My Hail Mary Pass
A Hail Mary pass, also known as a shot play, is a very long forward pass in American football, made in desperation, with only a small chance of success and time running out on the clock.
Dear Senator Collins,
Thank you for speaking your truth. I could hear your voice shake. I know what you had to say was hard, given your own challenges as a woman aspiring to dream big in a man’s world, and I especially appreciate the kind words you gave Senator Feinstein. You called out both sides. Thank you for your strength in saying what has needed to be said for a long time now.
Because of time, I cannot go into a rant about what you said wrong. Also, you didn’t say a lot wrong. But you did make an omission worth bringing to your attention. And with all due respect, I think an omission a lot of women your age suffer from in their own lives, including my own mother and my grandmother.
Speaking the real truth. The truth so many woman saw in Judge Kavanaugh’s face. The face only a wife or partner knows. The face that spews anger and may just hit things or throw things, but never physically injures you. I’m talking about the truth before men rape, or hit, or go too far unconsciously.
Luckily there are many, many more men who stop at emotional abuse, they don’t continue on to physical abuse, and even fewer go further into mortally wounding. I imagine the majority of calls you received from women were about men who went to WAY too far. And yet his face and demeanor, his accusational apology, his tone on the floor shined a light on a new old taboo — Verbal/Emotional Abuse.
Men like Kavanaugh are good men. Men like Kavanaugh are also very hurt men. That’s why for so many women, sharing the real truth about their husband’s behavior after 8:00pm is heartbreakingly challenging and isolating. We have been silenced. Silenced by our own hand, afraid if our husband’s peers and friends knew how he really behaved when stressed or traumatized or when drinking too much, they would shun him and our life would end. For me personally, the means couldn’t justify the end in my mind. Besides I’m a strong woman, I can take it for him. I can hold the shame away from his own gaze so he can focus on living his dream. Don’t rock the boat. Don’t poke the bear is what my grandmother and my mother told me. Be the Good Wife.
In my 48th year on this earth, I’m a wife and mother trying to make it with a family of three in San Francisco on less than $200k. The stress of living in and trying to rectify The Land of Dislocation and Dissonance has put immense pressure on my marriage. I’ve recently come to understand my burden of holding things in to hold things together was doing no one good, especially myself.
The real truth is that I’m holding a great deal of shame I never wanted my Baby Boomer parents to feel about themselves too. Shame they were never able to sort out with their own parents, running away from responsibility using drugs and alcohol and work, so much work. Shame of being latchkey parents. Shame of drinking too much. Shame of losing my trust. I was alone a lot in the 80s. Isolated even among friends. Living through spikes of adrenaline running through my veins hoping that tonight wouldn’t be the night all hell broke loose. And yes, even my best friends didn’t know. And yes, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in my own life.
Today I am married to a good man confronting parts of his life my father was never really able to, although he tried his best. My husband is just getting started down the journey of disentangling intergenerational shame and fear. It’s not a pretty one, especially for the child of non-Jewish German immigrants. Defining his behavior as abusive felt so loaded. Neither one of us wanted to call it that. Both of us were in denial. Just like my own mother and father.
My own journey into the shallows started in January, 2018. Only on our thirteenth wedding anniversary, October 1st 2018, was I able to release the full truth to my husband without fear he couldn’t take it emotionally and would act out. I was afraid my asking him to work on his emotional intelligence would insult him and turn him against me. I was afraid I would have to leave him because I’d be damned if I repeat this cycle with my own son. The cycle of a mother staying silent to protect her family from ruin. The cycle of protecting her husband’s bad behavior from himself and his children. The cycle of lying to save face. The cycle of looking at a man getting accolades only to say silently, “If you only knew.” The cycle of a good man and and a good woman accidentally going too far fighting their way through it all.
Senator Collins, your speech rang true for many. Let it ring louder still. By voting no to Kavanaugh you shine a light on a much larger problem of The Unexamined Life and we all know how that sad story ends. The last person we need on the Supreme Court is someone who has not done the internal work of empathy and self-understanding. Voting no gives Kavanaugh the much needed time he needs to right himself for the next nomination. Through your graceful no, you show the world the power of Truth AND Reconciliation.
So here flies My Hail Mary Pass one hour before you vote! May the eastward winds carry this message from California to the Senate Floor. May you jump off your feet, Senator Collins, to catch it in time.
My only regret is that I didn’t send this note sooner. I choked, literally on my own words. I got sacked by my terrified ego, before I could let the ball fly. “Who am I to throw the ball?” my ego cowered. “There’s no such thing as magic wind anyway.” my sad ego whispered in my ear.
Just as I stole enough courage to hit publish, the nomination had been confirmed. My hail mary landed in an empty endzone, in the stone cold empty stadium of my mind. And there I watched the football spin in the dark until it stopped silent. I was too attached to the outcome. A lost opportunity to grow by not speaking the truth is a painful lesson. One I clearly keep repeating. A lesson that still needs practice. A lesson a lot of Americans need to learn.
What I am grateful for is the peace between the sexes in my own home tonight because I might not have spoken the truth publicly when I needed to, but I spoke the truth to my husband. We stand hand in hand on the carpet of fear now. In fact, his encouragement is honestly the only reason why you are reading these words now. Thank you Eric, for sharing some of your bravery with me until I find my own.
When we all sing the truth, we all win. I’m speaking to my fellow Northern European-American brethren who are having a hard time understanding what’s at stake for humanity if we don’t learn to temper our nature, even our terrified egos. We will be on repeat until we wise up. And do you really want to repeat the part of history in which the State and Judiciary commingle so intimately with Politics? Do you not remember who loses in that story told throughout our Northern European histories?
Angry male Sapiens over 60, stand down. Take a breath. Take a nap. Retire! You had no victory this week. But today life does start to change for the better because the exchange of power is imminent. Here’s a nice sports reference to make you feel better about getting out of the way peacefully: “You didn’t lose the game, you just ran out of time.” — Vince Lombardi
In my final note to whomever is actually reading my post, I dedicate “Shallow” from the movie, A Star is Born to my life partner, Eric Rodenbeck. We stood in the shallows and looked into each other’s anger and trauma and found the hurt. We found our own shame and the internalized shame we carried for our parents. I kiss your wounds. I see you. I’m sorry for my part. I’m sorry I stayed mad for so long without telling you. I know there is more for me to do on myself yet. I see you as an open man on your way to greatness. Overcoming intergenerational fear and repression is not for the faint of heart, especially for white Americans, decedents of barbarians and conquerors. We almost completely lost our shit. I’m so proud of us for seeing it through. Truth released. Now comes the work of Reconciliation.
