Weebly, you used to hold things for me to come back and finish them. Now I come back to an empty page. Whiiiiiiy? Okay, truth is I know why. It's just me giving in to the need to whine this morning. So, let's do this.
Yes, I used the thirteen-letter grand poobah of naughty words in the hed. No, I did not misspell hed. After a fairly public crisis of faith, I need to clarify that I am still Christian. Jesus and I are still hanging in there. Jesus does not care if I type "motherfucker." Not that I intend to make it a habit. This is not borne of some revelation that came to me from a burning bush or a divinely delivered message through a dream. A co-religionist muttered a shorter version of that word online after we all learned of an unprovoked act of brutality that took a life.
Until that moment, I felt very alone. As a Christian, I had started to color outside of the lines. My spiritual practice was veering into Merton territory. The heart of it was still in the middle of the Abrahamic Triad, but the day-to-day, minute-to-minute, breath-to-breath reality was synthesis-a-go-go. 'Scuse me for a moment. I need to pause before I hyphenventilate.
In the midst of all of this, an editor saw some things I wrote and made me a well-intentioned offer he thought I couldn't refuse. Okay, I know this was a mix of good intentions and an ulterior motive that would be answered. How do I put this? This guy hates Nashville. He hates Nashville fans. For years, he read what I wrote about Nashville hockey and it made it bearable to him the same way people who hate magic shows love Penn and Teller.
To him and everyone else in my corner of the world, this was something a lot of people might see as a cause for me to celebrate. My reaction was pretty much the opposite. What is the expression internet people use these days? I crashed out at the thought of long days spent walking around rinks and arenas by myself, feeling bullied and excluded by my peers and harassed by people who had no reason to do so and nothing to fear from me personally or professionally. At the time, any mention of this was met with the response that I was the problem and I needed be friendlier and at the same time leather up. While I met some good people and made some friends, overall, it wasn't the happiest year of my life.
There was one other elephant in the room: The people I allowed to make me feel this way were, with one exception, professing Christians who made this a big part of their public identities. It was hard to take then, it is hard to take now. I could not, would not go back and try so hard to put a happy face on everything.
There's one more thing I need to bring up and I know I have brought it up before. I started using a pen name because the first few years out of college, I worked with tweens and teens who had been sexually abused. Seeing my legal name might trigger former patients. I am also a survivor of sexual violence. I have seen what those children carry and know what I have had to do to move on. Want to sit behind me in the bowl at Bridgestone and talk about how women really want to be fucked from behind while someone held a gun in their mouth? Netstazlk and threaten me because you didn't agree with my religion or politics, neither of which I never mentioned at work? Want to act like a middle school kid to impress your celebrity friends? Laugh when I was groped by intoxicated fans on a photographers perch the night my usual cohort was away shooting at another event? It's not funny. None of that was okay. I thought I'd put it all behind me and yet those were the memories that came back. So when I got that offer and really thought about it, I got ill.
I told my Nashville-hating friend, "no" and he would not take that for an answer. I told him to find someone else and then send the letter he needed to send to the media coordinator to get them credentialed. He wants me to wait until rookie camp and then give him an answer. My out is that the organization might say no anyway, which is fine with me. It's probably fine with him because he has an excuse to use AP feeds if he wants to cover the team. Writing this will hopefully get him to see that this isn't me being a brat. Aside from finally getting it all out there, it is to let him know there are very good reasons for me to write from home if at all. It is also a wakeup call to listen more and support people when they tell you something is wrong. Most important of all, in admitting this happened, it takes away the feeling that I failed.
At this point, I'll keep on writing. I'll keep on creating. This is where and when I walk past what hurt me and those where were okay with it. It is where I admit I was not okay with what happened and for a little while, I will allow myself to be okay with not being okay. Well, okay then.
Squeak!
Mouse
Yes, I used the thirteen-letter grand poobah of naughty words in the hed. No, I did not misspell hed. After a fairly public crisis of faith, I need to clarify that I am still Christian. Jesus and I are still hanging in there. Jesus does not care if I type "motherfucker." Not that I intend to make it a habit. This is not borne of some revelation that came to me from a burning bush or a divinely delivered message through a dream. A co-religionist muttered a shorter version of that word online after we all learned of an unprovoked act of brutality that took a life.
Until that moment, I felt very alone. As a Christian, I had started to color outside of the lines. My spiritual practice was veering into Merton territory. The heart of it was still in the middle of the Abrahamic Triad, but the day-to-day, minute-to-minute, breath-to-breath reality was synthesis-a-go-go. 'Scuse me for a moment. I need to pause before I hyphenventilate.
In the midst of all of this, an editor saw some things I wrote and made me a well-intentioned offer he thought I couldn't refuse. Okay, I know this was a mix of good intentions and an ulterior motive that would be answered. How do I put this? This guy hates Nashville. He hates Nashville fans. For years, he read what I wrote about Nashville hockey and it made it bearable to him the same way people who hate magic shows love Penn and Teller.
To him and everyone else in my corner of the world, this was something a lot of people might see as a cause for me to celebrate. My reaction was pretty much the opposite. What is the expression internet people use these days? I crashed out at the thought of long days spent walking around rinks and arenas by myself, feeling bullied and excluded by my peers and harassed by people who had no reason to do so and nothing to fear from me personally or professionally. At the time, any mention of this was met with the response that I was the problem and I needed be friendlier and at the same time leather up. While I met some good people and made some friends, overall, it wasn't the happiest year of my life.
There was one other elephant in the room: The people I allowed to make me feel this way were, with one exception, professing Christians who made this a big part of their public identities. It was hard to take then, it is hard to take now. I could not, would not go back and try so hard to put a happy face on everything.
There's one more thing I need to bring up and I know I have brought it up before. I started using a pen name because the first few years out of college, I worked with tweens and teens who had been sexually abused. Seeing my legal name might trigger former patients. I am also a survivor of sexual violence. I have seen what those children carry and know what I have had to do to move on. Want to sit behind me in the bowl at Bridgestone and talk about how women really want to be fucked from behind while someone held a gun in their mouth? Netstazlk and threaten me because you didn't agree with my religion or politics, neither of which I never mentioned at work? Want to act like a middle school kid to impress your celebrity friends? Laugh when I was groped by intoxicated fans on a photographers perch the night my usual cohort was away shooting at another event? It's not funny. None of that was okay. I thought I'd put it all behind me and yet those were the memories that came back. So when I got that offer and really thought about it, I got ill.
I told my Nashville-hating friend, "no" and he would not take that for an answer. I told him to find someone else and then send the letter he needed to send to the media coordinator to get them credentialed. He wants me to wait until rookie camp and then give him an answer. My out is that the organization might say no anyway, which is fine with me. It's probably fine with him because he has an excuse to use AP feeds if he wants to cover the team. Writing this will hopefully get him to see that this isn't me being a brat. Aside from finally getting it all out there, it is to let him know there are very good reasons for me to write from home if at all. It is also a wakeup call to listen more and support people when they tell you something is wrong. Most important of all, in admitting this happened, it takes away the feeling that I failed.
At this point, I'll keep on writing. I'll keep on creating. This is where and when I walk past what hurt me and those where were okay with it. It is where I admit I was not okay with what happened and for a little while, I will allow myself to be okay with not being okay. Well, okay then.
Squeak!
Mouse
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