I
have no issue standing up for others, but when it comes to addressing those
who’ve been mean or made me uncomfortable, it’s been a different story.
Last
weekend, I ushered for the final production of The
Coffin Maker, a riveting play about injustice and revenge that
examines the validity of accepted morals and judgments. Rather than scour for an
empty seat as the curtain goes up, I bring in a chair from the lounge and sit
behind the last row of the balcony. I’m more comfortable with my hip in need of
replacing and can easily accommodate patrons who come late.
About
five minutes into the first act, a man got up from his seat and stood behind me.
Sometimes he paced as he watched. Other times he rocked. I could feel his
movements. Hear his pants rubbing together. His shoes as the met the carpet. As
a neurodivergent person, those sounds and his presence behind me made me want to
jump out of my skin. It was all I could do not to stand up and scream at him to
sit down.
Intermission
came and as the lights flickered to indicate the second act was about to start,
I noticed him leaning against the wall directly behind my chair.
“Are
you planning on staying there for the second act?” I asked.
“I
am,” he answered. “If that’s OK.”
“I
get really anxious when people are behind me and I can’t see them,” I said.
“I
understand,” he replied. “You have the right to enjoy the show, too. I’ll grab a
chair from the lounge and sit down there.” He pointed toward the end of the row.
He saw the rest of the play in a way that allowed him to enjoy it and left me in
peace.
In
the past, when someone did something that made me uncomfortable, my default was
to stay silent. I did this partly to avoid conflict and partly because my habit
was to put other people’s needs before my own. This encounter is the first time
I can remember where there was no vacillation about speaking up for myself. No
saying I was OK, then kicking myself. No assuring the other person there wasn’t
an issue, then going back to them later to say how I really felt. No getting
angry or feeling victimized.
The
ability to do this has been a natural evolution born of the commitment to take
better care of myself and deepen the love and appreciation I have for me. And
it’s taken years.
The
rub is that for change to take place, you need to be presented with the
opportunities to practice it. This can be so much fun. Said no one ever. What
this means is that I had to experience discomfort with people repeatedly to work
through the process that enabled me to do what I did last weekend.
(I
understand that things may not always go as smoothly as they did with this
gentleman. There are times people push back. The goal isn’t to create a perfect
scenario. I don’t have control over that. Had he pushed back, I would have
firmly, but politely, told him he either needed to return to his seat or use one
of the stools the theater designated for standing room only. If all efforts
failed, I would have moved my chair further down the row).
My
mind is wired to digest and then evaluate experiences I have to determine what
I’ve learned and identify the next step in my evolution. In thinking about the
encounter with the man in the theater, I clearly saw the stages I’ve been
through, and the one I’ve reached, in the process of learning how to speak up
for myself.
They
remind me of the poem Autobiography
in Five Short Chapters by Portia Nelson.
Here
are my Seven Stages for Speaking Up for
Yourself in the midst of someone else’s behavior that makes
you uncomfortable or upset (yours may be different). Like the stages of death
and dying, they are not linear and revisiting the same one repeatedly is not
only possible, but probable. In between each step. you practice better and
better self-care, which moves you more gently into another stage.
One:
you recognize that someone has made you uncomfortable or is trying to - this
ranges from bullying, to being mean, to doing something innocently like the man
in the theater. The thought of doing anything about it terrifies you into
paralysis. You feel twisted inside because the energy of the external chaos has
lodged in your body. It takes a while for it to dissipate.
Two:
you recognize it and want to say something, but the fear engulfs you and so you
either externalize or internalize your feelings. You bully someone, you pick a
fight, you eat too much or drink too much - or not enough. You do what you can
to quell the internal chaos - food, cigarettes, drugs, alcohol or even
mindlessly scrolling social media and binge watching. But it’s still in you,
waiting for an opportunity to be heard.
Three:
you lose your s*** in the moment unable to contain the rage at all those who've
come before. You feel bad and apologize for your own bad behavior or make amends
in another way, which delays your progress in moving to another stage because
now you’re stuck in the anger toward yourself for not only popping off but for
having to fix it.
Four:
You recognize what’s happening and still don't do anything in the moment but are
driven not to stay silent. You craft an email or a note, or if you can find the
courage, say what you've written to the other person all while trembling inside.
You ruminate when it's over and question how it might have been
different.
Five:
You refuse to back down and stand your ground without violence, which is more
than just physical. It includes raising your voice, hurling insults, or calling
someone names. You still tremble inside and carry it with you for the rest of
the day and perhaps even days after. You think about it and try to figure out
how you could have done things differently.
Six:
you stand your ground without violence or trembling inside, yet you still carry
it with you outside the experience. Maybe for hours, maybe for days. You let the
fear of retaliation invade your peace. But it doesn't last as long.
Seven:
you stand your ground, you don't tremble inside and after you say your piece,
you're done. It's like eating breakfast, when it's finished there's nothing left
to think about.
Have
a great weekend!
P.S.
For those who might not have seen this morning’s email, next week will be the
last week of Inanna’s Journal. Maybe not forever, but definitely for now. Thanks
for being on the ride with me!