Chilling, and, yes, we all have that potential for good and evil within us and nowhere is it more apparent than in our current president. Nonetheless, I will not absolve myself entirely. I know that I too exist somewhere on that continuum. Consequently, I will remember Mary Oliver. I pray to keep the doors of my heart open.
Your excellent article made my stomach clench with nausea; a combination of impotent rage and profound sadness. I am pulled from feeling bad that sadists must have brokenness from their own tormented childhoods (my assumption as a highly empathetic human) to a desire for retribution of the exact kind the cruel individuals exalted upon their victims. My mind can't comprehend cruelty. I was raised on my mothers rage; her verbal, physical, and emotional abuse. I have memories of this going back to toddlerhood. I recall her demanding that my father ( who died very young when I was 13) beat me as well, which he refused to do. Hell, HE was afraid of her too! She is a textbook Narcissist ( with the added bonus of religious psychosis, and then an enthusiastic member of maga) I severed all ties with her many years ago. I used to be a heavy drinker and oh did I wince with painful recognition when you described your rages after a few glasses. That was me. I will forever carry remorse about screaming and cursing at my VERY sweet son when he was around 9 because he dropped something. God it hurts just to write that. Alcohol turned me into a beast that even frightened me. But my most stark memory of cruelty occurred when I was a newly single mother, raising my 5 year old little girl on my own. It was SUCH a hard time for us...for many reasons besides divorce. I got her a kitten-sweet little gray guy we named Tyler. There was a young neighbor kid named Bobby, who was maybe 7. He came over a lot and I came to realize his home was abusive too. He was in my yard one day and wanted to hold the kitten. I said fine and then left to pick my daughter up from daycare. Ten minutes later we returned home and saw Bobby standing there, and the kitten on the ground in front of him. Bobby had either strangled or stomped the poor thing to death. I will never forget my daughters horror. And my shock and confusion. And how Bobby continued to simply stand there...in what I can only describe as a dissociated state. Boy...adrenaline is a hell of a hormone. I screamed at him to go home, tried to comfort my little girl who was absolutely bereft, and run up the long hilly driveway to tell the landlady what happened. She didnt even seem that surprised. I told her I'd be moving out. I could absolutely picture this kid burning the house down or something. Then I went over to Bobby's...to tell his father what happened. (They lived in a different part of the same big , very run-down house). I think his father beat him....so of course I feel guilty that I told him. Luckily we moved to a better place and went on with our lives. My daughter is now 37 and still vividly remembers that horrible afternoon, and avoids talking about it. Her boys are 9 and 7 and absolutely adore animals, so she can't wrap her head around killing a pet. Any animal. Any insect or rodent. I still think about Bobby once in a while. I wonder if he ever got help-or if he went on to greater and greater acts of cruelty.
I instantly connected with the incident of your father and the silent treatment -- I had the same experience as a teen with my grandmother, who lived with us, and it fostered that same attunement to others that you refer to.
I absolutely agree that this potential exists in us all, individually and as communities, and that it is so important to keep our humanity and the humanity of others in view at all times. Thank you for this post.
My mother pointed out earlier today that the 9th grade bully who punched me in the face, gave me a very nice dimple that she finds attractive. She says he did me a favor. So there you have it. Somehow bullies make us more attractive people. Maybe they make us more humble, more empathetic, more prepared for a cruel world, or maybe they give us a dimple.
Original sin is the name given to that brokenness within us—and, astonishingly, God has already provided a remedy for it, whether one chooses to receive it or not. That necessary shadow seems woven into the human condition, not as an end in itself, but as a means by which we come to recognize its opposite—to discern, desire, and ultimately choose what is good, holy, and pure.
I, too, feel the weight of that dark and troubling aspect of our nature, and I don’t pretend to welcome it. Yet who am I to contend with God’s design? Perhaps there is truth in this: that we must first encounter what we are not in order to truly understand what we are.
This post certainly upset me bringing up cruelty and even just meanness that I have witnessed and remembered throughout my lifetime. I'll share my son's 10th grade story. He was in class and got up to talk with the teacher in the front of the room. When he returned to his desk the thumb drive from his computer with his home work on it was stolen. He asked the classmates but none of the kids confessed to taking it. He went back to the teacher who said this to my son, "I'm sorry the kids steal from me too." This was a man teacher with a class of 14 and 15 year olds. I would never have let that slide. It's not about punishment but about standing up for what is right and helping those that are wronged. Until we collectively feel like we can do this there is little hope for us. When I was a kid playing in the neighborhood parents didn't hesitate to yell at us if we were being mean to another kid. And as kids we felt sorry for our actions and hoped our misdeeds would not reach the ears of our parents. These days no one seems to care or communicate and so resiliency and a sense of belonging is not fostered. Standing up doesn't have to be nasty it just matters to do what you know is fair and just in your heart. How else will we improve ourselves?
My goodness, my hand was on my heart through all of this. I squirmed and gasped and held back tears reading about some of the acts of cruelty you shared, having witness many similar things myself in my life. And when reaching the end, I felt the tiniest softening to read the words I have also echoed to others throughout my own life: Be Kind. Oh, how hard it is to remember these small words with enormous weight. How difficult it can be to consider the one who harms is likely learning harm. Your words are such a genuine reminder, with no cushioning. Especially in acknowledging that we all lie on the spectrum, somewhere. God, may we remember to be kind. 💗🙏🏽
Insightful,thought provoking and sent a shudder down my back knowing this described the current political state of our nation. I do walk away for small periods of time to just breathe and calm my soul but then I involve myself is whatever I can do to stand up and fight for truth,kindness and the democracy we have taken for granted for so long.
Chilling, and, yes, we all have that potential for good and evil within us and nowhere is it more apparent than in our current president. Nonetheless, I will not absolve myself entirely. I know that I too exist somewhere on that continuum. Consequently, I will remember Mary Oliver. I pray to keep the doors of my heart open.
Your excellent article made my stomach clench with nausea; a combination of impotent rage and profound sadness. I am pulled from feeling bad that sadists must have brokenness from their own tormented childhoods (my assumption as a highly empathetic human) to a desire for retribution of the exact kind the cruel individuals exalted upon their victims. My mind can't comprehend cruelty. I was raised on my mothers rage; her verbal, physical, and emotional abuse. I have memories of this going back to toddlerhood. I recall her demanding that my father ( who died very young when I was 13) beat me as well, which he refused to do. Hell, HE was afraid of her too! She is a textbook Narcissist ( with the added bonus of religious psychosis, and then an enthusiastic member of maga) I severed all ties with her many years ago. I used to be a heavy drinker and oh did I wince with painful recognition when you described your rages after a few glasses. That was me. I will forever carry remorse about screaming and cursing at my VERY sweet son when he was around 9 because he dropped something. God it hurts just to write that. Alcohol turned me into a beast that even frightened me. But my most stark memory of cruelty occurred when I was a newly single mother, raising my 5 year old little girl on my own. It was SUCH a hard time for us...for many reasons besides divorce. I got her a kitten-sweet little gray guy we named Tyler. There was a young neighbor kid named Bobby, who was maybe 7. He came over a lot and I came to realize his home was abusive too. He was in my yard one day and wanted to hold the kitten. I said fine and then left to pick my daughter up from daycare. Ten minutes later we returned home and saw Bobby standing there, and the kitten on the ground in front of him. Bobby had either strangled or stomped the poor thing to death. I will never forget my daughters horror. And my shock and confusion. And how Bobby continued to simply stand there...in what I can only describe as a dissociated state. Boy...adrenaline is a hell of a hormone. I screamed at him to go home, tried to comfort my little girl who was absolutely bereft, and run up the long hilly driveway to tell the landlady what happened. She didnt even seem that surprised. I told her I'd be moving out. I could absolutely picture this kid burning the house down or something. Then I went over to Bobby's...to tell his father what happened. (They lived in a different part of the same big , very run-down house). I think his father beat him....so of course I feel guilty that I told him. Luckily we moved to a better place and went on with our lives. My daughter is now 37 and still vividly remembers that horrible afternoon, and avoids talking about it. Her boys are 9 and 7 and absolutely adore animals, so she can't wrap her head around killing a pet. Any animal. Any insect or rodent. I still think about Bobby once in a while. I wonder if he ever got help-or if he went on to greater and greater acts of cruelty.
I instantly connected with the incident of your father and the silent treatment -- I had the same experience as a teen with my grandmother, who lived with us, and it fostered that same attunement to others that you refer to.
I absolutely agree that this potential exists in us all, individually and as communities, and that it is so important to keep our humanity and the humanity of others in view at all times. Thank you for this post.
My mother pointed out earlier today that the 9th grade bully who punched me in the face, gave me a very nice dimple that she finds attractive. She says he did me a favor. So there you have it. Somehow bullies make us more attractive people. Maybe they make us more humble, more empathetic, more prepared for a cruel world, or maybe they give us a dimple.
Original sin is the name given to that brokenness within us—and, astonishingly, God has already provided a remedy for it, whether one chooses to receive it or not. That necessary shadow seems woven into the human condition, not as an end in itself, but as a means by which we come to recognize its opposite—to discern, desire, and ultimately choose what is good, holy, and pure.
I, too, feel the weight of that dark and troubling aspect of our nature, and I don’t pretend to welcome it. Yet who am I to contend with God’s design? Perhaps there is truth in this: that we must first encounter what we are not in order to truly understand what we are.
This post certainly upset me bringing up cruelty and even just meanness that I have witnessed and remembered throughout my lifetime. I'll share my son's 10th grade story. He was in class and got up to talk with the teacher in the front of the room. When he returned to his desk the thumb drive from his computer with his home work on it was stolen. He asked the classmates but none of the kids confessed to taking it. He went back to the teacher who said this to my son, "I'm sorry the kids steal from me too." This was a man teacher with a class of 14 and 15 year olds. I would never have let that slide. It's not about punishment but about standing up for what is right and helping those that are wronged. Until we collectively feel like we can do this there is little hope for us. When I was a kid playing in the neighborhood parents didn't hesitate to yell at us if we were being mean to another kid. And as kids we felt sorry for our actions and hoped our misdeeds would not reach the ears of our parents. These days no one seems to care or communicate and so resiliency and a sense of belonging is not fostered. Standing up doesn't have to be nasty it just matters to do what you know is fair and just in your heart. How else will we improve ourselves?
My goodness, my hand was on my heart through all of this. I squirmed and gasped and held back tears reading about some of the acts of cruelty you shared, having witness many similar things myself in my life. And when reaching the end, I felt the tiniest softening to read the words I have also echoed to others throughout my own life: Be Kind. Oh, how hard it is to remember these small words with enormous weight. How difficult it can be to consider the one who harms is likely learning harm. Your words are such a genuine reminder, with no cushioning. Especially in acknowledging that we all lie on the spectrum, somewhere. God, may we remember to be kind. 💗🙏🏽
Insightful,thought provoking and sent a shudder down my back knowing this described the current political state of our nation. I do walk away for small periods of time to just breathe and calm my soul but then I involve myself is whatever I can do to stand up and fight for truth,kindness and the democracy we have taken for granted for so long.
*in not is 😉