All mothers were summoned when George Floyd called out for his mama.

Mama

In their young efforts to address my George Floyd despair, my boys offered me this: “Mom, he did have meth in his system and had been previously arrested for armed assault using a gun on a pregnant woman”. I scream silently to myself in my head “So fucking what if he did”.

Deep Breaths. I am grateful for this opportunity to support them in a deeper understanding of injustice and cruelty. I was able to explain that even IF those things are true, they are irrelevant in the matter of this murder. Every single police man’s job is to uphold and follow the law and to protect THE people. It is wrong, for even a policeman to kill unarmed and unthreatening people. That is murder. And the murdering of black people has been allowed since before even our parents were born.

What I pointed out: George Floyd was unarmed when he was fully apprehended, incapacitated, and righteously murdered, for sport, on camera with three policemen standing by, unopposed— This is the same terrifying culture which shames victims of rape and abuse by white men –by bringing up something the victim may have done or not done, which somehow makes them them responsible for the behavior of an abuser. Abusers cause abuse, not the victims, ever.

I did not burden my children with cases of other unarmed victims of murder by our law enforcement officers. (Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Stephon Clark, Tamir Rice, Alton Sterling, Eric Garner, Laquan McDonald) My two sons are still young and in disbelief over what lawless police are willing and able to do– to a person who is vulnerable, perhaps even a small child, and black. Yet, there is the cordial escorting of a white, heavily armed, mass shooter of blacks, to Burger King, for a goddam sammich.

NOW, when we see a black man, instead of worrying about what he might do to us, we will consider what might happen to him—just for being black. I realize that the threat is to all black and brown people, not just black men, but I also am admitting my own normalized fear of black men. To be honest, I have always been more afraid of redneck men. They are the scariest of all. But my fear of white men, costs them nothing and makes sense. My fear of black men was programmed into me by media and it is wrong and damaging.

My growing awareness for the privilege and safety of my non-black skin is intense and sits along side my acknowledgment that I do not have to worry for my two fair skinned boys, as a mother of black sons would. I cannot imagine the terror of sending black sons off to school, work, an errand…. Black mamas and sisters, I see you, too. #BLACKLIVESMATTER

what we are not changing we are choosing

What We Choose

My steady refusal of gifts and moments of staged harmony (in place of healing, repair, and honest connection) illuminated my unwillingness to bypass necessary mending. An offer to do the work of healing, would have been an admission of pain, caused or felt. Denial of pain, in my family of origin was intended to pose as strength and moral superiority. I no longer buy that. There is a lot of pain.

My mother and sister swiftly informed others of my unreasonable, grudge holding, and hostile abstinence– FOR why would I not bring my young and tender children to sit at a table with people who righteously slandered and diminished their mother, in front of me and to others? Who TF did I think I was– expecting something better? The use of my ex husband was highly anticipated – so very predictable– a betrayal and an emotional assault – the final revelation. Jen Hatmaker points out in Fierce and Full of Fire: Those who love us are never keen on our failure or rejection.

I actually felt the deep knowing, that upon finally meeting in 2015, they (my sister and my ex) would bond easily and surely collude, to put me in my place, and then to establish themselves as both saviours and victims. Always a claim to being one or the other.

The ways in which I experienced the first examples of love and women (my mother, her mother, and my female sibling) made me loathe myself, only slightly more than I did them. That may have been the thing we had in common. We hated me and all of my feelings. When I stopped doing that, we fell all the way apart- for good.

Unsurprisingly, I entered into marriage which mirrored this dynamic—just like home–only home was not a good place for me. I married a man, also with whom I did not feel good or safe and had mistaken for superior and strong, because of this familiar emotional vacancy. That marriage nearly destroyed me and ended up teaching me exactly what I had needed to learn about love and NOT LOVE. I finally understood….that I needed to heal. It was made clear that for me to prioritize healing, would leave me on my own. So be it. My first choice: to heal together. My second choice: to do it on my own.

Good God–I can not even imagine how much harder life would have been, without the privilege of having been born into a body which was thin and not black.

I continue working on myself one day at a time. Unlearning things I never even knew I thought or believed about people, god, love, connection, kindness, worthiness, privilege, shame, guilt, oppression, trauma, cycles of abuse, parenting, authority, responsibility, trust, truth, honesty, dignity, humanity, peace, justice, freedom, responsibility, honor, and integrity. I am a work in progress.

Torture

Torture (unlike abuse which is often spontaneous and unintentional, though still scarring) is pre-meditated and planned out. It is designed to methodically dismantle a person’s identity and humanity, destroying a sense of safety, and diminishing hope for community and connection. By this definition, our country deliberately legislates, legalizes, and exercises leniency for the systematic torture and terror of our black brothers and sisters. 

When the very people who are expected and paid to guard and protect, are also in charge of abuse, that in itself is a form of terrorism. Law makers, government officials, judges, police officers, prison guards.

Patrisse Khan-Cullors shared that definition of torture, illuminating what has been designed and prescribed for the black people (particularly the poorest and neediest) of this country.

I will continue learning from the works by Human Rights Activists of Color. Unlearning racism is another layer of my spiritual recovery. I have recently re-read White Fragility and The New Jim Crow, and am nearly finished with my first read of When They Call You A Terrorist, by Patrisse Khan-Cullors. What are you doing to learn more about and support Anti-Racism? Or oppose it?

MY White Privilege

I was born to un-white skin, a foreign name, one Middle Eastern Moslem parent and the other an Agnostic Jew. Later, bussed across town to the “black school” for the sake of segregation, I experienced the white people as rejecting me for my non-whiteness and non-Christian-ness, and from the Blacks- (What language am I even supposed to use here? Blacks sounds ignorant and racist, Negroes, to me, sounds removed and pretentious, and African American feels like an attempt at Political Correctness???), I sensed hostility for my whiteness. It was not uncommon to regularly be told “Ima beat your skinny white ass. You better watch it.” I was an asshole though, so it could have been that. Hard to know.

To be honest, I was prepared to hate on the black people, if it would have made me more seem more white or acceptable. But also, important to note: our house literally pulsed with bitterness and rage. This, for me, manifested in a fuck-ton of seething resentment– which seemed always to be seeking a host. For anyone other than me, to be under fire, seemed good. Because I descended from angry people who were not racist, I did not hate black people, I just hated. Period. But nobody, more than myself.

My wrathful mouth, attitude and antics, I see now, could have been fatal, had I been black. I always, unknowingly, have benefitted and been protected by my fate of having been born “not black”. For the record, I have never felt white—just non-black.

Brainna West Quote. You have an opportunity--What do I actually want to return to?

Things I struggle with

Yung Pueblo Quote Who I am is always changing, not because I am being fake but because I am always open to growth and transformation.

Twenty-five Things

Things I am good at:

Losing my shit

Apologizing

Wasting time

Getting difficult stuff done

Struggling with simple things because of associated historical feelings

Helping

Receiving Help

Self Reflection

Asking questions

Being Courageous

Being Kind

Being Harsh

Sacrifice

Compromise

Gratitude

Being willful

Owning my BS

Laughing at myself

Showing compassion

Offering a clear and direct “No” without volume, profanity, or apology

Sensing bullshit

Confronting non-truth and injustice

Receiving difficult feedback

Doing as I say I will

Trying

–Making useless lists, obvi. What are you good at?

shout-out-to-everybody-who-is-exactly-who-they-say-

I AM

I am…

According to MBTI, an ISFJ

Enneagram Almost equally #8 and #4- considering doing the paid test @ https://ianmorgancron.com (UPDATE: I gave in to the paid the test and appear to be more of an 8- Details below)

On the cusp of Libra and Scorpio–I think I am Scorpio though

The younger of two children, the youngest of the six cousins I knew

A teacher by trade—Would be forever student by choice

Blessed by two stunning sons–my greatest teachers and inspirations

A lover of animals, kindness, loyalty, depth, connection, space, truth, books, tattoos, yard work, inside jokes, belly laughs, good cries, humility, open communication, transparency, directness, boundaries (mine and yours)

Obsessed with getting my hair cut and colored—It may be my hobby

Mostly Pescatarian–I do still occasionally eat chicken or turkey- and do not feel great about it.

Divorced (THIS I feel very great about- Finished with loveless, soul killing relationships)

In a program of Spiritual Recovery

Well travelled

Half Egyptian

Officially orphaned

Estranged from my family

A loyal friend

A generous partner

A good neighbor

A great employee and support person

A fierce teller of truth and asker of difficult questions

Tall and Thinnish

Assertive—often perceived as aggressive—working on this

Courageous and Faithful

Awakening Spiritually

Empathetic and Compassionate- I care greatly about others, particularly those in need

An HSP

Someone who struggles with sensory integration and feels overwhelmed by nearly all sensory input

At times socially awkward and totally ok with it

Missing my bestie during Covid Social Distancing

Considering a writing class. It would be a dream to be gifted in the ways of satirical writing or any writing at all…perhaps one day, a topic other than struggle and healing

Grateful that my work and my ability to provide for my family, has not been diminished by the frightful pandemic which is devastating millions

I am who I say I am. My words, actions, beliefs, and values are aligned–no matter who can hear or see. I am becoming integrated after decades of dis-integration

UPDATE: So, I splurged on the $60.00 test which designates me an Enneagram 8.  Though, most everything about THE 8 revolves around intense fear and avoidance of vulnerability—. I am pretty deep into vulnerability.  Shamelessly unafraid. So, the direction and feedback provided with the paid test seems useless to me. I don’t care which number I am, I really just wanted more angles and direction for growth and healing.

You are worthy of good things. No matter what you have been told.

Wrong But Not Bad

If the people to whom we looked, for love and protection, imposed traumatic shame for failed similarness and submission, that was a breach (by them) of their power.  They were wrong.  Period.  Maybe not bad, but wrong.

If wrestling with pain was treated as weakness or disobedience by the people we counted on to raise and teach us, we learned that openly expressing feelings, was bad, broken, troublesome, shameful.  We learned fear and may ourselves have become bullying and mean-spirited, also. AND maybe we found a way to manage the pain, through obsessive or addictive behaviors…or maybe we just disintegrated.

Recovery gives me permission to re-examine and to share honestly about my early teachings and beliefs- which were childish, at best and narcissistic and bullying at worst.

Being forsaken by my mother and her family was as painful as it was defining.  They were my first important people, showing me exactly how much I mattered and deserved to feel seen, loved, wanted, connected, and safe.  I am not wrong for feeling hurt.  I did not deserve that.   

I reflect regularly on one of the more significant violations/punishments, because of its lasting effects for my children.  Two emotionally similar people colluded to hurt/teach me, in a very particular way, and by proxy, are doing excruciating harm to my children.  

The persecution did not occur because I earned or caused it –but because hurt people hurt people. I am not so mighty that I may provoke otherwise benevolent people into  dehumanizing, abusing, marginalizing.  

Mistreatment does not begin with the target but with the perpetrator. AND that betrayal, in no way convinces me that it happened– because of me: because I am unworthy, inferior, too much or too sensitive…. I am rightly hurt by emotional violence and I reject the messaging that I am responsible for the behaviors of others.  If only…

Because I had been indoctrinated in this way, I too was harmful and naturally dismissed my own bad behaviors as merely the clear and direct results/consequences of what someone else did or did not say or do. That is THE sick training. Unwellness. Brokenness. Once I knew better, I did better. In scapegoating families, it is frequently believed that “You are either like with us or against us.” and “You/he/she got what you/he/she deserved.” This is how abuse gets normalized. Being abusive and diminishing is not normal, healthy, or sane.

By sharing my experiences, I connect with others also recovering from systems and environments which demanded denial and contraction, as terms for engagement.  I firmly embrace and send the message that— this experience does not make a person terminally flawed, unique, and alone.  It is more common than abusers would like for us to believe.

I will comfortably list 10,000 ways in which I have failed, disappointed, hurt, changed, and repaired. My need and willingness to do so, are one distinction and divider between my family of origin and myself. I have difficult and strong feelings and I make mistakes. I am human AF and breaking the sick cycle, one day at a time.

the most free person in the world is the one who has nothing to hide

I Am Free

It was communicated collectively and consistently to me, that who I was (am) is THE problem.  In my 40s, I found a program of recovery to help me begin to heal from that.  People claiming to love me (my parents, older sister, husband) suggested that I needed to be cured, of being who I am.  Individually, they each treated me as if they believed the following of themselves: “I am only an asshole because you suck. Once you fix that we will all be fine.” I came to believe this also. This hurts. I needed to heal from that shitty messaging…the lies about my worth. I had no idea that I could ever be loved and belong and be uniquely WHO I AM.

Yesterday, I listed choices which I am now, as an adult, able to make because of my program of recovery.  I get to learn and practice principles and behaviors which define and speak to WHO I AM by how I live(…not what I was like 10,20,30 years ago–I waste no time trying to change or deny the past. No point.)

Today I am listing things about myself which I did not actively choose, but now accept.  Parts of myself of which I am neither proud nor ashamed-  which no longer cause self doubt, loathing, and fear of separation:

I did NOT choose to:

  • learn to hate myself at a cellular level
  • have a mother who did not understand me
  • have a father from another country with skin, language, culture, religion, and foods that felt scary for me
  • be touched in ways that hurt me while lacking the skills to effectively articulate the nature of my pain
  • to be disliked, separate, and cast out by my family from an early age
  • to have a sister 6.5 years older than me who was an expert at making me feel crummy and then telling me to lighten up
  • to be tall and thin(skinny) and brown skinned with a weird nose and seemingly bizarre names
  • to be different and unacceptable–an outsider in my home–and community
  • to be highly sensitive to all sensory stimulus
  • to be boundariless and insatiable
  • to be emotionally intense
  • to be clumsy
  • to be socially awkward
  • to feel all things deeply
  • to inconvenience others with my needs, questions, concerns, feelings
  • to have unhealthy relationships with people food, sex, money, alcohol, truth
  • to care so deeply for all the people and animals, particularly the ones needing the most–that I would become desperately sad, in ways that others couldn’t understand or accept
  • to have a short attention span 
  • to be terrified of myself and all others
  • a need to understand, communicate, and resolve pain and conflict directly 
  • depression
  • anger
  • a need to dominate, diminish, and exclude (I learned these at home from the people who loved me the very most)  Once I knew better(age 40—better late than never.  Some people go to their graves this way), I began to do better.  

Every one of these things shaped me and guided me but do not define me.  Only my choices define me. I understand now- that– Before we know/possess self love, we are toxic people—incapable of compassion for our selves or others- unable to participate in wholesome love and connection.  Being broken like that, makes it unsafe to be human, to be fully yourself, to make mistakes, to struggle, to fail, to share hard and ugly truths.  

While I am not crazy about myself, I do have self love. It is a practice and a belief, not a feeeeeeling. On the days in which I have practiced self love and self care, I am kinder, more patient, flexible, generous, humble. My greatest form of self love: boundaries: for myself and around myself. I know how and why to say yes and no— without fear of disapproval or reprisal. I will not be bullied in or out of doing or saying a thing. Boom. That is some radical shit, right there. Zero effs how others judge. Z.E.R.O. Judgers judge, it is what they do.

Almost anything is possible when you have a safe place to bloom

Who I Am

Having believed that  “I. Am. THE. Problem”– the designated cause for other people’s shame, pain, hostile silence, cruel words, and overall mental health could only be relieved through recovery and repair. That is NOT who I am–not ever who I was. But accepting that as truth, sure shaped me in some unfortunate ways. Scapegoating—That is how sick systems circumvent issues of the group and individual members.

What might it have been like to face the world with confidence of my worth and belonging, with just a little dignity, and hope? My mother thought herself exceptionally generous each time she reminded me of how she loved me, in spite of me. I suspect she loved me exactly as she had been loved. Unfortunately, I was not equipped for that brand of love. I failed absolutely at being a gracious recipient and participant.

Because difficult feelings are inadmissible, people in my family of origin prefer to offload discomfort rather than openly deal with it– leaving the culture ripe for secretive, gossipy, resentful, passive aggressive, petty– underhanded expressions of difficult things– because honestly admitting to/confronting emotional pain and struggle, we have been notified, is negative and shameful.

I had accepted, for decades, that what I needed– was a cure, when actually I required and deserved healing. And, that was forbidden. BECAUSE — If I needed to heal, that meant that I had been hurt. Labelling a person asshole difficult and trouble-making, is easier — because judgment requires nothing of us. Compassion, curiosity, and empathy, however, require humility, courage, faith, and patience. Blame and judgment are definitely preferred by many.

Who I am: a survivor, a newcomer to Faith and God, an HSP learning to live in an overstimulating world, a friend, a helper, a partner, a woman in recovery, a learning mom, a divorced person, a direct and transparent communicator, a woman of my word, a loyal employee and teammate, a considerate neighbor, a spiritually striving and developing soul, a work in progress. These are ways I choose to live and to love. I learned HOW, in my program of recovery.