A Room with Many People
Dear Self,
This is a short essay about humans.
Transgender
I grew up hearing “God doesn’t make mistakes" whenever the word transgender was mentioned. I was taught being transgender is wrong, and anyone who identifies this way is deeply sick because God doesn’t make mistakes.
I have sat in a room with many people.
I’ve sat across from transgender people who calculate their steps before going out to ensure they will make it home safely. I’ve heard the daily ache of living inside skin that feels suffocating. I know transgender teenagers who have passed out from wearing a chest binder too long and those who have developed urinary tract infections from holding their pee, just to avoid using a public restroom. I know transgender people who resist the urge to take a knife to their chest because the reflection in the mirror doesn’t shield the daggers being thrown into their soul.
I am not transgender, so all I can do is believe their pain.
Abortion
When I was growing up, abortion was synonymous with murder. I was told life started at conception and anyone who dared to abort a baby was murdering a life. The rule was simple in my house: if you don’t want a baby, then keep your legs closed and don’t have sex.
I have sat in a room with many people.
I’ve sat across from a middle-aged woman who still mourns the loss of her aborted baby from when she was 15 years old. I see the guilt and sadness she faces as she describes her tumultuous upbringing: no resources, no support, no guidance, no love. “That baby wouldn’t stand a chance”, she cries.
I’ve sat with the man who grieves the abortion his girlfriend had. I’ve seen the anger and guilt he carries as he thinks of the many couples unable to conceive. His heart is heavy.
I have never had an abortion, so all I can do is believe their pain.
Addiction
My family handled addiction the same way they handled touching the stove, with fear. I was taught to fear all drugs, substances, and alcohol. They told me addiction would ruin my life and all it took was one try or one curious night.
I have sat in a room with many people.
I’ve sat across from the young adult addicted to heroin, the older man addicted to methamphetamemes, and the woman addicted to benzodiazepines. I see the buried trauma that lies underneath the pills and needles. I also see the distasteful looks they receive from their own family.
I have never been addicted to drugs, so all I can do is believe their pain.
Gay Marriage
In my house, the only thing worse than getting pregnant before marriage was being gay. I was taught three things about being gay: 1) it’s a sin, 2) it’s a choice and 3) you are absolutely going to hell.
I have sat in a room with many people.
I’ve sat across from countless gay people who have wrestled with their sexuality for years. I’ve seen the secrets they keep to avoid being excommunicated from their families, churches, and careers. I’ve seen the tears they cry wishing they could be straight, wishing they could be the person society wants them to be. I’ve sat across from the teen who ended his life because the bullying from friends and family was too much.
I am not in a gay marriage, so all I can do is believe their pain.
Race
When I was growing up, there was a no dating until your 16 rule. After I cleared 16, a Black man from my high school asked me out and I was so excited to go on my first official date! I told my mom when I got home and I will never forget her response: “It’s seen as a honor for Black guys to score a White girl.” She went on to explain how marriage is challenging enough without being forced to navigate differences in culture. Long story short, I was not allowed to go on the date. I received several messages like these that implicitly expressed White people are superior to all other races. I also learned a lot about marriage: I wasn’t allowed to marry a woman and interracial marriage was off limits, so I would have to marry a white man.
I have sat in a room with many people.
I’ve sat across from Black men who are tired of being seen as sexualized objects simply because of their identity.
I’ve heard countless stories and witnessed many tears from Black community members who are racially profiled behind the wheel and singled out in stores.
I am not Black, so all I can do is believe their pain.
Immigration
I grew up hearing many of the comments that are being debated in today’s political climate. I was told all people must come to the U.S. legally or else they are illegal aliens. I was taught the wall should be built bigger and higher to keep illegal criminals out of the U.S.. My family frequently stated, “Our ancestors had to do it the right way and come on a boat from Italy, why shouldn’t they have to do it the right way too?”
I have sat in a room with many people.
I’ve sat across from the Hispanic teenager who sees how poorly her immigrant parents are treated compared to her White friends. I see her confusion and anger as she tries to make sense of the world we live in.
I’ve sat with families who tried to come to America the legal way, but were denied a Visa one, two, and three times.
I’ve sat with immigrants who crossed the border because there was no work in Mexico and they couldn’t feed their babies. I’ve sat with mothers and fathers who crossed the border to escape the violence to ensure their children could have a future.
I am not an immigrant, so all I can do is believe their pain.
I do not blame my parents for the prejudices they taught me because I know it is just a mirror of what they were taught themselves. However, these beliefs and judgements about people end here. Being a human is a complex experience and I’ve learned it is not up to me to decide if someone else’s pain is true or not. If I do not share the identity or the experience, all I can do is believe them or not believe them (but choosing to not believe them would be pretty dumb because I have no experience to base my disbelief on).
We are all capable of good and bad.
The video below captures this experience beautifully.
xoxo,
Self