I have half-formed prejudices. They never fully develop because half way through development I realise what they are and debunk them. Like my vegetable prejudice when I was a child. I swore I hated them all from broccoli to spinach. Why? "All vegetables were mushy messes when cooked and slithered down your throat in slimy gooeyness when swallowed! Ew!" Yes, a definite prejudice but I never saw it as a prejudice. A prejudice is a generalisation instead of a specific. It is not logical. A prejudice is never discussed, thought about or made to answer the most important question you can ask in life; "why?"
We have to ask the question "why?" whenever we generalise anything. There is always an answer. It is when the answer comes from inside you that it is true. The one feeling animosity is us and no other person or book will be able to truly answer such a personal question as "why do you feel this way?"
I believed all vegetables were disgusting when I was a child because that is how they were cooked in our home. That was the way that individual liked their vegetables. Since I memorized the sequence of directions from this source, I cooked our vegetables this way also. It was all I knew and was therefore truth to me. When I saw my first crisp vegetable, I was shocked and did not want to try them. That would mean change. It would mean that what I thought I knew was not false but not the only truth. I knew it was not my truth.
I may have been cooking vegetables like that for years but I did not eat them. Nothing worse than overcooked spinach. Bleah! Finding crisp vegetables was an actual relief but also scary. It felt disloyal. I actually felt guilty. By eating them and enjoying them meant that I'd also have to acknowledge that I actually disliked this relative's cooking and not the vegetables themselves. I was all of 9 years old when this experience happened. I understood this concept of prejudice even though I did not know the word.
Later on in my life, at the ripe old age of 11, I was raped. One part of me wanted to hate all men. I even tested out the thought briefly and immediately felt guilty. I can't hate all men. My daddy is a man and if I hate all men that means I have to hate my dad. That's just not true. So I tried race, weight, age etc and exhausted all options because I knew another family member who fit those descriptions that I actually liked. So I sighed in defeat and then decided to hate myself instead. Years later that hate and rage was shared equally between myself and my rapist. It's been whittled down throughout the years by constantly asking myself "why?" after every mental statement. Yes, I have been annoying myself for years.
"I hate all men!"
"Why?"
"They overpower you and take what they want!"
"Really? All the men in the world did this?"
"The ones I've known do! Every single man wants to take over my life. Take away everything I am until nothing is left"
"When did this start?"
"It's all I've ever known"
"Since your parents? Your father?"
"No. Since the rape. My dad is a marshmallow."
"So, this isn't the product of all men then"
"No, one man did this."
I'm confused. If one man did it they why hate all men? Aren't the rest innocent?"
"Shit! Okay. I hate one man"
"Wow. Hate is a strong word. You must have known him pretty well to hate him."
"I didn't know him at all."
"If you didn't know him how can you hate him?"
"I hate what he's made me. I hate the fear I feel everyday. I hate the panic attacks when I see any man. I hate my reactions to my boyfriends that makes them think it is okay to overpower me. I hate the way I feel"
"Hmm. Sounds like it has nothing to do with men and everything to do with your emotional reaction to intimate situations. So what do you think you have to do?"
"I have to change the experience. I have to own it. Own my feelings instead of producing a memorized reaction. Once I own it. I can change it. I can enjoy it. I'm no one's trained pony."
After this little pep talk at the age of 15 I was finally able to take the first steps toward a normal, for me since that's what normal means, relationship. Normal for me. Within my comfort zone. Ya'll know damn well that wasn't the entire conversation but it helped. My first intimate relationship was with a boy in our building. His name was Marc. It was funny to me at least. As most teenage boys do, he thought I needed to hear "I love you" in order to get to 2nd base. I remember cutting him off and telling him not to insult my intelligence. I didn't love him, he didn't love me and let's get that clear right now. You should have seen the look on his face. I still laugh at that. Those were my first baby steps. Thank goodness for vegetables, huh? HA!
Recent Comments