I hate greed

I’ve been feeling down lately. I was talking to my friends about this recently, as low energy and low motivation is pretty rare for me. I realized that everything going on politically is wearing me down. I’m barely even engaging in it and I’m still wiped. I spent some weeks in abject panic and anxiety.

And now I’m flat. But not irretrievably flat. I began to cry talking about it, so I’m not totally gone. But the conclusion I came to is that I do not understand greed. I do not understand why anyone would want to have power over the lives of others in an exploitative way. I do not understand the impulse to take more than is mine. And granted, I’m a very privileged person living in a very privileged country when you speak of global access to resources. I understand that I already take more than my fair share of clean water, electricity, and fuel.

In this case though, I’m speaking of men who have a pit within themselves that no amount of money or power can ever fill. Ever.

I imagine that feels like shit. Not to ever be satiated. To never feel comfortable when all the artifice falls away, when your nakedness is exposed, and you feel safe, good, precious. I can see by their behavior that they don’t have that. They could have that, if they’d put down their bravado, stop shouting, and be vulnerable. But they won’t.

And that would be okay if it didn’t ruin the world and everyone in it. Everyone who has done their sacred work of self-compassion, those who have worked hard to build community, and frankly, just those who are alive and deserve basic rights and dignity. We don’t need to be saints to be essentially sacred beings.

I feel disgust. I am enraged. And I am so damn tired.

And I feel silly for saying that because justice work and resistance has been going on for centuries longer than white folks ever realized. Because we didn’t have to. And most didn’t/don’t want to. I’m new to the conversation. Maybe that’s why I’m less resilient.

I’m sorry that’s not bolstering for others to read. I really am. I want to be the kind of spiritual leader who rallies everyone together, who leads the charge to fight against racism, xenophobia, misogyny, transphobia, and fascism. And I do fight those things in my own way - uprooting the seeds planted within me by this culture, seeing the people around me and responding, being emotionally available, and doing concrete justice work here in Portland.

But I also feel a little lost and a lot scared. I’m so angry.

I hate greed. I do not get it. How are we still doing this as human beings? We keep doing the same shit over and over. The devastation of a few men’s greed is catastrophic. And yet, here it is again. When are we going to stop letting men who must have everything take over so no one else has anything?

Sometimes I wish I was less sensitive, less attached to the outcome. It might be nice to care a little less. I have tried to have boundaries around how and when I consume media right now. But it seeps into my bones, my very spirit.

I wish I had a shiny happy conclusion to write. I’m low and for now, I’m listening to whatever the low wants me to know.

I Have a Thing About Time

I’m not sure what it is, but I’ve always been a pretty serious person. I recognize that life is both short and long and that all we have is the present moment. I was nostalgic even in elementary school. Yet, I have this other thing, where when it’s time to let something go, I really do. It’s a process to sift through, which was the impetus for creating this blog 10 years ago, but I release things initially pretty well and sort as I go. It’s a weird dichotomy because I imagine most people who are nostalgic also probably struggle to release. My ability to release has also grown quite a bit since I started my chaplain training.

Spending time with the dying has really brought this mindful part of myself into sharper focus. It’s a developmentally appropriate practice for the dying, if they are able to reflect, to engage in life review. Many people feel a sense of peace about the life they’ve lived, the relationships they’ve had, the work they offered. But sometimes people don’t. They have deep regrets. And it is in the privilege of holding space for the misery that is deep remorse with no way of going back, that I am even more committed to living my life as authentically as I can.

I left a long marriage. Every marriage is its own ecosystem. No one else knows what it is like to be in someone else’s marriage, even one you witness well. Not even the two people in it have the same experience. The relationship is shared, but the experience is still unique to the individual. Divorce is the same. Each person has the story of how and when and why it didn’t or couldn’t continue. And that is valid, because it is the story we create to cope. It is a tornado of loss, even when it is right. I have been so empowered by my decision to divorce. And it is fully in line with my values and my desire to live authentically.

We all live in the stories we make out of our lives. And at the end of it, we get to see if we think it was a good one. The fact that I get to sit in the room where this sacred work happens, and even more so, in the active stage of dying, where someone is leaving this life and moving to whatever is next, is such a tremendous privilege and responsibility. Learning when to touch someone and when to be still, recognizing when someone is doing their work of letting go that is not to be disturbed…I call it watching someone pull up their tent pegs. If we’re lucky enough to die gradually, as opposed to traumatically or suddenly, we go through a process where we pack up our bags. This is all happening on a spiritual plane. We release our people. We let go of all that is being left undone. And we rest.

We are embarking on a difficult time in this country and in this world. So the question is, what will we do with our one wild and precious life? How will we behave as structures in our country are threatened, as human rights are rolled back? I’ve been in a time of grief and reflection and the conclusion I’m coming to is that I want to double down on all the values I already live. If I have stuff in my car for houseless people, I’m doubling up. If I make donations to civil rights work, I’m increasing that payment. If I am part of creating and leading a congregation of marginalized people, I’m there every day I can join. If I have access to things other people don’t, I’m making sure I can have things to give away to facilitate greater access. This is the time to lean in.

No one knows the future. But I know who I want to be in it.

Pentecost - Speaking Truth to Power

The world is on fire, friends. We’re living in a global pandemic. Black men are being kneeled on to their deaths. Our cities are burning. Our economy is crashing. People are hungry. And scared. And angry. This is our reality. The question is not “why can’t we all just get along?” That is a white question. The question is, for us white folks, “what the hell are we gonna do about it?” This is not the time to ask our black brothers and sisters to do our emotional labor. This is a time to stand in between them and the police. This is a time to speak truth to power. If our police are not breaking rules while they stand on black necks, the rules have got to change. Period.

The Holy Spirit is a woman. I’m sure of it. Hell, she’s probably a black woman. Today is the day the Christian church celebrates and worships the Spirit who raised Jesus Christ from the dead. She put little embryo Jesus into young Mary’s womb. She created the world alongside her Trinity partners. She is no slouch. And she is what wells within us when we speak truth to power. She is the Spirit of disruption when systems are unjust. The Holy Spirit of God is not here to placate my white fragility. She is the voice that calls me to question my motives, my fear, my silence.

The events in our country this week, specifically the murder of George Floyd, should cause every white person in this country, especially white Christians who believe in the sanctity of life, to look in the mirror and ask, “What can I do?” “What do I need to learn?” “How am I complicit in his death?” And then GET. TO. WORK.

I decided not to post an image of George’s death. There was a time in my process of looking at my white privilege where I shared images of violence against people of color and forced myself to watch the videos of the deaths of Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, and Philando Castile in order to wake myself up to the reality of the black experience. That is important. If you have not exposed yourself to the material that exists of these moments and find any hesitation within yourself to speak out, watch the videos. You need to. But I also know that black people have seen enough of this footage to hold the trauma in their DNA. Generations, hundreds of years of oppression lives in their very cells. So I will not post that here. It is available for you to see. Instead, I chose to put an image of George when he was alive and healthy. I got it from Shaun King’s Facebook page (he’s a great social media follow if you’re looking to learn).

If you believe in the Holy Spirit and celebrate her power and beauty this year on Pentecost, I ask that you beg her to tell you what to do today in response to George’s life and death.

There is no peace without justice. May we do the work to enjoy the peace we all desire.

I'm Still Hurting

Tonight I’m asking myself, how do I raise two little girls in the world of Kavanaugh’s and Blasey-Ford’s? What do we do with the reality waiting for our children, a world they know nothing about? My instinct is to protect them from the battle for as long as possible. You only get one shot at being a kid. And yet tonight, my heart is so heavy for women and I want to raise warriors. The problem is, of course, even warriors need someone to follow them. The more I ascribe to ideas from Glennon Doyle (“we belong to each other”) and Rob Bell (“love wins”) the more I recognize how connected we all are. A traumatic event for one teenaged girl is a trauma we carry collectively. That cannot have been more explicit these last few weeks. And we should carry it together because we’ve created the world both in which it happens and in which no one really cares to change. We’ll listen and give her bravery acknowledgement, but we’ll still care more for the accused than the assaulted. Unless it’s a man of color, or a poor person or both. Then we’ll send them to death row without proof.

I know I’m not in the most rational place tonight. And I do understand a reasonable concern about not having accusations be enough without seeking to validate testimony. I get that. I really do. But tonight, I’m holding the hearts and bodies of women all over the world and I want that precious burden to matter more. In a perfect world, we wouldn’t have to choose. Women would be given dignity because we are human and innately valuable not because of or in spite of our sexual appeal or vulnerability. We should be given dignity because we are worthy of it. And we wouldn’t have to worry about the reputation of innocent or guilty men. That’s the dream. And there are many good men out there. I live with one. If I had sons, I would want them to be good men and I would want them to not have to worry about a false accusation for the one in a million times it actually happens.

I hate to tell you guys this though - we have not reached the tipping point even remotely where these concerns are equal. Not even one fucking little bit.

Until we’re ready to take ownership individually and culturally for our rampant exploitation of and violence against women (especially women of color and trans women), the Kavanaugh’s of the world are going to have to get in the back of the line.

For reals. It’s not that he or his reputation if he is indeed innocent don’t matter. But they don’t matter as much as centuries or more of the exploitation of women. Not even a little bit.

Making the argument that both people have been victimized by this is a false equivalent. It’s obvious it hasn’t been a walk in the park for anyone, by no small means for the people of this country either. I’ve been walking with a heavy tread for weeks and I’ve never even been sexually assaulted. I have friends who’ve spent days sobbing, particularly the day of the testimonies, because it was so triggering and true to their actual lives. I cried watching Blasey-Ford because I was so moved by her courage. I felt her truth woman-to-woman via YouTube, dude. She is the real deal. And because of that, my heart is breaking. I want her truth to be enough. I don’t want her trauma to be used as some political ploy on either side. I certainly don’t want her to be the butt of any jokes, thanks Mr. DJT. Ugh. Disgusting.

What good is courage that falls on deaf ears? What does it mean to ALL WOMEN when you ignore our pain? What do we tell our daughters about speaking their truth if even when they do, no one will care?

These are the questions my heart is holding tonight. Most days I live in faith that things will get better. I look around me at the courage of all the women in my life and in the world and I am deeply inspired. I am inspired by Blasey-Ford.

I just want a better world for her tonight.

I want the loss of whatever future lay before her prior to that night to matter for something. I want the senseless opportunism and aggression and total disregard for humanity to stop. I want a man’s insecurity and need for power to be checked. Hell, I want to see it checked by other men so the victimizers can’t just dismiss us any more. We need allies. Not just on Facebook. We need allies in the Supreme Court. As much as I adore RBG, she ain’t gonna live forever. We don’t need someone to speak for us. The incredible Blasey-Ford’s are doing that beautifully. We need her testimony to matter. We need the slut shaming to stop. We need the stalking and the death threats to stop. We need the questioning of her character, her motives, her choices to stop.

We deserve to be heard. We demand to be heard. Will you listen?

If Only Facts Softened Hearts

Growing up in the churches of Christ while being raised by a cerebral, military man 46 years my senior gave me the impression that facts were important. Facts saved people's souls from hell if you can just embrace and believe in them. Facts and the large umbrella above it, education, gave us a safe path on which to build our lives. If people just had the correct facts, all problems would be solved. World peace. Heaven. Financial success. Health. Information is the key.

How great would that be?!?!

Fast forward a few decades and I find myself attending my first White Ally Workshop. I'm promised a toolkit to help draw people away from racist ideas and into the world of allyship (for us whities). Racism is a giant enemy that we want to think of as "other" so we can objectively, deliberately slay this dragon of inequality and unfairness. Unfortunately, the dragon has laid some eggs we're sitting on within ourselves. Racism isn't "other". Racism is "us." I don't meant that we're all racists in a deliberate, overt way. That involves choice and intent. I mean that we, as Americans, were born into a racist society and all of us who have benefitted from that (white people) are racist in some way. Our systems are racist. Our language is racist. Our dominant culture is white, rendering anything non-white as "other." It runs really, really deep. I haven't remotely hit the bottom of it.

We know this already, that we harbor racism within us that needs to come into light for us to see growth. The conclusion is, before we have societal, systemic change, we must have internal, personal change. And of course, all these things are actually happening simultaneously. It starts within. Oof that's hard. We have to stop sitting on the eggs of our racist society so they aren't hatched again and again and again within us and the subsequent generations. We have to starve the beast, break the eggs. We have to stop babying our fear, our ignorance, our need for power. And so we begin unpacking our privilege. And we read and we ask questions and we talk and we listen. Super important. At some point, we think we have enough learning under our belts to be able to sway others to begin their process. 

Here's the problem: we want to sway with information. But studies show that information doesn't change people's hearts. STORIES DO. So I'm sitting in this training doing roleplaying practice and failing miserably. All I can think of is other people's stories. Police shootings and stories I read and facts I know. Nothing about personal experience. Nothing about touching hearts in real life. Only words to engage the mind. I can share facts imploringly and do, often. However, I was told in this workshop that what we need is to engage people in conversation with story and compassion and kindness rather than brow-beating facts, politicization of our social strife and judgement. 

Uh oh.

I've got none of that.

Not when someone is griping about the tragedy that is taking down confederate monuments and how people of color need to "just behave themselves" and how the Black Lives Matter movement is local terrorism. 

How can I listen and find the humanity in that? That stuff is bullshit. Okay, here's the distinction they were teaching. You can't find the humanity in racism. But can you find the humanity in someone who says racist things? 

Ouch.

I can if I really try. I know a lot of "good" people who don't understand why this makes me so angry. But I don't really want to be generous towards them. I just want to focus my rage on their Fox News regurgitation. I don't want to think of them as children. I don't want to listen for their pain. I want the facts to rain down like men and obliterate their entire worldview. I want to burn it all to the ground. I want to force them to read all the stuff and listen to all the speeches and go to therapy for their stuff that gets in the way of them seeings themselves in another person. 

Oh wait. 

Isn't that what I'm struggling to do? 

GAH!!!!

I'm particularly enraged at racism within white Christians. I just don't understand why they don't care. I regularly remind myself that many of us do. Many of us are angry, sad and on the ground. But I encounter the status quo often as well. The throwing up of red herrings to preserve what is. WHY DON'T THEY CARE? You guys, I cry, scream, rage. WHY DON'T THEY CARE THAT PEOPLE ARE DEAD WHEN THEY DID NOTHING TO DESERVE IT? (I could also ask why they don't care about deaths that are considered warranted but that's another post.) How are any black bodies gunned down in the street, backyards and cars okay with anyone who claims to love Jesus? 

JESUS WAS FUCKING BROWN.

Jesus loved God and loved others. That is the whole religion. At what point does that look like finding a tolerable amount of unwarranted racist deaths just so you one doesn't have to change, read, grow or learn? 

I'm so sick of the apathy, the politicizing of real people and debates but I'm too angry to harness my rage right now and be productive with it. 

Maybe this post is what I can do right now. Perhaps this is productive.

I still have a ways to go, friends.

We all do.

* If you'd like to attend a White Ally Workshop or download the toolkit, their site is here.

Making Space for Women

Disclaimer: a mother is going to publicly say that sometimes her physical, mental and emotional boundaries are limited and motherhood occasionally pushes those boundaries. Let the silent or not so silent judgement begin!

One of my least favorite things about being a mother of young children is the lack of physical and verbal space. It's funny, even saying that publicly I run the risk that I will look like a bitch who resents her children. And I love being a mom and love being with them. But, I am constantly being tracked and talked to. Every task I perform when my children are home is happening with a background of them wanting my constant verbal input. I have a very busy mind so constant talking feels like a disruption of all the self-talking my brain is doing already, often while I'm performing 1-3 tasks simultaneously. And they always know where I am physically in the house but they still often confirm it with a holler that necessitates a verbal response. It's developmentally appropriate and reflection of a true connection and bond. This is healthy and good and normal. And when I'm not overstimulated, I love engaging my children with physical affection and verbal attention. But it is inconvenient and sometimes even oppressive. Inevitably, if I take two steps out of a child's eyesight, even when I've just spoken of my intended whereabouts, I will hear my name called out. I am needed. Two steps away. Not in thirty seconds when I will return. Right now. I am usually going into the garage to grab them whatever snack they've requested or running up the stairs for something I or they want. That in no way deters them from the distress they feel upon my removal from their sight. They often come in when I'm using the toilet. I will come upstairs to my room to change my clothing (and to get 30 seconds of silence) and there will be two little feet padding 10 steps behind me. This does not happen to my husband when he is home. He says that it makes him kind of sad to only get my attention leftovers (which is valid) but I think if he had the full impact of the level of attention I receive, it would definitely drive him even more bonkers than me as he's a social but introverted person. This is how I feel as an extrovert. I have no idea how introverted or highly sensitive primary caregivers do this. My kids will talk to Tim and want to know if he's home when they suspect he has arrived (by asking me, of course), but he is not object of this constant homing beacon dynamic. They will sometimes transfer it to him if I'm not home, especially for a significant amount of time. But it only applies to him when he's alone with them. It applies to me when I'm with them all the time, so the majority of my waking hours (and sometimes sleeping ones) for the past ten years. This is not just about the fact that I am their mother. It is also because I am their primary caregiver. So this dynamic does transfer to dads who are stay-at-home parents. But that is statistically very rare, right? 

Women are biologically responsible for propagating the species. Not all women should or are interested in doing so (nor should they be coerced to) but this process cannot work without uteruses. In order for humans to continue to exist, women are required to share BODILY space. And while it's magical (seriously, really cool) it is also difficult, sometimes oppressive and even dangerous to our physical and mental health. It's genuinely hard. It hurts. It changes us physically forever. It requires us to walk down the tunnel of birthing, wherein no one can follow us. No matter what medical interventions available to a woman, no matter the supportive coach, no matter the bad ass strong fetus, a woman births alone. It's empowering and painful and amazing. But no one can do it for you, not in that moment. That requires courage that many do not understand. And often we enter that solo space without being prepared for it, at least the first time. 

We also seem to praise women who are mothers as being "selfless." That the epitome of good mothering is not caring for yourself. And while parenting requires inevitable stewardship over the safety and well-being of a tiny person, that in no way means you stop having needs or should shirk them indefinitely. Yet every damn Mother's Day card is about giving, sacrifice and selflessness. What is on Father's Day cards? Golf clubs and grills. Why? Because men are defined by their interests and activity (including work) and women are defined by their nurturing and giving to others. We expect dads to express their fatherhood by taking time off to play and we expect women to be selfless and want to hang out with their families. I know mothers of adult kids and grandkids often want family time on Mother's Day. That's awesome and I can totally see myself wanting that in my 60's. In my 30's, I want sleep, time with my friends, time alone with some family time sprinkled in as well. And I love it when we get to share that time with our extended family, whom we don't see as often as we'd like. People have different needs and if the day is supposed to be about them, it's always good to ask them what that looks like for them this year instead of assuming or just keeping up tradition. 

I have a friend who often documents on social media how men take up public space, in particular, on public transportation. There are a lot of widely spread knees and items placed upon seats unnecessarily, often next to a woman trying to be as small and courteous as possible. Sometimes I imagine the way men take up public space is intentional, a way of marking territory, claiming space on purpose before someone else does. It's a scarcity mentally, right? In other situations or with other men, it's probably subconscious. We teach boys to conquer, to take, to claim for themselves what's "rightfully" theirs from a very young age. They are taught that masculinity means muscles, bigness, acquisition of assets. Girls are taught to be small, to be conquered, to be pretty and quiet. We are expected to cross our legs seemingly to be modest, but is it also to take up less space?

My dad grew up with the ideology of "children are to be seen not heard" and I don't think he was fully able to shake it in raising us. I think you could argue that society adds to that mantra, "girls are to be pretty not loud." Women are often praised first for their looks and second for their ability to be humble, demure and meek. There is nothing wrong with physical beauty or passivity in and of themselves. If that is natural to you, you should be those things. But I wonder how much of that is taught? We choose decorations based on how they improve our environment. The more unique and decorative the piece, the more it reflects our tastes as collectors. The problem is, women aren't decorations. We don't want to be placed on a pedestal and admired for our beauty. Not really. We want a seat at the table not on the wall. *

I had someone recently ask me who I would be or what opportunities would I have pursued at a younger age if my gender wasn't considered a liability in the conservative church? I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA. Why? Because my formation happened INSIDE that environment. How much of myself was shaped by what I was allowed or not allowed to be? How much was explicitly said versus implicitly taught? How much subtle or not so subtle redirection happened when I expressed interest in things I wasn't "supposed to do?" Sure, I can teach children, even professionally. But is that because I was conditioned to or because I actually wanted to? How much of all that stuff did I internalize versus others in the same environment? More than most, I'd say. I'm a very sensitive intuitive person, which added to my "otherness" in a patriarchal space that doubled down on "fact" versus "gut feelings."

A man whose church has gone through the process of "allowing" women to use their gifts fully listened to my sermon from a few months ago. And he heard my words about women being conditioned to not speak up and kinda felt like, "haven't we already addressed this?" Like, if we just remove the barriers, the problem is solved. Oh man, would that it could be that simple! I fucking wish!

Sometimes we "solve" the perpetuation of bad ideology but those it has targeted still carry around those wounds and scars.

That's why it's still hard for women. That's why it's still hard for people of color and for the LGBTQ+ community. Even being given the space or being encouraged to take more space doesn't make it easy. And the second you put your toe over the line, you expect to get pushed back. Sadly, that still happens. A lot. Those with privilege are sometimes willing to relinquish some space but only if you'll use it the way they want you to (hello Colin Kapernick!) 

So if women are statistically way more likely to be the primary caregiver of children both as mothers and as professional educators and daycare providers. And children have to live in a uterus to come out fully formed after 9-10 months of incubation. Men are taught to be big and to take up physical space. Women are reinforced to be decorative, which requires smallness. It's not a real mystery why it requires courage for women to create space for themselves and why it requires humility for men to give it. This dynamic isn't random or accidental. These are little and big ways patriarchy plays out in day to day life. This dynamic is perpetuated on purpose. It's like when we admit that our criminal justice department isn't actually broken when it treats people of color more harshly. IT'S WORKING PERFECTLY ACCORDING TO DESIGN. And though we're making progress in small ways, and we really are, until women and other marginalized groups are able to ASSUME equal space and regard without hesitation, fear of reprimand or the need to constantly reassure those with more privilege that we're not going to go too far with our newfound equity, we won't be done. We've got work to do.

* Side Note: Did anyone see Tina Fey on Letterman's new Netflix show? He flippantly said something about how he wasn't sure if women even wanted to write for his talk show when it was on the air for decades (almost like, it wasn't that great even though it was the hottest ticket in town for a comedy writer at the time). She immediately came back with, "We do." OF COURSE WE DO. I think he was saying it more as an act of false modesty, but how ignorant do you have to be to think it's presumptuous to imagine that working women want to be in the top tier of their field?

Getting Married is Crazy. Let's Get Crazy.

I'm not sure I can fully explain the sense of beauty and redemption I felt watching the royal wedding this weekend. My ever-practical husband teased me about wanting to watch it live ("you know it'll be everywhere in the morning, right?") but it meant something to me to see it in real time. So I slept on the couch for 2 hours and then watched coverage for almost 5. I dozed a tiny bit when celebrities were coming in and out of the frame (definitely from exhaustion not from lack of interest!) but I caught all the good stuff live. 

Of course, everything was beautiful and as an artist, beauty matters to me. Lace and arias and fascinators are fun and meaningful and celebratory. To see the effort and expense, I could scoff at the frivolity of it all, but I chose to see it as priority given to something that matters to the people who made such an effort. And though I'm sure a few were there just to witness all the pomp and circumstance, the fact is, this was a royal match made for love and with intent towards change and progress. I believe most people were there to celebrate and support that movement towards the future.

It was not lost on me that the colonizers were bringing an African-American into the fold. Not in a forced or fake tolerance way but in genuine welcome. Meghan is independent, 36, black, not royal and an American. This is no small thing. I could not have been more thrilled that in her moment in the sun, she did not minimize any of those things. She walked herself down that aisle halfway (that was planned even before her dad backed out). She brought in the incredible Rev. Michael Curry from Chicago to give the wedding sermon and that dude PREACHED. I'm not much for sermons these days (at least not dry, rote ones) but he brought it in a real way. I was moved by his message. As beautiful and true as his words were, the significant piece to me was his style of delivery, which was in every way BLACK. I chuckled at Camilla's resting bitch face while the stuffiest in the church showed visible discomfort at his demonstrable passion and zeal. BRING IT! 

The music, her regal mother, the sermon - her roots were on full display and it was GORGEOUS. I get chills just reliving it in my mind. 

Ultimately, weddings are about love. And getting married is totally crazy! Anyone who denies this fact doesn't know what they're getting into. I straight up said that in my wedding sermon when I married my best friend and her now incarcerated husband. Shit gets real in life and marriage is awesome but it is another vessel that can bring crazy into your home. Because now you've got two people and their craziness added together. It's exponential possibility for madness. However, the audacity of claiming life-long love (especially when you're super young) not knowing what will come down the pike is exactly what makes it so beautiful. It takes faith. It's a leap that you make together. And let's be honest: sometimes it doesn't work out. That's okay. No matter the outcome, when you go in eyes wide open and leap, that's an act of courage. 

Ultimately, seeing the look on Meghan's face when Harry lifted her veil - that willing, vulnerable love full of shared faith and trust - that is what the world needs. I know it's naive to say - let's just all fall in love with each other and the bombing and the selfish consumerism and the abuse will end. And yet, I kinda think it would. 

I was talking with some dear friends the other day. We were dreaming about a future project to develop materials to fight "other-ism". Immediately, my heart leapt. The royal wedding was a moment of de-other-izing. And the world needs more and more of it. I have to believe that under the typical wedding excitement, I wasn't the only person whose heart sang a little louder because of that dynamic at play this weekend. It's hard to hate people up close. We gotta roll up our sleeves and lean in. How can you fall in love with your world today? How can you step into a commitment to each other with faith and vulnerability and strength? How can we mend centuries-old traditions in our personal lives? I think if we each participate in that process in our little corners of society, the whole world would change. 

When The Tables Are Turned

Many of my peeps know that I got a chance to preach at a church of Christ last weekend. While that may seem like a fun little thing to note about someone's life, let me tell you: this was a really big deal. The main reason it was a big deal is simply the fact that I am female. While most of Christendom recognizes at the very least, female spiritual gifting, the churches of Christ go pretty far in excluding women from all leadership. We don't pass communion trays. We don't lead prayers. We don't read Scripture. We don't even make announcements. And for some reason, it seems typical that even in churches who have moved past some of these barriers, the buck often stops at preaching, even for somewhat progressive non-church of Christ churches. So it was a big deal for that reason alone and when this opportunity first presented itself to me, the weight of that was something of which I was very cognizant.

More than that, I was asked not only to preach in a church of Christ, but also to specifically talk about how the churches of Christ have hurt women. WHOA NELLY. I could write and write and speak and speak and never be done telling that story or feel like I represented everyone well. It's an unending story of horror, and I'm not being dramatic. Again and again I am confronted with how this has ruined people's lives and in some cases, trampled on their precious faith to the point of extinction. This obviously harms and inhibits women but I've also been surprised to find that men are harmed by it too. This issue is serious and palpable and ongoing. It keeps knocking on the door of my awareness (even though I've left the churches of Christ) and I keep answering it like, are we seriously still doing this?!?! Yes friends, WE'RE STILL DOING THIS.

Our adult class time was specific to my story (a Q&A with their regular preacher) and the sermon was a Scripture I chose from that week's lectionary. Class time got into the benefits I received and the harm that was created for me growing up in the churches of Christ. And that story includes the major disadvantage I had in having an outspoken, passionate, leadership-gifted spirit. The more I talked about conflict avoidance, the discouragement of female leadership and keeping a tidy narrative at all costs, the more the bobble heads nodded, especially those of the women in the room. It was validating, to say the least. I was moved by the questions that were asked of me. I was healed by the openness in the men's faces, the nods of the elders and the genuine encouragement in their eyes as I spoke. It also served as like a first date before the sermon, which was a fringe benefit since I did not know the church or the people well. It's hard to speak vulnerable truth to strangers. Some people would rather do it that way but I like to at least get a feel for a group before I dive in, in hopes that my content can bring value to where they are. I need my intuition to "read the room" so to speak in order for that to be effective and class served that purpose. 

I don't know what the future holds for me. I will tell you: it felt damn good to preach the word of God. I felt like myself in a way I never have before. I haven't been trained to preach. I'm 36 years old and I got on that stage with no training and thought, "this will be interesting." It was important to me to be open to the process whatever that was going to look like. No amount of preparation was going to give me a peek into how I was going to feel in that moment.

Turns out, I felt exhilarated.

The passage we went through was 1 Corinthians 8 about food sacrificed to idols. I got to talk about community versus freedom. I had often seen that Scripture used to keep people from daring to go outside the tiny parameters of the community box. It was treated like community was more important than freedom and a cursory reading of the text makes that assumption pretty legit. This passage and that idea really triggers me. And that's why I chose it. Amazing how it was one of my four choices that week! The line I ended up saying a few times was that "I've clawed my way to freedom" and I don't want to give it up to be loved or to get approval from others. So what does it look like to hold space for diversity, for differences among the group rather than uniformity? What does it look like to enjoy freedom and be mindful of others? We talked about how women are conditioned to ONLY be mindful of others. How can the community benefit if women are conditioned to not speak their truth? If God has something for the community and gives it to us to share but we are too afraid of conflict or "harming the community" to speak the truth, the community isn't as healthy as it could be and not as effective either. We need to recognize that conflict is not bad! Conflict is critical in a healthy community and we have to be brave enough to speak. We also have to recognize that community is valuable and it's fragility needs to be acknowledged as well. The goal is not to be right. The goal is to have a community that is truly representative of itself and the kingdom of God. That reframes the idea that conflict is a problem and reminds us that it's actually essential.

There were so many little things about the day that I will cherish in my heart forever. I won't share every tiny thing because this is already long, but I do have to tell you one more thing. We were talking a bit about Tim's ministry firing during class and Tim was present. Tim was given the opportunity to chime in, as it's clearly a shared story between us, and he opted not to come up front and speak. When Tim and I went over the Q&A beforehand (I really wanted to make sure he felt safe as a more private person) we discussed the possibility of him speaking up. I left it up to him. And I would not have been upset had he chosen to do so. But he didn't. He stayed in his seat and he watched our kids while I taught and then preached. You guys, I can't tell you how special that was for me. Our relationship has always been pretty egalitarian at home. We don't do weird submission dynamics. We are interchangeable with the kids. We support each other in our work and personal pursuits. But in church, he was the front man and I was in the audience. There really wasn't another way for us in that environment. For him to decide that I was the one who was asked to speak and to not in any way detract from that was possibly the most romantic thing he's ever done for me. And he didn't do it to look humble or because I asked him to. He did it because that's who he is. He's unassuming. He's pro-me. And when it was my turn to shine, he was pleased. So pleased, in fact, that on the way home he said I really needed to find ways to keep preaching as an act of self-care. He said, when he doesn't get to teach enough at work, he feels like he's not utilizing one of his most useful and gratifying gifts. So he makes sure to schedule enough teaching in his work life to feel satisfied. And he suggested I pursue opportunities (at my current church which is run by women) to continue preaching regularly in order to feel a fuller sense of satisfaction in my life. And I hadn't talked about how satisfied I felt or how exhilarated I was at that point. He said that just in response to watching me do it.

And the end of the day, I've already been carved up by my church trauma and I've healed enough to have a pretty decent, whole perspective on them. I've done that by going to therapy and processing my feelings and writing and talking things out with people I know and trust and respect. I've frighteningly put myself back in church, though a very different one than that from which I came. And I've read and read and read. But trauma shapes us. Scar tissue surrounds certain areas of my heart and my soul. And in some ways I'm the better for it and in others, it can be frightening to do anything that looks remotely like the life those scars represent. Going into that building and opening myself up to those familiar knives only to receive the gentle resection of some of that scar tissue (versus new wounds being created) was one of the greatest gifts of my adult life. I will always treasure the peace and the love and the egging on that I saw in the eyes of those men. The male leadership wanting me to speak (not just tolerating me but truly listening to learn) meant everything to me. To be honest, I was surprised by it. I've never ever had men in the church look at me that way before. The women saw themselves in my story and that meant something too. But I live in the world of women and I occupy that shared space daily. What is unusual for me is to witness men in power using their privilege to equip and uphold a woman. AND THAT WOMAN WAS THERE TO CRITICIZE THEM!

It didn't feel like closure. It felt like an invitation. And that scares me a little.

*I've loaded the sermon link here. 

Church and Abuse

I'm part of some great online communities that help people process religious trauma, abuse,  and fundamentalism. I've read a couple of great books based on people's experiences with these things as well. As we experienced trauma both inside and outside of the church, I find the way the brain processes trauma and how communities hold or let go of (repress) it to be fascinating, horrifying and redeeming. It makes you feel less crazy, which I think is something women in our culture need to experience daily as that seems to be the number one way to keep us quiet. 

I had something connect for me that I found really insightful. Someone said the church confuses forgiveness with healing. BOOM. Brain exploded. When anyone ever talks about being abused in church, in particular when it occurred within the church community (not just the remote anecdote unrelated to the group), the reaction often comes down to forgiveness. Like the Christian solution to pain and horror is forgiveness and if we just find a way to forgive, the pain goes away or is made to be okay. And while I find forgiveness, true forgiveness not forced victim-silencing "forgiveness" to be beautiful and liberating and most definitely part of Christian community and faith, it does not equate healing. In fact, if we force forgiveness and skip holding the horror, grieving it, assigning blame, creating accountability (hello jail time), and lots of support and help (therapy, meds, support groups) for those harmed, this is the antithesis of healing. Healing must include some sort of reckoning. You can't skip to the end without doing the painful work. (I find one of the obnoxious things about harming others is that by acting out your own shit instead of facing it, you create shit for someone else to have to work through, thus perpetuating the cycle of shame and violation). Then, after all that work, can you imagine how gorgeous, how empowering, how HEALING forgiveness could be?!?! It could be amazing. But please don't call that shoving everything under the rug stuff forgiveness. You might just piss off the king of forgiveness (yea Jesus!) in the process. Ever think of that?

Abuse is not regular sin. We don't treat it like "well, everyone makes mistakes." It's predatory. It's violating. It's just different. Of course, it's sin. But it's sin on crack and we need to treat it differently. Please let your theology and how you handle abuse as a community reflect that. Because if you don't, you're part of the problem. You have little people in your care. If you don't take that seriously, you're putting a target for abusers on your back. I promise you that. They're looking for you, naive ones. And you've been found again and again. 

There's a cool movement I just discovered on top of the #metoo movement. It's called #churchtoo. It's awesome to hear women sharing their stories. Don't get me wrong: the stories are awful. And I would add plenty of trigger warnings to it and ask that you give yourself a lot of self-care if you choose to dive in, because coupling sexual abuse with religious privilege (like having your youth minister force you to give him oral sex) is abuse on another level. BUT IT HAPPENS. And how the church deals with it matters. So far, our track record is not good. Maybe this is the beginning of hearing those voices cry out in truth and create the reckoning that is long overdue. These victims are brave. These victims have been greatly harmed. And many of their abusers have gone on to have successful ministry careers. Time to cause a ruckus, friends. Dear ones, speak your truth. It's time to clean house. 

It Takes a Village

Sometimes parenting forces you to make adult decisions in spite of yourself. I think people view me as confrontational because I express myself publicly and I advocate for others boldly. But I don't know if people realize how difficult and draining interpersonal conflict is for me. I think I have empath-like qualities, requiring me to do a lot of work around how I am perceived and having healthy boundaries when people don't like me or don't understand me. But that work is painful and is actual work, as in, it isn't super comfortable or natural for me. It pushes me. I'm okay with that because I want to grow as a person and I don't want to be ruled by my weaknesses so I often face that work head on, but it is definitely work. 

I have also found that it is much easier for me to advocate for the needs of others than for my own. I think that's both because I am a care-taker, thereby elevating the needs of others above my own and being uncomfortable with having needs, and because advocacy is inevitably more personal and tense when it's about yourself. I've recently realized that my kids fall into the same category as myself, meaning, I struggle to advocate for my kids more than I do for a stranger. I want to minimize their needs like I want to minimize my own because I think that's how I will receive love and acceptance. Moms who make a stink get a reputation (and I recently had a real up-in-my-face, weeks long experience with this that was very, very painful). But it is a shameful, embarrassing thing to admit, that I am not naturally the confrontational, bad ass I am sometimes perceived to be on behalf of my children. Like, everyone knows good moms tear shit up if their kids get hurt. I tend to prefer to walk away with my tail between my legs than to throw punches in these situations. 

So I see my inclination and my natural response but I will not stay there. Because it sucks. And it's not good for my kids. And it doesn't break the care-taking cycle. And, I've recently realized, it's not what's best for society either. If another kid harms my kid and their parent isn't made aware, the parent cannot address it. So even if I can help my kid unpack their experience, my staying silent to avoid an awkward conversation with a parent I may or may not be in relationship with robs that other parent the opportunity to parent their own child in the situation. And that is important. In our #metoo world, I have to wonder, were adult violators not parented in this area? Did their parents think they'd done right by their kid but were not made aware of incidents that may have occurred between them and other children when they were young? It's possible. So even if my kid is okay, is the other kid okay? I don't know if I don't speak up and their parent won't know either.

Adulting is hard. Parenting forces you to deal with your shit. And so, I am writing this to affirm to myself: I did the right thing today. I pushed through my discomfort and advocated for my kid and for another kid. And the parent I confronted was a beautiful, open-minded, lovely person. I am so thankful for that. But even if they had been terrible, it still would have been the right thing to do. I only get to choose my behavior and I feel good about it today. Healthy conflict for the win. Now I gotta replenish my emotional energy by eating a lot of Christmas cookies. See ya!

The Violence is Within Us All

I want to hide in my bed for the evening. I took a bath and I just want to be done with today. The problem is, it's only 5pm and my husband feels sick so hibernating with two kids fending for themselves feels like a dick move. But this lethargy is bone-deep. Why do we do this to ourselves? 

In case you don't know what I'm talking about, I'm referring to the largest mass shooting this country has ever seen. And many people are talking about guns. And we should be talking about guns. Guns are a critical issue in this country. It's embarrassing how much we're in denial about that as people bleed in the streets for no real reason. Others are talking about how we frame our narratives, how this shooter has been given a pass on terms like "terrorist" because he's white. I could go on and on about that and I should. It's important.

But tonight I want to wonder, what is it in us that compels us to do such catastrophic damage to HUNDREDS of total strangers? And is there a piece of me in that hatred? I see myself in those cowering in fear and confusion and I see humanity in the one pulling the trigger with ruthless impunity. I can't imagine doing that and yet, there is a human compulsion to destroy life that resides in all of us whose heart beats. And that is why I don't want to get out of bed. Because even the eternal optimist, the girl who really thought she could save the world at 21, has to face the reality that sometimes humanity is a huge pile of shit. 

We are a violent nation and we have more guns than people. I know. I'm shaking my head too. And we have so much work to do legally to make things right, to prevent these things from happening. We need to deal with guns. We need to deal with mental health. But what can you and I do right now? Without politics and or funding? We need to create community. People do less shitty stuff in community. When we feel loved, when we feel heard, when we experience safety in relationship, that desire to harm others takes a backseat. Right? I think so. I hope so. That's all I've got tonight. And it'll have to be enough because it's still another hour til bedtime. Peace to your house, friends. 

Sometimes Division is Good

Okay, walk with me here. I was raised both as a woman and a member of an incredibly non-confrontational religious sect that division was always bad. Division was the beginning of the end. Division was such a problem that women were told to be silent, people were not allowed to openly state their feelings or beliefs and many, many people were in unprocessed pain because of it, to the point that people lost touch with themselves in a very real way. Now I believe, honestly, without division, true relationship cannot exist.

I'm not pro-division. It feels terrible when division looks like everyone shouting over each other. But guess what, even shouting is communicating. And we, as Americans, are shouting about things that actually matter right now. THIS IS HEALTHY!!!! Don't poo poo the arguing going on.

Don't bow out of conflict about something as important as black lives.

Black lives matter. They are worth fighting for. 

Black lives, and their inherent, equal value to white lives, is one of the most important things we'll ever talk about in this country. We cannot agree to disagree about this. Just like Charlottesville, this is a time to take a stand. Frankly, I don't care if you like Colin Kapernick or not. I don't care if his form of protest protects your white fragility or makes you feel defensive. Whatever in you is pushing back on this is something that you need to examine for yourself.

No country is more important than the people in it. ALL THE PEOPLE IN IT. That includes black Americans. 

I know that this protest has highlighted a sacred cow in this country and that cow is "patriotism." We worship this country to the point that we criticize peaceful, kind, humble black men for kneeling in hopes that all black people can one day be safe in this country. And he chose to do it during a time in a game when we all bow down to this idol, which was clearly the wrong time. There's nothing wrong with loving your country and white people, except for the really poor ones, are pretty darn lucky to be here. But telling black people in America, it could be worse, is not exactly the point. You guys, IT HAS BEEN WORSE. AND IT SHOULD BE BETTER. And what if it really could be better? What would that look like? 

I think it looks like division. What if division was the beginning of the end of black lives being treated as disposable? That's worth growing hoarse with shouts. That's worth protesting. That's worth the conflict. Get to work.

Don't agree to disagree over black lives.

They are worth a lot more than that. 

Don't let concerns over respect and veterans and lives lost in battle distract you. The issue isn't veterans. The issue is black lives. Don't take the red herring. We could argue all day about the flag, flag burning, veterans, war and showing respect to the flag. And we have a lot of baggage around that we could certainly discuss. Let's face it - not all veterans are offended by Colin's actions just like not all black people applaud them. Let's stop defending a diverse group of people like they all think the same way. They don't. Even so, don't let those issues distract you from the reason Colin kneeled (and the reason he's no longer employed). The reason that happened and continues to play out is because we love football more than black lives.

We love a fabric flag more than what it represents. Freedom for all. If black lives are not safe, are they really free? No, they're not. How could we possibly disrespect the flag more than by supporting a system that targets Americans for the color of their skin with the full power of its government? When unarmed black men are gunned down in our streets, we better start talking and we better do more than talk, which is exactly what Colin did. When we target black lives, we are turning against ourselves. We turn against America when we turn against Americans. It's really that simple. Freedom for all. That's what the flag should represent. The fact that we're arguing about that proves we still have along way to go for that to be upheld.  

Face Your Pain Head On

After all the intensity of last week, with two explosive blog posts and subsequent fallout (I'm trying to let go of care-taking all those who were unfriended by someone else but it's hard), I have been given an opportunity. Because I put myself out there, my story was heard at the right time by the right person who has given me a chance to preach at a church of Christ. Not as a profession! (One of my besties and her husband have been throwing that idea around, ironically, that I could become a preacher in the church of Christ). No, this is a one-time, awesome opportunity. If nothing else, I am most definitely an opportunist, so you better believe I'm doing it. I try to live my life in a way where I don't turn anything I want down, especially if it's scary. I find deep pleasure and satisfaction in the challenge of doing scary things. And because of that, being honest and vulnerable on a public platform usually gives me a thrill not a quaking horror (last week was a bit of a hiccup in that dynamic, but there's a natural ebb and flow to this). I have to tell you guys, I am so excited about this opportunity!

The sermon series he'll be working through is on reconciliation - with self, God and the world. And we'll talk church trauma, finding your voice, speaking your truth amidst others denial, self-kindness and more. I absolutely cannot wait! Beyond the excitement about the material and the challenge of preaching from Scripture (which has triggered me for years and I'm not done processing), this is a big deal on a scale so much larger than me. For almost 2 centuries now (if my church history class at Pepperdine is being recalled properly), women have not had permission to speak in the churches of Christ. Some churches are evolving out of that dynamic but they are rare and none are experiencing that process easily or without baggage. Repression creates a grave so deep, it's very difficult to get to the bodies underneath. And for most of them, it's too late. Their spirit has been crushed and they've fallen in line or they've left churches of Christ or church altogether. The sheer number of bodies having been buried by this theology, a literal reading of a few Scriptures, is overwhelming for me to ponder right now, even as I've lived it. So much talent, so many stories, so much value - left to suffocate because of gender. Gender roles, gender identity, the literalness that is breasts and a vagina. It's crushing, really. 

The shame of ambition. The questioning of your value. The uncertainty of your motives. The denial of your potential to contribute. The fear of self-adulation, the ultimate sin for a woman.

There. Is. So. Much. Pain. Here.

I feel like I'm standing on sacred, holy ground. And underneath me are the souls of all the oppressed women of the past, the generations of silence. The loss is profound. The loss for the women, but also the loss for the church. When I wrote about white privilege not acknowledging the loss of black voices as a negative, I feel the same way about this. I recognize that racial and gender privilege are different. But in the same way that white culture has functioned without the intrinsic value of black voices, the churches of Christ has MISSED OUT on the female voice in such a way that it is warped. White culture is skewed and the churches of Christ are too. We've been so hell-bent on emulating the early Christian church (somehow we've translated that into 1950, not 33 AD but no one seems to talk about that) that we've lost the full contribution of half of our population. That is tragic. 

I had an opportunity this summer to do something scary. I can't tell you how the fear welled up in me. At the Shaklee convention, we had a speaker come talk to us about breakthroughs. His name was Brian Biro and he was lovely. But the whole time, he was talking about how at the end of his talk, all 4,000 of us were going to "break boards" like we were in martial arts. We were going to get into groups of 10 and the previously trained "board holders" were going to hold our boards while we broke them WITH OUR HANDS. I was terrified. Specifically, I was afraid of the shame that would wash over me when I didn't break it the first time. I was afraid to have to try again, to work at something in public, because I was sure I wouldn't be able to break it the first time. Why would I? I've never done this before and I was afraid. I didn't know if I had the power within me to break the board the first time. 

Before we tried to break our boards, Brian had us write what we needed to break through on the board itself. It took me awhile to ascertain exactly what is what I was afraid of, but my teammate Laney (former therapist!) helped me break it down. I was afraid of my own power.

I WAS AFRAID OF MY OWN POWER.

How many women have felt that way? It's always been there, deep within me. Potential. Success. Power. A big 'ole fucking life. I've always known it and I can't tell you how scared to death I've been of fully stepping into my power. That probably seems funny because many of you seem to see me as already doing that in my writing. And I am. I feel like I'm living the life I want to live and have for a long time, if not always. But there's more here. There's always more in that well. And I keep trying to pace myself, as we've always taught women to do - be small, that's good enough, don't get greedy, let's stop here.

On the back of the board, he had us write what we would have if we broke through whatever the board represented. I wrote: "security, joy, hope, empowerment, leader of my daughters, choices and freedom." And I added my children's and Tim's names and the future grandkids we hope to have some day (because I believe in the generational impact of these kinds of breakthroughs). I want to be a powerful woman and I hope that by being her (myself), I will instill power in my daughters and maybe someday, their daughters. 

The reason I share this story with you, in the midst of my excitement about preaching, is that they go together. This formative thing that happened to me in August (grainy but proud video above) paved the path for this moment. I am an ongoing evolving creature, as we all are. But the more I step into my power by being vulnerable and honest and true, believing in my innate worthiness, affirming my value to contribute, the more opportunity is created for me to inspire others to do the same. And what better thing could I possibly be doing?  

Is there something holding you back from living the life you want to live? Is there more potential within you that you fear tapping into? These questions are worthy of reflection. And whatever you find behind that veil, I pray that you break through it, claim your life and live into your potential. Don't let anyone, even yourself, limit what you can do with your talent, your voice, your ideas, your heart. We've only got one shot at this. Take it.

When Men Control Female Narrative

Well shoot. This is the second time in the same amount of weeks where I have witnessed a minister from my conservative background have issues with posture. When I wrote my original post on this, I was referencing a big blow up that occurred on Facebook when a minister I knew from college made a big mountain about Twitter users wanting to kill Trump (I agree - not a great thing) and a molehill about Charlottesville. I assumed it was unintended and approached his misstep as such. And he totally didn't get it. Hence my post. 

Now I have a minister angry about the term "mansplaining" because it's insulting to all men. Again, not a terrible point, but when women responded by sharing their everyday experiences with mansplaining, though he was quick to renounce the way they were treated, he was not able to back down on his supposed insult. He was downright huffy. And here's the thing: both of these men are good men. Men who love God and love people. I have to tell you - I am DESPERATE to see an evangelical man sit down and be taught.

I can't tell you how much my soul CRAVES to see a Christian, conservative, white man humble himself publicly and take constructive criticism.

Let's face it: this ship sailed for me awhile ago. I have left the churches of Christ and all conservative Christianity. And it has saved my soul and saved my love for God. I'm totally not going back to that. But I don't want to see it die. I want to see it redeemed. And it must start with humility. I so desperately want men to listen to women, for white men to listen to black men and on and on. I know it's hard to admit when you're wrong or when you're focusing on the wrong thing, especially when your privilege blinds you and you can't even see it. I get it. I am a total work in progress and I hate being wrong. 

But that doesn't mean that you get to stay there. Or if you do, you're on a sinking ship that is pride. Please for the love of God, humble yourself. Let the anger roll off you and take feedback that is kind and honest and fair. Perhaps the pulpit has given you a license to be the one who speaks, the one who's learned, the one with authority. But all great teachers are learners first. Don't just learn the words in the Bible. Learn the world. Learn the people around you. Ask for eyes to see the suffering and then don't minimize it just because it hasn't been your experience. Set your offense down and learn.

I would also like to say that seeing women being judged for using a term that it pejorative (that was the operative word throughout the thread) felt like grooming to me. I only get to air a grievance if I use the words preferred by the abuser. Let me just say -

I get to use whatever words I want to use when I tell my story.

My voice. My words. My story. I can't tell you how much from the time we are tiny, little girls we are taught to cater to the comforts of men. Everything comes down to what men like to see on a woman, what their hair and makeup preferences are, what they like to eat, how they might feel, how you need to behave to make them comfortable whether that mean sit on their lap when you don't want to or make yourself invisible. Frankly, I've had enough. I have never found a man who didn't mansplain be offended by the word because they know themselves well enough to know the term doesn't apply to them. Just like I know the word "cunt" doesn't apply to me. Do I like the word? No, not really. Do I internalize it if I hear it because I'm a woman and that word is only used against women? No. Because I am not a cunt. I'm not sorry that the term "mansplaining" is offensive to men who mansplain because their behavior is offensive. The term reflects that offense. If you're offended by a word that doesn't apply to you, there is no insult. And if it does apply to you, no wonder you're trying to control the narrative. I think you may have just shown your hand. If men would stop mansplaining to women, the word would not exist. Problem solved.

It's not up to women to make men feel comfortable about how they degrade women. Period. 

We Don't Need Your Patronizing "Sympathy"

I've had a few experiences recently that have convinced me of the existence of a contingent of people who "mansplain" in the form of "sympathy." I put sympathy in quotes because true sympathy is not a gimmick and requires real care and interest. This is not that. This is when white, Christian, young men tell me they feel sorry for me if I experience hardship without taking any ownership that they may be part of the problem. If I have been the victim of religion-enforced patriarchy, I must have misunderstood what was said, done, implied or intended. Poor deceived woman. There must be some misunderstanding here. Let me explain to you what must have happened and you can see how your perception of grievances is, in fact, the problem. Here's a gentle pat on the head and let me lead you to the right path.

I recently had someone shame and "poor you" me when I openly admitted that I am racist. I have had racist thoughts. I have lived in racial privilege. I have judged people of color with biased reasoning. I have participated in systems that actively oppress people of color as someone who owns a home and was educated and was an albeit unspoken leader in a conservative religion. Granted, I did those things out of ignorance. But that is no excuse. We can't correct racist thoughts, slurs, actions, intent if we don't first SEE IT. So I was openly seeing it. And because of that, I received a pat on the head. How sad for you. 

My life is not a pet project for you to approve of. My activism is not intended for you feel pity. My honesty is not out in the world to make you feel so good about yourself, one who has used having no idea what I'm talking about as some sort of "get out of biased jail free" card. Your ignorance is your condemnation not your salvation. Don't tell me I misunderstood when I was not allowed to share my faith publicly at church. Don't tell me I misunderstood when it was clear that I needed to be a virgin in order to have spiritual currency with which to garner a Christian husband. Don't tell me I misunderstood when it was my responsibility to dress in a way to keep all the young men around me from going to hell with my displayed body. Don't. 

These things are not accidental or anecdotal. When patriarchy and white supremacy are hinted at, you better believe that the root of that plant is bold and intentional. If the fruit is fragrant, that seed created something ripe and alive ON PURPOSE. Those who suffer do not need another pat on the head and more "poor you"s. Those who have been marginalized need to be heard. We don't need your validation but we especially don't need your denial encased in false sympathy. Don't talk to me about good intentions. Don't tell me when the church supports a maniac that it's about abortion or health care or taxes. Here's the thing: when lies are exposed, it becomes clear that your ignorance is part of the problem. Until you can learn to listen, learn to look the fuck up, then I can't help you. And your patronizing, mansplaining "sadness" for me, your sentiment of "can't we all just get along" becomes very hollow, very quickly. If you want to get along, do something to help others get along. Put yourself in the shoes of a recipient of DACA right now. Don't use my admonition to wallow in shame and feel sorry for yourself. Believe it or not, this is not about you.

WAKE. THE. FUCK. UP.