This Is Who I Am

I have spent 38 years, almost 39, becoming the person I am.  I have lied and cheated.  I have stolen.  I have hurt people close to me and betrayed people I made commitments to.

I was born of survivors, people who did what they had to do to survive, and that's who I became, a kind of victims' caste system.  I took what I wanted, and I made no apologies.  It never occurred to me to apologize.  The people I took from seemed to have plenty when I had so little.  I made no justifications for hurting people because I did what I did to survive, to feel, to breathe, to push forward into another day.

My entire life was reactionary.  Life happened to me, and I reacted.  It was who I was.  Sure, I loved unconditionally and worked hard to take care of my siblings, and I defended the women in my life who suffered, but I was surely no saint, quite the sinner in fact.

I genuinely had no fucks to give.

I never worried about dying, about getting old and sick.  I had no sense of my own mortality.  No anxiety.  No stress.  I lived.  I breathed.  I survived.

I did whatever the fuck I wanted to do.

For more than twenty years this is how I lived my life.  Thoughtlessly.  Carelessly.  No goals, no dreams, just survival.

It all changed in my mid twenties.  A combination of factors joined to slap me across the face and wake me up.

My siblings were becoming young adults, conscious beings.

My marriage was a boring pathetic disaster.

My brilliant banking career was a boring nightmare of corporate bullshit.

And my mother, my aunts, my grandmothers, had all lived, or were still living, a series of mere survivals that I did not want to duplicate.

So I left my husband, I quit my job, and I started college.

I turned my life upside down,

But I cannot say that I regret my roller coaster ride of a life before I finally found stable ground.

It made me who I am.

And I am proud of who I am.

Probably the biggest wake up call for me before it all changed was my sister getting ready to head off to college.  I was 26 and she was 16 and I didn't want her to do it alone.  I had no role models in my life, no example to live up to.  I wanted my sister to see me as a role model.  And it was in that moment, realizing that I wasn't the best role model, that I realized how important that was.  I had given money, time, energy, and love to my sisters and brother, but I hadn't given them anything to look up to, nothing to say, "she did it, so I can do it too."

I remember the day very clearly, at 26, my car had been stolen, I had close to a handful of various part time lovers, one of whom was married, and I was still floating, still drifting, with no real sense of who I was or who I wanted to be, and when I looked at myself, sitting there on the curb outside of my building waiting for the police to come so I could file a report and one of my lovers showed up, the married one, to check on me, I thought, "oh my god, I don't want to be this girl."

I was at the lowest low point of my life, completely broken, and that very day I picked myself up, said goodbye to the old Shanna, and built myself up into the person I am today.

Still Shanna.  I used those broken pieces to put together a stronger self, a warrior woman.  But I'm still Shanna.  The scars are healed.  The ugly battles in the dark are behind me.  But those broken pieces are still there, deep within.  I'm still Shanna.  I'm still that woman, that girl.  And I am proud of who I am today.

Now, twelve years later I look at my daughter and I want her to make no apologies for who she is.  I want my five year old to be strong, tough, but also kind and caring.

I model for my daughter what a strong, kind, caring, confident woman looks like.  I want for her to be able to get to where I am without having to be broken first.

So I model, and I expose.

I want my children to see the world as it is and to remain strong and caring in its face.

I take my children to the gay pride parade every year so they see love in all of its wonder.  Today was my five month old's first pride parade.  My oldest has gone every year for the last five years.  Today, after the parade, my daughter and I were talking about it.  I have told her in the past that the parade celebrates all kinds of love, that anyone can love anyone.  She has friends with gay parents and we have gay family friends, so she is not naive to different lifestyles, but she's five now, so I wanted to be a bit more clear.

"Do you know what 'gay' means?"
"No."
"Well, once upon a time, and still today sometimes, gay used to mean happy.  So someone could say, oh, I'm feeling quite gay today, and that would mean they were happy.  But now, we also use it to mean someone who likes the same sex as they are.  Sex means boy or girl.  So, if a boy wants to marry a boy, he's gay."
"Or if a girl wants to marry a girl, she's gay."
"Right!  But if a girl wants to marry a boy, like I am married to papa, we call that 'straight.'"
"What sex do I like?"  My very precocious daughter asks me.
"Well, you're still very young, so you probably won't know for a while whether you want to grow up to marry a boy or a girl, but you'll figure it out some day."

This is a five year old version of the gay/straight talk.  We have had similar talks about transgender lifestyles.

We can have these talks because she is exposed to people who live differently than we do and because we go out seeking new experiences and engaging the world as it is, like the gay pride parade.    We celebrate people's differences and we celebrate their ability to be different, actively.  We don't speak in hypotheticals.  We discuss the real world as she sees it and real world consequences.

My daughter and I have had discussions about racism, sexism, the education system, finances, poverty, death, and many, many other topics.  All at a level appropriate for her age, and all because of a particular book, experience, or movie she has been exposed to.  I live a very intentional life now.  I put everything I have into being good, doing good, and helping my daughter learn how to be and do the same.

I hate the 40 hour work week.  I did it for more than 10 years of my life and I hated every moment of it.  I hated school.  It played a huge part in my brokenness.  

So, I do not work a 40 hour work week.  And I will not put my child in school.

This is not reactionary.  I have done ample research on both topics, and all evidence points to the absolute destructiveness of both the hectic work schedule and the education system in this country.

I live my truth.  I lead by example.  I am one hundred percent who I am all the time.  No lies.  No cheating.  No stealing.

I never did drugs, and I have never been a big drinker, but I am definitely a recovering shitty human being.

I have been in recovery for more than twelve years now, and I think I am a success story.  But the only way this works is for me to be authentic all the time.

I am the same person with my husband, with my kid, with my coworkers, with my students, with my friends, with strangers on the street.  You must take me or leave me, and I won't blame you for either. I am a lot to take.

One week ago a parent friend, a friend we've had for three years, asked me if I could consider watching my language around his kid.

I had just told him about my new approach to life:  I am going to come at everything in my life with an open heart and an open mind.  Well, I told him, I'm going to try.

Instead of instantly passing judgment, as I am fond of doing, I will try really hard to think of the perspectives of people involved.  I will work hard to place myself in other people's shoes instead of instantly deciding they are just assholes.  The best example of this would be republicans.  I am what you would call a bleeding heart liberal.  Say what you will about my youth, and I can say plenty, but I have always believed that black lives matter, that gays should have equal rights, that we should be protecting the vulnerable, and that the rich should pay their fair share, which is obviously grossly more than the poor.  I have always sided with the underdog.  I have always defended the defenseless, children and women who are victims of abuse, in my case.  I have always had a nose for injustice and a strong sense of justice and righteousness.  In my teens this was obnoxious.  In my twenties I was a self righteous soap box marcher.  Now, in my thirties, almost my forties, I am righteous.  I know what's right.  I am highly educated.  I have evidence to back up my claims.  And I will not back down.  I am incredibly passionate about my positions.  But, I am trying to understand the people on the opposite extreme.

Okay, maybe not them.

But the people in the middle, or at least closer to the middle than the far right.  I am trying to find a way to reach more people, and I realize I can only do this by opening my heart and my mind.  I still will not give up or back down, but maybe if I get more of where people are coming from, I can change more minds, get more people motivated, help progress along a little.  Do my part.

So, my friend takes advantage of my open heart and open mind, and makes his request.

The issue, as he presents it, is that his child is becoming more aware of his surroundings, more observant of language and actions.

So I think.  And I think.  And I think.  And I talk through my thought process with him.  How difficult this is for me to remain open about because of how opposite we are in our child rearing approach.  I am homeschooling my daughter.  He is putting his child into kindergarten in the fall, followed by all day after school care.  I expose my daughter to as much of the world as I think she can handle at her age.  He shelters his child from Curious George, because George gets into very stressful situations. I use every single moment, every situation, as a teachable moment, a chance to have a discussion, a chance to help my daughter become the woman I hope she will become.  He shies away from conflict with his child, using a soft voice and a gentle approach.  I'm not sure I even have a soft voice or gentle approach to use.

So, I ask, why can he not just tell his son not to talk like me, in the event this kid throws out a "fuck" and blames me for it?

Well, he says, he was hoping he could reason with me instead.

Huh.

I tried.  I tried really hard to be reasoned with.  I spent a week discussing this with my husband, with friends and family.  There were lots of fucks involved.  Of course.  I used to give no fucks.  Now I give all the fucks.  I have an endless supply of fucks to give and I give them all.  A veritable bottomless pit of fucks.

So here I am, a week later, and I am quite comfortable still to this moment with my initial reaction.

No.

I will not watch my language anymore than I already do.  I am obviously more careful around the kids.  I certainly don't say fuck, shit, or ass, or motherfucker... or douchebag... or any of my other favorites, when speaking directly to the kids, and if they hear me use any of those words it is because I am pissed or passionate about something and I am talking with other grown ass adults.  But this is essentially the same as asking me to not talk about black lives matter, not talk about gay bashing, not talk about our pussy grabbing president, not talk about any other atrocity in a world full of atrocities in front of your kid because it might offend his sensibilities.

The reality is this:  kids know the world is mean and ugly and violent and hurtful and hateful.  We do them no favors by sugar coating it because eventually they will catch on and then they will wonder why we lied.  What do we hope to accomplish by pretending reality is not reality?  Let me tell you what it actually accomplishes:  Donald Trump as president.  Brock Turner.  Trayvon Martin.  Philando Castile.  Sandra Bland.  When we raise our children in a world without fear, without consequence, sugar coated and all prettied up, they grow up to victimize or become victims.  We can only do so much to protect them from being victims.  But we can do a fuck of a lot to prevent them from becoming victimizers.

And we start by telling them the truth.

Shanna says fuck a lot.  I don't like that language.  But I like Shanna a lot.  Because she is kind, she is a fighter for the innocent.  She cares.  She cares a lot.  And that's mainly why she uses fuck so much.  Because she cares.  When you grow up, maybe you'll care a lot too.  I hope you do.  And maybe you'll say fuck a lot.  I hope you don't.  But she does.  You're five.  You can't.

There.  That's what you say to your kid.

I hope you do.