House of Mirrors

I have had a number of relationships in my life where I view a high degree of similarity between myself and the other person, and within that similarity, I'm able to come up with a single difference between us that I see as defining. I liken it to being a mirror image. The image in the mirror is effectively the same, but inverted. There are actually three of these sorts that I find particularly informative to myself at the present moment.

The first, and the longest, is dealing with my elder brother. Not only do we look frighteningly similar to one another, but we also were the nerdy, awkward kids growing up. Both of us are gay, and both of us have had at least some degree of "needing to be needed." There's a lot more to it, but I think you get the point.

My brother's favorite book of all time was "The Catcher in the Rye." And he still firmly identifies himself with Holden Caulfield. The baseline reason for this is that, for him, adults are selfish and hurtful beings, for the most part. Children, while being very self-centered, tend to also be more giving and ultimately concerned for the well-being of others than adults. Particularly when one considers the hurtful ways that many parents use their children against one another, children themselves are often the victims of the selfish posturing of adults. And so thus, not only do those children become victims of adults, but they then have the tools hard-wired into them to become those hurtful adults who had victimized them. Thus, my brother has become a school psychologist, has a very small group of friends that he feels that he can trust, and otherwise remains wary of the rest of the adult world.

I have found that I am similar to him in this fact, not because I'm focused on children versus adults or anything like that, but because I do see that there is a lot of hurt in the world. Even with regard to activism, I have always taken the position that human beings are intrinsically able to have so much potential, but because every single person in the world has been hurt, they act out to hurt others. This hurt takes on such a large scale that the hurtfulness seems overwhelming. I can't help but sometimes take the look that everyone in the world is broken in some way... and that those feelings of being hurt and broken frequently lead people to act out in ways that hurt and break others. It is thus a never-ending cycle.

The true extent of finding myself similar to my brother was shortly after my last break-up. He had stated that every time he has fallen in love, it was *just* at the moment when he felt somehow safe. Not only did I come to a major realization within myself for that reason, but was put in a bit of a more agitated position when talking to Julie about the recognition, as she flippantly stated "but relationships are never safe. They're always a risk." This to the guy who was really hurt, but who kept running to one of the guys he was seeing whenever he felt hurt to hold and feel better... it wasn't one of my best moments, I'll admit. But I learned from it.

And yet, here's where the difference between myself and my brother comes in. We both see the world as a place that has so much potential to hurt people. And both of us see ourselves as taking an essential role in mitigating this hurt in some way. But where my brother, from my perspective, sees no hope in the world of adults and thereby attempts to protect children from the world, I see things differently. I see potential hope for all of us, so long as we can move PAST the hurt, past what has broken us, and to allow the cycle to end there. I believe that there are adults in the world who have been able to say "I've been hurt. I have this broken piece inside of me, but I'm not going to allow it to control me or to cause me to hurt or break anybody else."

And this is where I see my own role in mitigating the hurt and the brokenness of the world. And where I've made a determination for myself even within the realm of relationships. No longer will I fear love as an inevitability of being hurt and fight it every step of the way, and no longer will I build up barriers to trusting other adults. I will give everyone a fair shot of trust, respect, and mindfulness. And if and when they take that trust, reject it and reach down into their own pits of hurt to throw that trust in my face? I will not allow it to contribute back to that hurt and cause me to continue the cycle. I will communicate my hurt, and I'll be open and honest about my position, but I will write nobody off completely, and I will continue to validate the existence and feelings of those people who have hurt me. And my hope is that my example of allowing myself to be hurt without lashing back out will have a true and lasting impact upon them, and it may help them move past their own hurt, to stop the cycle of hurting other people.

And with regard to love? I'm not going to build my defenses higher, or put up more barriers to prevent myself from falling in. I'm in the process of breaking them down. I've been hurt before, and I've survived. And even the most painful of those relationships have left me learning a great deal about myself and other people. And so I give myself over. I am ready to be hurt again, because I am not going to try to protect myself and others FROM the world. I'm looking to fix the problem, and to begin the process of healing. Starting with myself, and moving on to others...

The second of these is far less on a grand scale. But it's a reflection nonetheless. It is actually a sense that I've had from one of the couple I'd last dated. And sorry to everyone if you thought I should be more anonymous with my blogs, or change people's names, but... that's not me. I'm honest, no matter what.

While I was never as close to Steve as I was to Ray directly, I also saw many frightening similarities between myself and Steve. One of those particularly, became especially apparent during my birthday dinner, when Steve had discussed a certain strategy for manipulating a supervisor to get a dispensation he'd been looking for. Apparently Ray had not agreed with Steve's ability to get the dispensation, or the method that he was using to get it. Steve's response, of course, was to merely point out how much Ray didn't understand how to properly manipulate people.

Sadly, I got this. For my own point of similarity, my mother was, and still is, one of the most manipulative people in existence. To this day, she has excelled at making it seem as if her meeting some of her own needs is somehow tied to something important for YOU, and as such, you owe her something for it. It's like getting a two-for deal. She meets her own needs, and then gets you to feel obligated to her for it besides. In high school, this meant that there was an all-out war between us. It was mostly a "silent" war, as of course it involved *relatively* little violence... well, for my part, at least. It was instead a war of manipulation, as I saw my only means of escape as being able to beat her at her own game. And I became VERY adept at it. Which again brought out many issues, including a sense of profound satisfaction any time I managed to drive her to acting out in violence, as I never reciprocated. It gave me a sense of victory, of winning... and when I finally went to college, and when she attempted to direct my course in college, I had what I'd considered my "final victory" where she no longer had any power over me.

The degree of the manipulation was immense. To the point where my brothers and I even to this day will point out a habit, a thought process, or even a way of arguing that one or another of us will use, and say "you know that's not normal, right? That comes from Mom." And yet, at least at the time, I'd taken a profound satisfaction from the fact that, in fact, I had beaten her at her own game.

The problem becomes that I have absolutely no desire to be that person, and therefore attempt regularly to NOT engage in such manipulation. It has taken me years, but I've come to see the silver lining in it, which is the fact that the attentiveness that comes from knowing how to manipulate, also brings with it a sense of empathy. For the manipulative person, like my mother or Steve, to get back to the original topic, you need to be able to read people and see where they are, in order to understand where to push this or that button and therefore to trigger the effect that you're looking for. After you become adept at reading the signs, however, you can also turn things around and do what you can to help *prevent* the breakdowns, recognize what somebody might need despite what may or may not benefit you, and help to ease tensions instead of generating more of them.

And so is the difference in the reflection of what I see in Steve. He takes a great sense of pride in his ability to manipulate others, and maintains it as one of his greatest strengths. In effect, he uses it as a means to protect himself by trying to be in complete control over every interpersonal relationship he has. He benefits from it in a great many ways, as well. For a brief while, I was actually even somewhat jealous and upset that he managed to get away with it so amazingly, whereas my refusal to "stoop to the level" had managed to mean that I got to be the person hurt the most by the situation... and yet, over time, I've recognized one thing. By controlling each relationship, you are maintaining a static environment, and you are never growing. I may have been hurt, but I've grown from the experience and have moved onward. And even when I sent my last message stating that I understand the place of hurt that he had come from, and that I still cared deeply for both him and Ray, his scathing response... the one that came from that place of hurt and brokenness, made me realize that mine is truly the better way. And my hope is that my refusal to give back that hurt and pain will help him to realize that maybe there is some room for being open to hurt, after all.

Finally, and I apologize for this being a much more long-winded entry than it should have been (now that I think on it, I should've broken it down into 3 separate entries), is my friend Aileen. We both had gone to the same Jesuit college where we met, and she has been one of my greatest friends. I still remember her as having one of the most positive reactions to my coming out, having put her arms around me and hugging me, and congratulating me on being able to come to that point. Aileen is also an activist. Aileen is a strong feminist, as am I. After Fairfield, both of us spent the same summer at the New Haven Catholic Worker. Our positions are very similar to one another.

But in many, many ways I am a separatist. Aileen is a reformer. I saw the Catholic Church, and indeed Christianity overall, as being horribly linked to sexist, homophobic values and have summarily rejected it, in favor of coming to a cosmology that is more humanist, affirming, and value-centered. Aileen always saw the same problems that I have, and yet has always felt that there is room to reform the institutions from within.

It is similar with regard to the idea of marriage and monogamy. I reject both institutions, seeing marriage as having started as a means of documenting possession and control of women, and having not improved substantially since its inception. Aileen has always been more "traditional" when it comes to dating and relationships.

In taking on our activism, it was always somewhat profound to me that we would be able to go about our work in such meaningful ways, and with such a continuity of spirit, when our philosophies were also so different, as well. In a sense, and you'll forgive me for the nerdy comic book reference, I have always seen myself as the Magneto to her Charles Xavier, or for a more realistic reference, as the Malcolm X to her MLK.

I admit, however, to being a little bit nervous about one thing. In most of our discussions, I can remember having said "I hope I'm wrong, and that you are able to make the changes that you want to make within the institutions. But I don't think I am, and that the institutions are doomed to forever be perpetrators of oppression."

I'd lost contact with Aileen for many years, and only just recently have re-connected with her again. She is still one of my best friends in existence, despite the years and distance intervening. And yet, on her facebook profile, the one thing I've read that I have yet to mention in my conversations with her thus far, was that her religion section lists the word "Episcopalian." It makes sense, of course. She can become the minister she has always wanted to be within the Episcopal Church, and the teachings of the Episcopal Church are still extremely similar to the Catholic Church.

For once, I get the fear that I was right. I can't help but feel conflicted. She is clearly going to be happier as an Episcopalian than she ever could have been as a Catholic. But the fact remains that I can't help but imagine what it must have been like for her on that day, to come to the conclusion that, yes "this institution is not going to change. I no longer have hope for it, and therefore I must leave it to become a part of something better." Part of me is relieved that I was not around on that day, because such a decision speaks of having a sense of lost hope. And yet, I wish that I could have been there to tell her, at least, that yes, there is more out there that is better. And even though you are rejecting this institution, you are leaving room for building something that is better.

These are my mirrors. I admit to taking a bit of satisfaction in witnessing how much I've developed by relating back to them again, in some way. But even in the course of writing this, I've even still learned something else that is new. Each of the people who I consider to be one of my mirrors, the difference that I see, is dealing in some way with growth and the way we relate to the world. And it is a question of growth versus safety. Whether it is the safety of an institution, or safety in distance from the adult world, or even in manipulation and control over your relationships, there is a safety that comes as a result. In each of these, however, I have taken the path of less safety. The path of risk. And yet, I think that the safety I take from my position is knowing that I can always relate myself back to each of them. That to some extent, while I have prioritized my need to grow and become something better, to create something greater, I can always turn either back or to the side and see those who have found an anchor. Perhaps they aren't my mirrors after all, but my lighthouses. Those who provide a point to which I can always refer back, even as I venture out into uncharted territory...