America - Trends in Victim Blaming and a Lack of Impulse Control

I can't help but feel in that light of recent events, we have a problem in this country with victim-blaming. I know this isn't a new thing to highlight and yet, as a woman who is at greater risk for sexual assault, I have found comments related to police brutality and what the victims could have done to prevent their murders to be quite triggering. Rather than saying, we need to deal with our issues of impulse control and a propensity towards violence (which is a critical piece to both police brutality and sexual assault), we want to run a post-mortem or post-attack rap sheet on victims, further victimizing already targeted groups. Frankly, what the victim is wearing, whether or not they have a criminal record is no indication of their worthiness of being violated. They are not worthy of being violated. There is no such thing as being worthy of victimization. That's the whole point. They were preyed upon and the responsibility for such immoral activity must rest in the hands of the person who performed such atrocities. 
We want to believe we live in a world where good behavior increases our likelihood for safety. While I'm sure being respectful to police officers in specific situations may have been helpful, insinuating that respectful words and tones will keep people from being brutalized inevitably blames the victim for their own death. And frankly, it's fundamentally untrue that this will keep black people safe. As if it isn't difficult enough to reconcile the wrongful death, we have to heap responsibility on the victims and their families shoulders. It's wrong. Frankly, a lot of wrongful deaths in police interactions occur before the victim is even able to provide identification, thereby making all information about them after the fact completely irrelevant.
Why can't we just say, people with privilege (cops in these brutality cases, rapists in cases of assault) need to gain better control of their fear and need to dominate another person? This even goes back to my philosophy about parenting. I have more privilege than my children. Therefore, I must be the bigger person. If my children are violent towards me, that does not excuse me to be violent towards them. I must stay calm. I must de-escalate. I am capable of maintaining control without asserting domination. How can we expect our constituents to respect police authority when the policemen victimize their communities? Privilege needs greater accountability. If we begin to respect those with less privilege, then fair treatment will result. As fair treatment becomes consistent, attitudes will shift over time. If the police have lost respect, then they need to work to gain it back. It's easier to accept discipline from a safe person than from someone who might shoot you for obeying their orders. This is easy for me to see as a white person who has never been scared of the police. 
We have this weird idea in our culture that "real men don't back down." Our police force can't safely de-escalate because we believe the authoritative response to force is greater force. We want to be bigger, more powerful, further weaponized (hello bomb-robots!) in order to protect ourselves from each other. We need to look within and recognize that the "other" isn't the problem. The problem is our gaping need for security. This need for personal security is relegating communal security as a secondary priority. And when push comes to shove (literally), we choose self-preservation every time. I understand that this is a human instinct. It's part of how we've survived each other this long. And yet, I want to believe that we can learn to prioritize the group over self. Our culture is so individualized that we do not know how to deal with our connection to each other. So many of us feel brutalized over the week's events (I know I can't speak into this really as a non-member of the black community). Why? Because we are connected. Deep down, we want peace. We want to find a way to make the community safe without having to die in the process. We've got our work cut out for us, for sure. I think we should start with sitting in our fears, taking responsibility for our impulses and refusing to blame victims for their deaths.

Breathe in Life and Grace

It's such a gift to feel like after speaking with your Reverend, you've breathed in fresh air. I feel really lucky to be building that relationship, as it's a balm to my soul both from past experiences that were unhealthy and from the pain this world inflicts on me day to day. One of the things we talked about today was how we connect with God. I've struggled with my relationship with the Bible these last few years. As soon as I open that cover, it's like I'm pressing play on all my Church of Christ tapes and I can't seem to press stop until I close it again. I've studied the Bible A LOT. And when you read the same version and hear the same lessons, they make an imprint. Many of us pursued that relentlessly. This was not something put upon me. This was something I chose. And yet now, I can't seem to un-choose it. And so I wonder, how can I connect with God without listening to tapes that reinforce shame and cause me to set aside my humility and compassion? 
I was raised to believe that the Bible was a critical piece to faith. That I must submit to the Bible's authority in order to be close to God. And while I believe through my writing and various other activities and relationships I am pursuing God, I haven't felt close to Him since I put down the Bible, like I had confidence in what I knew He was doing. I'm a lot less likely to attribute events to Him, motives to Him, politics to Him, disasters or blessings to Him. I hesitate to put His name on stuff. I admit that I'm not totally sure what He is or isn't actively doing in the world right now. But I feel more in tune that when I see Him, I feel love, grace, mercy, forgiveness. I see Him in neighbors and friends standing up for each other. I see Him in children. I see Him in activism. But I don't "know" as much. I am less likely to "know" and a lot more likely to "hope." I believe this has made me a better person and has taught me to tune into and use my voice. Yet, sometimes I wonder, am I close to God? Is that even really possible? Or is my western idea of God interacting with us personally all the time, just that, a western, modern idea?
I've had to sift through all my faith experiences and just like when you move and sort into piles, I'm figuring out what goes in the "church pile", "God pile", and "human error pile." It's not easy and it's wildly subjective (pretty major factor in the "not easy" part). 
My Reverend and I discussed many ways to connect with God. She suggested I tune in to how I feel close to Him already (in nature, through self-expression, art, music) and to implement those practices into my regular life. She talked about how spiritual practice is just that, practice. There's a balance where we're never quite settled. It's something we pursue and practice all our lives, should we choose to lean in to our spiritual selves. I realized that one of the main ways I commune with God is through human conversation. In her quiet grace, I was reminded by God of so many things that are hard for me to remember. I actually took a few notes after we got off the phone so I could remind myself of these important, life-giving things. She reminded me, "You don't have to do everything." HA! That is one of those things I could nail to my forehead and forget. And this is why we need reminders. And this is why I write this today. Other people need reminders. 
You are enough. 
You deserve rest. 
You can't fix everything. 
Exhale, inhale. 
Just breathe.
We talked about how one of the things I struggle with is self-care in Facebook conversations. I really care about social causes and I've developed a skill set for moderating difficult online conversations. And I love it so, so much. It gives me energy and purpose. But sometimes, because I choose to stay soft, I need to pace myself because it can be very difficult. After Orlando and the modern day lynching of Ronnie Shumpert, I am overwhelmed with sadness for our world. And I know there's more that I just can't even sit in. Turkey immediately comes to mind. It's important to me to hold space for grief. And yet, sometimes it's okay to say, I need to hibernate in my grief. Or I need to step away for a minute from my grief. Or I need to distract myself with some fun because my grief is killing me. I wanted to say today that that is okay. Self-care and holding grief have to work in tandem. My Reverand said, "Do what you do best and use the influence you have. Release the rest to God. The rest is not yours to fix." May I never get to a point where my heart is hard. And in order stay soft, I must occasionally step back and rest. 

It's Ok to Start with Me

It's no secret that I feel passionate about social justice. Often this manifests in rights for the LGBTQI community, as seen in my previous post. It's a little easier for me to engage in conversations about gay rights because the usual arguments against them are biblical. I was raised in that world and know how to live outside of the ideology that perpetuates restricting the freedoms of others we don't know and don't understand. Things get a little grittier when I try to advocate for the rights of racial minorities. For one, I grew up very sheltered and very white. So while I think of myself as an ally and care deeply about social justice for racial minorities, I also know that for me to really be an advocate, I must learn and I must listen. 
With gay rights, I don't know what it's like to be gay but I feel I have a good understanding of the mindset of the opposition. In instances of racial injustice, I don't understand either side. I care very deeply and believe undoubtedly that #blacklivesmatter but I am not black. I don't understand what it's like to be black in this country. I'm trying to acknowledge my white privilege and I'm trying to listen when black people (and all racial minorities) tell us what it's like to be them. That is such a huge part of this for me, to listen to the stories people want to tell me. What I'm still surprised by and grieved by is that this attitude of wanting to sit in the reality of my privilege and set aside whatever it takes to level the playing field for everyone is not as common as I assume. I feel like I've had my ass handed to me on racial justice issues of late. Mainly because I've chosen to disengage when it's clear the person is not listening and does not come at these issues in the same way as I do. So when I engage thinking, this person wants to learn, they just need to listen, and they yell and scream a lot of realities that just aren't true, I choose to walk away. It's not because screaming back isn't necessary. I sometimes wonder if I'm failing when I disengage. Such is the culture of online conversation. Whoever rants the most appears on top. 
But I try really hard to keep my emotions in check when I discuss things of social importance online and if I'm screaming, I'm not listening either. Sometimes when I listen to the other side, it's devastating. I'm genuinely depressed and disgusted by the things I've heard lately. I'm really surprised that people want to believe that white privilege, racism and police brutality are media tricks and old news. I'm truly baffled. More so, my rose-colored glasses approach (assigning positive intent, giving information with respect, assuming people want to learn) is really not working here. At this point, I want to acknowledge the victory I've had in choosing to disengage and not scream back. But I'm really sad. And even saying that I'm surprised by the level of racism around me is evidence of my privilege. It is not new information to the many who have fought on the front lines for a lifetime. For me, engaging in this fight is a choice, a passion that I could walk away from at any time (theoretically). That is not possible for anyone who physically presents as a minority. That is enough for me to allow my anger to reinforce the necessity of these conversations and to know that it's not up to me to change people's minds. I can start with me. That'll have to be enough for now.

Can a Care-Taker Learn to Take Care of Herself?

I've just had an epiphany, and it's not something I'm particularly pleased to admit. I consider myself an advocate for others. This spirit of advocacy is innate and I believe, God-given. If you want to hear me rant, ask me about the significance of movements like #blacklivesmatter or my newly-discovered yet completely-true white privilege. Ask me how I feel about homelessness, sex-trafficking and children growing up in this country without access to books. Don't even get me started on the FDA or Monsanto. It's so easy for me to see the need to champion the rights of others. As a black and white thinker, it makes sense that I want to right the wrongs of our unfair world and to give everyone an equal shot at their dreams. But here's the problem: I have a really hard time with self-advocacy, hence the epiphany. Looking back today, I've realized that the times I've faced uncomfortable conflict head on, it's because I believed it would benefit someone else, whether it was the person I was confronting, or on whose behalf I was advocating. 
As a caretaker, I've worked hard to let go of the need to do hard things because I am somehow responsible for other peoples decisions. If I confronted someone in the past with great difficulty, I did it because I wanted to protect the next guy from their behavior. But I'm not in charge of their behavior and I do not need to carry responsibility for their future potential infractions just because their current acts have hurt me. (Though I can see how abuse victims following this path are probably making a very understandable mistake). So now that I'm not facing difficult confrontation on behalf of someone else, I'm finding myself hiding from necessary conflict and wallowing in shame as a result. I'm really hurting, guys. And yet, I feel dumb about my big feelings and don't want to have the difficult conversations required to rectify the situation. How incredibly difficult it is to say, "Your behavior, while most likely unintentional, hurt my feelings in a big way and with humility, I ask for your apology because my feelings matter." Agghh!
And yet, I've learned these past few years how incredibly important self-care is. That I deserve love and care as much as anyone else in my family, church and community. That there is no need to apologize for being human, needing space and having needs that require money, time and solitude to meet. And while it's simple enough to drink a cup of tea or serve yourself breakfast first, how hard is it to validate your very real feelings in a difficult situation? (Frankly, I'm being cavalier about the tea and breakfast first, but that was actually really difficult in the beginning). How hard is it to let people love you when you're purposefully exposing "weakness" (big feelings aren't weakness but my shame voice begs to differ) that you just can't seem to rationally contain? This, my friends, is the ultimate self-care act and this care-taker is wrestling, for sure.