Session Twelve

Getting Un-Thrust

Objective:
Unlearn binary indoctrination that breeds conformity.

Pivot toward Real.

It’s exhilarating to be alive in a time
of awakening consciousness; it can also be
confusing, disorienting, and painful.

—Adrienne Rich

I
t’s 1971. Jim Morrison, lead singer for the Doors, climbs onstage and bellows out our collective plight, as riders on the storm.

Morrison nailed it. We are riders on the storm, trying to make sense of the simultaneous chaos and order of the universe. His “into this world we’re thrown” lyric was based on the German concept geworfen, meaning “thrownness.” European existentialist philosophers of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries were trying to expose certain trappings of convention and kinship, or “the matrixes of the past,” the traditions of yesterday that influence our present and future.

As much as things change from century to century, these matrixes keep their hold across time and space. No one flags us down in utero and asks, “Hey, in there, just a head’s up that we’ve been dealing with three generations of interpersonal violence over here, you still want the evite?” or “Oh, you’ve got a vagina—we’re already painting your room pink, okay?” It’s just the way it is, without our consent or collusion.

Before you’re born, no one bothers to find out if you still want to drop in to the party even though “We plan to serve meat and potatoes night after night with no variation in sight?” or that “Your dad is a raging alcoholic but somehow your mom will find a way to blame you for everything that goes wrong for the next thirty-five years before your therapist advises you to put your foot down.” There’s no choice but, “C’mon down when you’re ready for your induction into the Dysfunctional Family Hall of Fame; at least there’s the obligatory holiday gatherings to look forward to.”

You just show up to the party, let out a good scream, and get what you get. Your initiation is like a Mad Lib game meets the board game Life plus some cliché SAT-style circles that need to be filled in:

Welcome to the family. It’s a __________________________ [gender]!

Here is your almost entirely __________________ [Insert color here. If DOB is before 1927, insert pink for boys, blue for girls. If after, reverse.] blankie and wardrobe.

Next, please pick your game piece and partner. Be sure to take the ones we’ve assigned you. Do not deviate.

If you are a girl and you aren’t all sugar and spice, we will start calling you

a. Bossypants	d. Hysterical
b. Bitch	e. Butchy
c. High maintenance

If you’re a boy who’s not all snakes and snails, you’ll be pegged as a

a. Chicken	d. Pussy
b. Tool	e. Sissy
c. Crybaby

The ABCs of Identity

Circle the choices that best describe you:*

Aggressive	Full of yourself	Neighbor
Airhead	Gifted	Ornery
Articulate	Girly	Outlier
Assertive	Hot	Pig
Bossy	Husky	Pretty
Brave	Impulsive	Queer
Charismatic	Independent	Quirky
Conservative	Intense	Rebel
Crazy	Intriguing	Republican
Creative	Jerk	Right
Creep	Jesus freak	Smart
Democrat	Kind	Stupid
Disabled	Know-it-all	Successful
Down-to-earth	Leader	Thug
Drama queen	Liberal	Trustworthy
Ethnic-looking	Loudmouth	Unlovable
Exotic	Manchild	Unreachable
Feisty	Maniac	Whiny
Foreigner	Moody	Whore
Friend	Nasty	Wise**

* Depending on the gender, race, and socioeconomic status we assign you, plus those you eventually agree to take on, some of these options will not be available to you. In some cases, they will automatically come with your package. Sorry, no substitutions allowed.

** Sorry, there just aren’t enough endearing or disparaging terms available in the Vs and the X–Z range. You might have some luck on Urban Dictionary. And if this doesn’t seem like a lot of options, don’t worry. We will cover you up with an abundance of other choices to make—like twenty-six types of bagels and 101 shades of lip gloss to give you the sense you have some control.

Our social environment and prescribed norms are set in motion long before our arrival: the players at the table, pink or blue streamers, the game board, the menu—even before we could form a “Hell no!” on our little tongues and run like Forrest. Even Baby Mozart can’t help us outsmart the matrix in our early years.

Like it or not, none of us have a choice about the circumstances that greet us at our grand entrance. At first we’re too young to tell the difference. But not long into the event, the indigestion begins. Your aversion gets you looking around. You finally discover there are available substitutions, but not without cost, so you face the decision of whether to politely take your seat, choose from the limited menu, or even take extra helpings, or not. Either way there’s a price. We will be called names either way.

The inherited frustrations, sufferings, and demands based on the way it’s always been done by our family, culture, and society are tough to swallow, but we do it every day: it’s the way we do gender, love, secrets, school, work, and play—all derived from past eras with different variables.

There are one-way signs all over the map we’re handed. Everyone you know has been around the block a few times, so their path seems logical. The map serenades you like the “I’m the Map” song from Dora the Explorer.

Then the repetition starts getting on your nerves. The basic and prescriptive lyrics become annoying, but it’s hard to get them out of your head. It’s a little shocking that simple repetition works for so many people, but it does.

You need to tune into a different station. You’re tired of crashing when you go down the one-way street the wrong way. You want to find your own path and not be dictated by what everyone else thinks is right. But the map has its appeal, too. There is some comfort in feeling like you know which direction you are going, yet it doesn’t allow for anything but a linear existence and you know there’s more to explore.

Are You for Real?

The irony is that people in adult life use the term “Real” to describe when you fit exactly within the prescriptive norms of the map. It seems the opposite of real, but most everybody else is doing it. You work tirelessly to “become,” to morph into a more acceptable form. You are told to steer clear of the things that allegedly make you less of a man, woman, or person.

To become a lifetime member of the Real Men club, you’ve got to pay your dues. Don’t cry. Real men have no fear and don’t eat quiche. They don’t let anyone correct them publicly or challenge their authority. They don’t let women pay for dinner. Real men display their collection of sports and female trophies—the hotter their partner, the realer they become.

Real men like rough sports and rough sex—with women only. Real men are straight. There are no chick flicks or Zumba classes (unless it’s to pursue a woman, then it’s okay). Real men don’t overdo the manscaping. They smell good, but not too good. Size matters. If you’re tall, beefy, or well-endowed, you are the real deal. Real men can only show their feelings through anger, not sadness, even though there’s plenty of reasons for the latter.

The key to being real is to never show how much you really care. Work yourself over the edge at work, but act cavalierly about it, like it was no big deal. Your girlfriend can break your heart, but suck it up and go out and hook up with someone else the next night. Not caring has become a cultural badge—for everyone. We’re asked to work so hard to become real and not blink an eye when things don’t work out. Our ways of defining real are unreal.

Real women aren’t too bossy, aggressive, or domineering. They are never nasty. They are submissive, gentle, and nurturing. They’re not too skinny, not too chubby. Big breasts are always a plus. Real women are born with vaginas—if they are transgender and transitioned, they don’t count as real. Real women smell like jasmine, taste like cherries, and don’t pass gas, even though they are expected to eat a lot of salad. Real women dress to look attractive but avoid wearing something that might signal real men into thinking she’s looking for it. They are expected to be freaks in bed, but not because they have gained experience by having a wide variety of sex partners. Real women are sex toys, but never promiscuous—sensual but not teases.

Real women are sous chefs in the kitchen, can fold a shirt like they work at the Gap, and are therapists to anyone who needs them. They send thank-you notes on time and make sure everyone is using their Sonicare toothbrushes. According to social media, they know how to take care of their man, and make their life easy. Real women know it’s unbecoming to show anger, even though there’s plenty to be angry about.

Supposedly, the highest honor bestowed on real women is getting called the “full package”—the ones who know their way around the bedroom, kitchen, boardroom, and even the gym. She’s attractive and smart. Intelligent, but not pretentious,1 a rare gem who can pull a lot off without being high maintenance. She’s not needy, but not so strong she becomes a threat. Athletic, but not bulky. Successful, but down-to-earth. Knows it all without being a know-it-all. And she cares enough, but not so much that she becomes too intense—because everyone knows that’s a real turnoff.

Even though it’s meant to be a compliment, being a full package seems to be another way to reinforce the commodity mind-set of today—that you are nothing more than a possession or prize to be won over. That you are never enough unless you are everything. You are a full package and real deal only when you “have it all”: the looks, brains, 2.5 kids, picket fence, Curves body, Fey humor, and the moves of Samantha from Sex in the City. Being the full package seems like an honor but is more like a prison.

Just when it seems there’s enough fear and compliance to last a lifetime, “good” is paired with “real” for the shaming knockout punch. Good men and women die for their country. Good women keep themselves pure. Good moms breastfeed. Good dads spend time with their kids. Good little girls and boys don’t cry; they listen quietly and sit still. Good workers arrive early and stay late.

Every faith has its own version of this. You’ve gotta follow the program if you want to be good and real. If you dance, eat meat, or let out an F-bomb from time to time, you must not be a real Christian/Muslim/Jew. You’re not good or real if you don’t wear your head scarf, follow the scriptures to the letter of the law, or make your appearance in church every week.

Sadly, these things send us away from the direction of finding what is real.

The real carrot dangling over our heads, enticing us to keep on turning tricks, is more toxic than we realize. These social definitions allure us into thinking that if we fit this norm we will then be legitimate. It seems contradictory that we achieve our real crown by being fake, but somehow the threat of not being fully accepted can make us do crazy things.

Leading an unexamined life in which you take the map as marching orders from birth and never look back jeopardizes your essence and spiritual wholeness. When you never find out who you are and simply accept the real constructed version that everyone believes you to be, you might be trading immediate comfort for a slow soul bleed-out. It’s like hiding all of the footnotes in the margins of our lives, the spaces that we won’t let anyone see, the ones we barely acknowledge.2 We only show our edited versions, relinquishing the lead roles in our own stories. Instead, we send forth our doppelganger, who resembles us to some degree, but is more of a character we’ve allowed everyone else to construct on our behalf.

Today’s generation is just as frustrated with the matrix as twentieth century philosophers. They make sport out of tackling binary constructions. They often become a cultural punching bag, but they are stronger than they’re given credit for. They refuse to put up with things like prior generations. They’ve got access to new science and are connected as global citizens more than we ever were. They see beyond the matrix, know what’s at stake, and want to get real right.

Deconstruct the Binary

You gotta love the brazen millennials who’ve pulled their weight to get us unthrown from historic and social tides that project what our behavior should be. They’re showing us we don’t have to let “What will they think?” hold us by the jugular.

The new generation’s blowing of the whistle on the binary has been a major step toward progress. Binary means “involving two”; most of us first learned about it in math class. Gender binary has received the most attention recently, mainly because of the transgender bathroom debate, but it’s not the only place binaries show up.

In social and historical terms, the binary is used to group people into categories such as woman or man, pretty or ugly, black or white, straight or gay. It’s a path that is taught and reinforced repeatedly, requiring careful consideration of why binaries exist and who these constructs actually serve.

Binary categories do not serve us well. The expansiveness within our global community allows us to stop subscribing to limiting and narrow boxes that often serve to shame and keep people in their “place.” Race, gender, sexual orientation, and other identities have been proven to be socially constructed, not scientifically grounded.

The type of scientific discovery and social progress we’ve seen means that identifying in nonconventional ways is no longer an automatic conversational rip cord. We don’t have to check a certain box to feel good about identity. Despite popular sentiments, self-esteem doesn’t rise and fall solely based on our level of confidence or on how good our latest Insta post came out. Sociologist Charles Horton Cooley explains that our identity is created through a process of interactions with people, and our self-reflection about who we think we are according to the exchanges. He calls this the looking-glass self, and says that our identity is produced through agreement, disagreement, and negotiation with other people. Our behavior and self-image are both impacted through these interactions and reflections.

If the interactions we have consist of rigid binary codes and shaming techniques, they are knockout punches both to esteem and getting closer to real. So often, we’re made to feel we have to hide when we have nothing to hide. There’s no room for this anymore.

Get Out of the Closet

There is never enough air to breathe when we are stuck in a closet, afraid to reveal our multidimensional sides. Throughout my study, my students talked and wrote about their binary indoctrination. They’d also been shoved into prescribed either/or roles and categories that were not only bothersome but damaging. Their breakaways were often painful, but vital to their progress. Carlos put it like this:

My family should have named me “Tough Guy” because I’ve always been expected to be stoic, just like all the other men in my family. I’ve been constantly reminded that “I’m not like everyone else,” as if I were committing a crime for not following the same ways of doing things. Whenever I’ve shown emotion, I’ve been criticized as “weak.” My older brother used to always tell me to “stop being such a girl.” It wasn’t until I moved away and stopped talking to them for a while that I began to find myself. Now, they’re a lot better, and I think they finally got the hint and started to see that I am strong, but don’t have to be a tough guy to show that. That honesty and even vulnerability are ways of showing it too.

Jackie had her own frustrations:

I was always called a tomboy growing up. I never went through the Barbie phase and loved hanging out with my brother and his friends. My mom constantly hovered over me, trying to teach me “manners” and how to be “like the other nice girls.” My teachers called me “unique,” which I think they meant in a good way, but it always made me feel weird and out of place. I got teased all the time. I finally let go of it in high school, and got lucky I was such a good athlete. It’s funny how people act differently just because of sports. It was like I proved my worth or something. They finally started to overlook what they saw as my nonconformity, because I had become “good enough” in another way. It’s all kind of bullshit, because all along I was only trying to be myself—which was exactly what I had always been taught. Growing up, I’d always heard a lot of that from my parents, and teachers: “Be yourself,” “Don’t copy,” but it doesn’t seem like they really meant it when I wasn’t being what they really wanted me to be.

Beth faced similar issues growing up, but was especially tired of still having to explain herself as an adult:

I’ve been working in a laboratory as a scientist for years, and I can’t tell you how many times people ask me if I am a nurse when I say I work at a hospital. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me, I’d be rich. People’s eyes glaze over quickly when we start talking professional talk, outside of basic things women are “supposed to” talk about. It’s like they just can’t picture I am capable of anything beyond creating a Pinterest world for everyone around me. It’s either that, or they give me the good ol’ good-for-you pat, that I am actually a woman who has accomplished something. You can’t win.

Camille faced it her whole life, growing up in a primarily white town with little diversity:

You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve been called “ethnic,” or asked if I’m black or white. I’m biracial—my mom is black, and dad is white—so that makes me both. I sometimes felt I didn’t fit in to any of my friend groups, and there was always pressure to act more of either category depending on who I was with at the time. Everyone is so obsessed with race—and it is important to me, but it’s still only one part of me.

Carlos, Jackie, Beth, and Camille had different circumstances but were struggling with the binary map matrix that didn’t recognize their multidimensionality. They were tired of the same old questions and reactions simply because of the expectations and roles into which history, society, and family had shoved them. I thought this would make for a good topic in class, so I asked my students what had been thrown upon them because of constructed identity norms.

Me: What’s been thrown upon you?

Jenna: I once had a kid throw up on me at the bank.

Pam: My baby throws up on me almost every day.

Me: No, I mean thrown-upon social identities and expectations based on your gender, skin color, social class, birth order, family dynamics, or otherwise. . . .

Ralph: That I have to be the strong one.

Joe: That if I’m an athlete, I’m not likely to be very smart.

Me: What else?

Keisha: That someone is going to expect you to act a certain way, just because of how you look.

Ji-Ho: The idea that I was going to follow in the footsteps of my father, even though he was completely miserable.

Our classroom discussions reminded me of the many patients I’ve worked with in my therapy room, also trying to untangle themselves from the trappings of the binary. Too much time was spent trying to survive within the closets where they’d been forced. In every instance, it was becoming clear that the less we shove people into these dark spaces, the better for all.

When we waste our whole life working to become what we think we’re supposed to be, instead of owning our many sides, it comes at a great cost. We cannot overcome binary indoctrination by constantly trying to become something we’re not. Maybe unbecoming is what we need to break out of conformity. Imagine the time and trouble we could save if we were encouraged from day one to discover this.

Get off the paved path. It’s way too basic for you. There’s air to breathe. Oceans to float in. Dances to be danced. Songs to sing. Splendor to behold. Stop waiting for permission.