spark

what the world needs now

seen on the wall of la Escuela de Paraíso:

How to live together:

affability
patience
group decisions
justice
interaction (?)
love
truth
support
respect
positive desires
understanding
help
harmony
communication

diversity: let it shine

A friend of a friend recently contacted me to ask for my thoughts on helping children to embrace diversity among their peers. Because her starting-point had been gender expression, my responses to her - seen in edited form below - focused on that aspect of celebrating diversity. 

I think all kids struggle to some extent, some more than others, with wanting to blend with their peers. It can be a normal and healthy thing, but parents often notice, it can also undermine self-expression. My 8 year-old son Griffin sometimes feels more bold and sometimes makes the "safe" choices. He and I talk about how it's ok to make either choice, so long as you are aware of what you're doing and why you're doing it. Even we adults choose times to let our freak flags fly and other times to be a little more understated. 

When thinking about diversity and the gender conformity issue, I think perhaps the core concept is self-expression. Children should be free to make choices about their appearances and behaviors. Of course, personal expression that hurts another person (like hate speech or sexist imagery on a shirt) is something that parents absolutely should limit, while discussing why those particular forms of self-expression are harmful. But something like hair color, nail polish, the color of your shirt or lunchbox, whether you like to play with the girls or the boys, what kinds of activities you enjoy doing with your friends...all of those are healthy forms of self-expression for children and, in my opinion, schools have an obligation to provide a safe environment within which a child can continue to build and express his or her self-identity. 

In recent years, there has been a lot of media attention on bullying in schools. Gender policing - when children pick on others' choices because they fall outside the stereotypical roles assigned to that child's biological sex - is a type of bullying. How can schools support creative, authentic self-expression and discourage bullying?  Here are some the things that come to mind:

 

Education: eradicating the ignorance that feeds fear

Schools can provide education to both children and adults about gender expression. Many parents are concerned that crossing stereotypical gender lines reflects something negative about their child's emotional health, puts them in danger of future of gender identity/expressions that the parents find to be concerning or immoral, or puts them in danger of bullying from other children.

Regarding gender and orientation, it's important that parents understand that gender identity, gender expression, physical sex (chromosomal makeup, which organs you have), and sexual orientation are separate concepts. We tend to lump them all together and many families don't understand anything beyond gay/straight. Learning about these different aspects of who a person is can be very helpful in parenting a particular child. Understanding gender and sexuality can also help us to reduce fear by understanding that their choices reflect who they are rather than determining who they are, and by removing the fear that comes from ignorance of human diversity. 

Children and adults can also both benefit from education about standing up for one's own choices. Knowing how to talk to others about your choices can reduce avoidance of self-expression out of fear of bullying. Furthermore, both adults and children can benefit from education regarding bullying prevention. Too much time is spent, in my opinion, dealing with the after-effects of bullying rather than modeling acceptance of others and teaching children how to communicate respectfully. (See Marshall Rosenberg's NonViolent Communication)

 

Modeling: be the change you wish to see

It's not enough for the adults to say "we accept diversity." Children must see that adult behavior corresponds to that claim.

Adults need to make sure they are not avoiding discussing diversity. We have a desire to be "colorblind" and not draw attention to differences of skin color, cultural practices, gender expression, religion, sexual orientation, body shape, and ability. Our kids are noticing those differences and they want to talk about them! By omitting mention of them we think we're treating everyone equally, but research says otherwise. "Colorblind" education actually reduces sensitivity toward and ability to confront meaningful race differences. It can be argued that this goes beyond race and would apply to all issues of diversity and discrimination. 

Teachers can be aware of how their classroom choices reflect their own assumptions about gender and how those assumptions affect their students. This could include (but is not limited to) providing gender-neutral choices or choices that are open to all children regardless of gender (e.g., not assigning boys to bold colors and the girls to pastel colors), thinking about creative ways to divide into teams rather than boys vs. girls, and being conscious of the way men/boys and women/girls are shown in classroom materials. 

Parents and teachers can both serve as models of acceptance of other people's self-expression by providing open options to all children, not making a big deal out of gender non-conforming behaviors, and showing a willingness to question assumptions about self-expression. Adults can also notice whether their own behaviors - especially their comments to children - serve to reinforce gender stereotypes. 

 

Collaboration: adults as children's allies

Children sometimes need assistance in gently confronting gender-policing behavior. This could take the form of saying "is that true?" and "let's think about that" when children say that "this is for girls" or "that is for boys". Comments like these, or something like "Pink is Griffin's favorite color, what's your favorite color?" can start discussion about the assumptions children make and free all children to make their own choices while derailing gender-policing behaviors. Adults can also address other adults who are policing gender by offering their own family's experiences with self-expression. Sometimes knowing that an acquaintance's child also likes nail polish or playing with fairy dolls is reassuring, and sometimes hearing another adult say "you know, I struggled with that worry, too, and realized that there was no actual threat, and that I was squashing my kid's self-expression" can open up avenues to new ways of thinking about and viewing children.

 

Truly embracing diversity would have to address education for adults and children, adults modeling what they say, children being empowered to express themselves, thoughtful selection of classroom/school materials and methods, and all people having access to communication skills such as Rosenberg's nonviolent communication. 

I'd like to live in a world in which I never overhear a father say "you can't have the Diego [toys], they're for boys" in a store, or a mother say "I hope you haven't had a pedicure, I'd have to worry about you" to her son. That's a world in which kids are a little more free to be themselves and celebrate who they are and what they like, where they don't learn from us how to shame and bully each other, and in which, because they can accept themselves, they can also accept each other.

good advice?

My friend Susan shares her struggles with parent-child boundaries today in "Grown up children and their parents" on her blog, Exploring Women's Bodies.  She includes a quote sent to her by a friend and attributed to Katherine Briggs, co-creator of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. The reported recipient of her words was her daughter, Isabel Briggs Myers, who was about 20 years old at the time. 

It is the PRIVILEGE of parents of grown up children to make suggestions; and it is the DUTY of the children to give serious consideration to those suggestions.

It is the PRIVILEGE of grown up children to make their own decisions; and it is the DUTY of the parents to respect and acquiesce in these decisions.

After writing a response, including applause for Susan's thoughtful decision not to burden her son with worries which were likely to impact him more negatively than positively, I felt the need to copy and share the rest of my comment as a separate post. Those thoughts follow:

Briggs' comment to her daughter is, in my opinion, vastly oversimplified. One cannot necessarily say what privileges all parents and children can or should have. There are few, if any, one-size-fits-all platitudes that can be applied to that relationship.

I might argue that having a relationship with one's adult child is a privilege in and of itself. A parent can earn this privilege, in part, by showing themselves to be a respectful person worthy of trust and capable of nonviolent emotional closeness. Much depends on the personalities of parent and child, too. Giving advice might or might not fit well into a particular parent-child dynamic. 

An adult child does not, in my opinion, have a duty to listen to or accept advice from his or her parent. All adults in all relationships have the right to say "I don't want to discuss this." While doing so might have negative effects on the relationship, it is the right of any person on the receiving end of advice to set their own boundaries. It is the duty of all people to respect the boundaries of others.

Making decisions about one's own adult life is not a privilege. It is a right. The only times I can think of when that right is removed is when the person has committed a crime punishable by the justice system, or when the adult is mentally incapacitated. 

I do agree that parents have a duty to respect and accept their adult child's decisions. However, the word "acquiesce" implies permission or allowing the child to make their own decisions. Permission doesn't play into it. The adult child has a right to make decisions, full stop. No permission needed. In fact, it would be terribly condescending and disrespectful for a parent to either grant or deny permission to their adult child for anything that does not directly affect the parent. 

Many times, I've pondered over what I will do when my children are grown. Under what circumstances should I give them advice? So far here's what I've arrived at:

1) I will give them advice when they ask for it, if I think I am qualified to give advice.

2) If I feel the need to offer advice, I will ask if I may advise them, and abide by their reply.

3) The only time I will give "pushy" advice that oversteps those boundaries is when I see clear, present, extreme, certain danger. Not something that I think *might* be dangerous, not a situation that *could* turn out poorly, not something that simply offends my own moral code, but REAL, BIG DANGER. I hope I never have a need to give that kind of advice.

Mostly, I hope to make the kind of decision that Susan has made - to recognize that my worries may do more harm than good to my child, and to find ways of handling my feelings other than to dump them onto my child. 

What do you think about duties, rights, and privileges, as they pertain to parent/child advice-giving? I invite you to continue the discussion on Susan's post.

coming out of the fog

I am the adult daughter of an abusive mother and an enabling father. 

It is difficult to speak these thoughts out loud, and doing so is a recent development for me, a personal resurrection.  Emotional abuse thrives on secrecy, as it keeps the subjects of the abuse compliant and easy to reach.  Those who try to cast it off are scorned, shunned, derided by the very people who should, in a better world, be their champions.  Children who grow up in an atmosphere of control and invalidation learn to be fearful of voicing their experiences.

An abuser etches harmful words on the souls of her children and convinces them that they are the truth. If the children are fortunate, somebody will be present who can smooth these words out and provide a healthy view of reality. If they are unfortunate, they will be alone, isolated, and confused regarding what is reality and what is a lie.  If they stand up for themselves, they will be punished, not only by their abuser, but also by others influenced by the abuser. They will be told not to air dirty laundry, even though talking about abuse is the only way to heal.  They will be told to forgive and to forget, even though forgetting means submitting oneself to abuse over and over and over again. They will be told to bury the hatchet, even though they are not the ones holding it. They will be threatened and shamed in the abuser's efforts to regain control and bully the abused person back into submission.

I am speaking these things in public because without openness, there is no healing, there is only the secrecy in which abuse thrives. That secrecy protects the abuser(s) and assures that their targets cannot escape. I know that a dysfunctional family, when exposed, experiences pain, feels raw.  That rawness is not my responsibility. It is the responsibility of the generations of dysfunctional parents before me, who each passed their burdens down to their children, intentionally or not. 

Once there was a girl who called me a whore, for a joke, repeatedly. When I stood up to her, she complained that I hurt her feelings. I understand that her feelings were hurt, but I do not regret standing up for myself, nor do I think she had much of a right to complain about her feelings being hurt by her friend asking her not to call her a whore any more.  Just so with parents who harm their children.  I acknowledge that estrangement is difficult for those parents, but a person who does harm to another does not have the right to cry foul when the hurt person cries "no more." 

I have heard accusations. I have heard insults. I have heard litanies of my faults. I have heard demands. I have heard threats. I have heard some pretty words but not heard words surrounding them that make them seem meaningful, nor seen any actions that lead me to believe those pretty words are true. I have been subjected to fear, obligation, and guilt (FOG), the triple-threat of the dysfunctional family.  I have not heard introspection, self-reflection, thoughtful consideration, sharing of responsibility.

Nobody wants an estrangement. Nobody picks it as their first line of emotional defense or starts it on a whim. Estrangement is not about one particular event or a grudge; it is about a pervasive pattern of behavior from which a person has decided to disentangle themselves in order to be happy and healthy. There is always, always a long, exhausting back story. Decades spent wishing for and trying to achieve change. A lifetime of hurt that runs through the past and continues in the present.

Nor does hurt negate positive memories. I have oodles of them. I also know that many of the parts of myself that I like a lot were influenced by my parents, and that they have many good characteristics. Happy memories and good characteristics still exist, even in abusive families, but they are not enough to excuse it or to remove its effects. Moments of happiness do not obligate a person to dedicate herself to a lifetime of a broken relationship. 

I have four siblings.  I will not speak for them, because in families such as mine, each sibling has their own story and suffers their own effects. Individual impact is affected by birth order, gender, personality, favoritism, scapegoating, and so much more. I've seen how that plays out in the generation older than me. I know it will play out in its own way in my generation.  I love my siblings, enjoy my relationships with them, and appreciate the moments of compassionate witness and shared experience that we have. I know that not all of them will like my speaking in public. I have been informed - perhaps erroneously, perhaps accurately - that one or more of them think I'm delusional. I hope that this is nothing but the gaslighting of a woman struggling to get her narcissistic supply, but if it's true, I understand how a person could have that perspective.

I'm not delusional, though. I am me. I own my truth, the good parts and the bad.  

I was instructed recently to "end this," and so I am ending it. I'm done. 

I am coming out of the fog.

I will be myself. I will work to overcome the anxiety, fear, and shame that shackle me. I acknowledge the heredity and upbringing that contributed to these issues in the past, and take responsibility for handling them in the present time. 

I will not fraternize with people who do me harm, physically or emotionally.  I will not subject my children to such people. I will continue to build a community of reciprocal relationships with friends and family members who play actively positive roles in our lives and who show a willingness to work constructively together in times of interpersonal struggle. 

I will not allow any person to bully and intimidate my family via threats of legal action. 

I will be a compassionate witness for others who need to share their stories and come out of secrecy, whether it is about abuse or any other personal trial. I will express my gratitude to the friends who share their struggles with me in order to let me know that I am not alone.

I will work hard to be a truly loving parent who understands who her children are as people, who will respect their rights, who rejects control-based parenting advice with its negative views of the nature of children.  I will listen to my children's concerns. I will acknowledge my mistakes and apologize genuinely to them. I will not shame them or withdraw love from them when who they are is at odds with who I am. I will not use my size, experience, or age to oppress them. I will exercise patience, self-restraint, compassion.

I will expect my husband to confront me and support my children when I harm them. I will support them when they believe that he has done something unfair, or when I witness him doing something hurtful. We will work as a family to encourage an atmosphere of respect for all members, regardless of age. 

I understand that my children may choose their own paths.  I will work to be open to their criticism and understanding if, despite my intents in this time, I fail to play a significantly positive role in their lives. I will accept whatever relationship they wish to have with me in the future. I do not own their bodies or their minds, now or ever. 

We are each the captains of our own souls. I greet those who sail with me in this time, even as I bid farewell and smooth sailing to those with whom I can no longer travel.

resurrection

“The moment a woman comes home to herself, the moment she knows that she has become a person of influence, an artist of her life, a sculptor of her universe, a person with rights and responsibilities who is respected and recognized, the resurrection of the world begins.” ~Joan Chittister

stand up

One day during my junior year of high school, a friend made a joke about my being a prostitute.  That doesn't sound like much of a joke, but it seemed funny at the time, laughing about how I worked the corner at one of our town's ritzier shopping districts.  Ha, ha.  The irony of teenagers, the humor of virgins.  She liked the laugh she got, and it became a staple in her lunchtime comedy routine.  Yada yada, Jess the hooker, nyuk nyuk.  Pretty quickly, it became tiresome and nobody was laughing but her.  Mostly the joke was ignored, but it rankled with one particular person: me.  

You see, I didn't exactly relish being called a whore.  I knew she was joking, but, well, it just wasn't funny.  I asked her to stop.  She didn't.  So one day, I let her know that I didn't like the joke and that I didn't want her to tell it ever again. 

She cried.

Later that day, I received a note (folded in true LYLAS style) accusing me of using a hurtful tone.  

Just to review...she called me a whore.  I asked her to stop.  She didn't.  I firmly told her to stop.  She complained about my tone.   Did I take a harsh tone with her? I'm sure I did.  Did I call her names or insult her lineage or harm her physically? No. I spoke angrily after being abused and after the abuser refused to stop the abuse. The nerve of me! 

What was going on there was bullying.  No, she wasn't a bully in the general sense - she didn't push people around on a regular basis.  But trampling on somebody and then getting defensive and whiny when they stand up to you is a classic bully move.  Bullies love to complain about how their rights are being violated, how people aren't respecting them, while completely ignoring the fact that they provoked somebody into using their outside voice to defend themselves to start with.  

Standing up to a bully is awful.  They will tell you that you are making things up.  They will tell you all kinds of horrible things about yourself.  They will tell you that you are being nasty, even if you have been careful to use your most mindful, empathetic, Marshal Rosenbergian approach.  They will deny, they will attack, they will probably not take ownership of their actions, or apologize, or change.

It's still important for you to stand up to them.  If nothing else, you will know that you did it.  You will know that you have thought deeply about the situation, approached it with as much tact as you know how, that you have defended yourself and asked for the respect every human deserves.  You will know from how they respond what the future of your relationship with them might be.  

It will suck.  It will hurt.  You may cry, obsess, lose sleep.  And then the healing will come - either healing of the rift between you, or healing of the rift within you that put you in this kind of relationship to begin with. It is worth it.  It is hard, and you can do it.

the stories we tell

Careful the tale you tell
That is the spell
Children will listen

- Steven Sondheim, Into the Woods

There is a dangerous tale being told in our home.  It has devastating power, an edge that cuts, a broad side that crushes.  It has no ending; in fact, thus far it only has an opening line, but that single sentence carries a sense of forboding, of angst, of tension.  

It sounds like truth, and therein lies part of its power.  Another part comes from who it is that tells the story - a person who has the ability to shape another's world.  

The story is told by Griffin, and it goes like this: "Reese doesn't like work." Reese shows no outward reaction to the story, but I see the words being etched onto him more deeply with each retelling. 

I said to Griffin: "Here is a story that is true: Yesterday, Reese entered the studio and found an enormous mess left by two little boys.  These little boys had dumped two puzzle boxes and all of the Bananagrams tiles and had mixed them up into a stew.  Reese saw the mess, and knew that the game pieces might get lost, and also knew that nobody could enjoy the studio while it was covered in the mess.  He picked up all of the pieces on his own.  This was hard work, and I felt grateful to him."

"And here is a story that my brothers like to tell: they have an older sister who is very bossy."

"When my brothers tell that story, I feel sad.  I think it is not true.  I wish that they would not tell that story.  I don't like them very much when they tell that story, and I feel frustrated that they don't really know who I am.  I feel like they don't like me. That story sometimes stops us from being friends."

"Your story about Reese is not true. It might feel true to you because you prefer different kinds of work to the kinds that Reese prefers. When you tell that story, you tell Reese what you believe about him. You are Reese's brother. You can choose what stories you tell about him. How he feels about you and how you feel about him will be shaped by the stories you tell."

What stories from our childhoods do we still tell ourselves?  I am haunted by the story of Aunt Aggie's nose, which might perch upon my face at any time.  I have been trying to get rid of the classification story that includes a dichotomous key, separating "artistic" or "creative" children from "academic" or "smart" ones.  There are stories about who I am and who other people are, and what I should not be, or what relatives I should not become like.  There are stories about "other people" and why they are better or worse than I am, and what aspects of them allow me to make these judgments.  There are parables about cows and free milk, back-dated performance reviews, allegories containing gluttonous witches and long-suffering martyrs and unlikely dragons.

There are also pretty anecdotes, adventure tales, nursery rhymes, wildflower guides, all added to my inner library of stories by people whose opinions mattered to me.  

What stories are told in our homes? Are they classics worth preserving, or is it time for them to be weeded out of our collections? Can we be careful co-curators with our children of their own personal libraries?

257/365: adaptation

I had the privilege of taking some photos of my friend Heidi today to document her Metamorphosis project.  Heidi is an artist who works predominantly in fiber, and this project also incorporates a performance art aspect as she represents the often uncomfortable changes that a person experiences in the course of a marriage.  Of the hundreds of images I captured, this is my favorite, for its simultaneous awkwardness and gracefulness, the light on the vintage dress, and the glint of her wedding band.

Like many adaptations from one medium to another, my work is only a representation of hers.  In order to truly understand and appreciate this art, one must see the original.  About this piece, Heidi writes: "The metamorphosis of marriage can feel like being trapped, stretching and transforming a traditional shell. The wedding dress is a fixation on the past."

224/365: grief

The reading and the writing were bad enough; it was what was written, though, that was the real violation.  Hurtful words spoken in what should have been a safe space.  

Half my life.  Half my life gone by, and more, and only today did I open the book again.  No, not even opened.  I fanned the pages, glimpsed the writing that was mine, mine, mine, and then suddenly, not mine.  Four pages of unwelcome slanting black ink, the last entry for over seventeen years.   

The book has been moved to five dorm rooms, three apartments, and three homes.  It has been hidden in boxes, stashed in drawers, perched on bookshelves.  My personal grief, a single violation that represents hundreds of thousands of others.  Many times, I’ve thought about opening it and reading it again - even perhaps just reading my own words, not hers. I couldn’t do it. Or I didn’t want to.  I still don’t want to, except that I do want to, and I do need to.  It has been long enough that I know for certain that I am not the things written in black.  It has been long enough that I don’t need to worry that they are true, because I know the truth.

(Well-meaning people who blithely advise a person to “bury the hatchet” often don’t pause to consider whether the person they’re advising was ever the one carrying the hatchet to begin with.  Do they hold the hatchet, or do they bear its wounds?  Those who say “it takes two to tango” don’t consider that it only takes one to swing, to chop, to sever. We must be careful with what we say and what we write.) 

Wounds heal in their own time.  Tonight I tend to my wounds, I find hope in the signs of healing, and I vow: 

I will not be hurt any more by those words. The only one who writes this book is me.

word of the day 219/365: reflect

I'm pondering truth today.  The truth of each person, a little light that gets bounced off of the people around us, whose own characteristics determine what the reflection looks like.  Is it clear, is it distorted? Is it colored differently?  Does the light shine brightly in some settings, does it dim in others?

How is it that the same person can be defined a dozen different ways by a dozen people who know her? How does that person come to be adored by some, reviled by others, or merely tolerated, or not even perceived as worthy of notice?  What can you learn about a person by the things said about her by her acquaintances?  What can you learn about the acquaintances through how they speak of her?

When we look at a reflection, do we see the person being reflected or the mirror itself?  How do we know when we're looking at the actual light and not merely a distorted refraction?