Reflex Action
"Reflex action = A biological control system linking stimulus to response and mediated by a reflex arc." -- Wikipedia
A friend confided in me last night that she has been raped. Twice.
I hear people talking about the onset of horrible news like being punched in the gut. In this case, it was more like trying to read a sign from far away. My eyes looked past my monitor, causing the text to fall out of focus. I squinted a bit, aided by a long exhalation of my remaining breath through my slightly parted lips.
In a lot of ways, I'm thankful that I was chatting at the computer. I didn't have to worry about showing the right emotions on my face. Instead, my brain was working overdrive. What should I say? How do I respond?
One of my first pondered responses was to say, "Is there anything I can do?" I decided against it, though. One incident occurred years ago; there's probably not anything that needs to be "urgently" done. It's almost automatic, though. When someone says something bad happened, good people are trained to say almost without thinking: "What can I do?" We, the newly informed, feel a need to get up and do something because anything is better than just sitting here slowly digesting ill news.
When someone tells me something shocking or surprising, my brain screams for more information. I've said before that the guiding principle in my life is to understand things, and my first step on that road is to gather up information. As soon as possible after such an admission, I give the "disclaimer". As much as I want to know everything about everything, that's just not always a good idea. People can be pressed too hard about things they don't want to discuss. When I made this realization (which is a whole other story), I realized it was best to instantly (and with regularity) give people a way out.
I have nightmares where I come across like a prosecuting attorney, asking question after question while peeling away the layers of people's privacy. So I balance the quest for knowledge with the goal of not taking people further than they're comfortable. The disclaimer is just that: a confirmation that it's all right to talk about this now. Or ever!
This links into the same inflexible code I have about rules and laws. The same honor that makes people exasperated at me for stopping at yellow lights and keeps me uncomfortable if I'm over the speed limit also prevents me from breaking my word. If somebody says, "I don't want to talk about this," the conversation is over. I may turn the facts around in my head for weeks afterwards, but I'm not going to speak of it again until they bring it up.
At some point in the conversation, I get some tendrils of thought from the testosterone-driven parts of my brain. They say, "Let's go to these guys houses and beat the shit out of them!" I don't know where these thoughts come from, as I'm not a violent person. Maybe it's a result of television ethics, where if someone hurts your friends, you hurt them. With a bat. Or maybe it comes from the caveman brain that just wants to club mean people.
Those thoughts disappear on their own, mostly because I have no idea who the guys are, where they live, what they look like, or what state they're in.
So what do I say? I couldn't decide. I want to be there to help her if she wants it, but I don't want to imply that she's helpless. I want to let her know I have sympathy for her, but I don't want to be patronizing. I want to let her know how much I appreciate her belief in me for telling me, but I don't want to make her feel isolated.
Above all, I want to say all the appropriate things and not make the situation worse somehow with a careless remark.
So, I take the novel approach of telling her that I can't find the words. I tell her that I hear her and understand what she's saying. I tell her that I have opinions and beliefs that I just can't seem to articulate, and I don't want that to appear to be apathy or emotionless response.
And then I try to write a blog entry to make sense of it, ex post facto.
A friend confided in me last night that she has been raped. Twice.
I hear people talking about the onset of horrible news like being punched in the gut. In this case, it was more like trying to read a sign from far away. My eyes looked past my monitor, causing the text to fall out of focus. I squinted a bit, aided by a long exhalation of my remaining breath through my slightly parted lips.
In a lot of ways, I'm thankful that I was chatting at the computer. I didn't have to worry about showing the right emotions on my face. Instead, my brain was working overdrive. What should I say? How do I respond?
One of my first pondered responses was to say, "Is there anything I can do?" I decided against it, though. One incident occurred years ago; there's probably not anything that needs to be "urgently" done. It's almost automatic, though. When someone says something bad happened, good people are trained to say almost without thinking: "What can I do?" We, the newly informed, feel a need to get up and do something because anything is better than just sitting here slowly digesting ill news.
When someone tells me something shocking or surprising, my brain screams for more information. I've said before that the guiding principle in my life is to understand things, and my first step on that road is to gather up information. As soon as possible after such an admission, I give the "disclaimer". As much as I want to know everything about everything, that's just not always a good idea. People can be pressed too hard about things they don't want to discuss. When I made this realization (which is a whole other story), I realized it was best to instantly (and with regularity) give people a way out.
I have nightmares where I come across like a prosecuting attorney, asking question after question while peeling away the layers of people's privacy. So I balance the quest for knowledge with the goal of not taking people further than they're comfortable. The disclaimer is just that: a confirmation that it's all right to talk about this now. Or ever!
This links into the same inflexible code I have about rules and laws. The same honor that makes people exasperated at me for stopping at yellow lights and keeps me uncomfortable if I'm over the speed limit also prevents me from breaking my word. If somebody says, "I don't want to talk about this," the conversation is over. I may turn the facts around in my head for weeks afterwards, but I'm not going to speak of it again until they bring it up.
At some point in the conversation, I get some tendrils of thought from the testosterone-driven parts of my brain. They say, "Let's go to these guys houses and beat the shit out of them!" I don't know where these thoughts come from, as I'm not a violent person. Maybe it's a result of television ethics, where if someone hurts your friends, you hurt them. With a bat. Or maybe it comes from the caveman brain that just wants to club mean people.
Those thoughts disappear on their own, mostly because I have no idea who the guys are, where they live, what they look like, or what state they're in.
So what do I say? I couldn't decide. I want to be there to help her if she wants it, but I don't want to imply that she's helpless. I want to let her know I have sympathy for her, but I don't want to be patronizing. I want to let her know how much I appreciate her belief in me for telling me, but I don't want to make her feel isolated.
Above all, I want to say all the appropriate things and not make the situation worse somehow with a careless remark.
So, I take the novel approach of telling her that I can't find the words. I tell her that I hear her and understand what she's saying. I tell her that I have opinions and beliefs that I just can't seem to articulate, and I don't want that to appear to be apathy or emotionless response.
And then I try to write a blog entry to make sense of it, ex post facto.
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