It's the little things....

The "little things in life" that warm our hearts and restore our faith in humanity are the stories of baby animals rescued from storm drains, the patron ahead of you who pays for your coffee, and the tweens up the block who shovel for the elderly without expecting to be paid.

I love those stories. They do exactly what they are meant to do. When we say "it's the little things",  it's because we see it, we accept it, we let it swell in our hearts, and our moods are lifted just enough to get back to work. I firmly believe that every news broadcast should be ended with a "happy" story.  It would give us the strength to fight against the wrongs when we remember all is not entirely hopeless.

Be the change you want to see in the world. (By the way, there is no real evidence that Gandhi said this. This op-ed explains this and other misquotes.) Misquoted or not,  it's a good start.  I've watched parents try to teach their children by example.  It's a long, long, LONG process.  It's frustrating to the point of wanting to scream, "Just tell them what to do already!!!"  Children are not little mind-readers--- except in some instances when they are like the family pet who suddenly knows it's time to go to the vet. 

The idea of instructing by example rather than an issued statement of rule is a way to help a child's sense of what is and isn't acceptable grow without instilling fear.  I'm willing to bet just about every parent would prefer their child cleans their room out of a sense of self-respect rather than threats of punishment. This doesn't always work.  In fact, parents reading this may be hyperventilating from laughter by now.  I get it. The concept is good. The concept works better with somethings than with others.

Observe your family of origin and then examine your own habits.  You may be surprised to see just how many things you've unconsciously picked up simply from being exposed to them over and over.  There are behaviors I have that definitely developed from threats and not adhering to 35-year-old rules beat into my head (and, sometimes, hiney) push me into anxiety attacks.  The anxiety stops me in my tracks, the rule isn't followed,  I get more anxious, and, finally, depression takes over.  I repeat this until I can muster the strength to either do the thing or accept that it doesn't matter if the rule is followed because I'm no longer 7.

I also do things because I was taught on an unconscious level. They're little things, usually.  For example, when I wash my hands in a public restroom and paper towels are available, I dry off the counter. I do not think I was ever instructed to do this, but I've seen it done so many times while growing up that I've unconsciously determined "this is the proper behavior in a public restroom".   If someone is upset, I offer sweet treats even though my conscious mind is acutely aware that teaches to seek comfort from an outside source.  (The scale makes me aware of this too.)

It's the little things we observe every day that seep into our unconscious and manifest in our behaviors, beliefs, and judgments of others. (Don't argue with me that you don't judge people. We all do it because we've determined some judgments, right or wrong, are socially acceptable.)

The little things that shape us are often witnessed in society and their messages are unintentional. The person/culture/company is more than likely unaware they are contributing to anything beyond their specific intent.  A company wants an ad campaign that will sell their product. A cultural tradition is observed without examining its effects on the environment or another culture.  A person insists that their child "give Aunt Edna" a kiss so that Aunt Edna's feelings aren't hurt.

I think I just heard a collective "huh?" from that last example.

It's the little things that teach us what is expected and those lessons are carried with us throughout our lives.  Little, seemingly innocuous things: a pale, blonde, thin, woman dressed in white selling facial cleansers; the tattooed Latino drug dealer in that movie; the shoot first/ask later police drama; the hero whose interrogation techniques include torture and he saves the day.

It's these little things we see over and over that normalize specific scenarios. If you scramble to defend the examples above but gasp when a show/commercial/movie/book depicts a same-sex romance, ask yourself why. 

Before I get back to giving Aunt Edna a kiss, here is a semi-related tangent from "the little things":

This is not about "everyone's offended about everything".  Labels such as "outrage culture" diminish the importance of understanding how these little things set the tone for society.  It is worth noting that bring attention to something that could contribute to a harmful perception is not always outrage. Outrage comes after numerous polite statements of "Hey. This is harmful and here is why."  If you think people have been skipping the polite statement phase, look at the issue.  Is it a variation of something else that's been said for years?  Decades?   Does it matter that Archaic Greeks wore their hair in dreadlocks when dreads are most associated with Black culture?  It's good for trivia night, but that's about it. It is still cultural appropriation when specific parts of a culture are exalted while still discriminating against the culture as a whole.  (For what it's worth, dreadlocks were first associated with ancient Indian and Egyptian cultures, so European dreads came after Asian and African dreads.)

Pointing something out as potentially problematic does not always mean you need to cease and swear off whatever it is. If a phrase, decoration, depiction, style, advert, artistic expression, [insert whatever I missed here*] is critizied as insensitive or harmful, try to understand why instead of automatically getting pissed off that someone else has an opinion.  If you don't want to understand, then by all means, continue being disrespectful. I'm not responsible for you.  

* and my apologies for missing something of importance to you

Let's get back to kissing Aunt Edna. I've spent the last year examining how "little things" contribute to my own behaviors and have expanded to looking at its effects on society over the past few months. I read something on Twitter last week that struck a cord.

There is no doubt that November has been an impromptu Sexual Harassment and Assault Awareness month. Even if you are not a news junkie, some, if not all, of the stories have reached under whatever rock we've been trying to hide under.  I'm not going to get into why survivors "wait so long" to come forward nor the victim-blaming bullshit I've been seeing.  Those are other posts on their own, and I just don't have the strength for it right now.  

I'd like to address the "well why did she let him" and it's cousin comment "I would have smacked him then and there". (Side note:  I'm using she/him because using the gender-neutral they/them will get seriously confusing. Be assured that I know assault/harassment/abuse is experienced and committed by all genders and nonbinary people.)

The Twitter thread was regarding consent and who should be responsible for teaching it.  I'm not going to post the whole thread--- if you're interested in reading more, scroll through his thread archive.

Read that last screenshot again. Have you ever thought of it that way before?  While I've been consistently telling children who are ordered to hug or kiss me that it's ok if they don't want to, I never made the connection that Isaac did. There is not a parent that I know who tells their child to hug or kiss so-and-so with the intention of teaching them to participate in submissive behavior.

But.....

"Boys will be boys."  "He's mean to you because he likes you." "That's just how is he." "Your clothing is distracting."  "Don't be so sensitive." "Women are so emotional."

"I bought you a drink so I deserve a kiss."

We've been taught from an early age to let things go, to accept whatever excuse is used to dismiss our complaints. The training lasts into adulthood, and unless you've been in a specific situation, you can not say what you would do with absolute certainty.  Stay quiet while the boss makes sexist jokes? Laugh off the "accidental" glide over your ass. Give the person who bought that drink a quick little peck because it might be the fastest way to appease them and get away?

Oh.  So just don't force your girls to kiss Aunt Edna?  Are the boys fine?

Hell no. 

The boys absorb the other "little things".  "Real men don't cry." "Man up!" "Be aggressive and go after what you want!"  When you demand your boy should kiss Aunt Edna, he's still learning that his feelings are not valid. He's still learning that personal space and boundaries are arbitrary. It's the rest of their "training" that leads to adults who deserve a kiss because he spent money.

You put the person who was taught to let things slide with the person who was taught to be aggressive and get what they deserve? You get stories about being raped in a parking lot 30 years after the fact.

It's the little things.

The little things can lift your spirits for the moment.

The little things can also rip your life to pieces.

Disrespected Doormats.

About a month or so ago, I commented on a quoted tweet and it blew up in my face. Either I didn’t word it correctly or everyone is so readily defensive that the context was missed. Such is life on social media.

The original poster said something to effect of  how we’re all going to be offended by something at some point. I agree with this and I tried to take this one step further.  I’d like to change the conversation from “I am offended” to “That is disrespectful”. I was accused of policing someone’s feelings and I can see how it would be inferred.  It wasn’t my intention. Claiming that something is offensive opens a person up to being judged as too sensitive, too politically correct, too [insert specific complaint here].  The message is lost because we’re too busy telling someone why how they feel is wrong.  By calling something disrespectful, it takes the personal implication out of it.  It is now about the thing itself and up to the person/company/policy/whatever to understand what should be addressed.  It’s a subtle difference that will eventually become part of our unconscious.  Then, maybe, we can grow up a little and stop being so damn disrespectful to each other.

Long story short, I deleted the comment and told the OP I didn’t mean any disrespect.  Arguing my case wasn’t worth the inflicting any additional emotional toll on others.

The whole situation had a very strong effect on me: anxiety attacks, crying fits, a minor dissociative episode.  I was frustrated and plain ‘ol pissed off at my reaction.

Enter 17 years of introspective psychotherapy.

This hit three very specific buttons: not being heard, being misunderstood,  and being the target of undeserved anger.  I know this doesn’t sound like a heck of a lot to be upset over.  Bear with me.

Many psychological triggers are, in fact, this basic and it takes a lot of insight to recognize.  For instance, when you fight with your spouse over who should take the garbage out, the fight is not about the garbage.  It’s not about gender roles. It’s not about division of labor.  It boils down to respect.  Respect for your partner’s time, energy levels, other contributions.  It’s about  acknowledgment of “hey I had a really shitty day and it would help me out if you could take care of the garbage tonight.”.  It’s about listening without hearing those specific words because, let’s face it, none of us is good at being that articulate when asking for help at the end of a long day.

(Unless you’ve been in therapy for years.)

Back to my paltry sounding buttons.

Emotional abuse is just as damaging as physical. Instead of having a broken bone that didn’t heal correctly— because you were too scared to go to the ER— your spirit is damaged.  You can’t put your spirit in a cast.

What’s worse, both the abuser and victim may not even recognize emotional abuse is happening.  If you have a child who is super sensitive and you criticize  them constantly, you aren’t helping them build a thicker skin.  Your challenges for them to do better when their best was done isn’t motivating.  A sensitive child is going to hear they aren’t good enough no matter what they do. Their best isn’t good enough.  Their decisions are always flawed.  They will never have the confidence to try something new.   They will doubt their intelligence, their opinions, and the only thing they will truly succeed in is being the best damn doormat in the land.

“But you can’t baby them. That’s what’s wrong with our society.”

If this is your position, I’m sorry that no one ever took your feelings into account.  I’m sorry that you were emotionally abused to believe that tough love is the only answer.

Understanding how a person operates and adjusting your own methods isn’t “babying them”. It’s showing respect. There is a growing trend in the workforce to pit departments/teams/individuals against each other to create “healthy competition”.  For some people, this is a fabulously effective motivator.  A career salesperson will thrive on this.  The customer service oriented personality will burn out faster than a match in a hurricane.   The quiet accountant will keep your books impeccable, but hire someone with the pit bull aggressiveness needed for collections.  It is not “babying” to recognize someone’s strengths  and using them to your company’s advantage. Provide opportunities to enhance those skills and to learn new ones if your employees wish to expand.  Some of us are office managers with no interest in sales. Respect that. Especially if we tell you. Over and over. Before you hire us.

“But I’m talking about kids!  They need a firm hand! None of this Mr. Rogers shit!”

Gah! What did your parents or teachers do to you?  Wow. You should probably try talking to a therapist.

Yes, children need a firm hand and some more than others. Just remember that if you rule your children instead of parenting them— scaring them into submission instead of teaching them right from wrong— you are creating either a bully or a doormat.  No, children should not be encouraged to follow all of their dreams, especially if  one of those dreams is to fly with a cape and not a plane.  Your job is to keep them safe and teach them how to deal with the world.  Yes, the world is a hard place to live.  It’s filled with people who won’t take your strengths and sensitivities into account.  Yes, kids need to learn this.  But, before they do, they need a strong sense of self.  This isn’t achieved with participation trophies.  It’s probably more beneficial for a child to lose than to win as long as you do not enforce the belief that the loss came from an inherent flaw.  Instead of “you’re just not good at baseball”, suggest a different grip on the bat. Or, if they are fast but have trouble connecting the bat and ball, try tennis.

What does this have to do with my buttons?  When you hear that your best isn’t good enough for over 30 years from various people in your life, it’s harder than you think to change all the bullshit you’ve been trained to believe. Reactions are involuntary.  My rational brain will scream that crying over a stranger’s misinterpretation of my position is absolutely ridiculous and, gadzooks woman, get a grip!   Once the screaming stops, I remember I was trained to reaction like this.  I was trained to fear confrontations. I was trained to be submissive to whoever was upset.  I am forever on alert— gauging body language, listening for intonations, assessing the moods of everyone around me— to keep myself safe.

I know where my reactions come from. I’m learning to internalize the rationale in order to free myself.

There’s no magic pill.  There’s no specific technique that will get me there faster.

I just need time and you to wipe your feet elsewhere.

The Language of the Unheard

Disclaimer: I know not many people read this and those of you who do know me fairly well.  However, in case this post makes its way onto the screen of a stranger, let me clarify that the Black Lives Matter movement was part of a discussion during which I learned something about myself and should not be addressed in a comment.  This blog is supposed to be about how I’m processing the insights into the roots of my disorder. While I have some political ramblings on here, I’m trying to focus on what’s going on with me.  If you want to read and comment on my thoughts on our world, you can go here.

I tend to have extreme emotions to begin with but, my reactions to Black Lives Matter and Trump’s campaign have been completely over the top.  The demonization of BLM and the elevation of Trump’s ideology du jour feels like a personal attack on me, which is ridiculous.  The only targeted demographic that truly affects me on a personal level is Trump’s misogyny.  Still, the intense anger that overtakes my rationale when discussing either topic is perplexing.  My support for BLM and against Trump is justified on a logical level;  if I’m presented with a point by point list of each agenda, I can show-- calmly, rationally, respectfully-- where I stand on each and why. But when it comes to a verbal discussion, all sense of logic flies right out the window and doesn’t boomerang back until a mushroom cloud appears.   That’s not the best way to bring understanding and compassion to a subject.

A mushroom cloud appeared when I embarrassed myself, and probably my family, yesterday.  If you have seen any portrayal of an Italian-American family dinner and have gaped at how loud and intense the conversations can be, let me tell you, this really happens.  Yelling is how we communicate. About everything. Right down to who brought in the mail.  My role in the family is The Kid.   My cousin is also The Kid.  Respectively, we are 42 and 21 years old, but we are the youngest members of the local clan.  We are also much more introverted than the rest of the family. ( I’m going to pull my cousin out of this post for now since I cannot speak for her but wanted to mention that I’m not technically the youngest of the family.)  The Kid’s role in the family is to remember to “shut up and let the adults talk.”  While this is never actually said, it’s implied by various actions such listening to the first few words of my sentence and then either redirecting the conversation to someone/something else or cutting me off before I actually finish  my comment. Both actions have been happening to me at the dinner table my entire life. 

Most of the roots of my disorders need to be cut by being my own person. It is ok to assert myself I need to be confident in my thoughts, actions, and words.  I need to internalize that I am within my rights to express myself on any topic.  In return, others are allowed to dispute my points of view with their own.  This is how we learn.  This is how we come to understanding each other.  This is an integral part of a functioning society. Whatever label it’s given, conversations, discussions, debates, or fairly fought arguments over disagreements need to happen and they need to happen with respect.  If you are shown any disrespect, end the conversation and walk away until tempers have been controlled.  This is how I prefer to conduct myself. I’m not always good at it.  In fact, I failed miserably at my self-imposed decorum yesterday. 

However, my failure wasn’t because we disagreed.

A troublesome side effect of having Scrambled Brain is my lack of impulse control and how it likes to present itself at the most inappropriate times. I feel there’s a difference between acting inappropriately with someone who knows you well and someone who is an acquaintance.  Both deserve respect. However, if your manners bolt out the door with the former and if that’s not a habit, it’s easier to reconcile.  The latter isn’t aware that temper tantrums isn’t really your style.

Prior to this full-blown disorder, I would approach a debate with facts and logic:  “no, this is what the research states” and “explain to me why you believe that”.  Scrambled Brain has not only created a mess of the facts, but it likes to flip my Assert Yourself! Switch firmly into the On position.  That in itself isn’t a bad thing.  The problem is when my unconscious decides to fight a battle that isn’t the topic of discussion.

The discussion turned to Black Lives Matter and my opinion was in the minority of those voiced.  (DH feels the same way I do but he’s healthy enough to know when to speak and not.)  The discussion was heated— though, I honestly don’t think it’s easy for anyone to remain calm on this subject.    When I look back on it, I was the person I usually want to slap.  I wasn’t listening.  I wasn’t trying to understand.  I was more interested in saying what I had to say and dare anyone to tell me why I’m wrong.  That’s not who I want to be.  Ever.  About anything.   I was on the other side of how I expect myself to act. I was the disrespectful one and the gentleman, who, mind you, had some really good insights and points on the subject, did the adult thing and walked away.  Then I continued to argue with no one, but I was no longer talking about BLM. I was spewing frustrations over being told I’m wrong or dismissed before I finish expressing my point.  Let me get to that period or exclamation point and then have at it.  Please.

Yes, I apologized to him.  He did nothing wrong, really.  If I were in my right mind, I would have calmly requested that I be permitted to finish my comment and, from what I’ve observed, he probably would have complied. Instead, I raised my voice and slammed the table with every word.  The only thing good I can say is that my punctuated words were the rest of my statement rather than an attack on him.

I spent the next two hours crying and dissociating in and out before fell asleep for the night.

Aside from making a fool of myself and trying to explain this crazy disorder for the nth time in 4 years, I figured out why I become so blindly enraged when BLM is criticized.  I understand their frustration on a nonracial and nonlethal level. They aren’t Being Heard either. With every retort of ALL Lives Matter or Blue Lives Matter,  the fear and grief of the Black community is being dismissed. Yes, all lives and blue lives matter.  Of course they do. But when those phrases are used to drown out voices rather than addressing the matter at hand, they become nothing but a three word silencing mechanism.  Any response other than “I agree” to Black Lives Matter is morally, socially, and ethically flawed in some way.  The reason for that flaw will vary from person to person and has no place in this post. (Maybe I’ll write another on Medium…)

Trump does the same thing through different tactics. When his statement is challenged and he cannot provide backup for his belief, he turns to mockery, insults, and fearmongering.  Anyone who doesn’t agree with him is fair game. Believe it or not, I would actually have a tiny bit of respect for him if he didn’t constantly stoop to lower and lower levels in his attacks. (Side note:  I do NOT agree with him on anything. “Respect” is meant to convey that I’ll agree to disagree.)  His popularity enrages me.  The fact that I have family and friends who would actually vote for him brings me to terrified tears.  Trump’s form of dismissal is dangerous for every single living being on this planet.  

People love to quote Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. during national racial conflict.  I’m going to stick with this one:  “A riot is the language of the unheard.”  If you are dismissing this statement with “I’ve never been so mad that I’ve rioted”, a) good for you; and b) you’ve never lost your temper and yelled at or punished your kids for not listening to you?  I’ve spent my entire life not Being Heard. Being Heard does not require agreement.  I require my point of view to be heard and considered.  I agree that I need to make sure Scrambled Brain doesn’t interfere with giving the same consideration to others.  My outburst yesterday, and in past arguments on a variety other subjects, stems from almost constant dismissal when trying to join a dinnertime discussion for as long as I can remember.  

A riot is the language of the unheard.

I think it’s time to hear each other.

The Art Of Self-Sabotage

I’ve been participating in a writing challenge for the month of June.   The goal is to write 50,000 words in the 30 day period. I’m neither a joiner, nor a finisher, and June is traditionally a busy month for me.With this in mind, I had several predictions for myself:  The first was that I’d be strong out of the gate.  I knew there were days I wouldn’t be able to write, so I adjusted my daily target to 2,273 words per day for the 22 days I expected to be somewhat productive. By the end of the first seven days, I had written 13,326 words. Prediction #1?  CHECK.  The second was that I’d veer from my initial goal of only counting words added to my current WIP*.  Hello, blog posts! Prediction #2 CHECK.  My third and final prediction would be that I’d give up somewhere around mid way through because “what’s the point” and “I can’t do this.”  Prediction #3?  Let me explain.

I have a few demons when it comes to certain things. They emerge from the depths of my mind in the form of echoes and paralyzing fears.  It’s not enough to recognize a demon and where it came from.  It needs to be dealt with. I’ve begun to pick them apart, one by one, demystifying them and attempting to stomp them out into oblivion.  It’s not as easy as the self-help books claim:  just face your fear and beat it into submission!!  Bull.  We’ve been conditioned.  All of us.  The little consistencies in our upbring manifest into how we handle the world as adults.  Even if a parent is consistently inconsistent, it affects the adult’s world. I’m incredibly hard on myself. When I look back at things now, I see I was being pushed to always do better.  The adult in me understands that.  However, the push wasn’t from encouragement.  It was always a challenge.  Challenges are fantastic unless they are interpreted as “you’re not doing your best and, therefore, you aren’t good enough.”  I developed that interpretation somewhere along the line and it’s been screwing me up for years.  Challenges aren’t necessarily from parents; you can get the same type of feedback from teachers and peers. I was always a good student and was always told I wasn’t “working to my full potential”.  That may have been true.  As an adult,  I see that I wasn’t really applying myself in grade school.  Everything came easy to me. I was one of those kids who would pick up exactly what the teacher said immediately and really only made mistakes from being a careless kid who wanted to go out and play. So, Sr. Rita, you were right.  I wasn’t working to my full potential and eveyr perfect grade I got wasn’t really earned because your lessons were too simple for me. You, and a good number of your fellow teachers, saw I was capable of more. The problem is that I did all that was asked, including the extra credit assignments. Was a seven year old supposed to approach her teacher and say “this is too simple for me” or “you need to challenge me more”?  I don’t remember that ever being encouraged. In fact, I think I would have been punished for being flippant if I said that.  The purpose of this line of thinking isn’t to complain that my teachers failed me in some way.  School has been over and done for more years than I choose to admit.  This is only an example of where I got the idea that no matter how well I did, the sum of my effort would never be good enough.  The Demon of Inadequacy is one of my most formidable foes. It shows up without a sound, just nudging a little fear in. There’s no real thought that forms. I just look at what I’m doing and decide it won’t be “right”, it won’t be “good”, it won’t be “enough”… so what’s the point in trying?

The logical, adult(ish) part of me says that’s a ridiculous way to think.  I’m still working on believing it only really matters if I give whatever it is a fair shot. I need to believe it in the same way that I know it’s raining and I’m not expected to make it stop. If I didn’t do something right, then so what? I’m not attempting anything of real consequence— no one will be hurt, killed, or even really disappointed if I don’t get whatever I’m doing “right”.  What I’ve actually accomplished is that I’ve mastered the art of self-sabotage. I’ve become so good at this that it doesn’t even require a conscious thought to end a project.   I’ve been paying attention to my psychiatrist and I’ve learned a lot about myself in 16 years of therapy;  I could have bet money on my triple crown of predictions.

At mid June, literally the 15th, I was at 25,160 words. I’m typing this on June 27th. I don’t know if it’ll be posted tonight or tomorrow just yet. The number of words here, as of this sentence, is 796.  That brings my total word count for 27 days to 33,796 (without counting any edits as I type here… don’t go counting words on me, please).  I can honestly say I haven’t written this much in one month in decades.    I’ll continue to write each day until the end of the month (and probably beyond) but I will not make the 50k word goal.  I’m seeing posts by others who are participating in this challenge, already admitting defeat and explaining why they didn’t meet the goal (and, if you’re wondering, there have been plenty of writers who have surpassed the 50k mark… I am impressed by and in awe of these individuals).   I am torn between the need to justify why I will not make 50k and knowing that it really doesn’t matter.  My goal was truly to write and write intensely. I made time for it, I worked at it, and I didn’t give up, even when I had good reason to.  So prediction # 3?  A little itty bitty tiny check.  There were three days I didn’t write, or didn’t write very much, as a result of my fear.   Today was almost one of them.  I was able to send the demon to back to hell. I’m probably being too hard on myself for even acknowledging a tiny check for #3.  I think it’s important for me to recognize that I had fearful days.  It’ll help me to remember that it doesn’t matter.  It’ll help me to remember that I didn’t really give up.

I’m disappointed I won’t make the 50k mark— I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to type that much unless it’s all nonsense. I adjusted my official expectations to 40k  about a week ago and that’s what I’ll work towards these next few days.  It’ll be a challenge… but it won’t be a statement of my worth.

Total count for this post before edits: 1128.
Total count for the day: 2016

*WIP= Work In Progress

## Edit:  Super special shout out to  Erin Jeffreys Hodges for her encouragement.  She's a fabulous person with a knack for lifting spirits and putting things in perspective.