[Trigger Warning: Mention of sexual assault, abuse, and after effects. Not explicit.]
I've often wondered why, exactly, I seem to resonate more with victims of abuse and the way they think/see the world than that of others. While, certainly, my living situation was difficult, and I was constantly afraid, what I *feared* was never something that happened. I was never beaten; no more than a skant few spankings. I was never, have never been sexually assaulted or abused. My needs were never neglected. I was never told I was worthless. And while I certainly deeply internalized various signals that my parents gave me which indicated nothing less than perfection was acceptable (and even that was simply what was expected), I don't think I ever really pushed or challenged such notions. I never rebelled, I never fought back. Never, against anyone but my mother, and even that was often because anger seems to be the only thing that makes her ever stop or change.
It wasn't until just thinking about it, though, that I realized my worldview is inherited from my father. I, of course, already knew that. One of my favorite stories from high school is when everyone in one of my classes was asked to describe one other person in the class for a new teacher and then we guessed who was being described. At least 25% of the class wrote some variant of "cynical" for me. I was surprised not only because they'd singled me out more than my peers, but also because I didn't think my skepticism was that obvious and memorable. After all, how could anyone think anything else?
But "cynical," really, only captures part of it. I didn't merely expect people to act selfishly. I expected people to hurt others, intentionally or out of neglect, simply because that's the way the world worked. You could never trust anyone, you always had to have documentation to defend yourself, copies upon copies and always receipts. Your family would not protect, your friends would leave you when it was convenient, you were alone and lonely and while you would be nice to people it was largely because they'd hurt you if you weren't. And partly it was because people are ignorant and selfish. And partly it was because you're as bad or worse than they are.
I think that's how my father viewed/views the world. Through the lens of sexual abuse. A lens that is constantly dark, constantly fearful, constantly seeing threats in everyone, constantly seeing worthless and abject monstrosity whenever turned inward. "Love" is a word people say because they're supposed to care. But it doesn't mean a damn when it comes to protecting you.
If you met my father, he would probably smile a lot. And laugh. And he'd do innocuously sweet things like make it a priority to give treats to animals and buy things for you. You'd probably never see him angry, never see him yell or rage, never see him kick the same animals whenever they got in his way. He is an actor. Just like I learned to be. An actor who projects what's "good" so no one can see the immense pain, the immense fear, the immense resentment inside. An actor who tries to ensure you have no need to see the real person inside, a person you will undoubtedly leave and reject.
To an extent, that's me reading myself into him. But it's also me knowing where I come from. I have the worldview of the abused because that's who taught me what the world was like.
But I was not abused. Thank God. I was not abused, and I have the privilege of hope. I can believe that things can get better. But I also know that horrible things happen. I know that while my father's worldview, my worldview, is dark, it's dark because of what *has happened.* Not what could happen or might happen, but what *has* happened. Rapes, murders, torture, neglect, bitter isolation, learned self-hate, more more more, they *happen.* So much more often than the vast majority of us think.
Most people only care abstractly until it affects them, if at all. They don't "get it." And then when your loved one is afflicted or attacked, you look around and often have a hard time understanding why no one else is as pissed off about it as you are. Why no one else is as afraid, no one else is as confused, no one else seems to feel like you.
I don't want to be that way. I don't want to wait until I'm affected by something to care about it. I don't want to be a part of the problem until I have a reason to be part of the solution. Because I know that horrible things happen. I know that people suffer in ways to extents most of us privileged folk cannot, hopefully will not ever be able to imagine. And I don't want anyone else to end up like my father. Because although he may be right, that people hurt each other, that people aren't trustworthy, that people are people, I haven't been hurt yet to the point that I think people are irredeemable. I have the privilege of believing we can do better, we can be better. And if I believe it, then I don't see any other solution but to make that belief a reality. Or lose my hope trying.
I've often wondered why, exactly, I seem to resonate more with victims of abuse and the way they think/see the world than that of others. While, certainly, my living situation was difficult, and I was constantly afraid, what I *feared* was never something that happened. I was never beaten; no more than a skant few spankings. I was never, have never been sexually assaulted or abused. My needs were never neglected. I was never told I was worthless. And while I certainly deeply internalized various signals that my parents gave me which indicated nothing less than perfection was acceptable (and even that was simply what was expected), I don't think I ever really pushed or challenged such notions. I never rebelled, I never fought back. Never, against anyone but my mother, and even that was often because anger seems to be the only thing that makes her ever stop or change.
It wasn't until just thinking about it, though, that I realized my worldview is inherited from my father. I, of course, already knew that. One of my favorite stories from high school is when everyone in one of my classes was asked to describe one other person in the class for a new teacher and then we guessed who was being described. At least 25% of the class wrote some variant of "cynical" for me. I was surprised not only because they'd singled me out more than my peers, but also because I didn't think my skepticism was that obvious and memorable. After all, how could anyone think anything else?
But "cynical," really, only captures part of it. I didn't merely expect people to act selfishly. I expected people to hurt others, intentionally or out of neglect, simply because that's the way the world worked. You could never trust anyone, you always had to have documentation to defend yourself, copies upon copies and always receipts. Your family would not protect, your friends would leave you when it was convenient, you were alone and lonely and while you would be nice to people it was largely because they'd hurt you if you weren't. And partly it was because people are ignorant and selfish. And partly it was because you're as bad or worse than they are.
I think that's how my father viewed/views the world. Through the lens of sexual abuse. A lens that is constantly dark, constantly fearful, constantly seeing threats in everyone, constantly seeing worthless and abject monstrosity whenever turned inward. "Love" is a word people say because they're supposed to care. But it doesn't mean a damn when it comes to protecting you.
If you met my father, he would probably smile a lot. And laugh. And he'd do innocuously sweet things like make it a priority to give treats to animals and buy things for you. You'd probably never see him angry, never see him yell or rage, never see him kick the same animals whenever they got in his way. He is an actor. Just like I learned to be. An actor who projects what's "good" so no one can see the immense pain, the immense fear, the immense resentment inside. An actor who tries to ensure you have no need to see the real person inside, a person you will undoubtedly leave and reject.
To an extent, that's me reading myself into him. But it's also me knowing where I come from. I have the worldview of the abused because that's who taught me what the world was like.
But I was not abused. Thank God. I was not abused, and I have the privilege of hope. I can believe that things can get better. But I also know that horrible things happen. I know that while my father's worldview, my worldview, is dark, it's dark because of what *has happened.* Not what could happen or might happen, but what *has* happened. Rapes, murders, torture, neglect, bitter isolation, learned self-hate, more more more, they *happen.* So much more often than the vast majority of us think.
Most people only care abstractly until it affects them, if at all. They don't "get it." And then when your loved one is afflicted or attacked, you look around and often have a hard time understanding why no one else is as pissed off about it as you are. Why no one else is as afraid, no one else is as confused, no one else seems to feel like you.
I don't want to be that way. I don't want to wait until I'm affected by something to care about it. I don't want to be a part of the problem until I have a reason to be part of the solution. Because I know that horrible things happen. I know that people suffer in ways to extents most of us privileged folk cannot, hopefully will not ever be able to imagine. And I don't want anyone else to end up like my father. Because although he may be right, that people hurt each other, that people aren't trustworthy, that people are people, I haven't been hurt yet to the point that I think people are irredeemable. I have the privilege of believing we can do better, we can be better. And if I believe it, then I don't see any other solution but to make that belief a reality. Or lose my hope trying.