I think it was my mother, whose relationship with her parents was contentious, who first told me that it’s often at the moment when an adult child begins to parent themselves that they suddenly look back at their own childhood with new (parental-perspective) eyes, and name what used to just be “normal” or invisible behavior as abuse, neglect, or just run-of-the-mill shitty parenting.
Sometimes, it’s easier to get angry on behalf of someone you love than it is to get angry on your own behalf.
The fact that we a) often don’t think of ourselves as worthy of protective love, or b) imagine it’s “selfish” to speak up about things that adversely affect our own well-being is a HUGE (and very relevant-to-feminism) topic worthy of a post all its own. So I’m kinda bracketing it off today in favor of talking about the wellspring of rage one can tap into on another person’s behalf. In a way that wasn’t possible when it was just you, somehow. When suddenly you’re in an intimate relationship with someone who is facing social discrimination, hate, judgement, etc. that yeah, you’ve been aware of for years and dealt with for yourself, maybe learned to live with it as a chronic drag on your overall sense of health (I always think here of Courtney Martin’s analogy of low-level disordered eating being like the common cold).
You’ve learned to live with it, or work around it, ignore it, whatever.
And then suddenly you’ve got this person in your life who’s facing that same hatred or social disapproval. And it’s just not enough anymore to blow it all off. Suddenly you feel white-hot rage that this person you love is on the losing side of social bigotry and has internalized feelings of shame or inadequacy because of it.
I notice this happening in my own relationship with Hanna. There’s ten ton of sexist (and related) shit that we both deal with on a daily basis, and I’ve had to learn first-hand in the past four years the very personal consequences of living in a culture that’s as toxic as ours about female bodies, about human sexuality, about social expectations for women of our age/race/socioeconomic class, sexuality. And watching someone else struggle with those issues — it’s like learning to see it all over again. Despite the fact that I critique it on a daily basis on- and offline. Despite the fact that I’ve learned coping and evasion strategies.
Because all of a sudden I’ve got this person in my life who feels like she doesn’t get to be “sexy” because she exists outside of our normative expectations of beauty. Who feels like her body doesn’t deserve to feel good, eat good food, wear clothing she considers beautiful, because she’s “ugly.”
Someone who I think is sexy, is beautiful, and does deserve to feel good, feel at home, in her bodily self.
I absolutely know the voices that are shouting in her head — and why they’re shouting at her. Because they’ve been in my own head in years past. Loud and unceasing. And they still whisper and badger me now, sometimes, though I quash them with greater ease than I used to. ( I don’t know how it became easier, but it did, eventually.)
And I feel so helpless in the face of the haters.
I say, “Sweetheart, you are beautiful and the judgy people don’t get to claim otherwise — who gave them the right?”*
And she rejoins with, “But I can’t find pants that feel comfortable!”
And I’m like, “Yeah, I get that, but that’s the fault of the pants and the assholes who made them, not your actual ass.”
And she’s like, “That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have pants that fit.”
At which point I’m forced to admit that, yes, assholes sometimes control the availability of pants and that sucks. That there are real, material, consequences in our lives when other people are allowed to continue their bigotry with social sanction.
And that’s when I can feel the overwhelming desire to kick the pants-controlling assholes in the shins begin to take hold.
I realize this isn’t, like a shatteringly new insight and probably there are lots of people younger than me who are reading this and are like, “Duh, Anna, where the fuck have you been for the last thirty years?”
And no, it’s not really a new insight. It’s just that it has renewed personal relevance to me because I love this person, my partner, my lover, hugely and it feels less possible to just minimize, evade, downplay the consequences of hate when there’s someone you love in pain.
I’ve never wanted to kick more people in the shins for lack of common decency and empathy than I have in the past four years.
I’ve never wanted to rage and scream and banish more people from my sight / social circles than I have in the past four years.
There have been moments, in these recent years, when — in response to something Hanna tells me about a social interaction or past mistreatment — I experience moments of rage so instantaneous and complete that I literally lose my vision for a second or two.
When I do actually forget to breathe.
I so much want the power to draw that magic circle around our apartment and seal it with flaming letters that read You Have No Power Here. And keep all the haters out.
I’m not really a separatist at heart, but I totally get in my gut the desire to just flip off the world’s bullshit and set about building a world that’s not predicated on making people I love feel like shit about who they are.
Yes, I know. It’s not practical. Or really, in the end, what I want for the world. I don’t want to simply kick the haters out — I’d rather they didn’t feel the need to judge or hate any longer.
But (and here’s where I know I start to get super whiney) real meaningful social change takes so fucking long. And the slow-progress timeline that I’ve learned to live with for myself no longer seems acceptable when I’ve got someone I love, wrapped in my arms, in pain.
Not acceptable for her, and not acceptable for me. Because experiencing heternormative pressure in a relationship makes the social ramifications of all the -isms so much fucking clearer.
When a partner has body insecurity issues, the effects of that ripple outward to shape the amount of energy it takes for them to get out of bed in the morning to face the world, the bravery it takes for them to get naked (metaphorically and literally) with you, their ability to hear (and believe) you when you catalog the ways you find them sexy.
The haters are making it hard for all of us. Even when/if we have our own shit together — the injuries they cause others affect our lives as well. And that so completely pisses me off. More than I ever thought it could.
I’ve realized that even if I’m okay with my body? If I’ve made peace with my non-normativity? My own body confidence isn’t enough. Because, in a very selfish sense, my well-being is still circumscribed by the fact that my partner doesn’t have the same level of emotional or material freedom to blow off the haters and live the life she wants to live. To live the life she’d thrive in.
This is a rambling post. So I’m gonna leave it there and open the floor:
What about you, Harpies? What -ism issues do your partners/children/family members/close friends deal with that have opened your eyes to the way your own life is limited by their suffering?
*I realize the whole “who gave them the right?” argument is rational but totally useless in the face of both the subjective, internalized experience of not being beautiful enough and also the actual social reality of other people judging you by their (however arbitrary) standards and then treating you like shit because of that judgement. I still find myself hoping if I say it enough I can will it into making some sort of material difference.
Gender-policing. My kid is five and in kindergarten and all year there’s a been a lot of “why are you wearing Cars shoes? those are boys shoes, you can’t wear those” and remarks along the lines of “girls can’t X” and “girls don’t Y”. Mostly coming from ONE KID and her teacher has not been terribly effective in handling it. Because there’s twenty-two still-half-savage kids in her room who she somehow has to teach to read and count AND help properly socialize and there are kids who are much more disruptive. And you know he’s getting this at home with “boys don’t X” and “boys don’t Y” and that’s a shame, too. I nearly cried in Target when she told me she needed something pink and sparkly BECAUSE “it’s the only way he’ll stop teasing me” and I know perfectly well it won’t stop. I don’t have anything against pink and sparkly, I hate that she is learning at the age of five that she can’t be herself, she can’t express her true preferences and desires because she’ll get hell for it. Meanwhile, this other kid is learning that he can get away with this, that as long as he doesn’t shout or hit people there will be no consequences. I’m not blaming the teacher because I think she honestly does her best with the skills and resources she has, when she can catch him at she calls him on the carpet (literally), I think the entire way we structure education is what allows this to happen. I hate that it’s always gonna be a fight for her. I hate that it’s really a fight for all of us. *phew* Thanks for the opportunity to rant.
@mumsyjr: You’re welcome! I’m always happy to provide people the space for a good rant against gender policing.
Your comment reminded me of this relatively recent post from blue milk, Learning to live as a girl in a very sexist culture, in which blue milk talks about the pain of watching her daughter face gender policing as she grows older.
When stigma affects me directly, there are all sorts of opportunities for me to feel shame instead of anger, even if I know anger would be more just and appropriate.
I am one of those women who was trained to be girly. And it pisses me off. I was never allowed to get dirty. Spit like boys could. Own a Green Machine. I’ve always been so envious of girls that behaved and looked exactly like they desired. Even if it wasn’t typical. I hate what I call the pink pressure the world puts on females. I had to lose weight recently due to an injury and I am astounded how freaking happy people are about it. Co-workers that never even spoke to me are stopping me in the hallway to go on and on about it. Really? Wasn’t I good enough to speak to before when I was thirty pounds heavier? Not worth a glance, let alone a chat back in those days. Seems to me that I’m still operating under the same brain power, still have the same belief system. I guess all that matters in our society is a smaller butt. Thankfully I am 41 and I don’t give a whit about petty idiots. Tell Hannah she’s brilliant and beautiful and people that say differently don’t deserve to even occupy space in her mind.
@Sara I really like the way you put that: opportunities to feel shame instead of anger. I really do think it’s worth paying attention to the way our culture discourages rage on behalf of the self when it comes to oppression. We’re encouraged to be selfish on the one hand, but shamed for being self-centered in the more meaningful, life-changing ways — ways that would actually increase the sum total of well-being in the universe.
@TJ man, do I hear you on the weight loss and praise thing. I was at my thinnest when struggling with a thyroid disorder (now controlled), and I got more comments on my appearance from random people THEN than I ever have. They didn’t know that’s what they were doing, but basically they were praising me for being ill? It felt weird.
For me, it always comes back to my sister. I hate that no amount of teasing, reasoning, or pleading can make her stop calling herself fat. I see her obsess over every pound and every bite of food, and I just want to strangle someone. Worse is knowing that she got some of that from our well-intentioned mother. It’s gotten so bad that I once went apeshit on my father in the middle of Olive Garden for one ill-conceived remark. I guess the silver lining is that I’ve gotten so much more careful in how I talk about my own body since she came of age; self-interest isn’t enough to make me maintain a healthy body image of my own, but I’ll be damned if I give her anything to imitate. I hate that she’s learned to hate her boobs and her butt. I want to punch the makers of pants and cute tops and rom coms. But, what I hate most is how I’ve seen her stifle her own bubbly personality for fear that she won’t be taken seriously with that combined with boobs and a butt. That’s MY sister, goddammit, and she’s fuckin’ brilliant and NO ONE GETS TO CALL HER A DITZ BUT ME! This is pretty much my reaction to every abstract piece of anti-woman nonsense I hear about, too. It’s never “screw you, Congressman So-and So for treating me like a second-class citizen,” it’s always “you think you can pull that kind of crap in a world in which my sister also lives??! SISSY-SMASH!!!”
I noticed, (just last week!) that this concept of anger on behalf of another is not obvious at all to lots of folks. I hope I am not being too vague.
There are things about myself and my feminism that I did not figure out until I had daughter. Some people “get” stuff right away, but I needed to see things from her perspective before I could understand feminism. It’s exactly the process you describe here: “I’ll just suck it up for myself.”
tl;dr
1) There are things that I will suffer for myself that are unacceptable for those I love,
2) There are things that I am willing to do to avoid that suffering for my loved one that I would never do on my own behalf,
3) Not everyone takes these motivations into account when analyzing other people’s behaviors/motives.
I’ve always been extremely protective of my little sister Corey because she is deaf. I always believed that ableism existed, but the thing that always shocks me is how OPEN people feel they can be with it. Even in our home, which is loving and supportive, she still has to go to school and hear and see repeatedly that she is considered defective to the world and that she is an intruder in a “normal” space. I think helping her is the hardest because it is the one thing I don’t share. My mom encounters racism, but in sharing her race, I can at least share SOME of the experience with her. I cannot begin to understand deafness (and yes, I realize many deaf people do not consider themselves disabled, I refer more to the world labeling them as such). Even as a PWMI, I can’t live her experience. I have wished I could, because then maybe I could help her more constructively.
The hardest part for me is how I think about how to support her without walking on her. I have a very strong urge to give hell to anybody who discriminates against her – but I realize that it may not be my place to do so. That has been what’s hardest for me – how to help without taking over her life for her.
My best friend has a five year old son. Since his birth I have been hyper aware of gender policing and the way it shapes how little kids are raised. I get seriously ragey sometimes. It seems like it’s gotten worse since I was a kid in the 70′s but a lot of it is just me noticing it affecting a loved one instead of myself.
When my husband told me he had abused by his father, I became enraged like never before. Most of the problems that happened with his family after he got together with me was because I was so angry I could not brush it under the rug.
It’s been 15 yrs since he’s had any relationship wtih them beyond a few emails or phone calls each year, but each time one happens I am SO ANGRY that they should continue to act like he is the one that is at fault for separating from his family , when it is his father, THE ABUSER’s, fault.
So I agree Anna, that rage on behalf of someone you love can be stronger than one’s own. I get very angry at a lot of kyriarchical things, but this thing with my husband, it is of an order of magnitude greater.
I’ve never been very good at keeping my mouth shut when someone insults or pressures me, but man oh MAN do I get extra Hulky on behalf of others.
1) I’ve been ripping new assholes for people who dismiss and criticize teachers since I was about 10. I’m not saying that there aren’t problems with education or that bad teachers don’t exist, but as a profession teaching is one of the hardest and most thankless tasks I have ever witnessed. And, oh, have I witnessed: My mother is a teacher. (A damn good one, too!) So if you insult a teacher, you’re insulting my mother, and I will take the time to tell you in great detail exactly what is wrong with your assumptions.
2) My brother has autism. Casual use of the word “retarded,” telling autism jokes, and spouting ignorant anti-vaccination nonsense are all really good ways to meet my Ms. Hyde. (Seriously, when anti-vaxers start up, all I hear is “I’d rather my child die of a painful disease than risk them turning out like your brother.” My brother is kind, funny, musically gifted and gainfully employed. You could do worse, assholes.)
3) I have a real problem with people who tell kids making art “You’re doing it wrong.” Art is about the joy of creation; it’s about process, not product. It doesn’t matter if their puppy drawing looks like a giraffe, it doesn’t matter if they color the sky lime green, it doesn’t matter if the project was about fish and they painted Spiderman riding an airplane instead. Their technical skills will improve naturally with practice and age. Every time you say “No, you do it like this,” I see the light in their little eyes die a bit more. You’re just teaching them that their imagination is wrong, that competency is more important than creativity, that they should conform to your idea of good. That is BULLSHIT. And I will politely tell you so to your face. And my boss applauds when I do.
4) Dropping racism, sexism, or gender policing on a loved one or any child in my vicinity will result in instantaneous unthinking pushback.
I get gender policing a lot because my son loves pink and would rather play with his sister’s barbies while Kendra would rather roll around in his truck.
My husband gets sexism on the other end of the spectrum. He is less of a man for being at home with the kids and a “pussy” for being in constant pain from fibromyalgia. He’s a loser, a leech, a freeloader, and not worthy.
I get all the sexism I can handle, whether overt or in the form of microaggressions. I get shit on for how I parent even though everyone agrees that my kids are pretty bad ass. I get fat shamed and told that I am not fuckable.
The worst fat hatred comes from myself though, seeing as I’m one of those bitter women who used to be conventionally hot, gained way too much weight, never lost it and cry at old pictures wondering what could have been…..
I’m loving this comment thread; so good to read about other peoples’ rage — even though it’s obviously not cool that we live in a world where so much rage is required.
@Ms. M — so completely hear you on the overwhelming rage when it comes to the poor (or worse) parenting of a spouse. Even more so in my case past domestic partner violence. There are times when I want to hunt down my partner’s ex and just dump all the crap we’re still dealing with on *her* shoulders. I wanna be like, “YOU deal with this, so we don’t have to. We’re done. Bye-bye.” I hate that the damage other people do and walk away from can linger for years.
Love this post and this thread.
I had a lot of rage as a child at people who called my disabled sister “retarded” or made fun of her looks or acted as though she couldn’t live a normal life (today she lives a perfectly normal happily married life, goes to work every day and posts a lot of pictures of her cats on her FB page). Some of these people were even members of my own family—a different side of the family than hers—and that made me FURIOUS. I still haven’t forgiven my late grandmother or my aunts for some of their ignorant bullshit. So yeah, I get that seething protective sisterly rage. (High five Verity Khat and Drahill !)
I’m also kind of on a ragey warpath with a number of my white friends with regard to the Trayvon Martin case right now. I have a number of black friends who are parents of boys his age and I see their outrage and their fear for their sons and when my white friends pull out some casually racist dismissal—usually without really understanding how racist they’re being—it sends my blood pressure through the roof. Let’s just say folks have been defriended on FB recently.
@Anna, there is so much I want to add to this discussion and I’ve written and rewritten this comment.
But when I think about the -isms you and Hanna are dealing with, and the way you have described your relationship, I have hope that the love you both share will shield, protect and provide the space for more freedom, happiness, joy, etc for both of you..
THIS. THIS ALL THE TIME.
I’ve always been more invested in my loved ones’ suffering than mine, in part because I grew up in a fairly safe environment, so unsafe things directed at them were magnified, but in part because as you and many commenters have said: it’s easier to just put up with it when the shit is directed at me.
There’s a lot to tease out here, though. One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn has been to hold back and trust my loved ones to be able to cope.
My husband, who is a wheelchair user, gets tired of kids staring at him, people calling him ‘buddy’ and “generously” slamming their brakes on in heavy traffic so he can cross the street, but he can handle that. Just because I might have more privilege to leverage doesn’t mean I *should* get up in somebody’s face on his behalf. First, it would embarrass him; second, he’s perfectly capable of getting up in their faces himself if he wants to.
But okay, he’s an adult. What about my best friend’s three-year-old son internalizing gender policing? What about my cousin’s intelligent and bookish tween girls getting all of these hypersexualized messages from every direction? What about my husband’s sensitive and creative teenage nephew who has learned through his dad and friends and video games and movies that violence is the Way to Solve Problems and stoicism is the Way to Be a Man? I can’t truthfully say they’re fully capable of taking care of themselves. Don’t I have some responsibility to guide them and help counteract the damaging narratives?
I comes down to finding a balance. I can be an ally without taking over.
Of course, I can think about all of this calmly right now, but in the moment, that white hot RAGE can make it hard to know what to do.
Also, this:
“But … real meaningful social change takes so fucking long. And the slow-progress timeline that I’ve learned to live with for myself no longer seems acceptable when I’ve got someone I love, wrapped in my arms, in pain.”
I feel that SO HARD. God DAMN.
Awesome thread, these posts are very enlightening.
I grew up in a fundamentalist Christian household, and didn’t realize how batshit insane my parents are until I got out. My brothers escaped about the same time as I did, but our afterthought of a sister still has several years to go. It kills me when she starts reciting crap about Jesus riding dinosaurs, or all Muslims plotting to murder decent white folk, or AIDS being God’s revenge on gay people.
I know that my brothers and I managed to turn out quasi-normal despite my parents best intentions, but I can’t help thinking that we only did because we had each other to egg into rebellion. She’s all alone with their extremist home-schooling, and if all goes to plan, she’ll be ready to submit to her husband and start birthing Good Christians the minute she turns 18.
And it makes me SO MAD.
How do I counter 15 years of intensive brainwashing and tell her that she’s worth so much more?