I Think It's Funny

PLAYING HOUSE

In our house

We shake hands

Then, we talk about the weather

Until it turns into something clever

That my grandma can use to take

A jab at us

And she laughs

Because she can say nothing wrong

And my mother sighs,

rolling her eyes

Because she can never be right

My aunt's lies

Taste like tea

And I say

"More for me"

Because I want to believe she

Cares

What would happen if I stopped breathing?

If I stopped smiling

and started screaming.

They'd probably tell me to be quiet and keep

eating.

Everyone is laughing

At a joke

about my mom

that she doesn't think is funny

To protect

the monarch's ego

My stomach

locks her claws into the roast

I haven't chewed

and drags it down my throat

While my mom's cheeks glow

My grandpa's laugh is low

"That was so long ago.

Can we talk about something else?"

Someone says something about the neighbor

who might stop by later

Cause everyone's family until they're... you know.

This person declared

they were god

and told me I was good.

So I followed blindly,

like a sheep.

I try drinking water

While my cousin's dig's at his daughter,

go deeper than the fork scraping my plate.

What if I am a lion?

Who only believed I was a sheep

Because they were afraid I would eat their children

In front of them?

I used to be quiet

Because that is what I was told to be

But now I am quiet

Because I am thinking

Of how to say everything right

Or maybe I should say nothing at all.

I grin as

I throw my plate at the wall

It bursts like a firework

and the corn smirks as it falls,

decorating the floor

like confetti.

Everyone looks up.

Even my mother,

Sides with the another

Who tells me to sit down with her eyes.

These dinner conversations are sandpaper.

But I have to apologize for my behavior?

Who built this table?

Do you think it's stable

Enough for me to stand on?

Let's see.

As I stomp all over our food.

Then, I jump up and down

Until the table breaks

Until every glass shatters,

every plate scatters,

Till the biscuits crumble

Like crackers

I squash every pea

While you stand over me

And you call yourself god

Because I am the one licking jelly off my fingers.

"If I am a sheep,

Roaring like a lion,

What does that make me now?"

Your eyes turn red

As your hand full of glass skims the ceiling

landing on my face,

sliding its salty crystals

like an avalanche

across my cheek.

The hand

I shook.

My neck pops,

jaw locks,

cheeks sting,

ears ring,

And I laugh.

I laugh.

And laugh.

Cause now you can see

my blood on

your hands.

*~*~*~*~*

When I cried as a kid, I got called a "cry baby." It's a colloquialism used in the south--and probably everywhere else--you're told or called as a kid, and people accept it as perfectly fine and normal. People will do whatever it takes to get kids to stop crying, especially by "giving them something real to cry about."

What this nickname told my little six-year-old brain was, "Being sad or angry gets me in trouble. So, I won't be sad or angry in front of adults anymore." So, if I felt sad, angry, or like I needed to cry, I'd just stuff it down until I was alone, like a true American.

I received a lot of conflicting messages like this as a kid: "You're a Christian, so you won't go to Hell. But you're a sinner, so if you don't repent, you'll go to Hell," to sum it up. What I had to adopt, per instruction, was a "Christ-like mindset so that I "didn't sin." And those who didn't have that, well, then, they needed to become more like Christ! Duh. And to be like Christ, at least the way I was taught, meant recentering your focus on Jesus when you realized your thoughts and feelings weren't Godly. Which meant I was having to repent for something pretty much all the time.

When I had to live in this state of "constant repentance," or "constant redirection" (because no one can filter every thought and emotion) I was doing another thing, too. And that thing was not feeling my feelings because I was taught not to trust them. I mean, when your feelings are dismissed most of the time and everyone else around you seems to be A-Okay with what's going on, what else can you do but conform when you don't know of other options?

*~*~*~*~*

As the preacher's kid, there's an expectation that you will always be polite, sit with your legs closed (if you're a lady), only speak when spoken to, and never show emotion unless it's being happy! It's like being in the royal family; only you're less popular, not nearly as rich, and not inbred. (Hopefully... I'm not, by the way.)

You go to many events, weddings, funerals, and visit many old people with breath that smells like mothball who kiss you on the cheek, but you take it in stride because What Would Jesus Do? In the musical that is my life, I was cast as: "Good PK #1." I could speak when spoken to, and there was no such thing as boundaries.

There was another dimension to this silencing of my emotions...

Can I get a drum roll? (drum, drum, drum, drum, roll, roll, roll) Thank you.

There was the woman part.

As early as five, I remember being told that I needed to "cover-up" because otherwise, I'd draw attention to myself... men's attention. (The horror!)

First, I have to ask... What men? I'm 24, and I've never met a man my age. Where are they? The only 24-year-old men I know are gay, my cousin, or Jewish because I don't hang out with bitch ass boys. (Also, if you don't fall under these three, but you're a 24-year-old who respects women, you qualify as my "cousin.")

Okay, back to it. Who tells a five-year-old they can't wear a Barbie bikini to the pool because they will attract men?

"Grace, that seems pretty arbitrary. You're still upset you didn't get to wear a Barbie bikini when you were five?" Uh, yeah, I'm still upset. Did you not read the first post in this series about how I'm still healing from my trauma?

However, it's really not about the cute Barbie bikini I missed out on when I was five. It's really about how from as early as I can remember, my body wasn't mine and my emotions weren't mine. I was only allowed to wear what my dad said was modest, and I was only allowed to feel what God gave his big stamp of approval on.

I was told it was okay to be angry, but I was dismissed or ignored if I expressed my anger. I was told it was okay to be sad, but if I cried, I was punished. If I was upset with someone, the situation was turned against me. Or if I pointed out hypocrisy within Christian teachings, I was met with, "But the Bible says..."

When I was 14, I sat on the gymnasium floor and stared at the ground. My two friends next to me were talking about a mutual friend going through something sad. I don't remember the story. I just remember it was super sad. I didn't say anything; I sat and listened, never looking up from the floor. I thought, "Wow, I really don't don't care. I want to. I know I'm supposed to. That's the human thing to do, but I can't do that... I think something is wrong. I can't feel anything."

*~*~*~*~*

I learned a lot of beautiful things in 2020. For instance, I learned that I have depression, anxiety, IBS, and what boundaries are. Say what you will about Instagram slide shows, but they have taught me more about my body than our American Healthcare system. (haha! That's a dig at our for-profit healthcare system.)

An example: A boundary is when your friend kisses you on the mouth, and you say, "Hey, I appreciate that you care about me, but I don't want to mouth kiss you." And they say, "Cool, no worries. I won't do that again."

This seems pretty straightforward, so it's crazy that it took me 22 years to figure it out. I didn't get to have boundaries as a kid because no one knew what they were. So if I didn't like it when an old lady kissed me on the cheek cause her breath stank, I had to grin and bear it because she had one foot in the grave, one foot in her wheelchair, and how can you deny a dying woman her sugar?

It goes deeper than that.

*~*~*~*~*

When my parents divorced, I found out that someone we knew said horrible things to my mom. I found out several years after the event, so maybe it's water under the bridge now. It's not my story to tell; otherwise, I'd go into more detail. But just because it wasn't directed toward me didn't mean it didn't hurt.

This person is a Christian. They let me into their home, held me as I cried, and they turned my mom away because a neighbor is a neighbor until... you know.

*~*~*~*~*

My dad used to tell me that he needed sons. He was vocal about always hoping for a little boy. When we were out to dinner, and people complimented him on his beautiful family, sometimes he'd say, "Still hoping for some boys." Then, he'd laugh because it was only a joke.

I remember helping him wash his car as a kid, and he'd say, "I need a son. I need a son," on multiple occasions.

I know he loves my sisters and me. I write this sentence because I'm so used to playing defense and offense, I almost don't know how not to. I wonder what it's like, to be honest without worrying about hurting someone's feelings who doesn't have a problem hurting yours.

At that time, I learned from those comments that a girl is half of what a son is worth.

*~*~*~*~*

We focused on relationships in girl's Bible Study, while guys got to focus on how to be the "best version of themselves" or whatever the fuck. I don't know. They got to go camping.

Yeah, we got that too... Only the best version of being a woman is one who dresses modestly and saves herself for marriage. The best version of myself I could be is the one that attracted a man.

And once I was married, I'd get experience what it was like to be a whole person.

*~*~*~*~*

Before I moved to New York, my dad said some heartbreaking things about Bill Cosby. I'll leave that comment up to your imagination. It made me think back to when I would try to help my dad outside, and he'd say, "I need some sons." I realized that even in twenty years, not much has changed.

However, this time, I wasn't a kid anymore, so I wrote him a letter explaining why some things weren't an okay thing to say. He wrote back a mixture of what I wanted to hear and what I didn't want to hear. I'm not sure what I expected.

Then, a month ago, when I told him I wasn't religious, he told me I needed to read the Bible in context and believe all of it instead of cherry-picking.

Old habits die hard.

*~*~*~*~*

Gaslighting is another term I learned about in 2020. That's what most of my religious upbringing entailed. When I learned to verbalize my feelings instead of crying, I was told, "You need to be grateful. You're so blessed." or "Do you know how much I've sacrificed for you?"

"I'm sorry, you're right," I'd say. And that would be the end of the conversation.

It blew my mind when I learned I could be grateful and critical.

*~*~*~*~*

I think it's funny when Christians tell me to "watch what I say" when all I'm talking about is my experience. That's what I tried to do as a kid by crying or telling jokes. I was trying to communicate my experience to someone, hoping they would listen to me instead of censoring me, foster my talents instead of condemning them, and hold space for my emotions instead of gaslighting me.

Jesus didn't tell people not to be angry when they were wronged. He turned tables over in the temple because he was angry.

So I laughed when I saw this comment on my post:

"Our church is NOT a cult! We do not have to get the permission of the church leader to do anything. We are controlled by our freewill, but under conviction of God!"

Just like I laugh when I'm told not to bring a "touchy subject" up in front of someone because it may disturb the peace... when I'd love to call out someone's sexism in peace.

*~*~*~*~*

If you tell me you love me, and I don't feel loved by you, isn't that for me to decide? If you love someone, don't you ask how you can love them better? And when they tell you, do you respect that, or do you dismiss it? One of those things is love; the other is ego.

I have tried talking to certain people about certain issues, and I am tired of being dismissed.

Gee...

It's almost like... comments like these... from Christians... are more about them protecting their ego than... loving someone.

Woah... A Christian not being loving? That's crazy.

It's almost like... These are the reasons... I have to speak out against religious abuse in the first place... because no one fucking heard me when I tried to do it nicely.

And I laugh,

and laugh,

and laugh.

Because now you can see

my blood on your hands.