As infants, we are nothing if not great observers. Helpless, we soak up the words, emotions, actions of our caregivers. Our decision-making defaults to what we’ve been handed through our genes, through Epigenetics, and childhood experiences. Since our parents are ‘without fault’ we trust and rarely question the ‘truth.’ But what if that truth is tainted?
Because it is.
Irrespective of who your parents are, or the parent you are to your children, the ‘truth’ we are taught and pass down is tainted. It’s inherited, and perhaps refined through the generations, but it’s based on a history of beliefs and how we’ve experienced life. We’re taught, and teach, what we’ve been programmed to believe, which can be positive or maybe not. Think for a minute about the first time you chose a political party. Republic, Democrat, Libertarian…lots of options these days. And for a barely legal adult of 18, whose brain is not yet fully formed, let’s be honest, the simplest option was to go with what Mom and Dad chose.
Which works, maybe forever, or maybe not. The point is not your political party, it’s the immense influence how we were raised has on our decision making, our evaluation of good and bad.
Where our ‘truth’ come from
I was primarily raised in Yosemite National Park. This is not a headline to anyone who has read my blog. Visitation was seasonal, with the majority of people flooding into the park in the spring, summer and early fall. Winter was crickets. Thus, the workforce fluctuated similarly, with around 800 additional employees, at that time mainly college students, arriving for the summer. As children, those of us living in the park saw those people, visitors and employees, and didn’t think much about them other than ‘will they buy lemonade from the stand I set up in my yard?’
While there wasn’t tremendous diversity in the ranks of those living in the park year-round, nonetheless, I don’t know that I could even detail it for you. Because, in my recollection, it was never a topic. Similarly, when my left foot was amputated at 4 while living in the park, it was not a topic. I started school that fall with the same friends I’d played with since moving to Yosemite and have zero recollection of it ever being an issue. Irrespective of race, disability, or sexual identity, honestly, my memory of that place and those days did not include conversations, about race, disability or sexual identity in a) my home from my parents, or b) in the community.
Was I naïve to it? Maybe. But that sense of inclusion carried forward into adulthood.
So, when I see people in any of those or other marginalized communities being treated differently because of a factor they can not change, I don’t understand. Or, I used to not understand. But as I’ve studied and come to understand that not all, in fact many people do not share my lens, my gratitude for a childhood experience that did not include discrimination swells. Was it there? Again, maybe, but not from my lens.
As I learn more from people different than me about their life experience – which is essential – my heart breaks a little more each time. I see the privilege automatically bestowed on me as a straight, white, woman. Factors that would never enter my mind as prevalent for many. I am also fortunate that the ‘programming’ I received from my parents was not exclusionary.
We must question the ‘truth’
But I have found, as you may have, myself in groups that are exclusionary. Subtly at first until I noticed it, and then it smacked me in the face, and I couldn’t unsee it. When you know that people you love would not be allowed to fully participate, the place you’ve chosen is no longer your place. This is when you must take a stand and question what has been said to be ‘true’, which is not easy. Because within the group you have belonging. And though you may only appear to have adopted their belief system, your belonging is dependent on it. So, when you begin to question, to wonder out loud if beliefs could be different, you risk your belonging.
Which none of us want to do.
But we must. If we find ourselves within a group or system that does not love, accept and celebrate all people, our belonging is not worth it. And I will tell you friends, that sucks. I won’t pretend it doesn’t. But our integrity is worth it. Belonging based on standing outside ourselves is nothing but hustling for our worth. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather standalone than hustle. If this is your journey, hang in there. It’s not easy, I know it’s not easy, but we must. We are brave. We have each other. Sending you love.
When I was avidly cycling, my friends and I used to participate in double centuries. 200 miles in one stretch, filled with laughter, camaraderie, lots of food, some pain, and endurance. By the time I was riding the doubles, I’d built up strength and speed. Not Lance Armstrong speed by any stretch, but enough to hold my own. Around mile 150 of the Davis Double, on a hot – I mean, cook an egg on the pavement hot – day, we came upon a fellow cyclist. The community of cyclists participating in these rides is not immense, so it was someone we’d ridden with many times.
At the time I was having my children, I lived in Yosemite, aka, the woods, for those not familiar. I’d grown up there and through serendipitous situations, was living and working there as an adult. Somehow, I got it in my head that I’d have my kids naturally, without pain killers. Maybe it was that I had friends having their kids at home, sometimes in the bathtub. No pain killers seemed like a good middle ground. By and large, I did it. I had a little something with the first, because, well, he was nine pounds and a little complicated. But number two, nada. In truth, I think my body was well designed for it.
Who remembers the children’s book clubs that existed at the same prevalence as Columbia House records? When my children were babies, I aspired to build a vast library of books for them and joined one of the clubs where I could quickly acquire my library for a low, low price. Many of those first books were from Dr. Seuss. In fact, they were many of the same books I read as a child.
I was called selfish the other day. It’s one of the worst insults to me, honestly. It doesn’t paint a pretty picture. I’m certain each of us has the insult that cut us to the core, and that’s the one for me. It’s rolled around in my head a couple days, and I should have known from the beginning it would make it to the page.
If you’ve had children, you likely recall the phrase, “use your words.” During that stage when they’ve begun talking, but are not yet English fluent, a child will revert to the behaviors that got them what they want. They’ll use the primal techniques that they instinctively knew as infants to communicate their needs, crying being at the top of the list. They’ll point, cry…anything but speak…in an effort to get what they want. In the moment, they cannot find the words to communicate what they want or what they’re feeling.
Every 4 ½ minutes, a baby is born with a birth defect in the United States. That’s nearly 120,000 babies born with birth defects each year. In my estimation, the prevalence of birth defects in the late 1960’s when I was born was perhaps more, because maternal care was not as sophisticated as today. Though I don’t have the stats on it, the advancement of medical care through the years has also likely resulted in a decrease in the long-term effects of some birth defects.
Does anyone else enjoy an afternoon hanging out in a sub-zero movie theater when it’s 105 degrees outside in the shade? Literal fry an egg on the pavement weather. I’ll quickly jump on that train as an escape and, hopefully, to be entertained. Which I was last weekend, enjoying The Farewell.
Bold. The word I chose for 2019 which I’m trying to live out. But… in a lot of instances I feel pretty squishy. I am open to a wide variety of perspectives, options. I steer clear of most issues many in the general population get fired up about. Rant about on their social media. It’s just not who I am.
It kept coming up in my Instagram feed, Abby Wambach’s book Wolfpack, so I put it on my reading list and powered through this week. It’s an easy quick read, targeted to women, reminding us of what we know but forget. And then I ran across the quote from Eleanor Roosevelt a couple days later, “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.” The combined wisdom triggered something inside me and has stuck around.