In which I embrace my deeply un-cool nature

Yesterday, A Practical Wedding ran an essay I wrote and submitted. Like a crazy person, I also listed this blog in my bio. Y’all, OMG. I have no other words because people actually read and were touched by something I wrote. And that is truly, really awesome because I have been writing for some time now and I have not been very brave and talked about it or shown my writing to people and part of that is being scared of vulnerability (having all my feelings out there is not as easy as it seems!), but a bigger part of that is a touch of embarrassment.

If you have met me in real life, well, I honestly have no idea what you think. I am going to guess you have recognized my passion, maybe you have been the unfortunate recipient of my fiery indictments, perhaps you have looked at me and thought to yourself, “Why is that woman yelling?” And it is not because I am an angry person, but because I am passionate about things. I freaking care a whole lot and I love that part of myself and I do not want to let it go. I like to debate with people and argue with them and bring up points and counter points and I do not shy away from tough conversations, like those about race and class and gender.

Yet for all my wanting very hard to be “hardcore” and above touchy-feely feelings, to be that cool person who just puts the truth out there and drops the mic, I am hopelessly un-cool. It is not an easy job, but at the end of the day, I am a touchy-feely, empathizing, “call me when you’re feeling sad,” social worker. I want to have that aloof, “I could take him or leave him,” cool approach to my marriage, but I am hopelessly, ridiculously in love with my husband in a decidedly un-cool way. And I would love to sit down and write an original, scathing indictment of the way our society systematically denies people of color, poor people, LGBT people their rights, but when I sit down to write, out comes feelings and empathy and vulnerability and body acceptance.

I wish the first thing someone had ever looked at and said was worth publishing on their website or in their magazine or anywhere really was something cooler than an essay about how much I love my husband, our wedding day, and my mommy dying, but it is not. So, I was a little bit embarrassed.

But I have been doing some thinking in the last 24 hours and I have come to a certain realization: these two halves of me are not on opposite ends of some personality, badass spectrum. We do not have the touchy-feely and the staunch battling each other out for the soul of humanity. I am not Black or poor or a lesbian or transgender, so why do I care so passionately about the fates of people who are? That right there is empathy. People marching in Ferguson, Missouri because one of their neighbors, an un-armed teenager on his way to college was shot dead in the street, reminding everyone of the immense pain that comes from the lack of safety for Black children (and adults) in this country? That right there is a hugely admirable amount of vulnerability. Here in Kentucky, people talking to their city councils and pleading for ordinances that would ensure gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people cannot be fired from their jobs or kicked out of their homes for being who they are and loving who they love? That is taking the conversation to an uncomfortable level of honesty and speaking the truth to bring a whole community to a higher level of understanding and unity. This kind of work (dismantling the structures of oppression within our society) is heart work. It IS vulnerability and empathy and truthfulness.

So what does that mean for me personally? Well, for starters, it means I am not going to be embarrassed my first published piece of writing was not a scathing indictment of society. Mostly because it is not what I want to write, but also because I do not think that is the part I want to play in this work. 

I think that people of color and poor people and LGBT people have demonstrated an incredible amount of vulnerability. People have spoken up and said, “This is what it’s like for me living here in this country.” Many people with privilege (white people, straight people, people who have enough money) have listened. Still many more of those same people have heard that vulnerability, doubled down, and refused to listen. Or worse, viewed that vulnerability as their own oppression, which is just ridiculous.  

What I am trying to say is these kinds of conversations require all those touchy-feely feelings. These are not non-essential things. These are vital traits and tools of interaction. They get at the very ways in which we understand one another. So, I vow to stop pretending like they do not matter and to stop being embarrassed when I re-read my blog posts and feel like a motivational poster because I have decided it is not un-cool to be genuine, to authentically listen and express one’s self, to be vulnerable and make yourself available for another person to be safely vulnerable. And if it is un-cool, oh well. I have gone this far being un-cool, maybe it is time I accept it.  

In Defense of the Uncomfortable Level of Honesty

There is a quote from the Baha’i writings that I really love: “Truthfulness is the foundation of all human virtues.” I love it because it is so all-encompassing, yet simple. Think about it: how can we really, truly develop kindness, empathy, love, knowledge without truthfulness? If we are being honest, many of the teachings of the Faith I hold dear do not come easily and naturally to me. I am almost proud of my level of ongoing personal rebellion, I typically live my life in excess, I come by honestly my disgusting propensity for picking out what I dislike about others, it takes me a fairly long amount of time to forgive…in many respects, my belief in the Baha’i faith is in spite of my less than sterling qualities, not because of.

HOWEVER, truthfulness I can get behind pretty easily. It comes naturally. I am a terrible liar. It makes me all clammy and sick to my stomach and I inevitably end up smiling when I do not mean too. Plus, my eyes well up with tears for no reason. What kind of a reaction even is that?! I am also in possession of an inability to not be heard, so speaking my mind (a form of truthfulness) is not something with which I struggle.

I typically get one of two opposite reactions to my speaking the uncomfortable truth: “Do you really have to rock the boat? Maybe it’s just you.” or “I’m so glad you said something! Now I know where I stand.” Is there a place and time for holding your tongue out of politeness? You bet! Am I referring to the words that rise immediately out of anger, the ones that taste so ugly in your mouth you know you should not let them out? Hell no. That is not the kind of honesty I am talking about. That is self-serving honesty. That is not speaking the truth or even your truth, it is being childish. You may feel better having spoken them, but they do not contribute to the overall good. I am talking about the honesty that comes from reflecting on how you feel and understanding that even if what you have to say will be difficult to say and hear, it will contribute to the greater unity and understanding of the group or the relationship.

It is a little harder for me to be honest with members of my faith community, mostly because I am deeply self-conscious of my own ability to be a “good Baha’i” and in the last few years, I am finding it harder to fit a particular mold I see. I desperately want my faith to grow and change with the needs of the society in which it exists. I want it to welcome all people and experiences and just plain be better. But we are learning. We do not always get it right, but we are learning and I think that is why I stick with it: because in was other religion am I able to speak the way I do to those in power, say “I disagree,” and be heard and consulted with love? How often do we admit our mistakes as a community and move forward? We are still learning how to do that, but it is the ultimate goal, which I appreciate. We value the process, not just the product. So I stick with it and I speak up. I speak out when something is not right, when I get a feeling in my gut. I (try) to do it kindly and I am not always successful, but I do not walk away from the discomfort because I care about what happens.

Sadly, in all that community learning and growing, my heart has been hurt fairly often. As Baha’is, we have a lot of teachings about the life of the soul and life after death and the importance of detachment and sacrifice and how tests help us grow. It is also a wonderful ideal and standard, but in the day to day, we are still human being struggling to do what human being try to do: live successfully. And losing your mother…dude. It’ll test that very human of human things we do.

On the day my mother died, I posted on Facebook and a Baha’i literally commented, “I’m so happy for her!” Another Baha’i who had called to ask me to be on a committee told me to take all the time I needed, but decided a couple weeks was enough and why wasn’t I doing what I needed to do? Other Baha’is asked too many personal questions of me and my family, feeling entitled to details. I was told she would not want me to grieve, that I should be thankful I had her at all. Once I confided in someone I love very much about four months after my mom died that I was having a hard, sad day and she said to me, “Why? Oh, you’re still sad about that?” I have talked a lot about empathy here, so there is that and blah blah blah, but I am just trying to say that it hurt. And I so, so want us as Baha’is to do better! So after months of saying nothing, I got a comment, fairly innocuous, that I could not let go. I chewed on it for two weeks and then I wrote an email.

I explained that my feelings were hurt and why and my concern at even sharing my hurt feelings, but that I want people to do better so I share. And you know what I got back? The most genuine, loving apology via email and then a phone call with another genuine apology and time spent consulting with me about how things could go better and how I could feel better about my role and what should have been said and again, a heartfelt apology and embarrassment at having said what was said. Honestly, the grace, compassion, empathy, and humility this person displayed was breath-taking. She should teach classes on how to do what she did. And I felt so heard and understood.

I have realized in recent months that speaking uncomfortable truths is actually one of my life missions. It is my goal to bring to the forefront the things of which people are uncomfortable to talk, endure a moment’s awkwardness, then feel the relief of everything being at the surface and begin the work of muddling through it. Because if we cannot acknowledge those uncomfortable truths, are we ever really being genuine with one another. And if not, what is even the point?