#WhyIStayed

In the beginning.

Sassy. Firecracker. Funny. Engaging. Free Spirit. Smart.

Pick me up place me on his lap, hold my hand and guide me in his direction,
order for me at restaurants, remind me to take my coat," it's cold outside, do
you have a coat?" compliment my outfit "I love that dress on you."

And slowly but surely.

Bitch. Loudmouth. Nasty. Slut. Crazy Whore. Stupid.

Pick me up and throw me through a window, out the front door, across the room,
throw drinks at me, hold my throat in his hand and choke me over the counter, up
on the wall, in the car against the passenger side window, TELL me what to wear
"you NEED to put a coat on, and button up, "you look like a slut in that dress,
who are you trying to impress?"

I wanted to protect my mom. My family. My husband. My boyfriend.

Yesterday's video of a woman being knocked out cold by her fiancé did not
surprise me. My parents modeled that kind of behavior for me as a child.
Constantly. It did surprise me that she didn't suffer major brain damage or die.
After all, when I was 18 years old and looking forward to graduating and moving
on with my adult life, my brother was killed by a blow to the head similar to
the one Ms. Rice sustained. Except instead of it coming from an NFL running
back, it came at the hands of a townie at a bar in Corvalis Oregon. Ms Rice is
lucky to be alive. For now.

The swift and often repeated refrain from the pundits, armchair and
professional, after such an incident is exposed is ALWAYS the same. Why does she
stay???? I'm always baffled by this question. It makes me sad that people are so
naive with regard to complicated human relationships, and are so desperate not
to see themselves or their loved ones in such dangerous, sad, belittling, and
degrading situations. Of course there's always the requisite victim blaming, but
I digress. I can speak to my own pathology insofar as I even understand it.

It's actually pretty simple. I learned it. From my parents. Where exactly do we
learn how to be married, or have an intimate relationship? I learned from my mom
and dad. My dad was a military officer. He is a retired Colonel. He also coached
college basketball for a small college in my home town. My dad graduated from
University of Virginia. My mom was a teacher. She graduated from James Madison
University, and has no fewer that 5 masters. Music, English, philosophy,
history, administration,and has done most of her work to gain a phd. I point
this out because there is such a stigma attached to the "type" of person who
abuses and  the type of person who is abused. I think the image that most people
have is oh, let's see, maybe poor, uneducated, maybe you know, not
white......maybe if they are white they're like not white like you know like
nice middle class white. Maybe they live in a run down house or, gasp! A trailer
park! Well news flash, none of those things applied to my parents, or me. But.
And this is a big but. It happens in all of those demographics too. It happens
everywhere where there is a  unbalanced and unhealthy power dynamic.

I swore. Swore. That I would never let a man hit me, belittle me, shove me,
humiliate me, and degrade me. But I did. I simply just really didn't know any
other way to be. It felt normal. It felt like love. It felt.

Once that wheel starts turning and the plan is set in motion it's hard to
explain how difficult it is to leave. Once my self esteem was so damaged by
insults, broken ear drums, swollen arms, bruised neck, bruised back, and lies to
doctors and relatives, about how I got them, why I had to decline engagements at
the last minute, why I couldn't get back in my house to change a soaking wet
outfit, how the glass shower door got broken, and just too many whys, I didn't
see how I could exist without this person. When I did pick up the phone to call
911 it was met with tears and pleading, " I'll go to jail, I love you, I'm so
sorry, please don't send me to jail" when I left it was often met with threats "
I'll throw you in a river and they'll never fucking find you." And mind you, I
have no children. I wonder if I would still be there if I did.

When I was little my parents fought. Violently. A lot. Many nights I would jump
out of bed, in my night gown, run to the front door, throw on my dad's enormous
golf cleats and shuffle down to the neighbor(bless them) I would bang on their
door in the middle of the night and they would let me sleep on their couch. Can
you imagine? I still feel shameful and weak for doing that. Other times, my mom
would send someone to my grade school to pick me up and we would hide from my
dad at another teachers house or another friends. Then my dad would eventually
find us and we'd go back home. My mom wound up in the hospital a few times,
broken ear (she still has very limited hearing as do I from being smacked upside
the head) cracked ribs, fat lip. I remember a particularly dramatic evening when
my sister found her knocked out on my parents bedroom floor and my father
standing above her. Sound familiar? I always thought this was her story to tell.
But I realize, it's mine too.

My husband asked me yesterday, why Ms Rice stayed. I'm trying to piece it
together. This is part of my answer. But only part.

Because

 

Because........

I've been thinking lately about relationships. Casual, intimate, friendships,
siblings, parents, pets, acquaintances, the cashier at the QFC, students,
clients, all the different relationships I have in my life. They are all part of
my experience on this planet, the connections and the moments together. The past
year has brought many changes for me. The loss of my job was a blow. However, it
was the loss of relationships that I had fostered and cultivated in those years
that stung the most.
The thing is, it's easy to focus on the the injustices one has withstood, real
or perceived. I could go on about backstabbing, and lies, and betrayal, and
maybe someday I will. For fun. But right now, I'm trying to look at the beauty
of the connections around me. No easy feat to be sure, but inevitably more
rewarding and less frustrating.

I keep thinking of the scene in the movie American Beauty where the kid talks
about the bag blowing around in the wind with the leaves, and the beauty of this
world and how hard it is to take some times. And it is. It really is. It's
beautiful, and scary, and here. I think for me, and a lot of folks that it's
easier to be angry than hurt, tough than vulnerable, push away rather than pull
toward. It may be momentarily easier, but I would argue after much practice
myself, that though easier, it is not satisfying, authentic, or healthy. I know
it sounds trite, and I'm not telling you anything new, I'm asking you to think
about the amount of energy you spend trying to get "there." Your kids to the
best school, with the best grades, on the best team, your spouse working,
working, working, for the nicest kitchen in all the land, with marble
countertops or whatever the Hell is the deal now, and making sure that your
workout is the best, THE BEST every time! Every Single Time! And no lines around
the eyes, and no saggy triceps, and gotta have that Audi, and the club, The
country club! I mean I get it, I do. I'm just saying, it's the relationships,
literally the time you spend with your family, your dog, cat, barista, bank
teller. The kindness you show people outside of your immediate network. The
connections, the sameness, the listening. The listening. I remember one time
years ago I heard Pat Buchanan talk about his cat and how much he loved her, and
I thought, wow, I actually have something in common with Pat Buchanan. I'm
telling you, this whole situation, the whole deal, if we can just have a little
empathy, and again, not just for us and ours, but for the guy who drives the
garbage truck, the woman who cleans your home, or the student aid who works at
your kids school, and hear each other and pull towards a little, rather than push away , I think it's a
better way to be. 

I'm going to a memorial on Thu for a student, and friend. She fought a valiant
battle with ovarian cancer. She wanted to be here, she wanted to stay. For the
sky, and the connections, and the grass, and the animals, and the kids. Not the
countertops......

Pussy. Riot.

I've never been a joiner. I got kicked out of the Bluebirds when I was in grade school, I got kicked out of Jr. High for having a picture of David Bowie Diamond Dogs on my locker door and then mouthing off to the vice principal about it, and I hated making posters for the football team when I was a cheerleader in high school ( I specifically only wanted to dance and cheer.) Even as an adult in my capacity as a fitness professional I've been asked to participate in something called vision boarding. Um. No.

Side note: How many male professionals do you think sit around and cut crap out of magazines, glue it on a piece of poster board and wish upon it real hard so that one day their dreams may come true?
I've never understood why It falls upon the woman in a straight relationship to be the one to send thank you notes, or Holiday cards. I am always acutely aware that when my in laws or husbands friends stop over, that I will be the one who is judged if the house isn't clean, and there aren't appetizers and drinks on hand. I grew up in the 60's and 70's in a housing development that rivaled Mad Men. The ladies stayed home, smoked cigarettes, drank a little, and gossiped about each other. My mom worked full time. Actually more than full time. Maybe that is why she never had time to teach me the rules of the herd. She certainly excels at the lady games when she wants to. She's from the south, and was in a sorority. I'll just leave it at that.
I think, however that my general adverse reaction to joining in, and towing the line comes from a.) A deep seeded sensitivity to fairness ( I'm the youngest of 6 kids, connect the dots) and b.) a nearly pathological need to question everything. Like EVERYTHING.
Although this has served me well at many times in my life; my 20's come to mind, it has not always served me positively.  Specifically with my peers professionally.
Group fitness is an industry driven by and for women for the most part. As much as we would like to have men join our classes, the truth is that it is wildly skewed toward the ladies. The work is physically taxing many times, and after paying for gas, music, continuing education, time taken to create programming, and buying gear, many group fitness instructors barely break even. It is often times an ego driven operation, gauged by class size, and compensated not by way of monetary wages, but by way of acceptance and popularity. It is also an arena generally adverse to oppositional viewpoints and dependent on assimilation from all.

Conversely, the personal training industry is very male dominated. From presenters, to coaches, to bloggers, to random health club PTs men are, for the most part the dominant voice in personal training. The work is for the most part not physically demanding, and in keeping with the free market structure, trainers base much of their  personal value on what they charge. If they produce, they charge for it. It is also an arena where oppositional opinions are meted out via science, and not met with scorn or banishment. Alas, most trainers I know thrive on varying viewpoints, and  on comparing and contrasting protocols. Of course it too can be ego driven(what's not?) But it's also monetarily driven.

Is it a coincidence that the group fitness profession is populated  with women, driven by popularity, and adverse to non conformity,  while personal training, mainly populated with men is driven primarily by science, money, and opposing views?
Don't get me wrong, I love group fitness. I have just been wondering if the stereotypes that I have bucked for so long are alive and well in an industry in which I have spent 26 years of my life...........