Humiliation, Authenticity, Rabbits, and the Fear of Death
Humiliation is not my kink.
Humiliation and I were introduced in elementary school, on the playground. But we became enemies in middle school when Oppression descended upon me through my peers. I did not consent.
Lately, as life prepares me for impending fame, I’ve been asked by the Aliveness of Life to heal this relationship. I chose to work in an industry where everyone is already upset; at their wit's end, raw, and bleeding. I know that one wrong word will get my name drug through the streets. One mistake and I am canceled. Harshly. I am destined to be canceled with the wrath of unhealed middle school tenderness lit on fire, one more time, by a stranger on the internet.
I am destined to be humiliated.
And so are you. Perfectionism tells us we can strategize enough to protect ourselves. Perfectionism says we can orchestrate a life free of consequences, including the consequences of oppression. But Perfectionism and all Oppressive Practices lie. We can be honest with ourselves that 1. We live in a network of societies that practice oppression. 2. We will inadvertently say something that will remind someone else of this reality. 3. They will feel oppressed in that moment. 4. They will have the option to heal what arises in them or to harm us as retribution. This is the cycle of violence. Heal or perpetuate. Most people choose to perpetuate. We institutionalized oppression, not liberation, so we have each built the skillset to harm not to heal.
Welcoming humiliation
My practice of Honesty has taught me that I do not have to try to be humble. My job is to be as glorious as I am; to reach for the sun. Inevitably, when I fly too close to the sun and get burned, I can simply admit that life is humbling me. Be glorious. Admit limitations.
These days I’m chasing the sun of joy. My body is aching to fully experience and express the aliveness of joy. When I finally let myself, I know I will fall into an unself-conscious state of full expression rooted in the present moment. This will be True Joy. But that is when the middle schoolers attack, my vigilance warns. Don’t let go of me, your self-consciousness. I am here to protect you. “They” are waiting to pounce...
The “They” in middle school were the boys who would sneak up behind me, grab my bra strap, pull it out as far as they could, and let it go, snapping it against my skin. I learned to feel I was being stalked and spin around to catch them. I often spun around to face no one. I was assigned female a birth, but I could not find myself in that identity so I was 11 and filled with choking shame about puberty, bras, and the tiny, delicate bow designers put on them. I ripped the bows off. It barely helped. There was no internet, so I did not have a cadre of other young, queer friends exploring identity. I learned to stay still like a bunny hiding in tall grass. Eventually, I just left my body. Dissociation made me easier to stalk.
Adulting
These days humiliation happens online, not on playgrounds. But it still sneaks up on us, still goes straight for the jugular, still laughs as we flail.
But, what if I was so full of joy, self-love, and focus (on what matters to me) that I wasn’t distracted by the stalking, attacking, or laughing? What if I was busy having my own laughs? What if I didn’t stop or slow down to endure the humiliation? What if I kept moving forward? What if I was an adult in a world of 12-year-olds? Young folks have undeniable power, but as an adult, I can rise to a higher vantage point, gifted to me my age.
Wisdom is my protection, not vigilance.
Love is my armor, not stress.
Movement is my savior, not stillness.
What if I learn to be a bunny frolicking in the fields, not a prey animal surviving life? What if I lived in joy until I died? What if death is only the next beginning?
Fear of death
I have been healing my fear of death. I believe the fear of death is one of 3 tap roots that allow for the growth of oppression. If I am not scared of death you cannot convince me to consent to your domination or control. I never consent to give up my ferality, if I a not scared of death. Middle school me was very afraid of death. I died each time I was humiliated and I felt demoralized by my inability to stay alive.
I give grace to Middle School Me who is still scared of being singled out. I just wanted to fit in. I just wanted to belong. I still do. But I can also be honest that I never fit in very well. I still don’t. Today, I have healed enough to love the amazing weirdo that I am. I no longer pretend to be someone I’m not so that a false version of me can be accepted. It doesn’t feel validating when Pretend Me is loved. Although, It does feel painful when Real Me is not. But, I can be honest that even I don’t know who Real Me is. Even I only have a limited view of Me. I only see Me from my perspective, which is one of 8 billion human perspectives of Me. (This doesn’t even count non-human perspectives!) Each perspective of me is true for the person experiencing Me. I am multidimensional like that. We all are. So… no one can see the True Me, therefore The True Me can never be humiliated because the True Me can never be experienced.
Shit. I guess I better go be Me then… 😂
Photo credits
Emiliano Vittoriosi on Unsplash
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