Second Chance: the Ghosts of Belts and Spoons

My life today doesn't fit the one I used to have. “Tell my mother, tell my father, I've done the best I can, to make them realize this is my life. I hope they understand” (Shinedown, Second Chance). I changed my narrative from I'm not supposed to work and I can't work, to climbing the org chart through hard work, advancement, promotion, recruitment, and negotiation. I didn't settle for the first stop on my current career journey. I'm grateful for every stop on the way here because each of them gave me tools I use every day. I left a lot behind to do that. I left people behind, dreams behind, comfort behind, and even the top seat. I left my home, my family, my religion, and parts of my identity to build something different. The grass is not always greener, but I had to do it for myself and for the family I built. 

In early editions of this blog, I talked about religious trauma a fair amount. Recently, I was watching Prodigal Daughter with Taylor Tomlinson on Netflix, laughing hysterically, because she arguably stole a couple of my bits or I just felt seen in some weird ways. She talked about not wearing belts or using wooden spoons and she's making jokes about it because what's a trauma survivor to do but turn pain into humor? I understand that one on a core level. In a certain decade, Evangelicals latched onto James Dobson (fuck him) to discipline their children. I have flashbacks of a particular leather belt and get triggered by the sight of wooden spoons. The only thing that accomplished was a shrinking spirit and therapy bills. Supposedly, using an implement was supposed to separate the parent from the action they were doing. My parents were impressionable people sometimes and they fell for that stupid bullshit. 

I love my parents and they were wrong to do that. Some might argue that I turned out well. I did for the most part but that left emotional scars and a narrative of fear that I have to overcome every day when dealing with figures of authority. All because they believed that “sparing the rod spoils the child.” I'm anything but spoiled so I guess that worked. At what cost? I intentionally raise my children differently. I left the Evangelical Church first and then the Church as a whole. I'm in my forties undoing a narrative implanted when I was less than five years old. 

Why am I sharing this with the world? The person I am at home and at work is influenced daily by the life, beliefs, and people I left behind. My parents are dead so they only got a glimpse of my separation from the life and beliefs they raised me with. Truly, I don't think they would understand the lasting impact of shitty theology. If you want a lighthearted way to understand my experience in this area of life, watch the stand-up special I mentioned above. 

If nothing else, it highlights why I, as someone who earned a degree around biblical scholarship, refused to tell my kids the “kid friendly” stories from the Bible, like Noah's Arc (genocide by God) and Joseph's Colorful Coat (greed and sibling violence). The Bible is one of the most violent books I've ever read, along with other primary religious texts for other religions. I made a conscious decision not to take the indoctrination to the next generation. I made a conscious choice to live differently with an open spirit towards powers greater than myself and the consciousness of doubt that led me to relinquish certainty for agnosticism. Make no mistake, the Bible is the most influential book in my life and career, and I had a career because of it. I know the power it holds to change lives for the better. I also know the power it holds to control and subjugate people. 

I couldn't live my parent's life anymore, even if Jesus might have saved my dad from his addiction for awhile. In exchange, I lived a life of dysfunction, fear, and control in the name of Jesus. It took the deaths of both of my parents and next to no contact with blood relatives to choose me and ultimately choose my own children. I'm not a perfect parent and my kids will likely have their own stories of where I failed, but they feel safe enough with me to wish me ill when they're mad at me because they don't fear belts and spoons. I'll take that over the submissive compliance that I know too well. 

As a result, when I'm at the leadership table I have a tendency to shrink, be too honest, or react due to the trauma responses developed from a childhood in Evangelical Christianity. A glimmer of a future post, it's pretty wild to have a double message of belonging and worthlessness shape the majority of your personal and professional life. Every day is a fight to use my voice and keep a seat at the table.