Pay Heed To The Reactionary Brain But (Whilst Appropriate) Refuse To Yield To It.

Fight or flight.  You've heard that term.  It represents how the reactionary brain responds to situations that pose a threat to it.  

Typically, the reactionary portion of our brain lies dormant 'till we're in need of some immediate reaction, but there are times when it kicks in unbeknownst to us as a result of unintentional (or intentional) re-traumatization of some sort.

Keyword here is re-traumatization.  Repeat.  Rerun.  Redo.  

Let's say you were reared by a belligerent, intimidating, control-freak father who abandoned you at birth, agreeing instead for you to be reared by his in-laws (your grandparents) within the same small town where he resides.  You do see him & his new honey on occasion (every other weekend), but you're no doubt on his watch (schedule) throughout.  Therefore, even clothes shopping with him (as a teenage boy) is stressful, seeing how he monitors the clock constantly, rushing you through a process that's not meant to be rushed.  Hence, please allow this short descriptor to serve as a glimpse into the circumstances which resulted in the emotional trauma.

Now, fast forward +/-20 years and you're a strapping young man with a beautiful wife and two lovely daughters, but you don't realize just how susceptible / vulnerable you are to re-traumatization in this regard because you don't recognize it as such.  Instead, all you see is "how things always were with my dad".  And you take this approach because ultimately, you don't want to do the work needed to analyze your asshole father relationally / circumstantially.  We all know that thorough analysis takes time.  But, in your mind, that's time better spent doing other things.  Things that don't seem so superfluous.  Yet, in the end, it's your laziness that destroys both opportunity and friendships as re-traumatization occurs.  And, at times, in the most clandestine of situations when you least expect it to.

The takeaway here is to do the work.  Especially as you're seeing more and more collateral damage result.  The relational corpses are pleading with you here.

Those Times I Did Not Die For Being So Normal

I've documented this prior within previous posts, and I'll say it again.  When I was a teenager, my parents' home at 197 St. Augustine Dr. had the most publicly accoladed landscaping / hardscaping within our 'hood.  The summers, in particular, is when its beauty peaked.  Bob & Darlene poured hours and hours each weekend (during the Spring / Summer months) into keeping it perfectly manicured.  

Their house's lot was on a prominent corner, therefore that 50% of frontage provided ample opportunities for gawkers to inspect.  And even our backyard was easily viewable from the street, thanks to the traditional picket fence gapping.  But upon nightfall, like most backyards of its day, it was bathed in darkness unless there happened to be moonlight to illuminate one's surroundings.  

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I've no idea where my idea to masturbate in the backyard originated from.  Back in the late '80s, I'd no access to "solo sex" videos / photos of guys masturbating by a pool or sprawled out on a bed.  But I do believe there was an instinctual pull towards unabashedly presenting my scrawny frame towards the heavens, all the while taking a wait & see approach as to whether or not I might be struck dead for doing so.  

All and all, there's no denying that I did want to take enough of a calculated risk to experience the ramp up in intensity (excitement) that I expected therein.  And when I refer to that specific risk, my only fear was being shamed by my father (upon getting caught).  

Years earlier (during middle school), my dad had covertly spied on me in my room in an attempt to catch me semen-handed.  And he achieved success.  From there, he intensely shamed me for masturbating while I believed to have been home alone.  Therefore, a precedent had definitely been set if I were to be caught (again) doing this, yet not only did I feel it worth the risk of facing Robert, Sr. again, but too some semblance of newfound dignity needed to be cultivated via this risk.  Dignity that harkened back to what I atmospherically referenced earlier. 

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The absolute weirdest truth to how the majority of fathers rear sons is their insistent avoidance to extensively / unashamedly dialogue relative to masturbation.  Dads simply refuse to discuss it.  They'll tell you from one end of the spectrum to the other what their experience is / has been with every other topic under the sun, but they'll never mention one word about masturbation.  Why is this?  What is the big deal?

My only guess is there's so much implied shame baked into the topic that the thought of broaching the subject feels monumentally emasculating.  And this especially seems to be the case if the man is in any way religious.  

On the opposing side of this instructional vacuum is the MIND-BLOWING PLEASURE that's at the fingertips of every adolescent boy.  A pleasure that's fueled by his physical self as it rapidly & awkwardly develops into a man. 

But I digress.

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Summer nights is when I mainly remember sneaking out the back door of my parents' abode to masturbate on the wooden swing (which was within 50' of the rear facade of the house).  

What's hilarious (to me) about these numerous escapades is what I chose to wear.  

For Xmas one year, I had received an extremely lightweight, just barely over the knee, cotton bathrobe.  The fabric was graced with a tightly repetitive candy-striped pattern, and it had a matching tie looped in around the waist.  This along with a pair of flipflops was my attire (until it wasn't).   

What was it about being buck naked on that swing in the dark, gazing up at the stars?

I think it was my way of getting out from underneath the ignorance of my earthly father, and from there, attempting to make peace with myself under the watchful eye of my heavenly father.  Or, to loop back to what I commented on prior, it was my attempt to find my dignity in spite of a familial situation that had taken it from me.

In closing, these adolescent experiences proved to me that sexual release does not have to be tied to sexual fantasy / lust.  And this was a marked truth that's remained with me to this day.

The Dragon Isn't "Pleasure". It's "Pleasure Via The Illusion Of Control". This Is Our Fallen Hearts' Deepest Desire, & It Is The Greatest Of Enemies Against The Gospel. Think Of Those Moments As Disobedient Dates With The Devil.

"I Touch You First. Then You Have Permission (Maybe) To Touch Me."

Whilst providing commentary early on during the weekend, I made this statement during the February Samson Society regional retreat that I attended in Gulf Shores, AL, and understandably, it freaked everyone out a bit.  These retreats are about bringing individually prepared stories (of blessing & of harm) to the group setting prior to formally presenting (reading) each.  There're no more than 15-18 Samson guys in attendance at these, therefore the scale isn't too overwhelming, especially if you're not a newbie (which I wasn't).

Friday, (2/18) afternoon, I arrived at the retreat location around 3:30 PM.  The Airbnb that Chris & Kris had reserved for our group was nicely situated between the Gulf and Bay.  It was quiet enough for us with plenty of chilly Gulf breeze to remind us of our proximity to the water.  

Upon making my way inside, I arbitrarily chose a bunk on the top floor of the elevated structure within a room that could easily sleep six within three metal-tube framed bunkbeds.  After putting some clothes in the washer downstairs (I'd already been on the AL roadways during the latter half of the week), I made my way back upstairs to unpack my things for the weekend.  And this is when I met my newfound friend, Ben.

Ben also chose a bunk within the six-man capable room I was now situated in, and he looked absolutely nondescript.  So much so in fact that it was almost as if he was wanting to be invisible yet, of course, still very much present.

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Interrogation is my strong suit.  I know it's a trait that was honed during my architectural career.  Back in the day (early involvement within Samson Society), I was dubbed "The Dentist" for good reason.  Drilling down seemingly comes easy for Rob.  

Why take this approach?  Self-protection.  It's a technique that allows me to vet individuals with laser precision relative to their threat level.

Threat-level?

That's a figure of speech, but there's some truth (still) to it.

When I first stepped foot into a Jackson, Mississippi Samson Society group back in August of 2014, I was overwrought emotionally.  Blanched.  Spent.  Played out.  Languishing.  Punished.  Beat up.  Therefore, I, by default, began asking questions.  Lots of questions of everyone around me (within that first group).  It was all I knew relative to protecting myself from further harm.  Think of it as a defense mechanism disguised as curiosity.  

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Ben was middle-aged like myself, and immediately, he reminded me of someone from my past due to both his vocal inflections / tone and build.  That person being a neighbor who understandably rejected me (almost two decades ago) upon gaining (I chose to divulge) a cursory understanding of my sexuality.  Hence, I allowed myself to see Ben (to some degree) as such, thereby giving myself permission to lay down my defenses (having long ago privately forgiven this individual), taking into consideration this weirdly doppelganger reboot-like experience.   

There was a somewhat quiet mezzanine space within the Airbnb that Ben and I spent time together on both Saturday and Sunday mornings prior to group time (around 9 AM both days).  He drank his coffee while I sipped ice water out of my insulated cup.  The leather sofa and loveseat provided us with a cozy spot that wasn't too private.  And our time together felt equal which was very cool.

Now let me expound on that statement.

Ben was / is where I was (somewhat) in August of 2014, yet he's not so determined to shield himself by being intrusive.  

So what's the point of this tribute to the regional retreat?

I've been serving Ben as his Silas for a few weeks now, and ever since Monday of this week, he's been serving as my Silas.

Ben represents my third long-distance Silee (he lives in Atlanta), but what's unique to our relationship, & subsequently has been really helpful this time around, is the relational foundation that was laid during the retreat.  I simply cannot underestimate that opportunity enough. 

If you're willing to travel, participating within these retreats is yet another opportunity for God to work in and through your life as a Samson guy.  This is why they're very important to me.

Plus, there's something quite special about bringing your own self to a newly formed group, made up of individuals from far and wide.  Therein, it's easy to drop your guard and simply enjoy the experience with little to no fear.  

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For me TODAY, masculinity truly begins to lose its luster when you recognize that for some guys, it personally equates to dickdom licensure.   

We're all hyper self-focused as westerners, but masculinity - in some (repugnant) forms - can give credence to the guy who truly loathes inconvenience and thoughtfulness.  Too, though I'm no proponent of catchy, fashionable catchphrases, there's been a lot said as of late in an attempt to shine a spotlight on white dudes' - by default - "leg up" and how it seems to baptize many men into assholes.  Nonetheless, whether it's culture or majority privilege, this construct of masculinity, in the past, has set the bar quite low relative to "looking out for the best interests of others". 

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I'm convinced too that physical attraction (sex appeal) does plays a role in how tolerant one's posse becomes to one's own masculine assholeness.   I won't cite anyone specifically, but we all can collectively agree to those famous, great-looking men who's debonair served to immunize them from many expectational aspects of relational decency. 

All in all, this is where Rob, as a man whose sexuality is far from straight, has in the past been tempted to make some compromises.  Particularly as a teenager, but also, very early on within my involvement within Samson Society.  And whilst looking back, I believe that allure grew out of my own internal battle with a sense of worthlessness.  For what better feel-good relationship can exist than one which provides affirmation in deference to the default of sissydom? 

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As an aside, what is one constant that keeps culturally celebrated masculinity (as described above) in full swing?

Wives / girlfriends who tolerate it.

Women long for security from their men, first and foremost.  Thoughtless jerks can certainly qualify in this regard, and perhaps even as such, add to the allure.

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In closing, it's far easier jettisoning a jerk (masculine or otherwise) from your life (either full frontal or with discretion) when an alternative friend is in the queue.   

Thoughtful / selfless Samson guys, no matter the level of machismo, are what I'm drawn to today.  In spite of that, I'm embarrassed to say how enamored I once was by something so culturally prescribed.   

Here's to a smooth transition.

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