When I teach classes, I often talk about boundaries, those gold plated ideals that make relationships healthy (or not).  Boundaries are really difficult to pin down, even for someone who’s been leading lectures and groups about boundaries for a bit over five years.  In short, they are your limits, what is and is not okay with you.

Boundaries are important to address for anyone, but particularly in cases of abuse and trauma.  Most survivors of childhood trauma (including, but not limited to, abuse) have no concept of their limits mattering.  

When they say “no”, it is not respected; their bodily autonomy, their pain, their mental and physical being, are of no consequence.  Living through this often means adults who are at the extreme ends of the boundary spectrum.  Either one rarely says “no” because they believe it is meaningless, and do not feel comfortable speaking up for their needs (think of a person who is uncomfortable with a full body hug, but does not pull away or ask others to stop, or someone who tells you their life story after just meeting you), or can be completely closed off, avoiding all physical and emotional contact with others, for fear of being taken advantage of.  These are when we have boundary issues.

All people desiring healthy, rewarding relationships need the ability to set limits with those around us (and know what our limits are).  However, just because boundaries are with others does NOT mean they get respected, and this is where things get a bit sticky.

I can assert my boundaries, but that doesn’t mean you’ll respect them.  You have control over you, and I have control over me.

As an example, one of my close friends is constantly calling other people “pussy” and “faggot.”  I find both of these words extremely offensive; not only do I have close LGBTQ friends, I am acutely aware of how language perpetuates prejudice and oppression (with often fatal consequences) and shows my friend’s incredible privilege as a cis, straight white male.

I have repeatedly asked him to not use the words; I have tried to open up discussions about how language is super powerful; I work to make him realize how stupidly offensive it is to use these words.  However hard I try, I cannot control what he does.

If I assert my boundaries, and they are not respected, I have a choice.  I can continue to assert boundaries, and I can leave.  Sometimes, the best assertion is a clear consequence and an I statement.  Put on your learning cap!

I feel ___________ when you ___________.  I would like it ____________.  If you continue ______________, I may have to leave the room/conversation.

I feel uncomfortable when you use the word faggot around me.  I would like it if you could try not to use those words around me.  If you keep using these words,  I may not be able to continue to be around you.

At that point, you can leave and come back, ensuring you follow through on your consequence.  And it’s worth looking at – why would you keep spending time with someone who doesn’t respect your limits, or the basic humanity of human beings?

At the end of the day, you cannot love others using the language of murder, torture, oppression and hate.

Not too long ago, I heard an amazing episode of “On the Media”, broadcast on NPR.  They talked about nihilism, mostly throughout history, although addressing some feelings that our collective society has gone to hell, that nihilism is on the rise.

I’ve never been a nihilist (another reason I’ve been a mediocre punk) because I think people caring is the only reason to keep going; doing good for each other, informing yourself and others, keeping the world in mind is a force, one I’ve never completely lost faith in.

However, this episode talked about the idea of “political nihilism“, when one stops caring about politics in society, feeling its meaningless to care, because no change is possible.  I feel this way more and more.

come on, who’s going to win this one?

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#ArmorUp

Posted: September 4, 2014 in Uncategorized

😦

The internet has been taken by storm after Senator Kirsten Gillibrand’s public acknowledgement of sexist comments made about her body by other senators.  The Daily Show has a great mash up here of female politicians, newspeople and pundits who state they’re “not surprised” by this story (duh) and how we all have stories of who not to get into an elevator with.  (It’s almost like getting elected and having more money than sense isn’t a safeguard against ignorance, stupidity and belligerence).

Then, the best part, this piece by correspondent Jessica Williams on why catcalling sucks.  It was a great response to a Fox News segment (of course) where the sole male commentator says you can be respectful by applauding as an attractive woman walks by.  Jessica tears it apart, pointing out “Going to work is not a performance, we are not looking for applause…it’s not a red carpet, it’s not a fashion week runway, it’s a sidewalk.”

Catcalling is something I’ve grown to understand and dislike more and more (I wrote about my conflicted views earlier this year).  It used to be all over my gym in Chicago; I developed a habit of not making eye contact and turning up my iPod as loud as I could stand to drown out all of the comments I could hear, about myself and others.  It was a daily event walking into my workplace (or just walking).  It still happens on a regular basis.

yep.

Today I got to thinking.  I used my eyes on the floor, music up technique as a sort of armor, guarding myself from harassment or just against being torn out of my thoughts while I was working.  I know women who use angry looks as armor, because when you look mean “they” leave you alone.  I know women who walk quickly, with confidence; I know women who make eye contact with every single person they see, preemptive strike style.  Every woman I know who has attempted to either call people out on this bullshit or attack a culture (organizational or otherwise) where its accepted has suffered consequences to herself.

Not to the person doing it.  To herself.

No matter where it was done, on the street or in the office.  The woman suffers.

What do you have to use daily as armor?  To suit up, gird your loins to walk outside into a [sometimes] hostile world?  Whatever it is, is baloney, but also probably necessary – as long as people think it’s okay to comment on anyone walking by, we have to #armorup and stay sane.  And that’s the most frustrating part.

La belle France!

In reading Julia Child’s memoir, My Life in France, I have been consistently surprised and delighted to share in her unique and fresh perspective on the world around her. She was open to experience and lived for adventure; of course, we all have a rosy glow when reminiscing about the past, but in her retelling, the reader is transported to the streets of Paris, the fish markets of Marseilles, the countryside spotted with orange flowers, all tied together by mouthwatering descriptions of French food and wine.

 

Paul Child, Julia’s husband, worked in government service for many years, beginning before World War II and continuing in various embassy posts (which is how they ended up living in Paris in the first place).

the best picture, in my opinion. this is what marital bliss is like.

 

He was serving the US Government in the Marseilles post during the era of Senator Joe McCarthy, most known for his 1950s communist witch hunts. At one point, Paul was called to Washington, DC to be interrogated by the McCarthy commission; Julia recounts how the feeling of betrayal and anger remained with them “like ashes in our mouths.”

Making my bed (okay, laying in my bed) after reading this passage, I caught myself thinking “the government always screws you.” This is both somewhat correct and wildly inaccurate.

Read the rest of this entry »

(there is swearing and consent stuff in here, fair warning)

This is the first google result for “metal thumbs up.” Nailed it!

Okay, so I’m back, after a brief sojourn dealing with a broken foot (pro tip: don’t break your foot). Throughout my convalescence, I have been exploring the world of chair and wheelchair aerobics (you have no idea how much stuff is on YouTube until you are stuck at home for three weeks). However, I have been cheating on the music, using my iPod instead of the video music (let’s be honest, it’s mostly generic techno anyways).

While doing Pilates Sit Ups (they are terrible), I was roasting a track by Attila, called Payback. Here it is, in all its aggressive glory:

We’ve discussed problematic messages in metal and hardcore before, but I wanted to single out this song for one reason. I only have one remaining friend from high school, and our sisters are also the same age. She was telling me (years ago, I believe) that her sister would blast “Payback” whenever she was having a bad day, or feeling particularly angry. I went on to listen closely to the song myself, having had my share of teenage angst in my day, and WHOA. Whoa.

See, look at these guys. Come on.

I won’t reproduce the lyrics all here (here’s a link, should you want to peruse them), but this song dovetails beautifully with ideas about consent.

For those of you (us, really) who didn’t read all the lyrics, there’s an incredibly shocking verse, “I will find your fucking bitch and fuck her right in front of you.”

Okay, fine.  Problem (the big one): using a woman as an object to hurt someone else, while totally discounting her thoughts/feelings/consent to the fucking.  What if she doesn’t want to fuck you?   Why is having sex a weapon you feel comfortable using?

Later on in the song, he talks about how he can “tell she really wants it, she’s dripping wet and salivating.”  Okay, again…is this a response of a woman tied down, trying to survive?  Is it a bodily response disconnected from her mind (people can be aroused against their will)?

Also, using the word “bitch” to describe anything but a female dog is problematic, because it associates women with being weak, being mean, being irrational….not to mention its long association with sexual violence within the prison industrial complex.  Another rapey layer for you.

My first instinct was a loud “WTF!” and reaching for the dial, but why turn it off when we can improve it? Here are some of my ideas for adding consent to these lyrics. Maybe we could turn this into a thing…

Attila’s “Payback”, formulated to respect consent/women (by Me)

Who the fuck are you?
Who the fuck do you think you are?!
You betrayed me this whole fucking time
I’m the baddest motherfucker in the building
So remember when it’s time for me to get my revenge
I will find your fucking bitch (or girlfriend, the woman you are currently having sexual relations with)
And fuck her, right in front of you (as long as she says yes and I am honest about my plans for our sexual congress)

Some people think that they can get away with murder
But everybody here can see the blood right on their hands
It’s a crazy fucking world and there’s no one left to trust  you have to be careful who you trust
As people we have voices, leave the traitors in the dust
Revenge is something lethal and the taste is bittersweet
Their punishment awaits, we’ll sweep their bitches off their feet!  Living well is the best revenge

It’s ironic when she screams my name and begs for more
It’s really sick, I’ll hand it to you shes a great to be with
CRAZY BITCH someone who very much enjoys and participates in sex
I like the way she rides this dick

I didn’t think I’d have to warn you (because we’re friends and friends talk through their issues)
You let it go too far again (because you trusted me to be an adult and handle my emotions constructively)
I thought you knew that I was crazy!  (and thought I was taking care of my mental health in an adult fashion)
I let my actions speak loud

Tie her to the bed and let a minute get ahead (after I ask for her enthusiastic consent to bondage)
So I can get a better look and let her settle in the thought of it- (and ensure she is enjoying her sexual activity)
I can tell she really wants it I can see her dripping wet and
Salivating at the though of it (and she says yes, I am into this)
Tie her to the bed and let a minute get ahead (after we set a strong safeword and discuss mutually agreeable boundaries)
So I can get a better look and let her settle in the thought of it-
I can tell she really wants it I can see her dripping wet and
Salivating at the thought of it (and she says yes, I am into this)

So let me speak, answer me-
WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU

You walk around with your nose up in the air
But you can’t smell the shit that comes out of your mouth
You’re a liar, you’re a bitch someone I don’t trust, and you’re a fake
WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE

I’ve spent my precious time dealing with your problems
And payback is a bitch the worst
What goes around comes around my friend
And you will soon realize it!

PAYBACK IS A BITCH! THE WORST!

It’s tough to listen to metal, sometimes, because it’s been so reviled.

Upon A Burning Body, being serious. And reviled.

I will never forget the newscasts after the Columbine shootings, when ghoulishly excited reporters combed through the shooters’ rooms, reading lyrics from CDs they had lying around and looking at closets full of black clothing.

Despite its bad reputation, however, I have always wondered if the metal=bad person debate might be a bit more of the chicken and the egg than we’re comfortable admitting.

arghghghghghg

In the past two months, my new favorite thing to listen to while lifting is the new tape by Whitechapel, Our Endless War. If you haven’t heard it…you need to. It’s amazing. Here are my two favorites from it, just in case you want to try it out.

 

At any rate, the fifth song on the disc, Let Me Burn, has an incredible beat, with a heavy, growly chorus “Why do I do the things I do? Why am I evil through and through?”  (You can listen here…you’re welcome.)

Whitechapel: see, look at how serious they are!

I love this song, and this album, but don’t consider myself an evil person. Much of my soul searching tends to be of the “am I really doing enough for the world around me, am I doing good things” variety. But I love this song.

Chelsea Grin, letting you know they’re serious. Except for the guy toward the back. STOP SMILING, GERALD!

So riddle me this. Are “evil” people drawn to evil sounding music? Does evil, bad sounding music bring out bad qualities in us?

I don’t think so. I think often this type of music is popular mostly because it does not offer the rougher parts of the self as areas of shame, which we cannot acknowledge in fear of losing our basic humanity. We all have bit and pieces of evil in us, negative thoughts, anger or hatred for the world around us, but the vast majority of people will never commit violence, never act on their violent thoughts, and be able to function in normal society. How refreshing, then, to have an outlet in which we can enjoy these negative aspects of our personalities without being fearful or ashamed that they will take us over and all will be lost.

The Acacia Strain is serious about it, too. So Serious.

What do you think? Do you have music that speaks to the darker side of you, lets you indulge those thoughts safely? Or do you think it promotes violence (which is where much of the research has led)?

I go both ways, especially when it comes to specific glorification of violence (the same album has a song with a chorus exhorting listeners “no one cares, kill yourself, your kids and your wife”), but I can’t help digging that nasty beat.

Maybe awareness is the key?

i had to get gas the other day.

shocking, i know.  i drive a car to work, mostly because i’m usually using my vehicle for work-related supply pickups, because i just got a new bike, and because i work in a crappy neighborhood.  and also, rain is always possible and i hate rain, amirite?

i went to a gas station in my neighborhood, where two different dudes called me baby while i was at the pump.  i walked in to pay, and said “excuse me” to the man coming out.  he said “that’s okay sexy, you go on wit your sexy little badass self.”  ugh.

stop telling women to smile

i’ve written about street harassment before, and how it raises up a bunch of conflict in me.  but i hate and have always hated being called baby or sexy in public.

for about three years i told everyone who called me baby that baby was not my name, and that this was inappropriate.  i’m tired.  i don’t like weighing the good done by telling someone to fuck off versus the vitriol and nastiness that comes my way when i don’t like “compliments.”

leave me the fuck alone.  get your gas, say excuse me like a human being, and be done.

I volunteered to work at the Motor City Pride festival this past weekend. I’ve always tried to go to LGBTQ events and I’ve been a frequent attendee of the Chicago pride parade; this was my first event in Detroit around these issues.  

I love pride events because they’re generally amazingly positive. People walk around with smiles on their face, dressed to the nines, dancing and talking and generally having good interactions with each other (that I have seen, anecdotally, in public, only in my experience). Instead of getting catcalled and feeling raked over by men, I get to just be friendly, with less overt sexual innuendo; when I’m approached by a woman, I rarely feel dirty, guilty or endangered if I (politely) turn her down.  

But this is an article about a t-shirt.

Before the event, there were some jarring happenings. My boyfriend told me I should reconsider volunteering “because someone might think you’re gay.” He also told me he was concerned that I might be targeted for violence because I was working at the Planned Parenthood table. After the event, I met friends for a drink; one of them kept expressing his amazement that there were many POC around “I thought these were just a white people thing, black people aren’t so gay.”  Whoa.

I’m a newbie to LGBTQ activism, and definitely coming from a place of privilege; I grew up in a middle class home, I’m white, cisgender and straight. It doesn’t get much more privileged than that. As such, I’ve been working on my understanding of how I can be an ally to the LGBTQ community without pushing an agenda I think people want, devaluating their experiences or making it all about me instead of about the community and people’s lived experiences. I work in mental health, and have members who identify all across the gender and sexuality spectrums. I’m lucky enough to call some LGBTQ folks good friends and colleagues.

Anyway, back to the point. I bought a shirt from Ally tees (www.allytees.com) at the event. I wore this shirt to work today. And it provoked a huge amount of angst and anxiety in me.

In Michigan, you can still get fired for being gay. I work with people who may have bad reactions if they misinterpret the shirt, but more importantly, I was concerned about them misinterpreting the shirt and rehearsing speeches about what being an ally is, speeches that started with “oh no, I’m not gay.” I work in a dangerous area, and thought hard about if I wanted to walk down the street wearing a shirt whose message started with the word “lesbian.”

It shouldn’t matter if someone thinks I’m a lesbian. Really, it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t be an issue for my workplace to walk around in a shirt with words like “queer” and “intersex” on it. But really, the issue is all I was doing was wearing a fucking t-shirt.

If I’m freaking out about a word on a shirt, that’s a function of my privilege. People are in danger of physical harm while walking hand in hand with the person they love. People stress about who to bring to a Christmas party because their boss might find out and they’d lose their job. People are devalued, dehumanized, shamed, blamed and attacked for being the people they are (which my own profession did not stop until the 1970s).

Naming who we are, in gender, sexual preference, and every other way we identify, is not dirty or something to be ashamed of. The people who are open and upfront all the time are brave in a way I can barely conceive, and those that aren’t have my empathy. If it is not easy to just walk around with a t-shirt on, can you imagine if the person you are is not “acceptable”?

Fuck this (cis)tem, man. Fuck the patriarchy. Most of all, fuck thinking our experiences are the only right ones, and other people should bow down to what we think is right.

Lesbian.

Gay.

Bisexual.

Trans*.

Queer.

Intersex.

Asexual.

Ally.

Lesbian.

Gay.

Bisexual.

Trans*.

Queer.

Intersex.

Asexual.

Ally.

😦

 

It used to be that if you didn’t listen to a band, it was generally because their music sucked.

I’m getting really tired of not being able to listen to my favorite bands because the members are dickbags.

 

First, As I Lay Dying singer Tim Lambis hired a hit man to murder his wife.  Sucks, man. Not to mention the response on twitter, mostly focused on how she deserved it.

haha, his shirt says honour. this is what we call “irony.”

Then, Casualties singer Jorge Herrera was accused of sexual assault.

hunh. imagine that.

Now I’m hearing a guitarist in pop punk band New Found Glory was accused of lewd acts with a minor and had child porn.

this guy can’t get an adult woman into bed? the horror!

It’s been a hell of a year, and I’m sure it’s not only this year. In fact, I’m sure it’s not only these bands – these are just the ones who were caught, who were publicly caught, who couldn’t intimidate and settle out of court. But this is a manifestation of the culture we’ve been talking about for the longest. (One where the assault survivor has to write a piece stating her bodily integrity is worth more than a crappy punk band.  Really.)

see? at least an hour in the morning just for the hair.

Now, real talk – the Casualties are not that great. One of the people who first introduced me to skinhead oi told me they were the definition of poseurs, and asked me how long I thought it took for them to put all the studs in their jackets and do their Mohawks in the morning. I did enjoy me some tunes from On the Front Line, though.

New Found Glory was the soundtrack to my high school years (yes, I had terrible taste at 16. Shut up). I still pull out their self-titled CD when I’m feeling extra energized and need mindless tunes with the windows rolled down.

As I Lay Dying was one of the first metal bands I listened to and liked; I mean, come on – Distance is Darkness? The Darkest Nights? These are some excellent tunes. And they were great live – I paid some of my hard earned money to see them. And these dicks are talking about being a Christian band? The same ones who demean women and value the lives of their wives so little to hire someone to kill her, rather than getting a divorce or eating cold pot roast without complaint like normal people?

this fuckin’ guy

That’s the thing. I cannot support these groups that don’t place importance on people’s rights. Playing the guitar does not immunize you from being an asshole and doing terrible things, any more than dunking a basketball, running a pass or batting a strike does. It still takes me a little bit of rationalization to enjoy stuff from Attila (who talk about fucking bitches and removing the pussy from your life) or Leftover Crack (who glorify drug use and killing cops while being a strong voice against war and discrimination against LGBT folks).

I’m really tired of having to decide what music to enjoy based on who is the least terrible person. I’m tired of hearing 10 bands be crappy to women with only one yelling about treating people like people. I’m tired of going to shows where I only see one woman in lineups of 5 bands and all I hear about is her tits. If we can boycott baseball games because of assault charges, if we can fire Kobe for raping a woman, if we can impeach politicians for unconscionable conduct, surely we can find some good bands in this damn subculture of ours who can act like they care about the other 50% of human beings.

Step it up, bands. Step it up, fans. Don’t support music that demeans you. Don’t buy albums that recognize only dudes as awesome and worthy. Don’t go to shows where bands are known for taking minors backstage and doing whatever they want. This is our damn culture – we don’t have to buy into anything they’re selling us. At the end of the day, that’s the point.

quick hit: diciplining bodies

Posted: April 13, 2014 in Uncategorized

it’s been a weird weekend.

the image search for “crying on the scale” only pulled up ladies, by the way.

a weekend that started by arguing with my sigificant other about BMI scores (read: baloney) when he said he was healthy and i told him it was a scale from the 1800s not meant to measure health and i was obese by BMI standards.  he replied “you’d be fine if you lost 30 pounds.”  then insisted he didn’t want me to lose weight.

which is good, really.  like most people i know, i’ve been eating 70% healthy and exercising 5-7 days a week for the past 5 years, at least…probably longer.  and my weight has been the same within 10 pounds.  pretty sure i’m where i’m at.

except, you know, when it doesn’t.

i’ve gotten to a point where i can buy chocolate and keep it in the house.  where i’m actually craving salads and cucumbers, rather than feeling forced to eat it rather than what i really want.  i’m starting to be intuitive and feel healthy.

this article, right here, sent me back to all that rage i feel every time someone’s told to change their body, that the only thing standing in their way is the lack of effort.

be happy in your life folks.  the body is the vessel, it’s not the final summation.