone doesn't meet your expectations? Because they live their life in a way you don't approve of? Which god tells you that you can do that? Which god gives you permission? And how can the world, how can so many otherwise decent people, simply nod and say 'well, what did you expect? Not guilty!'?
I think of the families of those who have been killed. I think of them and I cry, because how do you cope with the knowledge that the world thinks it's OK to kill someone you love? How do you live with the knowledge that your neighbors and co-workers and the people who sit beside you every day on the way to work think that your daughter deserved to die? How do you ever have faith in anything, anyone again? How does the world ever make sense again?
It's far too easy for those who are not intimately involved to forget. Because it's too horrible to remember. It's too horrible to let yourself realize that yes, human life is so very very cheap to so many people. It's too horrible to let yourself realize that maybe YOU contribute to that attitude. But we cannot forget. We let these killings go unchallenged, unpunished -- a slap on the wrist is not a punishment. Finding a killer not-guilty because they freaked out over finding out their girlfriend had a penis is not justice. It's not acceptable. Full stop.
I'm posting this a day early, in case anyone is looking for an event to go to. There's a list of events around the world at that site.
This is not an easy post for me to write. It should be, because I believe deeply in the power of saying things outloud. I believe in the power of naming -- speak your fear and it can no longer control you. Give voice to your grief and it can no longer destroy you. But the truth is, I'm crying as I write this. Not only because so many good, decent people have died. I'm crying because I know that my sweet, amazing, gentle Emmy could be on that list one day and I cannot imagine being able to survive that.
I will never understand what motivates someone to kill another human being when their life is not in danger. I will never understand what it is inside someone that makes them pick up a weapon instead of simply walking away. I will never understand how human life can have so little value to some people. But I know that there are people in this world, far too many people, who can kill. Who can pick up a gun or a knife or a rock and strike out. For what? Because someone doesn't meet your expectations? Because they live their life in a way you don't approve of? Which god tells you that you can do that? Which god gives you permission? And how can the world, how can so many otherwise decent people, simply nod and say 'well, what did you expect? Not guilty!'?
I think of the families of those who have been killed. I think of them and I cry, because how do you cope with the knowledge that the world thinks it's OK to kill someone you love? How do you live with the knowledge that your neighbors and co-workers and the people who sit beside you every day on the way to work think that your daughter deserved to die? How do you ever have faith in anything, anyone again? How does the world ever make sense again?
It's far too easy for those who are not intimately involved to forget. Because it's too horrible to remember. It's too horrible to let yourself realize that yes, human life is so very very cheap to so many people. It's too horrible to let yourself realize that maybe YOU contribute to that attitude. But we cannot forget. We let these killings go unchallenged, unpunished -- a slap on the wrist is not a punishment. Finding a killer not-guilty because they freaked out over finding out their girlfriend had a penis is not justice. It's not acceptable. Full stop.
Labels: relationships, stupid people, transgender
Friday, January 12, 2007
Who Am I? -- On Being Zan Malkovic
I was told by a therapist that I'm the type of person who defines herself not by who she is, but by who she is not. This is a spot-on diagnosis. As long as I can remember, I've shaped my self-concept by those things which I am clearly NOT.
I am not Southern Baptist
I am not conservative
I am not Republican
I am not skinny
I am not straight
I am not extroverted
I am not good at math
I am not comfortable in the spotlight
I am not good at taking orders
I am not stupid
I am not a pretty girl (ya know what I mean by that, right? I mean attitude, not appearance.)
I am not a dog person
And so on and so on, ad nasaum.
But what I've never been really good at is defining myself by what I am. I'm doing better at it, thanks to my bout of therapy. I had to start out making myself make lists of what I AM.
I am smart
I am funny
I am a good friend
I am bisexual
I am spiritual
I am pagan
I am liberal
I am fat
I am happy
I am a cat person
I am a writer
I am an artist
You know, that stuff. And so, I'm getting much better at shaping myself by the positive -- that is, the things that apply in actuality. Defining myself by myself, not by other people. Being the measure of my own woman, as it were. And so, in some ways I've come a great way forward. This is evidenced by the fact that I'm not longer suicidal and that I'm blessedly hopeful about the future.
And yet, in other ways, I still see that Lack to be a defining characteristic and I'm jealous of those people who don't have that lack.
I am beginning to know myself, but where does this Self belong? Where is her community? Her chosen family?
I was not raised with any sense of ethnic identity. I longed for it, in ways I didn't understand then, but I didn't have it. I am, simply, a bland white girl. My family is Irish/Scots/Cajun biologically, but culturally? Eh. We're just bland, no really ties to any particular place, white folks. This is not, in and of itself, a bad thing. It is simply something that I wish were different.
I've noticed that the blogs I read most often are those by people of color/defined ethnicity. I confess, I am horribly jealous. In spite of all the baggage that comes with being a POC in this white-washed society, you have a sense of community. You have a network of people who have common cultural markers. You have somewhere to go where people go "Yeah. I get that."
And I realize, of course, that it's not so simple. I realize there are countless problems within communities, however they are constructed. I realize that my outsider eyes don't see everything or really much of anything. But it seems nice to me to have somewhere to go where you're understood.
The closest I have ever come to that is the Christian culture I was raised in. You know, the one that drove me to the brink of suicide, made me think I was damned eternally and left me with panic attacks and anger issues that required intensive therapy? Yeah, that one. And yet, as bad as it was, there was also a certain sense of belonging there. True, these people didn't really know me, and they probably would have kicked me out (or prayed over me real good) if they had realized some of those things I was keeping hidden, but it was nice to have somewhere I could at least pretend to fit in.
I don't do good in cages (and really, who does?) but I'd like to have some sort of vague definition, some set of parameters that I could see in the distance, to help me get my bearings. The church ritual, as much as I hated it, helped me do that. They saw me and said: "Ah, yes. Zan. The smart one, the stable one, the dependable one." I was called, routinely, wise. Imagine, for a minute, being a 15 year old and having adults tell you that you're wise. People who extolled wisdom as a virtue, gift from God sorta thing. I don't know that I agreed with them, but it was nice to have that place. It was frustrating as hell too, because who wants to be WISE at 15? I wanted to be fun and free and the bad girl. Alas, I never have been. (See, there I go again: self-definition by denial).
I keep thinking I should have done more, been more by this point. A pointless thinking. Everyone thinks that, don't they? But I take stock of my life and think -- where's my story? I haven't suffered greatly, not in the ways that we think are worthwhile. I am sick, it's true. I feel isolated, that's true. But isn't that everyone's story? Isn't that everyone's role? So, I have survived repeated suicide attempts. So, I have survived an immune system that is trying to kill me. So, I have managed to keep sane against the odds. And yet. . .those "bad" things you're 'supposed' to do? I've never done them. No run-ins with the law, no bouts of drugs or alcohol, no inappropriate sex with inappropriate people. Not so much as a fucking one-night stand. My obstacles are all internal. The only enemy I have is myself and she's not that much of an enemy most days.
(And see? Again, that paragraph. I cannot help it. My default position. Zan is not...)
What stories will I tell my grandchildren? The grandchildren I'll never have because I have no children. When I'm old and finally gray, sitting in the nursing home, what is it about me that's going to stand out? Because even though I hate being center stage, I have to stand out. I have to be different somehow, otherwise how will I know who I am in the crowd? (And yes, my therapist made a note about that need to be different too.)
Who am I, then? I work to try to keep from defining myself as what I am not, but lately I'm beginning to think that all I am is boring and unexceptional.
I am not Southern Baptist
I am not conservative
I am not Republican
I am not skinny
I am not straight
I am not extroverted
I am not good at math
I am not comfortable in the spotlight
I am not good at taking orders
I am not stupid
I am not a pretty girl (ya know what I mean by that, right? I mean attitude, not appearance.)
I am not a dog person
And so on and so on, ad nasaum.
But what I've never been really good at is defining myself by what I am. I'm doing better at it, thanks to my bout of therapy. I had to start out making myself make lists of what I AM.
I am smart
I am funny
I am a good friend
I am bisexual
I am spiritual
I am pagan
I am liberal
I am fat
I am happy
I am a cat person
I am a writer
I am an artist
You know, that stuff. And so, I'm getting much better at shaping myself by the positive -- that is, the things that apply in actuality. Defining myself by myself, not by other people. Being the measure of my own woman, as it were. And so, in some ways I've come a great way forward. This is evidenced by the fact that I'm not longer suicidal and that I'm blessedly hopeful about the future.
And yet, in other ways, I still see that Lack to be a defining characteristic and I'm jealous of those people who don't have that lack.
I am beginning to know myself, but where does this Self belong? Where is her community? Her chosen family?
I was not raised with any sense of ethnic identity. I longed for it, in ways I didn't understand then, but I didn't have it. I am, simply, a bland white girl. My family is Irish/Scots/Cajun biologically, but culturally? Eh. We're just bland, no really ties to any particular place, white folks. This is not, in and of itself, a bad thing. It is simply something that I wish were different.
I've noticed that the blogs I read most often are those by people of color/defined ethnicity. I confess, I am horribly jealous. In spite of all the baggage that comes with being a POC in this white-washed society, you have a sense of community. You have a network of people who have common cultural markers. You have somewhere to go where people go "Yeah. I get that."
And I realize, of course, that it's not so simple. I realize there are countless problems within communities, however they are constructed. I realize that my outsider eyes don't see everything or really much of anything. But it seems nice to me to have somewhere to go where you're understood.
The closest I have ever come to that is the Christian culture I was raised in. You know, the one that drove me to the brink of suicide, made me think I was damned eternally and left me with panic attacks and anger issues that required intensive therapy? Yeah, that one. And yet, as bad as it was, there was also a certain sense of belonging there. True, these people didn't really know me, and they probably would have kicked me out (or prayed over me real good) if they had realized some of those things I was keeping hidden, but it was nice to have somewhere I could at least pretend to fit in.
I don't do good in cages (and really, who does?) but I'd like to have some sort of vague definition, some set of parameters that I could see in the distance, to help me get my bearings. The church ritual, as much as I hated it, helped me do that. They saw me and said: "Ah, yes. Zan. The smart one, the stable one, the dependable one." I was called, routinely, wise. Imagine, for a minute, being a 15 year old and having adults tell you that you're wise. People who extolled wisdom as a virtue, gift from God sorta thing. I don't know that I agreed with them, but it was nice to have that place. It was frustrating as hell too, because who wants to be WISE at 15? I wanted to be fun and free and the bad girl. Alas, I never have been. (See, there I go again: self-definition by denial).
I keep thinking I should have done more, been more by this point. A pointless thinking. Everyone thinks that, don't they? But I take stock of my life and think -- where's my story? I haven't suffered greatly, not in the ways that we think are worthwhile. I am sick, it's true. I feel isolated, that's true. But isn't that everyone's story? Isn't that everyone's role? So, I have survived repeated suicide attempts. So, I have survived an immune system that is trying to kill me. So, I have managed to keep sane against the odds. And yet. . .those "bad" things you're 'supposed' to do? I've never done them. No run-ins with the law, no bouts of drugs or alcohol, no inappropriate sex with inappropriate people. Not so much as a fucking one-night stand. My obstacles are all internal. The only enemy I have is myself and she's not that much of an enemy most days.
(And see? Again, that paragraph. I cannot help it. My default position. Zan is not...)
What stories will I tell my grandchildren? The grandchildren I'll never have because I have no children. When I'm old and finally gray, sitting in the nursing home, what is it about me that's going to stand out? Because even though I hate being center stage, I have to stand out. I have to be different somehow, otherwise how will I know who I am in the crowd? (And yes, my therapist made a note about that need to be different too.)
Who am I, then? I work to try to keep from defining myself as what I am not, but lately I'm beginning to think that all I am is boring and unexceptional.
Labels: community, family, relationships
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
The Ebb and Flow of Attraction
WARNING: This post is a bit more 'Dear Diary' than usual. Read at your own peril. You have been warned. Don't bitch at me because I get a little emotional.
Lately, it seems all my friends are dating. A lot. Not a single one of my friends seems to be dateless. It's strange to me, because I'm not dating. I'd like to, I think, but it just doesn't seem to happen for me. And I'm pondering a bit why that is.
Attraction is a tricky thing. Personally, I've noticed I have 'types' that I get hooked on. I'm trying to work out just why I like what I like, but I can't always put my finger on it. Physically, I like men with wide shoulders, dark hair and dark eyes. I like women with dark hair, too. Big, expressive eyes. Lush lips. Plenty of curves. I want a partner I can really get my hands on, really feel. I don't like super-skinny, because I'm honestly afraid I'll hurt them. But attraction isn't strictly physical. There's something about a person. Something about the way he smile or she laughs. I like women with attitude, who are certain of who they are, a little aggressive. I prefer my men on the sensitive side, but not wimpy or spineless.
What makes a person attractive? What makes me attractive to other people? And frankly, why isn't it working lately? (I'm not intending a rant here. I'm just a bit caught offguard how suddenly, everyone I know has gone from being happily single to being in a Date-a-thon. If I go a bit off tangent, forgive me.)
I fight, as most fat people do, against the society-implanted impuse to believe I'm single because I'm fat. This is demonstratable untrue. I have always been fat, but I haven't always been single. These friends who are dating? None of them are skinny women. Ergo, fatness itself is not a detractor. And I'm pretty open about what I find attractive too, even though I do have preferred types.
So how does it happen? What makes one person click with another? My friends tell me I'm too cautious and they are probably right. And yet, I can't escape wanting to be wanted. It's a human enough reaction, but for some reason part of me feels....annoyed by it. I'm complete on my own. I'm perfectly capable of handling my life and all it's many, many fuck-ups.
Part of me is angry. Not that I'm single. That's fine. But part of me is angry that I've gone through so much on my own, how dare anyone else presume to know what that's like? How dare they come into my life now? Where were they when I needed them? Where were they when I was on a revolving door of doctors and tests and lab results and medications? Where were they when I was in so much pain I couldn't move? Where were they when I cried myself to sleep night after night because everyone thought I was crazy, but I knew I was sick? It's almost like, if she/he couldn't be bothered to show up then, why do I need them now? It's a whole irrational feeling, I'm aware, and yet there it is. I went through the hardest period of my life on my own. It wasn't easy, but I did it. And I survived and created something decent for myself out of that mess I was working with. So, now, what could a partner offer me?
And yet, another part of me is scared. What if I meet someone and they don't value what I've been through? What if I open up and trust someone and they don't realize just how huge those experiences were? And will continue to be, seeing as how I've got a chronic illness? Or if I meet someone when I'm healthy and then get sick and they bolt? Sure, it's survivable, but why would I want to do that?
Of course, I won't date assholes. I'm repulsed by them, truthfully. So those fears are, mostly, unfounded. But they show up, every time. I think I've dampened the part of me that registers attraction. It's been ages since I've meet anyone I was geniunely attracted too. Why is that? Is it because I'm really not attracted to that many people? Or is it because of some deeper fear that just won't let me go there? Is that what people are picking up on? I've been told all my life, by men anyway, that it's clear I don't need them. Which is true. I don't need another person in my life, but that doesn't mean I don't want one.
Does wanting trump needing? In my mind, it does. I'm much rather be wanted than needed. Needing means there's a task, a role to be filled. Which means anyone could do it. Wanting is more specific, it's tailored to the person. You want me because I'm me, not because I'm there. Is it possible to want someone with all their flaws? No one is perfect, yet it seems that's what people are expecting. Is it so strange that I prefer people with flaws? That I like them? That I mistrust 'perfection' on it's surface?
Lately, it seems all my friends are dating. A lot. Not a single one of my friends seems to be dateless. It's strange to me, because I'm not dating. I'd like to, I think, but it just doesn't seem to happen for me. And I'm pondering a bit why that is.
Attraction is a tricky thing. Personally, I've noticed I have 'types' that I get hooked on. I'm trying to work out just why I like what I like, but I can't always put my finger on it. Physically, I like men with wide shoulders, dark hair and dark eyes. I like women with dark hair, too. Big, expressive eyes. Lush lips. Plenty of curves. I want a partner I can really get my hands on, really feel. I don't like super-skinny, because I'm honestly afraid I'll hurt them. But attraction isn't strictly physical. There's something about a person. Something about the way he smile or she laughs. I like women with attitude, who are certain of who they are, a little aggressive. I prefer my men on the sensitive side, but not wimpy or spineless.
What makes a person attractive? What makes me attractive to other people? And frankly, why isn't it working lately? (I'm not intending a rant here. I'm just a bit caught offguard how suddenly, everyone I know has gone from being happily single to being in a Date-a-thon. If I go a bit off tangent, forgive me.)
I fight, as most fat people do, against the society-implanted impuse to believe I'm single because I'm fat. This is demonstratable untrue. I have always been fat, but I haven't always been single. These friends who are dating? None of them are skinny women. Ergo, fatness itself is not a detractor. And I'm pretty open about what I find attractive too, even though I do have preferred types.
So how does it happen? What makes one person click with another? My friends tell me I'm too cautious and they are probably right. And yet, I can't escape wanting to be wanted. It's a human enough reaction, but for some reason part of me feels....annoyed by it. I'm complete on my own. I'm perfectly capable of handling my life and all it's many, many fuck-ups.
Part of me is angry. Not that I'm single. That's fine. But part of me is angry that I've gone through so much on my own, how dare anyone else presume to know what that's like? How dare they come into my life now? Where were they when I needed them? Where were they when I was on a revolving door of doctors and tests and lab results and medications? Where were they when I was in so much pain I couldn't move? Where were they when I cried myself to sleep night after night because everyone thought I was crazy, but I knew I was sick? It's almost like, if she/he couldn't be bothered to show up then, why do I need them now? It's a whole irrational feeling, I'm aware, and yet there it is. I went through the hardest period of my life on my own. It wasn't easy, but I did it. And I survived and created something decent for myself out of that mess I was working with. So, now, what could a partner offer me?
And yet, another part of me is scared. What if I meet someone and they don't value what I've been through? What if I open up and trust someone and they don't realize just how huge those experiences were? And will continue to be, seeing as how I've got a chronic illness? Or if I meet someone when I'm healthy and then get sick and they bolt? Sure, it's survivable, but why would I want to do that?
Of course, I won't date assholes. I'm repulsed by them, truthfully. So those fears are, mostly, unfounded. But they show up, every time. I think I've dampened the part of me that registers attraction. It's been ages since I've meet anyone I was geniunely attracted too. Why is that? Is it because I'm really not attracted to that many people? Or is it because of some deeper fear that just won't let me go there? Is that what people are picking up on? I've been told all my life, by men anyway, that it's clear I don't need them. Which is true. I don't need another person in my life, but that doesn't mean I don't want one.
Does wanting trump needing? In my mind, it does. I'm much rather be wanted than needed. Needing means there's a task, a role to be filled. Which means anyone could do it. Wanting is more specific, it's tailored to the person. You want me because I'm me, not because I'm there. Is it possible to want someone with all their flaws? No one is perfect, yet it seems that's what people are expecting. Is it so strange that I prefer people with flaws? That I like them? That I mistrust 'perfection' on it's surface?
Labels: relationships, sex
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Maybe I'm just not the marrying kind?
Molly has an excellent post on the benefits of modern marriage to women. And she's got some good points. I just...I have issues with marriage personally and I'm not sure even the promise of an equitable divorce can coax me out of them.
My marriage issues are kind of strange, I suppose, given that practically everyone in my family has a history of marriage success. There have been exactly two divorces in my family and both were caused by an abusive spouse. So, I've got lots of examples of good, functioning, equitable marraiges. And I still can't bring myself to take that step.
I came close once. I was vastly in love with a man I dated in college. I could see the two of us together longterm (and well, we were. For nearly seven years.) and yet...and yet I just couldn't do it. He knew that too. He told me once, if he thought I'd say yes, he'd have asked me to marry him after our first year together. But he never did, because he knew I'd say no. We lived together for several years though. And that, maybe, is what really sealed my opposition to marriage.
See, I was in school full time and working, so I made all the money. And he was in school full time, but not working. So, he was home a lot more than I was. And it always seemed to me that I was paying for everything. I paid the rent, I had the car, I bought groceries, I paid for our nights out and for renting videos. Hell, I even paid for all the birth control. (Which, frankly, I will continue to do. If I pay for it, I know we've got it, so none of this "Oh, I don't have a condom. Just this once won't hurt..." shit.) It built a great deal of resentment in me. He would get to be home while I was working and he'd read or watch tv or play on the computer or hang out with friends and...the dishes wouldn't get done, the laundry wouldn't get done, the vacuuming wouldn't get done...and I'd come home and he'd be all snuggly and kissy and I was just so tired and pissed off that nothing had gotten done at the house....And when I finally got on him enough to get a job, he found one in another town, which meant he had to move and that really spelled the end for us. Because I got my life back. I got my freedom to do what I wanted back. I could do the dishes at midnight if I wanted. Or I could skip them. If I wanted, it wasn't a forced thing.
And then, I started to get really, really sick. And he wasn't there. He wanted to be, I think, but he was working in another town and could only come up on the weekends. And at first, it was fine. He'd take care of me and we'd be together and it was okay. Then it got to where...he wanted to be with our friends, not staying home taking care of a very sick girlfriend. And there goes more resentment, more anger, more certainity that this whole relationship thing wasn't for me. Eventually, he moved to Texas and that was it for us.
It took me a few years to get over that, but I did. And I meet another man who I just loved. I can't explain how much I loved this man. It was...it was scary, actually. He was great, he understood me and he didn't care that I was sick. It was amazing. But as good as it was, we also fought like crazy. No one has ever made me feel as incredible or as awful as he did. There was no middle ground with us, we were either on top of the world or tearing each other's throats out. I know now, it was a very unhealthy relationship, but at the time...at the time it was like a drug. We'd finally reached a sort of even balance when he moved. Literally left the country. He was originally from Europe and he just went home. Just...gone. And he didn't even tell me he was leaving. No goodbye, nothing. Just, one day he was there, the next he was gone. He sent me an email when he got home, saying it would have been too hard for him to tell me goodbye in person.
Seriously. Fucking hell. Just...poof. One day it's 'you're my best friend' the next it's 'Hey, anyone seen K?' Arg.
So, after that, I kinda decided this relationship thing? It doesn't work for me. (Actually, there was at least one other man who did something similar to me, but two examples should do, no?)
So, for me, the thought of a long-term/marriage relationship is possibly the most frightening thing on the planet. In the end, material things don't matter that much to me. I can get another car, find another apartment, get new furniture, pay off credit cards, whatever. But the emotional damage a divorce/breakup can do is just...I know I can survive them, but how many times should I be expected to?
And yes, I realize not all men are this way. Not all women are, either. And I believe, should I meet someone that I really felt drawn to, that I'd be able to have some kind of relationship. But the thought of taking vows? It just....I don't know that I could.
Because after the vows comes the expectations. Where are we going to live? When are we having children? (Uh, never. Sorry.) What happens when I start to get sick again? What happens when/if I get so sick I can't work? How are we going to pay the bills? How are we going to blend our families? What happens when my father decides he hates him? (And he will. I have yet to find anyone good enough for me, according to my father.) What happens when his mother decides she hates me?
I know, intellectually, that all those things can be worked out. I know, because I've seen it. But I haven't been able to live that sort of relationship. I wish I could, but I don't seem to be able to manage it.
Marriage to me feels like a trap. It feels like I'd be giving up who I am to become A Wife. My poor mother...for the longest time, she was always 'Zan's mother' or 'Lee's wife'. She wasn't herself, ya know? People didn't seem to know her name or what she did or what she liked. She was always seen in reference to someone else. That was so very unfair. And I thought, no one is ever going to do that to me. No one is ever going to not know my name, not like that. I'm never going to live my life for someone else.
And yet, my parents have a happy, stable marriage. They've been married for 35 or 36 years. So clearly, they know something I don't. My brother has been married for probably 8 years now. They're happy. My paternal grandparents were married until my grandfather died. They seemed happy. (Of course, my grandmother is perfectly happy on her own too.) So, I don't know. It's such a deeply personal issue, it seems almost wrong to bring political views into it. (There's certainly room to critque the historical problems with marriage for women. Even critique modern problems too. Maybe it's me, but my objections to marriage, for myself, are much more personal than that.)
So, where does that leave me? Am I fated to be single for the rest of my life? On one hand, I don't really mind that too much. I'm happy enough and I can certainly take care of myself. On the other hand, it would be nice to have someone to come home to. It would be nice to have someone I could count on when I get sick. But marriage isn't a guarantee of those things, it's not some magic pill like a lot of people seem to believe. So, I just don't know.
My marriage issues are kind of strange, I suppose, given that practically everyone in my family has a history of marriage success. There have been exactly two divorces in my family and both were caused by an abusive spouse. So, I've got lots of examples of good, functioning, equitable marraiges. And I still can't bring myself to take that step.
I came close once. I was vastly in love with a man I dated in college. I could see the two of us together longterm (and well, we were. For nearly seven years.) and yet...and yet I just couldn't do it. He knew that too. He told me once, if he thought I'd say yes, he'd have asked me to marry him after our first year together. But he never did, because he knew I'd say no. We lived together for several years though. And that, maybe, is what really sealed my opposition to marriage.
See, I was in school full time and working, so I made all the money. And he was in school full time, but not working. So, he was home a lot more than I was. And it always seemed to me that I was paying for everything. I paid the rent, I had the car, I bought groceries, I paid for our nights out and for renting videos. Hell, I even paid for all the birth control. (Which, frankly, I will continue to do. If I pay for it, I know we've got it, so none of this "Oh, I don't have a condom. Just this once won't hurt..." shit.) It built a great deal of resentment in me. He would get to be home while I was working and he'd read or watch tv or play on the computer or hang out with friends and...the dishes wouldn't get done, the laundry wouldn't get done, the vacuuming wouldn't get done...and I'd come home and he'd be all snuggly and kissy and I was just so tired and pissed off that nothing had gotten done at the house....And when I finally got on him enough to get a job, he found one in another town, which meant he had to move and that really spelled the end for us. Because I got my life back. I got my freedom to do what I wanted back. I could do the dishes at midnight if I wanted. Or I could skip them. If I wanted, it wasn't a forced thing.
And then, I started to get really, really sick. And he wasn't there. He wanted to be, I think, but he was working in another town and could only come up on the weekends. And at first, it was fine. He'd take care of me and we'd be together and it was okay. Then it got to where...he wanted to be with our friends, not staying home taking care of a very sick girlfriend. And there goes more resentment, more anger, more certainity that this whole relationship thing wasn't for me. Eventually, he moved to Texas and that was it for us.
It took me a few years to get over that, but I did. And I meet another man who I just loved. I can't explain how much I loved this man. It was...it was scary, actually. He was great, he understood me and he didn't care that I was sick. It was amazing. But as good as it was, we also fought like crazy. No one has ever made me feel as incredible or as awful as he did. There was no middle ground with us, we were either on top of the world or tearing each other's throats out. I know now, it was a very unhealthy relationship, but at the time...at the time it was like a drug. We'd finally reached a sort of even balance when he moved. Literally left the country. He was originally from Europe and he just went home. Just...gone. And he didn't even tell me he was leaving. No goodbye, nothing. Just, one day he was there, the next he was gone. He sent me an email when he got home, saying it would have been too hard for him to tell me goodbye in person.
Seriously. Fucking hell. Just...poof. One day it's 'you're my best friend' the next it's 'Hey, anyone seen K?' Arg.
So, after that, I kinda decided this relationship thing? It doesn't work for me. (Actually, there was at least one other man who did something similar to me, but two examples should do, no?)
So, for me, the thought of a long-term/marriage relationship is possibly the most frightening thing on the planet. In the end, material things don't matter that much to me. I can get another car, find another apartment, get new furniture, pay off credit cards, whatever. But the emotional damage a divorce/breakup can do is just...I know I can survive them, but how many times should I be expected to?
And yes, I realize not all men are this way. Not all women are, either. And I believe, should I meet someone that I really felt drawn to, that I'd be able to have some kind of relationship. But the thought of taking vows? It just....I don't know that I could.
Because after the vows comes the expectations. Where are we going to live? When are we having children? (Uh, never. Sorry.) What happens when I start to get sick again? What happens when/if I get so sick I can't work? How are we going to pay the bills? How are we going to blend our families? What happens when my father decides he hates him? (And he will. I have yet to find anyone good enough for me, according to my father.) What happens when his mother decides she hates me?
I know, intellectually, that all those things can be worked out. I know, because I've seen it. But I haven't been able to live that sort of relationship. I wish I could, but I don't seem to be able to manage it.
Marriage to me feels like a trap. It feels like I'd be giving up who I am to become A Wife. My poor mother...for the longest time, she was always 'Zan's mother' or 'Lee's wife'. She wasn't herself, ya know? People didn't seem to know her name or what she did or what she liked. She was always seen in reference to someone else. That was so very unfair. And I thought, no one is ever going to do that to me. No one is ever going to not know my name, not like that. I'm never going to live my life for someone else.
And yet, my parents have a happy, stable marriage. They've been married for 35 or 36 years. So clearly, they know something I don't. My brother has been married for probably 8 years now. They're happy. My paternal grandparents were married until my grandfather died. They seemed happy. (Of course, my grandmother is perfectly happy on her own too.) So, I don't know. It's such a deeply personal issue, it seems almost wrong to bring political views into it. (There's certainly room to critque the historical problems with marriage for women. Even critique modern problems too. Maybe it's me, but my objections to marriage, for myself, are much more personal than that.)
So, where does that leave me? Am I fated to be single for the rest of my life? On one hand, I don't really mind that too much. I'm happy enough and I can certainly take care of myself. On the other hand, it would be nice to have someone to come home to. It would be nice to have someone I could count on when I get sick. But marriage isn't a guarantee of those things, it's not some magic pill like a lot of people seem to believe. So, I just don't know.
Labels: marriage, relationships, sex
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Dating While Fat
I was reading this post over at Feministe and it, of course, got me thinking.
I've already posted about my problems with power issues in hetero relationship, so now I'm going to pontificate on my issues with Dating While Fat.
The thing is, I like my body. I realize it's way beyond the socially accepted norm and I just don't care. Sure, sometimes (like when I've got PMS) I look at myself in the mirror and I don't see myself the way I think I should. But those days pass. Generally, I look at myself and think "That's one awesome woman." Because I am. So, my body isn't an issue for me. But it seems to be an issue for lots of men.
I cannot count the number of times I've been talking to a guy, via IM or off of some dating site, and we're all doing well and everything. And he asks for a pix, so I send one. And that's it. No more talking, no more paging. No more nothing. Just...it's like I no longer exist.
Now, I realize there needs to be a physical attraction for a relationship to work. And if you do not find me physically attractive, that's fine. I don't find everyone else in the world attractive either. But have the decency to not be an ass about it. When I'm talking to guys via IM or whatever, I'm really not looking for someone to hook up with that night. I'm also not necessarily looking for someone to be my SO. I really just want to meet people, maybe meet some new friends. So if we click, great. If we don't, fine. If you don't wanna be my boytoy, I don't fucking care, But when you get all shitty and just stop talking to me, when you were all about me five minutes earlier, you're being a prick and pissing me off.
Also, men who think I'm gonna give it up to 'em cause I'm a big girl? Fuck you. Or, more accurately, I won't fuck you. This post at Lynne's blog (she's awesome, btw) just makes me want to vomit. And it reinforces my deepest fears about men, in general. I want to trust them, but knowing that there are men who think these kind of things. . .and I know they exist. I've meet them. I just. . .want to stab them in the eyes with a pair of scissors.
Here's the thing: I'm a person, not a body. There's a difference. And if I meet a guy who just wants to fuck, he should just say so. I'm not desparate because I'm a big girl, but neither am I non-sexual. Maybe I just want to fuck him too. Maybe I don't want a relationship. Maybe we're both on the same page. But if any one thinks I'm a fucking HOG, they're not laying a hand on me.
It makes it very difficult for me to trust men who seem to show interest in me. Honestly, I probably wouldn't even notice a man who was actively flirting with me. It just doesn't register with me. It's almost like society has driven it into my head that no man would ever find me sexually appealing. I know this is wrong, because men have. But that's almost like an exception to the rule.
And I don't want to be someone's fetish. I don't want to be with a man who just wants to be with a big girl. Because, what happens if I lose weight? I'm not planning on it, but I've gotten sick in the past and lost quite a few pounds. Sure, it always comes back when I'm healthy again, but what if it didn't? Would the person I'm in love with dump me because I'm suddenly not his fetish?
I honestly don't understand the avoidance most men seem to have to bigger women. When I look at a guy, I'm not thinking "oh, I don't want him. He's got a spare tire." I mean, I understand on an individual basis that attraction is different. No problem. But, this lashing out against big women in general, it just makes no sense at all. So, I'm fat. So what? That's like deciding you don't like me because I wear glasses or because I'm tall or because my eyes are green. These things are all true, but to decide, based on one factor, that I'm not girlfriend material? It seems shady to me.
Maybe that's because I'm not much of a lookist myself. Honestly, a feature has to be really outstanding on a person for me to really notice. Or, I notice, it just doesn't get that much weight in my evaluating them. There are things I have preferences for (tall, dark hair, brown eyes, boys who wear eyeliner, Latinas(yum!), women who have curves) and things I really, really don't like (blue eyes! Don't ask me why. I just don't like 'em.) But the thing is, none of those things are dealbreakers. If I met a short, blue-eyed blonde, skinny as a rail who I just clicked with -- color me happy. I'd be amused by it, but I certainly wouldn't fight it. So why the problem for men with big girls?
(And don't give me that crap about health, either. If we're talking health issues, my Lupus is way, way, way bigger than my weight. And I don't want to have to break out my excellent other stats. So nyah.)
Anyway, the reaction (many) men have to big girls makes it difficult for me to trust them. And if you don't have trust, you can't have a relationship.
I've already posted about my problems with power issues in hetero relationship, so now I'm going to pontificate on my issues with Dating While Fat.
The thing is, I like my body. I realize it's way beyond the socially accepted norm and I just don't care. Sure, sometimes (like when I've got PMS) I look at myself in the mirror and I don't see myself the way I think I should. But those days pass. Generally, I look at myself and think "That's one awesome woman." Because I am. So, my body isn't an issue for me. But it seems to be an issue for lots of men.
I cannot count the number of times I've been talking to a guy, via IM or off of some dating site, and we're all doing well and everything. And he asks for a pix, so I send one. And that's it. No more talking, no more paging. No more nothing. Just...it's like I no longer exist.
Now, I realize there needs to be a physical attraction for a relationship to work. And if you do not find me physically attractive, that's fine. I don't find everyone else in the world attractive either. But have the decency to not be an ass about it. When I'm talking to guys via IM or whatever, I'm really not looking for someone to hook up with that night. I'm also not necessarily looking for someone to be my SO. I really just want to meet people, maybe meet some new friends. So if we click, great. If we don't, fine. If you don't wanna be my boytoy, I don't fucking care, But when you get all shitty and just stop talking to me, when you were all about me five minutes earlier, you're being a prick and pissing me off.
Also, men who think I'm gonna give it up to 'em cause I'm a big girl? Fuck you. Or, more accurately, I won't fuck you. This post at Lynne's blog (she's awesome, btw) just makes me want to vomit. And it reinforces my deepest fears about men, in general. I want to trust them, but knowing that there are men who think these kind of things. . .and I know they exist. I've meet them. I just. . .want to stab them in the eyes with a pair of scissors.
Here's the thing: I'm a person, not a body. There's a difference. And if I meet a guy who just wants to fuck, he should just say so. I'm not desparate because I'm a big girl, but neither am I non-sexual. Maybe I just want to fuck him too. Maybe I don't want a relationship. Maybe we're both on the same page. But if any one thinks I'm a fucking HOG, they're not laying a hand on me.
It makes it very difficult for me to trust men who seem to show interest in me. Honestly, I probably wouldn't even notice a man who was actively flirting with me. It just doesn't register with me. It's almost like society has driven it into my head that no man would ever find me sexually appealing. I know this is wrong, because men have. But that's almost like an exception to the rule.
And I don't want to be someone's fetish. I don't want to be with a man who just wants to be with a big girl. Because, what happens if I lose weight? I'm not planning on it, but I've gotten sick in the past and lost quite a few pounds. Sure, it always comes back when I'm healthy again, but what if it didn't? Would the person I'm in love with dump me because I'm suddenly not his fetish?
I honestly don't understand the avoidance most men seem to have to bigger women. When I look at a guy, I'm not thinking "oh, I don't want him. He's got a spare tire." I mean, I understand on an individual basis that attraction is different. No problem. But, this lashing out against big women in general, it just makes no sense at all. So, I'm fat. So what? That's like deciding you don't like me because I wear glasses or because I'm tall or because my eyes are green. These things are all true, but to decide, based on one factor, that I'm not girlfriend material? It seems shady to me.
Maybe that's because I'm not much of a lookist myself. Honestly, a feature has to be really outstanding on a person for me to really notice. Or, I notice, it just doesn't get that much weight in my evaluating them. There are things I have preferences for (tall, dark hair, brown eyes, boys who wear eyeliner, Latinas(yum!), women who have curves) and things I really, really don't like (blue eyes! Don't ask me why. I just don't like 'em.) But the thing is, none of those things are dealbreakers. If I met a short, blue-eyed blonde, skinny as a rail who I just clicked with -- color me happy. I'd be amused by it, but I certainly wouldn't fight it. So why the problem for men with big girls?
(And don't give me that crap about health, either. If we're talking health issues, my Lupus is way, way, way bigger than my weight. And I don't want to have to break out my excellent other stats. So nyah.)
Anyway, the reaction (many) men have to big girls makes it difficult for me to trust them. And if you don't have trust, you can't have a relationship.
Labels: fat, relationships
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Power corrupts -- and leaves me perpetually single
So, I've been thinking a lot lately about dating. I don't date, personally. Not because I'm opposed to the idea. I'd be happy to have someone in my life. No, I don't date because I have issues with power.
My relationships with men are...difficult. I've internalized a lot of the lessons I was raised with and, though I fight them constantly, they're still there. Friendships with men are no problem. Hell, my best friends are usually male. But once a relationship turns romantic? Well. Things become difficult.
I've lived my entire life in the Deep South. I was raised a fundamentalist Southern Baptist. Everything in my childhood pointed me toward a decided, clear power imbalance between men and women. The women in my family are phenominal. They're amazing and strong and have such incredible minds. But every one of them, to a fault, give lip service to the idea that the 'man is the head of the household.' The men in my family are equally amazing. Not one of them has ever tried to take advantage of that "theory". My father would never dream of trying to tell my mother what to do or how to live her life. They got married right out of high school. My mother was the valedictorian, dad went to trade school. He told her, right off the bat, that if she wanted to go to college, he'd move whereever she wanted to go. No questions. But she wanted to have a family and stay home. So he was okay with that too. He never, as far as I know, pressured her to go to work, even when money was tight for us. (And it was. We were Louisiana poor.) My brother takes after our father. He got married young (22), but he's the one who does all the cooking, lots of cleaning and he's really amazing with his daughter. Neither of them are remotely redneckish or domineering.
And yet, all I can think of, when I get involved with a man, is when the competition is going to start? When is he going to start being patronizing? When is he going to pull a he-man act on me? When is he going to try to compell me to do something I don't want to do?
I know, in my head and through experience, that there are men in this world who don't act that way. I know there are men who value their female partners as full equals. But I just can't feel comfortable in relationships. I always feel like....well, they're going to start, any day now. Why don't I cook more? Why don't I clean more? Why won't I have children? Why won't I lose weight so they won't be ashamed of me? Why, why, why?
Instinctively, I feel a power imbalance. I know that in this society, if I had a boyfriend/husband, other people would look at me differently. I know they'd think of me a little better. But I also know they'd instantly begin deferring to HIM when we were in public. Does it matter that I'm the one making the money and picking up the check? No. The waiters always give the check to my male friends when we're out. Does it matter that it's my fucking car and I'm the one who does the upkeep? No, mechanics always seem to want to talk to my husband about it.
And I realize, in my head at least, that those things are not the fault of the men I date. (Because there's no way I'm putting up with some asshole who thinks he can just start making decisions for me.) And yet, that imbalance exists and I feel it. I know it's there.
I have a huge, incredible fear of being controlled. I always have, since I was a child. (The fact that the fundy church I grew up in did a serious number on my head contributed to this greatly. How is it NOT being controlled to be told 'do what God says or burn forever'?) I've never been particularly 'girly.' I don't like makeup or dresses or most Society Approved girl things. Those things have never appealed to me. And yet...and yet I fear that I'm being disapproved of because of it. On one level, I simply don't care. Strangers disapprove of me? Fuck them. What does that matter? But someone I love? That's a different matter all together. So if I meet someone, and I love him, and he's thinking "I wish she'd wear a dress" or "Why isn't she more /normal/?" that's just....something I can't handle.
Add to that the fact that I have a chronic illness that is difficult enough for me to handle, let alone have to worry about what a BF thinks of that fact that I'm sick all the time. My head understands that I'm still an amazing woman, with more than enough to offer anyone...and yet there's this sick, sinking feeling I get whenever I think of being in a relationship. I want that, on one level, and on another I simply cannot do it.
Part of me thinks this whole thing is just crazy. I've never, nor would I, date a man who would see me as anything other than a fully equal partner. And yet it's a very real thing, this inate power imbalance when I'm in a het relationship. I've been through counseling to deal with the issues from my fundy upbringing, but I just can't seem to shake this.
So, how am I supposed to find someone to share my life with, if I'm constantly internalizing this shit? (Okay, yes. I could date women exclusively. But that seems a coward's way out, if I'm only doing that because I'm too afraid to be involved with a man. Whoever I'm involved with deserves to have my affection for themselves, not because of their gender.)
My relationships with men are...difficult. I've internalized a lot of the lessons I was raised with and, though I fight them constantly, they're still there. Friendships with men are no problem. Hell, my best friends are usually male. But once a relationship turns romantic? Well. Things become difficult.
I've lived my entire life in the Deep South. I was raised a fundamentalist Southern Baptist. Everything in my childhood pointed me toward a decided, clear power imbalance between men and women. The women in my family are phenominal. They're amazing and strong and have such incredible minds. But every one of them, to a fault, give lip service to the idea that the 'man is the head of the household.' The men in my family are equally amazing. Not one of them has ever tried to take advantage of that "theory". My father would never dream of trying to tell my mother what to do or how to live her life. They got married right out of high school. My mother was the valedictorian, dad went to trade school. He told her, right off the bat, that if she wanted to go to college, he'd move whereever she wanted to go. No questions. But she wanted to have a family and stay home. So he was okay with that too. He never, as far as I know, pressured her to go to work, even when money was tight for us. (And it was. We were Louisiana poor.) My brother takes after our father. He got married young (22), but he's the one who does all the cooking, lots of cleaning and he's really amazing with his daughter. Neither of them are remotely redneckish or domineering.
And yet, all I can think of, when I get involved with a man, is when the competition is going to start? When is he going to start being patronizing? When is he going to pull a he-man act on me? When is he going to try to compell me to do something I don't want to do?
I know, in my head and through experience, that there are men in this world who don't act that way. I know there are men who value their female partners as full equals. But I just can't feel comfortable in relationships. I always feel like....well, they're going to start, any day now. Why don't I cook more? Why don't I clean more? Why won't I have children? Why won't I lose weight so they won't be ashamed of me? Why, why, why?
Instinctively, I feel a power imbalance. I know that in this society, if I had a boyfriend/husband, other people would look at me differently. I know they'd think of me a little better. But I also know they'd instantly begin deferring to HIM when we were in public. Does it matter that I'm the one making the money and picking up the check? No. The waiters always give the check to my male friends when we're out. Does it matter that it's my fucking car and I'm the one who does the upkeep? No, mechanics always seem to want to talk to my husband about it.
And I realize, in my head at least, that those things are not the fault of the men I date. (Because there's no way I'm putting up with some asshole who thinks he can just start making decisions for me.) And yet, that imbalance exists and I feel it. I know it's there.
I have a huge, incredible fear of being controlled. I always have, since I was a child. (The fact that the fundy church I grew up in did a serious number on my head contributed to this greatly. How is it NOT being controlled to be told 'do what God says or burn forever'?) I've never been particularly 'girly.' I don't like makeup or dresses or most Society Approved girl things. Those things have never appealed to me. And yet...and yet I fear that I'm being disapproved of because of it. On one level, I simply don't care. Strangers disapprove of me? Fuck them. What does that matter? But someone I love? That's a different matter all together. So if I meet someone, and I love him, and he's thinking "I wish she'd wear a dress" or "Why isn't she more /normal/?" that's just....something I can't handle.
Add to that the fact that I have a chronic illness that is difficult enough for me to handle, let alone have to worry about what a BF thinks of that fact that I'm sick all the time. My head understands that I'm still an amazing woman, with more than enough to offer anyone...and yet there's this sick, sinking feeling I get whenever I think of being in a relationship. I want that, on one level, and on another I simply cannot do it.
Part of me thinks this whole thing is just crazy. I've never, nor would I, date a man who would see me as anything other than a fully equal partner. And yet it's a very real thing, this inate power imbalance when I'm in a het relationship. I've been through counseling to deal with the issues from my fundy upbringing, but I just can't seem to shake this.
So, how am I supposed to find someone to share my life with, if I'm constantly internalizing this shit? (Okay, yes. I could date women exclusively. But that seems a coward's way out, if I'm only doing that because I'm too afraid to be involved with a man. Whoever I'm involved with deserves to have my affection for themselves, not because of their gender.)
Labels: childhood trauma, power, relationships
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Big Church vs. Little Church -- One wants to stone me, the other wants to set me up with their single nephews
As I'm getting ready to venture home for the Easter holidays, I'm thinking about the difference between the Fundamentalist Church and Fundamentalists as people. My whole family are fundamentalists, of the Southern Baptist variety. There are varying degrees of fundy, but essentially, they all fit the mold pretty well. The problem is, they don't fit the stereotypical view of fundamentalists.
There's a huge difference between the Church proper and the church in reality. (Otherwise known as the people in the Church.) I grew up in a very Fundamentalist Southern Baptist church. For me, it was a damaging, horrifying experience that has taken me years and years to recover from. I'm still not fully recovered, but I'm functional. My family, on the other hand, find that belief system a perfect fit. Does that make me, or them, somehow flawed or twisted or is one of us better than the other? I don't think so. We're just different. Because, really, the only difference between us is how we concieve of the Divine. Our morality, for the most part, is the same. The basics, anyway. No killing, no stealing, avoid lying when you can, treat people the way you want to be treated -- even when you think they don't deserve it, let people make their own decisions so long as what they're doing isn't hurting you -- those are pretty basic values. Those I learned from my family. And my family derives those values from their faith. But their faith, and my faith, are not the same. And yet, on one level, they are.
While the Church was a very damaging place for me to grow up, the people in the Church were some of the kindest, most generous people I've known. If my family needed anything, we knew they'd be there for us. No one in our Church was going to go hungry, no one was going to go without shelter if they lost a job or had a fire or some tragedy befell them, no one was going to have to deal with death or illness alone. The Church was very much a family and, believe it or not, was very welcoming of outsiders. The problem was, while the people on an individual level were, for the most part, welcoming and kind, the Church as a whole was not. It taught (and continues to teach) things that can seriously fuck up people. (Something I cannot get my family to understand to this day, so we just don't talk about it.) And, here's the thing a lot of people don't seem to understand, there are many people within the Fundamentalist Church who DISAGREE with many of their teachings. I know fundamentalists who are opposed to the Church's teachings about homosexuals or abortion or war or the death penalty. The idea that you can paint all Fundamentalists with a single brush bothers me.
When I hear people talk about Fundamentalists in disparaging tones, I'm torn. On one hand, I agree with them. I know from personal experience just how dangerous the teachings of the Church can be. I know what being told you're not good enough, or worthy enough, that you're a disappointment to GOD, that you're damned and can never change (so why bother trying, right?) can do to a person. I was horribly suicidal for most of my teenage years. It's a miracle I'm still alive. (And I am actually serious about that. My father had guns all over the house, unlocked, with bullets just lying around. Plus, there were sleeping pills and other very lethal prescription meds in the cabinet I could have taken. I was openly suicidal and no one was listening, because to admit I was sick, and not just lost and in need of prayer, would have upset their belief system. That took lots of therapy to let go of, too.)
I suppose I'm trying to find a way to make sense of two very different truths here. On the one hand, I believe that the Fundamentalist Church is evil. It may not have started out that way, I don't know. But I believe now, in it's present incarnation, it is truly, wholy evil. The people in it, however, are not evil. Oh, some of them may be. But for the most part, the people in the pews are just looking for some way to make sense of the world. They're motivated, in many cases, by fear. The world can be very scary and the Church offers them a sense of safety and protection. That's a very alluring thing and it's hard to walk away from if you're not being traumatized by it. Honestly, I can't say I'd have ever left if I hadn't been so badly hurt. If I was the sort of person who could just tune out the parts I didn't like? Who knows? Maybe I'd still be there. I like to think not, but I don't know.
I like to think this restlessness I have, this inability to tune out the bad parts is actually a gift. That it's not just being stubborn, as my mother likes to think. I like to think it's a blessing, even if it did get left out of the Beatitudes :)
There's a huge difference between the Church proper and the church in reality. (Otherwise known as the people in the Church.) I grew up in a very Fundamentalist Southern Baptist church. For me, it was a damaging, horrifying experience that has taken me years and years to recover from. I'm still not fully recovered, but I'm functional. My family, on the other hand, find that belief system a perfect fit. Does that make me, or them, somehow flawed or twisted or is one of us better than the other? I don't think so. We're just different. Because, really, the only difference between us is how we concieve of the Divine. Our morality, for the most part, is the same. The basics, anyway. No killing, no stealing, avoid lying when you can, treat people the way you want to be treated -- even when you think they don't deserve it, let people make their own decisions so long as what they're doing isn't hurting you -- those are pretty basic values. Those I learned from my family. And my family derives those values from their faith. But their faith, and my faith, are not the same. And yet, on one level, they are.
While the Church was a very damaging place for me to grow up, the people in the Church were some of the kindest, most generous people I've known. If my family needed anything, we knew they'd be there for us. No one in our Church was going to go hungry, no one was going to go without shelter if they lost a job or had a fire or some tragedy befell them, no one was going to have to deal with death or illness alone. The Church was very much a family and, believe it or not, was very welcoming of outsiders. The problem was, while the people on an individual level were, for the most part, welcoming and kind, the Church as a whole was not. It taught (and continues to teach) things that can seriously fuck up people. (Something I cannot get my family to understand to this day, so we just don't talk about it.) And, here's the thing a lot of people don't seem to understand, there are many people within the Fundamentalist Church who DISAGREE with many of their teachings. I know fundamentalists who are opposed to the Church's teachings about homosexuals or abortion or war or the death penalty. The idea that you can paint all Fundamentalists with a single brush bothers me.
When I hear people talk about Fundamentalists in disparaging tones, I'm torn. On one hand, I agree with them. I know from personal experience just how dangerous the teachings of the Church can be. I know what being told you're not good enough, or worthy enough, that you're a disappointment to GOD, that you're damned and can never change (so why bother trying, right?) can do to a person. I was horribly suicidal for most of my teenage years. It's a miracle I'm still alive. (And I am actually serious about that. My father had guns all over the house, unlocked, with bullets just lying around. Plus, there were sleeping pills and other very lethal prescription meds in the cabinet I could have taken. I was openly suicidal and no one was listening, because to admit I was sick, and not just lost and in need of prayer, would have upset their belief system. That took lots of therapy to let go of, too.)
I suppose I'm trying to find a way to make sense of two very different truths here. On the one hand, I believe that the Fundamentalist Church is evil. It may not have started out that way, I don't know. But I believe now, in it's present incarnation, it is truly, wholy evil. The people in it, however, are not evil. Oh, some of them may be. But for the most part, the people in the pews are just looking for some way to make sense of the world. They're motivated, in many cases, by fear. The world can be very scary and the Church offers them a sense of safety and protection. That's a very alluring thing and it's hard to walk away from if you're not being traumatized by it. Honestly, I can't say I'd have ever left if I hadn't been so badly hurt. If I was the sort of person who could just tune out the parts I didn't like? Who knows? Maybe I'd still be there. I like to think not, but I don't know.
I like to think this restlessness I have, this inability to tune out the bad parts is actually a gift. That it's not just being stubborn, as my mother likes to think. I like to think it's a blessing, even if it did get left out of the Beatitudes :)
Labels: family, relationships, religion
