Zen and the Trigger -- or, More Work to Do

For context: I do not have a #metoo story. I am the rare woman who does not—I did not know HOW rare until the last year or so. So many of my closest friends have been affected by harassment, assault, or abuse, I am appalled.

The fact that these women have gone on to do amazing things in defiance of what happened (or happens—ongoing in the workplace) to them inspires me beyond adequate words.

In my younger days people were mean to me because I exuded dorkiness, and back in the pre-Bill Gates days being a nerd was not so much understood as a key to power; now more folks understand that the smart folks will eventually inherit the earth, so to speak.  I rarely think about the perils of 1980s nerd-dom now, but when I see mean behavior directed towards my children, my response reflects my past, as well as my knowledge of how hard we fought to keep my child alive.

So—the thing that triggered me this week was the public discussion of a Supreme Court nominee’s yearbook.

I have wrestled for days with whether I should write about this or not.  But only through wrestling with vulnerability can courage be found (Brene Brown’s Dose of Daring for the week!)…so here we go.

At the end of the day, it is only partly my story to tell, so I can really only say that there was a situation in 2016 in which some male students tried to put a demeaning joke about my daughter in their class yearbook—in a small, Christ centered school, in a class with less than 30 students, most of whom had been in school with my G since kindergarten, through her entire brain tumor battle. 

I caught it—because in a peculiar twist of cruelty, they TOLD my daughter, knowing she would not understand the reference, and they did not realize that She Who Is A Walking Press Release would instantly tell me. And I know all the things.  I. Know. All. The. Things.

I am proud to say that being a nerd involves having encyclopedic random knowledge that occasionally comes in handy. Ugh.

Without going into more details than that—the yearbook advisor had NOT seen or approved this (and horrified—she got the reference, too -- and put the kibosh on it instantly), the principal (a mighty woman I deeply respect) rained down righteous fury and the day was saved. My daughter wanted to just move on, and respecting her wishes, we did.

At graduation I had a moment…when a male Board member spoke about the beautiful relationships formed in high school that would last a lifetime, the saintly students…in that moment I was torn between wanting to scream BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO like the crone in Princess Bride, and between screaming “bleepity bleep, Brain tumors, SHE GRADUATES TODAY!”…so ultimately I made the right choice and screamed NOTHING, I was in church, after all, and chose to embrace the abundant and hard-earned joys of the day…and tried really, really hard to put this behind me, because after all, that day was a victory for my mighty girl. 

And we moved on in the joy of that victory, and college has been a thousand times better for my daughter, and we are trying to all live happily ever after, ish.

But in the rhetoric of this week, the discussions about high school and saintliness and yadda yadda…I realized that there is a trigger for me—and bam, I was right back in the emotions of that week.  I realized Dagnabit, I have a lot of forgiving work to do STILL.

I THOUGHT I HAD DONE THE FORGIVING!

Dagnabit.

Zen? What zen? I don't have no stinking zen!

Dagnabit.

I still have so much work to do.

And yes, when frustrated I do talk to myself like Yosemite Sam. What in tarnation?

Sigh.

I return again to an amazing link perpetually open on my phone,— (language alert in title)  Forgive Assholes, by Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber . I need to remember that I can forgive and break that chain of connection to the wrongdoing. 

Watch her 2 Minute Talk on Forgiveness HERE

“Forgiveness is about being a freedom-fighter!”

The transcript of this is the first page of my bullet journal—and will be on every subsequent bullet journal I create.  You may find it helpful. I found it profound in all kinds of ways.

 I need to keep working, so I can be free.

I am so rattled by things I have not yet exercised today, or prayed, or done yoga, or anything. I had to think. And then I had to speak, to my friends…

 I will not comment here on the politics of this week. That is not what this blog is for, and I am all kinds of upset over what I have observed this week, especially from men I respect.  But these last few weeks have put me, without any personal history of sexual assault or abuse, in a really uncomfortable place—I cannot begin to fathom how painful this is for my survivor friends.  The “if it was that bad you would have come forward sooner”…the ignorance of the research on the way victims deal with assault…of all of these things are leaving new wounds on victims who deserve love and support.

THIS IS NOT A STATEMENT ON WHETHER OR NOT YOU THINK A PARTY IS GUILTY OR NOT. THIS IS ABOUT THE EFFECT OF THE NATIONAL CONVERSATION ON THE HEARTS AND MINDS AND SOULS OF SURVIVORS.

I must say, for my friends, my strong, amazing friends for whom this week has been an excruciating trigger for painful memories:

I love you.

I am sorry.

You are mighty, and brave, and worthy of all good things.

Your zen may be rattled right now. But know that YOU ARE LOVED. YOU ARE MIGHTY. YOU ARE WORTHY OF ALL GOOD THINGS.  You can find peace, your zen. I will stand with you. Probably awkwardly, and I will  nervously chatter about random things...but I . Am. With. You. 

YOU are not defined by rhetoric or being unheard or judged by those who have not even seen your shoes, let alone walked in them. 

You are strong just in every day that you keep going. Even when you don’t feel strong.

I hear you.  I see you. I am inspired to be a better me because of you.

For young women who may now be afraid to speak— you are not alone.  You too are mighty and worthy and will be heard by women who have walked the road before you.

The triggers will come. As a brain tumor parent, I know this is true…at a routine appointment a few weeks back I had to wear a medical robe that smelled like the detergent at CHOP…and my brain was instantly back in the awful days of scary inpatient days.  Certain songs, pictures, smells put me right back in the early days of our journey.

I will not let those triggers rule me, but I cannot deny their reality. Accepting them and working through them is part of finding Zen.

For my friends who have suffered so much this week especially, don’t give up.  We can help each other find that Zen.