One of the things I learned as a girl child was to smile and nod when I was being spoken to. That to interrupt was to risk being disliked. While I had a pretty strong “bullshit detector” and could disagree with adults in authority such as my teachers, in adulthood – when relationships with men were not defined, I realised that the “smiling and nodding lesson” was one I’d totally learned.
For instance, sitting at the table with another couple out to dinner, I found myself beginning to smile and nod when my friend’s husband was talking directly to me face to face longer than I enjoy. Okay – so I stopped smiling and nodding. Then what did I do . . . ? I think I pretty much froze. While internally swearing I’d not sit directly opposite this one again.
I went home and during the following days reflected on the number of men including teaching colleagues, clients, friends and relatives, who I would say were “talking at me” longer than I enjoyed. How could I have absorbed this powerless “smile and nod” pattern? Frankly, by absorption – osmosis, is the perfect word for it. I believe I learned it at the feet of my mother, the Methodist Women’ s Society, the aunts, and the teachers at my school. Somehow I caught it, like a disease, a belief that men were rarely to be interrupted, and it was risky.
It was clearly time for updating my behavioural repertoire. But first some self-empathy.
As I remembered the last moment of smiling and nodding at our friend across the table, it was as if in the absence of “being nice” and in the presence of my next response “being frozen”, he became to my nervous system, a man in relationship to whom I was experiencing powerlessness. It was as if I’d taken a vow somewhere to placate or feign agreement in front of tall men who talk.
I wrote down my ideas in a brainstorm – what would I like to happen next. I’d like him to SHUT UP. I’d like him to pause. I’d like him to ask me something. Good grief. OK . . . And I’d like any of that to happen without me getting so pissed off that I explode!
What can I control? My area of influence is me – my communication, my movement, my feelings, my thoughts, my breathing . . .
Slowing down to breathe I realised I had longings to be considered, to be heard, to matter. A longing to be equal. A longing to be resourced so that I can explore differently – anything different from submission, or, heaven forbid, smiling and nodding in silence.
Slowing down to connect a little longer, I realized that what was really up for me was a need for choice, effectiveness, empowerment. Freedom from the story that this was likely to happen again with some man.
I began to WONDER – How could I create this for myself? In the presence of any man, anyone to whom I was faced again like this. What could I do to care for these needs?
An idea! So what if,
. . . . instead of being nice and nodding,
. . . . I simply stopped looking at him and reached for my phone,
. . . . and I pulled out a handy card and handed it to him to read . . .
“I’m creating this card to support myself with a moment of silence. I’d love your support. I’ve just experienced a moment of freeze, and I want to meet this moment with curiosity.
Would you be willing to . .
- Sit in silence with me for a moment
- Ask me if I’d like to talk
- Or Wait for me to say something”
I printed a card to have in my phone ready for the next opportunity to pull it.
I carried it for some years. Have never needed to use it. Ever since, I’ve had doable options. So many more . . . they include . . .
New options for moving out of freeze.
New options for caring for my sense of connection.
New options for disconnecting when I choose.
New options for responding and requesting.
New options for making my voice heard.
I’ve learned to interrupt to care for connection, as well as interrupt to disconnect with care.
So many more choices are emerging.