I set up a new website, where I continue to blog, and to share my academic work as well. Thank you for joining me at Sex Ed Transforms, and I am excited to delve into these topics and more at the new site. Please be in touch over there!
Sex Ed Transforms
I've moved! Please visit MimiArbeit.com for my latest writing and resources, and follow me on Twitter @MimiArbeit.
Monday, December 12, 2016
Sunday, August 14, 2016
Enough
I spent this morning working on a paper about training
undergrads in bystander
intervention to stop sexual assault. One thing about bystander intervention
is though, it absolutely wouldn’t have helped me.
There were no warning signs – definitely not in public,
anyway. And there was no one else around when it happened. I willingly went to
his house. Eagerly, even. He was a dear friend, and I was so touched when he asked
me to come over. Sure we had a history, and I’d loved him in some way, and we
made out once, years before.
I went over as friends. Not that I wouldn’t have considered
it in general but… there was just too much else going on. And I told him as
much that night, too. He kissed me and I pulled back: “I can’t. There’s just
too much else going on.”
Please don’t tell me what I should have said next. That was
a no. And I figured no was enough. I
thought no was enough. I thought no was
enough.
He kissed me again, moving in, and I froze. I dissociated.
As I said previously, I had so much else going on. I was so traumatized in so
many ways already and had spent much of the previous six months pretty
dissociated already so, I dissociated. So, that’s what happened.
---
When I told my closest guy friend a week later, he asked why
I didn’t call him to pick me up. How do you figure out, at 19 years old, amidst
so many other crises, that this particular crisis is worth calling a friend in
the middle of the night to drive an hour to come pick you up? And if he does
wake up and answer your call, and if he does come pick you up, then would he also return
with you the next morning to get your parents’ car back? Because I drove myself
to that place to begin with. Willingly. Eagerly. Having planned to sleep over,
I was in no state to change those plans and drive myself home. I hate driving on
a good day, but also like, being even a little intoxicated, and being in a
lot of shock, no way.
I slept over, woke him up in the morning to get directions
to the highway, and never spoke to him again.
---
He didn’t go to my college. He went to a college, and I went
to a college, but it wasn’t the same college, and we weren’t on campus when it
happened, and honestly I don’t even know if I would have thought to report it.
I told my two best friends from my dorm because we talked about consent and
sexual assault all the time anyway. I told that one guy friend who then asked
me why I hadn’t called him for help. And there were a few other people I tried
to tell but I couldn’t, or didn’t, or something. I didn’t tell my parents for
many, many years.
---
Today I was working on a paper about bystander intervention
programs and I was struggling, because it’s hot and I was working late last
night and I’m tired. I was really struggling, and then I took a break and
realized, I need to write this first. When I tell myself this story I tend to
think of it as relatively mild, but I would never call sexual assault mild if
anyone else were talking about it. I guess for me it’s as I said, there was so
much going on in my life right then, so even at the time, it felt mild compared
to the other things. But it had a serious impact on me, then
and, in some predictable and some surprising ways, continuing to now.
---
About a year and a half after it happened, I was lying on
the table in one of many physical therapy appointments, as the physical
therapist was trying to decipher the odd patterns of tension, inflammation, and
pain in my body. He asked me, carefully, if I’d ever been sexually assaulted. I
said no. I had spend so much effort keeping this secret that I just said no instinctually.
I went numb; I knew I was lying. To this day I wonder what I might have learned
about my body, and what health care I might have received, if I were able to answer
truthfully sooner, or if he were able to stay with the question long enough to
hear the real answer.
I do believe he saw something real. The place he was
looking, the injury he was examining, that was a real injury. That was a real
thing that happened. And it hurt.
So are you.
---
There’s no particular
institution I can ask to #JustSaySorry.
But Wagatwe Wanjuki and Kamilah Willingham are doing exactly that,
addressing Tufts
and Harvard,
respectively. Follow what they’re doing over the next few weeks and send some cash to their org, Survivors Eradicating Rape Culture, to
support them in this exhausting work of action and healing, healing and action.
Addendum: I am now involved in fundraising for this organization -- please do contribute! Feel free to reach out to me with any questions.
Addendum: I am now involved in fundraising for this organization -- please do contribute! Feel free to reach out to me with any questions.
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Including – but not limited to – sexual and romantic relationships
Dear University of
Virginia,
Read my blog, and then
you'll see why I want to join your Center to study youth relationships with
peers and adults. Relationships matter. A lot. To me. And yeah, I do all this sex ed stuff, but really that's all about relationships, too. Seriously. You
can check out my bad-ass academic articles and all but still, read the blog. Connection, empathy, #feelings, love, community. I'm in.
With hope and an open
heart,
Miriam R. Arbeit, PhD
I emailed the above letter to my best friend, and went back
to writing a formal academic cover letter. My formal writing often flows better
if I simultaneously have a document open in which I can say exactly what I need
to say, on my own terms. Eventually, I crafted this:
My work thus far has
illustrated the barriers to connection that adolescents face at multiple levels
of the developmental system, including in their self-conceptions, in their
sexual or romantic relationships, in their family and peer relationships, in
the ways in which they are treated within youth-serving institutions (e.g.,
schools, health care), and in the messages they receive from their cultural
context. My next steps involve deepening my study of empathy and diversity
within youth-adult and peer relationships and across in-school and
out-of-school-time settings. For example, I want to examine how the
developmental process involved in building empathy may or may not be related to
other aspects of emotional and relational skill-building. I also want to
examine how youth and adults can form authentic and respectful connections
across social and structural differences, such as gender, race, and language. I
believe that these steps will support my future plans to do curriculum and
program development with school-based and out-of-school time programs to
promote youth thriving and facilitate safe, supportive, and fulfilling relationships
including but not limited to sexual and romantic relationships.
Huge shout-out to my amazing colleague-friends who gave me
job app edits. It still takes a village, even – or especially – at
age 30.
And now I get to study that village!
I will be a postdoctoral research fellow at Youth-Nex, the
UVa Center to Promote Effective Youth Development, directed by Patrick Tolan.
I’m working with Nancy Deutsch
and Amanda
Kibler on the study of youth development through interpersonal
relationships (hence the above rant). There are two main projects, and a bonus
pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Amanda Kibler’s project that I’ll be working on is Languages Across Borders: Building Positive
Cross-Linguistic and Cross-Cultural Networks in High School. It is aimed at promoting positive
development for youth who are English Language Learners through strengthening
their school-based relationships with peers. Nancy Deutsch’s project
that I’ll be working on is the Study
of Important Youth-Adult Relationships. It examines youth experiences
within relationships with important non-parental adults. Obviously if you want
to talk more about either of these projects, just let me know!
And oh, the pot of gold at the end of this already gorgeous
academic rainbow. Nancy Deutsch is collaborating with Futures without Violence and
the Harvard Law School
Gender Violence Program on a comprehensive training curriculum for
institutions of higher education to reduce and address sexual violence on
campus. So like, yes. That’s what
I’m trying to do. This is the work I
want to be doing in the world. Dare I repeat: Connection, empathy,
#feelings, love, community. I'm in. My heart is exploding with hope.
I now have a job and an apartment in a place I’ve never
actually been. But I hear it’s beautiful.
I’m moving next month. On my own… don’t worry, I’ll be
asking for lots of help. It’s taken several villages to get me this far, and I
may be physically leaving those particular villages for the time being, but I’m
a big fan of Facetime, and I’ve got lots of plans for finding new villages down
in Virginia. Did I
mention that I’m already on an email chain with the other postdocs at UVa’s Curry School of Education? A warm, welcoming
email chain. I’m so excited. I’m going to miss New
York, for real, and also I’m so excited.
Charlottesville, Virginia. Come visit!
Charlottesville, Virginia. Come visit!
Tuesday, February 16, 2016
Patriarchy in progressive Judaism/ In the middle of a shame experience
As they sign their Jewish marriage covenant, I feel the
various threads of emotion start to twist and tangle again.
You’re in the middle
of a shame experience, I gently remind myself.
I breathe deeply and feel the knot unfurl. It is a subtle
shame – not enough to impede my enjoyment of the wedding, but just enough to
seep into my thoughts. Thoughts telling me I’m tainted, that I shouldn’t get
too close to the happy couple, that they don’t want to be associated with me. Telling
me to make myself smaller.
You’re in the middle
of a shame experience, I repeat. This
may be harder than expected.
---
I had expected to be completely divorced by now. Done.
Finished with the entire process. It’s been over two years since our court date
in Cambridge, which was super sad and also relatively smooth and followed by
getting food together at the Cambridgeside
Galleria. When the civil divorce was finalized four months later, we started
seeking a ghet, a Jewish divorce
document.
They feel sorta parallel – the civil process and the ghet. You submit your paperwork, then
you go in front of a court, then you get some letter confirming that the
divorce has occurred and you are now considered independent entities. Except in
Judaism, it’s super gendered.
---
I want to talk about patriarchy, and I want to talk about
shame. I want to explore these topics to better understand the psychological experience
caused by systems of oppression in general, and to illustrate the specifics of
how patriarchal oppression continues to impact me as a so-called “progressive”
Jew today. I believe that as a Jewish community, we need to do better to
address and eradicate patriarchy from our systems and rituals. This belief comes from my principles
as a queer
feminist
Jew.
And it also comes from my own need, out of the depth of my own experience… as a
response to my own shame.
Charlie Glickman talks about shame as an experience of
disconnection that tells us how we’re doing by our community’s standards of
behavior. Sometimes shame can be
really helpful, when we’ve done something that betrays our values and we
need to work to reconnect. But when something’s off in the social system, shame
is often part of the problem.
I experienced a lot of shame throughout the divorce
process. I felt shame as I watched myself hurt
someone I love. I felt shame about having made a personal
and public
commitment that I did not keep. I pulled back from the Jewish community that we had been involved
in together – I didn’t know how to show my face.
I had also faced a lot of patriarchy throughout the wedding
process. I felt it when I went dress
shopping, I felt it when I tried to talk
through the details with my partner, and I felt it especially
in the Jewish
ritual we were working to reimagine.
---
I’m no Jewish legal scholar, but let me explain what I think
happened:
I walk in with the
person who had been my husband. A kind rabbi smiles and shakes our hands. We
meet the two men asked to serve as witnesses for us. Very generous of them.
They shake our hands with reserve and sympathy. We sit down in an overheated
room, and I’m uncomfortable and thirsty.
This will only take
twenty minutes, I assure myself. Then
it will be over, I’ll drink water, and we’ll get lunch. I’m excited to see
if Inna’s Kitchen is open, and to get
time to catch up with Matt,
my
ex.
The rabbi gives us an outline of the ritual. Matt
had made the official request for the ghet
(the divorce document) to be drafted and delivered to me. The witnesses were
there to confirm the delivery. Matt
was there because, no matter the legal meaning of the ritual, this was really
about both of us. And like, for “closure,” maybe?
Maybe, but it doesn’t work. There is an error in the
paperwork. Someone confused something about our Hebrew names and the ghet in the rabbi’s hands is not valid.
It will not do the trick. This is not done.
That’s when I start to really feel it… if we’d moved through
the ritual smoothly, would I have felt it in the same way? I’m not sure. But
there I was, sitting in a room with four men: a rabbi, two witness, and the
person who had been my husband. And they were frustrated. But I was the one
most impacted.
---
I don’t feel ashamed of the tears. I don’t feel ashamed of
needing a few minutes to take off my sweater and get water and use the
restroom. I don’t feel ashamed of asking questions.
I feel ashamed because I feel subordinate, dependent, and
powerless. I feel ashamed because at the most fundamental level, my status in
the community is on the line. Because of the patriarchy. Because the function
of the ghet is for a man to release a
woman from marriage, as delivered by a rabbi, with two men witnessing. Back to
the days of gender binary hetero patriarchy power system. (Back to the days of Pooh?)
We were both raised in affiliation with the Conservative Jewish movement, we got married within
that movement, and we were trying to divorce accordingly. And the patriarchy
only got thicker as we went along. Something about wanting to make sure the ghet would have as good a chance as
possible of being honored by Orthodox communities should anyone ever care. The
rabbi starts saying that we do it that way so that if I have a child and my
child wants to be Orthodox then an Orthodox rabbi would respect the ghet as somehow a legitimate divorce
that then allowed me to be legitimately remarried and have so-called
“legitimate” children. It’s a long hypothetical dystopian fantasy in which this
divorce remains a shadow that can call into question everything yet to happen
in my life. I will continue to be suspect and this ghet will be the thing that will satisfy people that I am okay,
that my actions are okay, that I can love again and build a family in
acceptable, “legitimate,” ways.
Shame. Tangled, twisted knots of shame.
And this was very clearly directed towards me, not towards
Matt.
Because patriarchy.
---
It was a female rabbi who had prepared the document actually
– but she lives elsewhere, and the rabbi trying to deliver it is male. So that’s
a quirk in the ever-quirky system of Conservative Judaism. The witnesses were
to be men, but the rabbi could be any Conservative rabbi? The (male) rabbi
explains it as a sort of wink to the Orthodox movement, just in case, to try to
make the document as “acceptable” as possible. I keep asking questions until
the rabbi stops and says: I think this is
interesting, but you probably want to get on with your day.
To him it's interesting. How to be a progressive rabbi in a
patriarchal religion. An intellectually and probably morally satisfying
mission. But see, it’s not just intellectual for me. Shame is social
feeling. I want to be a “legitimate” community member. I want all my
functioning and rights – I shouldn’t have to give that up just to avoid this
experience of patriarchy.
It’s not only about injustice – that makes it into something
that is intellectual, theoretical, something we can all be “against” together.
We are all against disempowering women. Especially the “we” of progressive
Jewish community. We’re committed, in concept.
It’s not only about microaggressions – the men were sweet to
me even though they didn't know what to do with my tears. They expressed a mix
of “pleasure to meet you” and “sorry we meet on this occasion,” and then, after
it didn’t work, they uttered hope for something to come of the process. They
were trying, in concept.
What it was really about for me, that day, was the
psychological experience of being in that room and being subordinate,
dependent, and powerless. My status in the community was in question, and – and
this centuries old system of power persisted through these men in the room who
considered themselves my equals in every other way and yet were participating
in, defending, upholding, honoring that system of power. As was I, in my
own way.
---
Shame is a social emotion about not feeling part of a
community. Not because I’m being shunned or feel disliked – but because I can
tell that I’m not being cared for. My needs aren’t being met. I feel ashamed
that my community would desert me so – leave me so subordinate and
alone. Even when I actually get the ghet,
that's a psychological experience that I will hold with me. It’s the psychological
toll of systems of power and oppression that we know we are “against” but – but
are still here. I can't reject it on my own; I would be even more isolated.
I can only ask questions and accept the tears and seek help. And that is all
compounded when the room is full of men, and the men respond to me with
intellectual attention, as I keep hearing the rabbi say: I think this is interesting, but you probably want to get on with your
day.
No, rabbi. I want to get on with my life.
No, rabbi. I want to get on with my life.
Sunday, January 31, 2016
So you're trying to figure me out?
I am a divorced pansexual queer femme trauma survivor.
I am a smart successful sensitive spiritual progressive Jew.
I am a caring compassionate anti-racist White feminist.
I am a caring compassionate anti-racist White feminist.
I am layers of nightmare and daydream and full, raw
presence.
I am hope and hurt and growth.
I am sweet caresses and confusion.
I am too much.
I am not enough.
I am busy.
I am deeply connected and loving and open.
I am alone and coping and yearning.
I am vulnerable.
I am incredibly strong.
I am not here to play games.
I am not here to play games.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
“You’ve done everything right up to this point"
The most dominant image I have is me sitting on my couch staring
at the ceiling. But really I was luckier than that – it was a beautiful fall,
and I spent a lot of time lying in the grass soaking in the sun. In the park
down the street… on the field across from the gym… on the hill by my office…
resting my concussed
brain, trying to cope.
I was coping not only with the concussion, but also with the
effect of the concussion on my basic emotion regulation abilities. It was like
there’d been a buffer zone around my feelings that had dissolved, dissipated. Hard
feelings turned to panic much more easily, with a dangerous intensity. And
panicking could only make things worse: spiking my heart rate, sending me down
a steep dark spiral, and only aggravating
the injury further.
So I had to ground myself. I had to. Feeling the grass
underneath each limb, waves of guilt and shame and fear threatening to flood my
system for uninterrupted hours in which I was supposed to be recuperating so I
could get back to the very
limited amount of work time my brain could take. Fear, shame, guilt. Fear,
shame, guilt. Regret.
I have done everything
right up to this point.
That’s how I would anchor myself.
I am alive, loved, and
enrolled (as in, enrolled in grad
school, even if I didn’t know when or how I would be able to finish).
I have done everything right up to this
point.
I would focus on those words, repeating them over and over
and over again, for weeks and weeks.
---
Of course, it wasn’t true. I mean, it was true that I was
alive, loved, and enrolled. But it wasn’t true that I’d done everything right.
How could it be? That’s not a thing.
I said it to myself so much that it became a habit – telling
myself I’d done everything right because at least I’d gotten to that point, still
in the game, with people in my corner. But those good things can be true even
if I haven’t done everything right. And I haven’t. I didn’t do everything right
in concussion
recovery; I didn’t do everything right in grad
school (shh don’t tell!); and I certainly haven’t done everything right by
the people who have so valiantly loved
me.
Sometimes I’ve messed up and hurt only
myself. Sometimes I’ve messed up and really hurt people
I care about. Sometimes I’ve messed up in ways that hurt marginalized folks
around me and perpetuate the
very systems of oppression I’m committed to dismantling.
---
I want to hold these truths. I need a way to be here and to
feel them and then to do the repair I can do in/for myself, in/for my relationships,
and in/for my communities. Can I tolerate the reality that I have not done
everything right, without getting stuck in spirals of regret or shame or
self-flagellation?
The first step is feeling the feelings. And then comes speaking
back, but not to negate or deny what I’m upset about having done. Not to claim
rightness or say it’s okay when it’s not. What can I say instead to speak
directly to/with those feelings? I’m gonna play with some ideas here, and I’d
love to hear feedback and reflections from you, too!
To regret, I could say: This is how
things have happened. I did what I could at the time. This is the only way it’s
happened, and this is what I get to live with now.
To shame, I could say: I care about my
impact. I want to understand and address the impact I’ve had. Having a negative
impact doesn’t negate everything about me. Everything else is still true, too,
and I can be complicated.
To self-flagellation, I could say:
Actually what I need is the opposite. What I need is self-care. To do better in
the world, I need to do better for myself. The more okay I am, more aware of my
own feelings and holding more of my own stuff, the more responsibly I’ll behave
towards other people and the more I’ll be able to do for/with other people.
Perhaps these thoughts can help me ground myself in the present
and future,
and engage with the pain and complexity of the past. By paying
attention instead of turning away, maybe I will find an opportunity to do
repair work, and maybe I can expand my capacity to do differently next time.
---
I am alive, loved, and employed. I’ve done a lot right up to
this point. But not everything. I’ve messed up in some significant ways.
I did the best I could. I care about my impact. The more I
take care of myself, the more I’ll be able to address what I can of what I’ve
done, and to do better moving forward.
I hope?
I hope?
Sunday, January 3, 2016
Hopes and Dreams for 2016
- Stop saying I “just” moved to NYC
- Cook – like, roasted vegetables and soups
- More reading and writing
- More music and dance and prayer and poetry
- Host another dinner party
- Go back to not checking email and Facebook on Saturdays
- Read/listen/talk more about the impact of white supremacy and structural racism on the work I do and how I do it
- Read/listen/talk more about the impact of gentrification and what it means for me to be living where I live
- Further systematize my financial contributions to bolster the work of the people most impacted by local and global systems of oppression
- Stop getting annoyed when people send me vague text messages… avoid over-interpreting
- Open my heart to other humans
- Feel as much as possible
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Having Feelings in Public (& Other Themes of 2015)
I didn’t mean to alarm people with my Facebook statuses; I
just wanted to share. But perhaps there’s something in the genre of Facebook
status writing (and Instagram selfies, apparently) that is not well-suited to
the kind of self-expression I’m trying to achieve. I try to invite you into
these thoughts and feelings that I’m having, but in a brief status – that
you’re reading while scrolling – I can’t show you the whole thing. I can’t show
you what it means to me and how I’m holding the experience. Moving
to New York has been daunting and exhausting and downright lonely, for
sure. But I’m okay with those feelings. I’m having the feelings, but I’m okay.
It was going to be hard. Things can be generally good (new job! new friends!)
but not always easy. There’s complexity in change and loss and risk. And also,
it has been exhilarating and inspiring to experience this city, to connect with
people, and to navigate the job that brought
me here in the first place.
Meanwhile the world is crumbling
and crashing
in on itself more
and more each month. And I’m engaging with that in new ways, too, as I
delve into the world of HIV-prevention
with LGBT youth, particularly trying to make the work we’re doing inclusive
and affirming
for young people who are transgender
or gender nonconforming. I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting on my
role in all that, and what it means for
me to be me while doing that work. And I’ve also been yearning for ways to
re-engage in other kinds of work I’ve done in the past: sex
education, curriculum
development, sexual
assault prevention, with public
schools and college
campuses and youth
development programs. And blogging!
So at least I’m getting back into that – hoping that this makes more sense than
a few lines on Facebook.
If 2014 was the year in which my life tore
apart at the seams, then 2015 was the year in which I started weaving
it back together. I’m weaving something newly livable, something softly
familiar yet utterly surprising, at times terrifying and at times glowing with
beauty, something to hold onto within an overwhelming whirlwind of opportunity
and pain and possibility. In taking the risk of being more connected to my own truths,
I’m finding more and more access to authenticity,
and I’m finding within that authenticity a kind of vulnerability
that feels both scary and strong, and that allows for real closeness with
people who care.
I’m discovering that people care about me as deeply as I care about them. I
deeply, passionately care about them (you). And I can act on those feelings,
although there’s risk
in that, too. I’m becoming more attuned to the differences between danger and
risk, between terror and courage. I’m becoming more attuned to my own needs,
including my need for joy. Past numbness
is now thawing. I’m trying to weave something that will keep me warm, so I can
keep sharing warmth with the world.
In 2015:
·
I defended my dissertation and got my PhD.
·
I packed up the apartment I’d lived in for five
years.
·
I started my post-doc.
·
I found and set up a new apartment in
Harlem.
·
I turned 30, and I went alone to an awesome Pride
dance party in Brooklyn.
·
I made an OKCupid profile (and used it).
·
I analyzed data, conducted focus groups and
interviews, wrote papers, and planned for grants I want to write.
·
I nourished new friendships, exploring new ways
of connecting and showing up for each other.
·
I reshaped existing friendships, adjusting to so
many changes to find ways to continue to show up and be close.
·
I made time for my own thawing and reflecting,
nourishing myself and finding out that I can really show up for myself, too.
One thing I learned this year, especially this fall, is that
I cannot repair the world in isolation. My self
care and my connection
with community are what allow me to invest in my work as an activist,
to build relationships that will facilitate and propel change in
my own life and in the systems in which I work. I can't do it alone. I can
barely do anything alone. Isolation is the opposite of social justice. We need
each other, to build together the
world we need, the world as we
want it to be. We need each other radically and holistically, not just for call-outs
and accountability,
but for hope and healing and joy and wonder. We need each other so we can hold
complexity together and make space for all that we're feeling. This is hard to
do in a big city where it takes a lot of effort and coordination to just physically
put ourselves in the same place. But it's something I'm really committed to. Showing
up, to talk
and feel
and sing
and dance.
To care
and question.
So hard but so needed.
I will keep seeking community, I will keep hosting events at
my place, and I will even keep going to Brooklyn to see what people are
building there. Let me know your other ideas, hopes, dreams, visions, suggestions,
etc. I’m in it with you!
You. Thank
you to everyone who has been a part of my village this year. Family
of origin and family
of choice. Best friends, old friends, new friends, people who weren’t yet
my friends but welcomed me with warmth anyway. You are the reason I can do
anything, you are the reason I could write my dissertation and finish school
and get a job and move to New York. You are the reason I could start a new job
and take on new projects and set up a new life. You are the reason I have hope
for myself, and you are the reason I have hope for the world.
Sending you warmth this winter, with so much hope and so many
wishes for care and love and justice in the coming year.
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