"It's Important That We Suppress This."

Or is it?

Hi friends.

This week I’m digging into the powerful book and resource Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men.

It’s about men, sure. But it’s really not about men, because what it’s *really* about is a thing called the (Old) Male Role Belief System, that isn’t just propagated by men, but is both frequently carried by them and also frequently a source of harm and deep-self harming for them… and for many, many others.

If you’ve read this book, I would love to hear your thoughts.

I’m finding that for all of my practice in trauma-informed therapy, abuse-informed therapy is astoundingly hard to find.

And since Lundy Bancroft argues that the roots of abuse are actually in the choice of a belief system, that some people are entitled to the lives and energies of others, this form of abuse - the roots of abuse in entitlement - aren’t just in some relationships or marriages, they’re in so many places we see in the news and wider society; from caste systems to the January 6th hearings, the abuse phenomena we *still* hesitate to talk about are cropping up all over the place.

Narcissism never fully explained Trump. But Lundy’s view on abuse, stressfully, kind of does.

I wrote a poem as I’m unearthing all of this, below - write me back if you’re interrogating this space also, as this sure is (strangely) lonely work to brave it solo.

Great care,
Megan

---

It's Important That We Suppress This
(a poem)
by Megan Mellin

Don't you know how important it is that we suppress this?
Don't you know how important it is that we find a way to talk around this thing, rather than say its malformed, stink-dripping name out loud?

It is better to put down the book
Step away from the article
Avoid using the name

of this demon we wish had never been so nearby as to come.

Put down the wordsmithing.
Stop saying the thing.
Why would you pursue this name for an action when we could
all
just
keep
looking
the
other
way.

It's easier here.
It's safer without this.
Without names for bad things we can spend 80% of our time pretending that they'll never exist.

The darkness is our nighttime, over here.
It's when we pretend we are asleep even
if we're not sleeping.

Don't you know that staying up in the night is when
monsters get seen,
is when the visions that haunt you
appear to be viewed?

Go back to sleep, dear one.
Put down the book.
The things that could haunt you
will have trouble gripping hold of you completely
if you pretend you don't know.

Pretend you don't know and the way that they strangle you will be subtle at first.
A pang against your throat, a tiny sniffle, a strange scratch.
Slowly you may feel as though it's allergy season, as though your sinuses are closing, as though something might be wrong,
but by that time no struggle will be possible
so no fight will be necessary.

We'll hold you in comfort.
We'll offer you ice.
We'll bring you cold water.
We'll bring forth the medicines so you can struggle and cough for clean air and breathe in Peace.

Don't you know that if you only just set down that book,
it could be your right,
and all of our right,
to
simply
die
slowly
in
Peace?

Peace is the name that we give this time, after all, between times you
remind us of dark things

Peace is the time that we call for right now
when no one is speaking of bad things.

To name the bad thing, after all
could never (oh never) actually cause it to be Seen
to be recognized and stunned, with the power of its name.

Don't you remember that
"Beetlejuice beetlejuice beetlejuice" was really just a story?
Don't you recall that
"Rumplestiltskin rumplestiltskin rumplestiltskin" was a fairy tale,
just some old remnant
of some child-distracting lore?

Why name the sadness, darling.
Why call out its name.
You're only disturbing us.
Look - you're stressed.
Don't strain yourself into such a sweat.
It doesn't become you.
It's scaring the children.

"Do you know," my heart asked, "what is scaring the children?"

The slow death
of
a
thousand
constrictions
to
a
perfectly
healthy
airway,
breathing
in
poisons
that
no
adults
would
name
is
killing
my
soul.

"I will not go, with no words, into this sad night," she whispered.
"Call me a demon. Call me a demon-namer. Call me a peacewrecker." Now she was hissing.
"It was never my job to guard your false peace."

To
name
a
monster's
essence
is
to
provoke
its
transformation.

To
eat
a
bowl
of
peace
is
to
clear
your
airways
just
by
holding
the
name
of
your
captor
as
food,
on
your
tongue.

I will not shirk from the power of my voice, in naming what is catching us, throat in and throat out, and clenching.

I
will
say
the
names
of
the
captors
until
they
kill
me
in
daytime

for
the
night
is
not
for
terror

This
day

This
way

Of
naming
the
darkness

THIS day, THIS naming...

these
words
shall
lead
toward
healing.