At the Risk of Being Impolite…
When does politeness leave us vulnerable?
By Anni Ponder
Warning: this piece discusses an abusive incident that may be triggering to some people.
“Politeness is, you know, is a wonderful thing. Manners are in fact, really important thing. But remember, Jesus didn’t have many manners as we now know.”
You may already know this about me, but in case not, I have a ritual of inviting a particular word into my life each New Year. For this trip around the sun, I chose the word BOLD—or rather, this year it seems to have chosen me—and it’s already taking up residence and doing some rearranging of the furniture, to say the least.
I’ve found myself mustering up the courage to say things to friends that might be hard for them to hear, but are necessary. I am more able to ask for what I need from my family members without feeling shame. I’m even mulling over inviting onto my podcast a pastor with whom I vehemently disagree, but feel pulled to enter into conversation. (You can check back with me later and see if I’ve been courageous enough to invite him.)
In short, BOLD is already settling in and I feel the growth happening. It’s wonderful and also daunting because this is such new territory. But we either grow or die, so I guess expanding is my only good option.
Recently, BOLD made a rather unexpected observation to me: POLITE has been controlling you for too long. You need to demote POLITE to Advisor, not Director.
This realization came to me in my therapist’s office where I was doing some healing of an old childhood wound. I was having trouble breathing regularly, recalling the scene. All of a sudden, I opened my eyes and told my therapist, “I know the word that was keeping me from breathing, keeping me from speaking. It was POLITE.”
The details of the story are grim and I don’t want to trigger anybody’s trauma by getting too explicit. In broad brushstrokes, I was five years old and being forced to experience sexual contact against my will. I was locked in a confined space with the abuser and had no way of getting out on my own. The curious thing to me now is that I did not scream for help, though my mother was a few feet away on the other side of the wall. Had I hollered, she would have come.
But I didn’t. I silently endured, hoping it would end quickly. My body froze. I was a child-sized statue.
Now, 39 years later, I know why I didn’t speak up or yell for help: I was being polite.
You see, the person molesting me was a classmate, and his mother and mine were friends. I was sure if I let anyone know I needed help, both the boy and his mom would be embarrassed. Probably my mom would too, for not having known this might happen.
Better to take the pain and spare them the shame.
Better not to interrupt the mothers’ discussion.
Better to be polite.
And so, I suffered in silence. And then of course, I did what so many of us do—I stuffed the memory down and tried not to think about it.
But my body remembered. It just wretched the memory up like a stomach-full of poison right there in my therapist’s office for me to confront. Feeling safe there on his couch, I knew I could go back into the memory and give my little self the tools she needed.
I did. I gave her voice, I gave her motion, I gave her agency. She fought back. In this new scenario, the boy was not successful at hurting her. I watched as she grew a lion’s mane and claws, and told both mothers in a clear voice about what the boy had tried to do to her. I watched as she transformed from victim to powerhouse. POLITE was nowhere in sight.
When it was all over, I realized I had told my therapist I wanted to punch POLITE in the face. “Maybe,” he suggested, “polite might hang out with you still, but just not in moments when it doesn’t serve you.”
True enough, I thought. I don’t need to get rid of POLITE. It just can’t run the show.
So I went home and did some journaling. I discovered that I’ve leaned on POLITE far too often, and that I haven’t always listened to other important influences like BOUNDARIES, HONESTY, WISDOM, and PROTECTION. So I asked POLITE to get out of the director’s chair and sit down with the others, and to listen first for their input before advising me. And since I’ve overused POLITE, I told it to take a rest if needed. “It’s OK,” I wrote. “I always have COMPASSION to guide me, so you don’t need to worry.”
This is a new paradigm for me, but it already feels expansive and good. And I feel brave. Maybe brave enough to invite that pastor to my podcast?
Maybe.
We’ll see.
Baby steps.
But one thing I know: with POLITE in its proper place and me in mine—yes, thank you I will sit back in that director’s chair—good things are in the works.
