Fuck gratitude

I know I've not written often of late. There was a long gap and then my first post back was a big one (I won’t apologize for that first post back being one with significant weight.) Current events had kept me up (they still do), worried in ways I didn’t expect and I ultimately decided to share for reasons explained in the post. I wasn't been absent for any one reason. Just life. I felt my content was getting stale and I had nothing more to say. Friendship felt a narrow topic. I couldn’t keep track of code names I had given people. And, I was tired. And, lazy.

Several folks have asked me about writing again and while I would get a spark of an idea once in a while, nothing really stuck. After all, the writing was more for me – if others wanted to read it, great. If they enjoyed it, even better. It turns out, I rarely run out of things to say. No one is less surprised by that than me. So, I’m back. I may or may not be talking about the beauty of friendships – or the bullshit of them. I won’t use code names for my friends but I won’t publicly out them either. I’ll leave it up to them to admit they know me. If they have something to say, I trust they will. My friends are rarely at a loss for words. 

So, I'm going try and get at this more regularly. It’s been a while. I hope you’ve been well. What have you been up to? What have I been up to you ask? Well, I’ve decided to say “Fuck you” to gratitude – and before you get your gracious knickers in a twist, read on.

 

Don’t get me wrong, I recognize how lucky I am. I have my health, an amazing daughter and family, terrific friends and a job I don’t hate. But the relentless platitudes of gratitude, of only focusing on the positive, being grateful for every little thing and cherish every moment is bullshit. It not only pushes aside the very real range of emotions that people have every day, but tells them those emotions are wrong.

“That accident/incident sounds terrible. You should just be grateful it wasn’t much worse,” or “Well, that’s what insurance is for – you’re lucky you have it.”

You are allowed to be angry. Your anger does not negate any other feeling you may have. Anger does not mean you don’t love someone, are unable to move on or are not appreciative that things could, indeed, be worse. The fact is, sometimes you need to process that anger in order to move forward. Being angry sometimes is normal. If you are never angry – where the hell are you stuffing your emotions? Are you drinking them? Eating them? Taking it out on others? I’ve done all of that – none of it works. Being angry does not mean you are ungrateful.

“Oh look at that precious baby/darling child (who is clearly not being precious or darling), just cherish this time, it goes so fast.”

Seriously? You are allowed to be super annoyed, frustrated, at the end of your rope with your kid. Let’s face it, great kids can still sometimes be assholes. Sometimes they are too little to realize; often times they are old enough to know better. My daughter is out of the toddler phase and I can assure you that while there is much to miss about that time – I do not miss tantrums, sleepless nights and potty training nor do I look back on them with any nostalgia. I may laugh about them more often now – but time does that with many things. Parenting is hard and sometimes, we're simply exhausted and at the end of our emotional rope. Thinking your kid is sometimes an asshole does not diminish your love for your kid or how lucky you know you are to have him/her.

“You should feel lucky you have such a good job.”

You are allowed to fucking hate your job sometimes. Because frankly, sometimes my job sucks. The deadlines are unreasonable, the people are twats and the lack of resources is frustrating. Venting is okay – as long as it’s not the only thing you do. Sometimes, you need to get it out in order to become part of the solution and be a more productive team member. My venting does not mean that I don’t recognize how lucky – or grateful - I am to have my job. Just means that that sometimes, it sucks.

“People just need to be nice to one another. I mean, I’m sure he didn’t mean what he said.”

You are allowed to pissed off at the state of current affairs. You can vent, vote, protest and spew forth your views. For me personally, it helps to back it up with facts. But being told to “suck it up” or just “focus on the positive” is frankly a privilege afforded to those not affected by things that are happening. Being angry or afraid is okay and very real – those feelings aren’t diminished because things are going well for you or you choose not to engage.

“Consider yourself lucky your [insert family member] is available to help you, just ignore what s/he says,” or “Just ignore move on.”

You are allowed to be fed up with your family. Family can be frustrating as hell. I don’t have any family living near me – this is both a blessing and a curse and I can easily see both sides of that coin. I remember talking to my brother about this – we may fight, we may disagree, we may live miles apart but at the end of the day, I know my family would be there should I need it. That doesn’t mean that don’t annoy the ever-loving fuck out of me sometimes (as I’m sure I annoy them, as well.) And, I say that with the utmost love. This doesn’t mean that I am not grateful for them.

“I’m cutting all negative people out of my life. I am just going to practice gratitude every day and want to be surrounded by positivity only.”

Well aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine. Hope you’re not indulging in any unhealthy behaviors to manage those less than positive emotions – you know, like eating too much, drinking, drugs or making otherwise poor or unhealthy choices. Hope you’re not desperately trying to control every aspect of your environment, to create a self-imposed bubble that must be exhausting to maintain. And, what a great friend you must be to only want to deal with your friends who are going through a good time. It’s easy to get everyone to ride with you in the limousine – you may have less company when you have to take the bus but you will find out who are your real friends. I’m actually a pretty optimistic person but that doesn’t mean I don’t go through bouts of trying times when I’m less than chipper. This doesn't mean I'm not a positive person and that I am not grateful for my life. My real friends know that.

“They lived a good long life,” or “It’s nature’s way or God’s way of….,” or “At least you already have one (or another) child,” or “It was just a dog/cat/horse, you’re lucky you can go get another.”

I can’t even with these. Grief is deeply personal and there is no rulebook. Grief is painful and lonely and long-lasting. It may be deeply rooted and it may appear to move through someone quickly. There is no comfort in telling a grieving parent to be grateful for a surviving child or that they can have another. Knowing a parent or grandparent lived a long and happy life does not make you grateful for the pain you may feel at their passing. And for so many, me included, our pets are family and their loss is just as devastating and unique to each animal. Grief is normal and real. It is not something we move through but learn to live with as a new normal has to be defined. Grief does not mean you were not grateful for what you had – it just means you’re in pain as you learn to live with that loss.

“Just cheer up. It’s up to you to be happy.”

Okay, just fuck that shit. It’s completely normal to have a case of the blues, to be struggling with anxiety or overwhelmed by something happening in your life or around you. It's normal to just have a bad day. For some, sadness, fear, anxiety and depression are so overwhelming that it’s hard to function. These feelings may be short-lived but for many they are lifetime struggle. A pithy platitude of, “Choose happiness,” is patronizing, dismissive and arrogant. Gratitude is not unique to happy people, it just may show itself differently in different people.

At the end of the day, it is important to appreciate what you have and be grateful for what you receive. It is a good thing to treat others with kindness for no other reason than it's the right thing to do and besides, being kind feels way better than being an asshole (most of the time.) But don’t diminish the very real feelings of someone who may be in a different place than you are. Feelings are real – whether they are the ones you are having or are familiar with or don’t understand. Anger, anxiety, frustration and fear are as real as happiness, joy, and contentment. Part of being authentic – is not only having those range of emotions but acknowledging them, learning from them, seeking help in managing them and accepting these emotions are part of you or your family and friends.

We must quit telling people to stop feeling [insert emotion] and just replace what is perceived as a negative feeling with “happiness” or “gratitude” – that is more likely your own discomfort with those emotions and not theirs. Learn to sit in your own discomfort – you don’t always have to say something or fix someone. Sometimes, just acknowledging those emotions in yourself or others is enough. Remember, privilege is thinking that because something isn’t a problem for you, it isn’t a problem for anyone. Empathy is recognizing that, being supportive and wanting things to be better for all people. Gratitude is being thankful you can help, thanking those that helped you and recognizing that privilege in the first place.

Josh Lieb once said, “Gratitude can sometimes be as annoying as whininess.”

I don't know Josh Lieb but man, I like him.

Do You Believe Me?

I am shaking as I type this. I’ve very rarely talked about it. And, before I post this, I will have the most difficult conversation – I will tell this story to my almost 14-year old daughter. 

I often misplace my keys. I cannot always remember where I parked my car. I’ve even called my daughter by my sister’s name and called my dog my daughter’s name. But I remember this clearly. I remember what I was wearing and what I was doing. I remember the month and year and week, if not the exact date. I remember the friends who kind of laughed and blew it off and those who took it seriously and checked on me. I remember the police officer (male because at that time, it was not the norm to have a female officer handle this type of report) shaking his head and saying there wasn’t much he could do.

Beach Week, June 1982. I was 17-years old and like many in my area, I headed to the beach for a week of completely unsupervised fun. I knew of no parents going. In fact, I rented an apartment for the week (through someone in my neighborhood) and several friends chipped in to pay for it. We all drove down in our own cars. Hoards of us – rejoicing from our recent high school graduation and ready to celebrate with unbridled behavior.

I had partied and played most of the week but on this particular night, I was staying home. We were preparing to host a party the next night and I wanted a quiet – and sober – night in. I vaguely remember making mac and cheese for dinner. My purse on the counter of the small kitchen. A couple that was staying there was out for the evening, two others went out for a reason I don’t remember but they brought home more than food and drink. They had met a couple of boys and brought them back.

I was in the smaller bedroom. You had to walk through this room to get to the master bedroom and bath. I was lying on my side, facing the wall. The lights were out as I was trying to sleep but there was ample light from the kitchen on one end and the master bed and bath on the other. I was not wearing regular pajamas but a tan velour romper I had made in Home Economics. It was shorts but strapless. I was lying under a light blanket, my long hair loose and my eyes closed. Someone walked through the room to the bath and left again. Shortly after, another person came through. On his way back out, he stopped by my bed and said something. I remember saying something to the effect that I was trying to sleep. He flips me on my back and sits on top of me, straddling my body. My long hair is caught and pulling – it’s hard to turn my head. He is laughing and encouraging me to play. I say no and he pulls the top of my romper down. My breasts are exposed and he grabs at me. I am now fully awake, saying no and scared. There are people just outside but they are laughing and drinking and likely don’t know the gravity of what is happening. He is leaning forward, his face in mine and grabbing my breasts. He leans back a bit and laughs. I reach out and grab his crotch and twist. Not sure how much of him versus his clothes that I got but I just did it. He cursed and pushed off me. He ran out of the room, grabbed his friend and they left.

I told the girls in the other room what happened. They were not overly sympathetic but asked how I was. They were laughing about it – not at me, but at the whole situation. I’m not entirely sure they were completely sober - I was. We then realized he had also robbed me. He took my tan leather wallet that had my money, my dad’s Exxon card, my license. If memory serves, he may have also taken my friends’ wallets. We knew his name.

We went to the police. At the time, the Maryland beaches were small towns and the police station we went to was in a trailer. We reported the theft and I remember him rolling his eyes at girls that had allowed strange boys into their apartment. I didn’t tell him about the assault. I could tell by the look on his face that I would be blamed. I was ashamed. It was a “he said – she said” situation. I told my parents that I had lost my wallet. I’m certain I wove some story around it.

Word spread what had happened and we cancelled our party for the next night. I was mostly left alone but I do remember one friend and her boyfriend at the time – they called, they came by. Was I okay? Did I need anything? I remember her anger at the situation – at our other friends bringing strangers in, at what had happened. That type of stuff pissed her off – still does. I’m proud to say that this person is still one of my closest friends. I don’t know if she remembers this – we’ve not talked about it since. I don’t know if she realizes how much her reaching out meant to me.

We went home a day or so later. The Baltimore Police Dept called to tell me they had found my wallet and my stepfather picked it up for me. It was a good leather wallet – I remember saving to buy at Georgetown Leather. I threw it out.

The following week I started my summer job as a camp counselor at a local day camp. I drank a lot on the weekends. One weekend, some fellow counselors and I were drinking at camp well after camp hours. We were playing drinking games. The camp director was with us. I remember he kept moving closer to me, touching me. One of the other counselors noticed this and asked if I was okay. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, the director followed me. I know I was more than tipsy. I remember when I came out of the bathroom, he was right there. He backed me up against the wall, he kissed me. I was not fully coherent but I remember turning my head. I then remember that other counselor was there – looking for me. He brought me back to the table and stayed by my side. This was shortly before my 18^th birthday. The camp director was likely in his 30’s. I knew I was really lucky "nothing" had happened....until I got fired a few weeks later as rumors swirled.

Shortly thereafter, I went away to college. Just a short distance away near Baltimore. That friend that checked up on me at the beach was there, too. We further cemented our friendship. I made other friends, important ones. The kind where we would have deep and meaningful conversations. I never told them. I was in a campus building one day, there were pictures of faculty members on the wall. A lot of pictures. But one caught my eye so quickly there may as well been a light shining on it. The face was so familiar but more importantly, the name. The name was the same as that boy from the beach. His father was on the faculty. I remember that name to this day.

I changed schools after my freshman year and moved across country. I told myself and everyone else that I just really wanted to go to California. It was far from my parents, my brother was there and that was where I wanted to be. I did not have enough self-awareness at the time to link my experiences with my move. I'm sure it contributed to it my rash decision to re-locate. I don’t regret that move.

Some say that we are the sum of our experiences. I like to believe that the negative experiences are lessons and while I’m not a better person for having had those things happen, I've tried to grow as a person and learn about myself.

I share this not to seek sympathy. I share this because I know many people – friends, colleagues, friends of friends – who think they do not know anyone who had experiences like the ones we’re reading so much about. I want to tell them that they are wrong – they know me.

I share this because I am more than that experience.

I share this because it’s important that my daughter know that there is no shame in telling about this. I will always believe her.

I share this because I know others are afraid to share their experiences.

I share this because I believe the other victims.

 

Yes, I know times have changed – perspective has changed, the crime has not.

Yes, I’ve heard boys will be boys – but those boys grow into men and perpetuate the behavior and belief. It’s an ugly cycle.

Yes, I have moved on – and he likely has, too. In fact, he’s probably never thought twice about what happened. I think about it every single time I hear a story about violence against women. Every. Single.Time.

While typing this, I was shaking, short of breath and crying – afraid to blink because I see it happening again. So, while I may not remember where my phone is or what I needed in the kitchen, I will always remember this. Some things you simply don’t forget.

 

If you have been a victim of sexual assault – you are not alone. Talk to your friends, family and reach out to the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-4673. We believe you.

Update: Lucky is not the right word but best describes how I feel about my experiences compared to others. That said, this is not a contest. Each person that experiences this is - hopefully - a survivor. We cannot diminish the experience that others may have, we can only validate, offer support and believe.