Definitions, Politics, and Social Work

With the exponential increase in political discussions that have risen around me recently, I've noticed something that is making many it hard (at least for me, personally) to reach common ground and sometimes even respect with the people I've engaged with: many of us seem to have very different definitions for the same ideas. This has happened most often with open-mindedness vs. close-mindedness, , and love vs. hate. 

Recently, (but not for the first time) a certified Internet Troll told me I was being close-minded because I wouldn't entertain various racist alternative factoids that he shared with me. I realize that I also found him to be close-minded. I don't know how much research or thought he has put into the ideas he adheres to, but he was as stubbornly stuck to his as I am to mine.

I know we aren't talking about things like whether or not pizza flavored macaroni and cheese is delicious, and that lives are endangered because of the ideas that we had the privilege to argue about.  As I write this, I'm realizing that I don't actually care much whether I'm perceived as open-minded or closed, but it's something that keeps coming up. How should I handle it?

The same happens with love vs. hate. This has been especially clear to me as I've gradually become more open about being queer over the past decade. To some, a "love the sinner, hate the sin" mentality is Christ-like and loving. To me, it is a clear judgment and reeks of conditional love rather than unconditional. 

When the Women's March happened a few weeks ago, many marched with signs that said "Love Trumps Hate" while some who did not march called the rallies themselves hateful. 

How do you, personally, handle these types of arguments? I generally tend to avoid them because they don't feel productive. Are they? Is there a better way to go about advocating for myself and for marginalized populations? 

I wonder if the answer to those questions would be more clear if I were not a social worker. I take my career choice very seriously; it makes up a generous portion of my identity. As a result, I feel that I'm faced with some things: my strongly held beliefs about human rights and social justice, using my privilege and my role to be an advocate for people with a wide variety of needs, my belief that everyone has the right to self-determination, and my desire to help people through providing therapy. The second two sometimes clash with the first two, and sometimes personal and professional bleed into one another in confusing ways.

How do you handle this?

See

It once seemed odd-

How you showed up in my dreams at least once a month as unfinished business.

I thought I had closed and sealed that lid; I remember

Standing proudly on top of it declaring, “IT’S ABOUT TIME”.        

But here you are,

                Again and

                                Again and

                                                Again and

                                                                Again,

Smoke creeping from my ears in the morning, leaving me

Groggy in a fog of incapability and failure.

These dreams are always-

                I see you in the store but hide in another aisle, kicking myself because I STILL haven’t just called

                You to tell you no.

Or-

                I invite you to my birthday party and regret it because you’ve gotten close to another one of my

                Friends and now we are even more enmeshed.

Or-

                Your mom sends me another e-mail telling me how depressed you are and somehow, even as a

                A 12 year old, we all think I’m going to do something about it.

I try to seal you in after every dream but I’m running out of places to hide you and now

I see you in dustbunny corners under my desk at work

Or in the hatchback driver cutting me off on my way home

Or in the stray beauty and fortune of where I live. You

Are ten years of me and you’ve fit yourself into every crack of my life

Where I might still be messing up.

These dreams

                Are not unfinished business.

They are you, a tattoo under my eyelids;

To which I return again

                And again

                                And again

                                                And again

Whenever I need a metaphor

                For my shortcomings. 

Appearances

I shuffle through the day white knuckled,

Bearing my arms crossed to hide my punch ready hands;

With every introduction I lose more feeling in my fingers.

I smile- a wide eyed, open mouthed friendly grin-

You’re glad to see me you’re glad I’m here you think I’m competent

I can’t breathe. I smile wider in an effort to find more oxygen.

I am wanted here, my reputation precedes me, I’ve got stairs to climb

When I wrench my arms open into a stiff hug they’re shaking.

Anxiety is not reserved for those situations which seem obviously dangerous.

Here, I risk five years of growth four years of education three references who believed in me

And those two supervisors who may have talked about me over dinner. So I hold

Myself close, watch like a hunter in a dark dense forest, keep my back against the wall,

Count the seconds until I get to sit in my own cubicle. Anxiety

Brings new meaning to the phrase “corporate jungle”, brings new handicaps to the conference room,

Gives me nightmares about becoming a client again, of being discussed in concerned tones

At a meeting I’m not allowed to attend.

It’s just Monday, full of yawns, slow traffic, evaporating memories of sleeping in on the weekend.

It’s Monday, I barely slept, I laid out my clothes for the week, I left the house too soon,

I impressed my boss by showing up early. He doesn’t know I’m following a script, acting the part

Of calm and capable; that I wish the weekend would stretch out and cover me until I find my place here,

That I can relate to the first client of the day, who tells us she quit because her job moved too fast.

Dolls

Some girls learn how to relate to people

By playing with dolls: glassy eyed, human

Shaped plastic pieces that can’t be broken

When you whisper too hard in their ear; practice

Specimens for getting dressed, cooking dinner,

Endeavoring to charm someone into loving you

Unconditionally. It is no wonder that we accept

Sturdy, straight backed hugs and blank stares for

Affection; this is the response we got from our first loves.

I still remember the crowd of porcelain dolls perched

On a shelf across my bedroom like spectators

In a coliseum. At their feet I learned that people

Are pretty and quiet and meant to be kept clean; not

Even the ground should bother their shoes with dust.  When

I offered my juvenile insecurities to their lily ears

One of them jumped, shattered like a rumor in the carpet

Where I stepped on shards for years to come. So I learned

That people are fragile and disapproving and I should step lightly,

I should hold my breath so that no one ever breaks.