For a few years now, I have been teaching this class in prison. “Trauma 101”, a 3-hour course that’s part of a series where we talk about safety plans, epigenetics, triggers, time travel, healing. I have talked to dozens of men about how to identify triggers and ways to shift patterns while they live in cages and imagine life after the end of their torture.
We learn facts about the brain, I tell them stories, we read case studies. It’s often the highlight of my week. This time, towards the end of the class, Bryan tells me,“I think I’m a Jeff” before lowering his head, sheepishly.
Jeff as in a wounded man who comes home from prison twenty-five years later, that we’ve spent twenty minutes discussing earlier. Jeff isn’t real, he’s a composite of many people I have met in my line of work, men who have learned how to build walls so tall nobody can see them, men who erupt in rage, men who tell the world they do not need any help. Lonely men. Jeff isn’t real, my coworker and I wrote the case study in five minutes, shocked by the ease of the task but Jeff is a strategy I use to help the men the room talk about their own experiences without having to say so.
When I speak about Jeff, I can talk about the constraints of masculinity, the ways it forces men out of vulnerability, without telling my students that I am proposing they change. With Jeff in the room, I can tell them about the trauma of leaving the prison without assigning the trauma to them. We get to all direct our eyes to this guy we will never meet and give him advice. A very convenient collective transference process.
Bryan isn’t a Jeff and never will be because Bryan sought out and signed up for a trauma class, knowing he is five years away from making parole.
Still, Bryan decided to sit in a room and tell me and his classmates that he’s worried there’s something really wrong with him. Bryan shared his shame, the mean voice that tells him he will never be loved because he can’t build bonds with others. I tell him that I disagree, and explain why I think his story is different. Yet, I understand his anxiety; deep down we are all Jeffs, struggling with connection with others. Deep down, in the dark waters of shame, there are voices telling us we will never be loved the way we want.
Somehow, when I think about Jeffs, I think about what it means to live at this time of the world and make friends. Find lovers. Be in community, be in relationship. Shit is hard, especially when lines get blurred, when we misunderstand what vulnerability can look like and think that the people in our screen are our friends. Parasocial relationships as community.
What does it mean to love people at a time where physical connection is made harder by viruses, climate catastrophe and technology? Somehow I think about the challenge of sustaining bonds, when our worlds are rocked, how hard it is to stay grounded in love and empathy when everything falls apart constantly. And that all we want as humans is to be loved, be safe and belong.
I don’t have answers (spoiler: i never do) just strong appreciation for the people who see me, the people who think about you and text you to let you know, the people who call, the people who make plans with you six months in advance, so that you can be in the same corner of the world together. The people you have standing hangout times with and see at the same time every week. The people who call you in and ask you “what the hell is wrong with you?”. The people you loved fifteen years ago who send you an email to catch up. There are so many ways we can be loved, none of them better than others unless they don’t quite work for you.
And I have deep appreciation for the knowledge that Bryan will be fine, that we’ll be there for his soft landing, to remind him that there are many people in this world who will love him too.
Hmmm, still dealing with post-COVID fatigue so I’ve mostly been resting but some stuff on my mind.
What I watched: Nothing great, mostly Youtube videos of the BetaSquad but, my favorite documentary of 2022 is now available on HBOMax. All that Breathes, a doc that follows two brothers who try to save birds in Delhi as the fall from the sky because of climate catastrophe. It’s sad and beautiful and funny.
What I read: No longform for me yet, even though I did start reading a new novel on Friday which was nice. I’m mostly reading writing from people I know right now for various submissions. But if you want to lose your mind at the disconnection of wealthy Americans, I recommend this article in the Cut about the Fleishman is in Trouble Effect.
What I listened to: The Sensitive Sessions - Future Teens. And this great interview of Alex Marzano-Lesnevich on Thresholds Podcast about memory and trans identity that I keep thinking about