I don’t know who needs to hear this, but please, please,pleasedo not use the term “gaslighting” in political debates or discussion. It doesn’t belong there, and using it in that context is doing real harm to abuse survivors.
Gaslighting is when an abuser attempts to make their victim question their own sense of reality through denial or fabrication. A parent telling their child, “No, I never sat you down and yelled at you for an hour because you didn’t take out the trash. Why would you even accuse me of something like that?” That’s gaslighting. One partner using emotional manipulation and vague claims to convince another that having a single beer after dinner is evidence of a drinking problem? That’s gaslighting. Someone countering your political opinions? A politician saying something you disagree with? Not gaslighting.
I get that things are contentious right now. I understand a lot of people are angry about a lot of things. But the word “gaslighting” is important to abuse survivors. It’s a powerful term, and the only one that adequately describes the mental agony of having someone try and rewrite your reality, of having them attack your own sense of self to try and make you depend on them to define what you remember and what you don’t, of wondering if the horrible things you remember even happened. When you take the word “gaslighting” and fling it around your political arguments, you cheapen it. You water it down. You turn it into just another buzzword used to shut people down on Twitter, to win a debate that is utterly meaningless by any estimation. (Hate to break it to you, but it’s true. Social media debates don’t change anyone’s mind and, according to most counts, have only ever succeeded in making everyone angry.)
When survivors, still in that fragile questioning phase where they don’t know if they deserve to use the word abusejust yet, see gaslighting used so casually, they’ll assume that what happened to them was no more horrific than one person disagreeing with another on social media. What’s worse, their abusers can now accuse them of gaslighting for something as simple as challenging their false version of events.
I won’t be hearing arguments on this. No “but it IS gaslighting because….” No “but when my parents argue with me, it feels like gaslighting.” Your feelings do not define a word. That word does not belong to you. Leave it alone.
Dressing up always felt really good. It was like getting to become a whole new person. Sometimes you’d be a cyborg, saving the world. Others you’d be a sports star, winning every game. Eventually, though, as you got older, you noticed other girls getting way more attention than you with their costumes. Worst of all, they weren’t even being somebody different! You put the “play” in cosplay, but they were just their normal selves in revealing outfits. So one Halloween, you decided to go as a hooker. You wanted to see why girls just wore slutty costumes instead of putting any effort in. Pretty soon, you found out why: it felt good to have all eyes on you, know you’re the sexiest around, know that men want you. So you did it again. And again. But soon you wanted more. You needed more. And hey, you were just playing the part. So charging guys money to have sex with you was just part of the costume, right? Turns out, when you put your mind to it, you can just turn it off and blow like the stupid bimbo ditz you’re pretending to be. And every time you shut it off to suck another cock for 5 bucks (who said you were a classy hooker?) it became harder and harder to turn it back on. Not like you cared. You loved sucking cock and getting tons of money and attention. So when, one day, you just didn’t switch back to the shy, demure girl you had once been, you didn’t care. After all, you had ten more johns to blow that day, and they’d be devastated if their favorite streetwalker didn’t service them.
It wasn’t like you wanted things to turn out like this.
But you were poor and needed the money. So you started taking pictures of yourself in revealing outfits and posting them on the internet. Interested guys paid you to take it all off for them.
That’s when you met Daddy.
Daddy was very interested in you. Soon he was your only client. He paid you lots and lots of money to do nastier and nastier things.
You found yourself reliant, addicted to his words, to his instructions.
So you did everything he said. You started dressing sluttier all the time. You got tattoos that he paid for. You started wearing heavier makeup. You put in contacts to make yourself look like a doll.
It didn’t even matter when he stopped paying you. Because you were happy to just go along with everything Daddy said. Since you were still poor, Daddy suggested you start hooking to pay him back for all the money, clothes, and jewelry he sent you. That’s when he stopped answering your messages and calls.
Now you were the opposite of a classy broad. Nasty, cheap, and easy, you sometimes let your clients fuck you for free if they had big enough dicks and reminded you enough of Daddy. Your life had been utterly destroyed, replaced with nothing but sex, money, filth, and a burning need for Daddy to come back in to your life and make you whole again.
hi. if you’re a young person or teenager who happens to be following me: write it down! keep a secret diary, a notepad, a blog your parents don’t have access to. write it down. keep a record somehow.
when i was a little kid and both my dad & i were being actively abused by my mom, he was familiar enough w her gaslighting that he instructed me at elementary school age to write down all the horrible things she did/said to me. it would be useful in court when custody was being argued and it would be useful to ME, years later, when my mom would try and convince me none of it happened. i had the proof, often word for word, that it did–and there was no hope in convincing my mom but a lot of hope in convincing myself and holding my stance against her. it was pivotal to advocating for myself and my feelings and eventually leaving her in my dust!
write it down!!! it’s so frustrating to have to deal with this bullshit, whether your parents are outright abusive or just fucking toxic/dysfunctional assholes. but you can do something for yourself and your mental health and that something is writing it down.
Protect brown girls who are told they’re overreacting or being sensitive or acting crazy if they express hurt, confusion, anger, a desire for accountability, or other negative reactions.
Protect brown girls whose families shout at them, insult them, ignore them, curse them, and then turn around an hour later and pretend nothing ever happened.
Protect brown girls who are accused by their own family of gaslighting, blackmailing, or being abusive themselves when they’re simply trying to voice their feelings.
Protect brown girls who feel like they can’t trust their own memories and emotions because they’ve been told so often that they’re simply wrong, or that they must be lying.
Protect brown girls who no longer feel safe or comfortable being authentic, expressing their emotions freely, and asking for what they need from their family because they know they won’t be listened to. Protect brown girls who feel guilty for experiencing this discomfort, or for having emotional needs in the first place.
It’s so difficult to reconcile how your family who purport to love you could simultaneously put you through so much pain. Please know that you are not wrong for having emotional needs, for wanting to be heard, for wanting accountability from your family, for seeking help from the people who you’ve been told your whole life can be trusted to help you. I encourage you to seek emotional support from other sources, and I encourage you to keep a record of your own experiences to look back upon and reassure yourself that your memories, your emotions, were real. I wish you luck in finding a support network and resources that can help you heal.
There are people who like to make others feel worthless. Some of them use the language of social justice to get away with it.
Often, this comes in the form of proclaiming to hate allies and then demanding unbounded deference from allies. This is typically conflated with accountability, but it’s not the same thing at all.
Hatred and accountability are different things. Accountability as an ally means, among other things:
Listening to the people you’re trying to support instead of talking over them.
Making good-faith efforts to understand the issues involved and to act on what you learn.
Understanding that you’re going to make big mistakes, and that sometimes people you’re trying to support will be justifiably angry with you.
Accepting that your privilege and power matter, not expecting others to overlook either, and taking responsibility for how you use both.
Facing things that are uncomfortable to think about, and handling your own feelings about them rather than dumping on marginalized people.
Being careful about exploitation and reciprocity, including paying people for their time when you’re asking them to do work for you.
Understanding that marginalized people have good reason to be cautious about trusting you, and refraining from demanding trust on the grounds that you see yourself as on their side.
When people use the language of social justice to make others feel worthless, it’s more like this:
Telling allies explicitly or implicitly, that they are worthless and harming others by existing.
Expecting allies to constantly prove that they’re not terrible people, even when they’ve been involved with the community for years and have a long track record of trustworthiness.
Berating allies about how terrible allies are, in ways that have no connection to their actual actions or their actual attitudes.
Giving people instructions that are self-contradictory or impossible to act on, then berating them for not following them.
Eg: Saying “Go f**ing google it” about things that are not actually possible to google in a meaningful way
Eg: Simultaneously telling allies that they need to speak up about an issue and that they need to shut up about the same issue. Putting them in a position in which if they speak or write about something, they will be seen as taking up space that belongs to marginalized people, and if they don’t, they will be seen as making marginalized people do all the work.
Giving allies instructions, then berating them for following them:
Eg: Inviting allies to ask questions about good allyship, then telling them off for centering themselves whenever they actually ask relevant questions.
Eg: Teaching a workshop on oppression or a related issue, and saying “it’s not my job to educate you” to invited workshop participants who ask questions that people uninformed about the issue typically can be expected to ask.
More generally speaking: setting things up so that no matter what an ally does, it will be seen as a morally corrupt act of oppression.
Holding allies accountable means insisting that they do the right thing. Ally hate undermines accountability by saying that it’s inherently impossible for allies to do anything right. If we want to hold people accountable in a meaningful, we have to believe that accountability is possible.
Someone who believes that it’s impossible for allies to do anything right isn’t going to be able to hold you accountable. If someone has no allies who they respect, you’re probably not going to be their exception — they will almost certainly end up hating you too. If someone demands that you assume you’re worthless and prove your worth in an ongoing way, working with them is unlikely to end well.
If you want to hold yourself accountable, you need to develop good judgement about who to listen to and who to collaborate with. Part of that is learning to be receptive to criticism from people who want you to do the right thing, even when the criticism is hard to hear. Another part is learning to be wary of people who see you as a revenge object and want you to hate yourself. You will encounter both attitudes frequently, and it’s important to learn to tell the difference. Self-hatred isn’t accountability.
Tl;dr If we want to hold allies accountable in a meaningful, we have to believe that accountability is possible. Hatred of allies makes this much harder.
Stage fright was the most important fear I’ve ever faced, and my greatest lifelong fear. As a child I was constantly pushed onto stages to perform at talent shows and other events despite the overwhelming anxiety I would experience, so when I gained autonomy as an adult I stayed as far away from stages as possible. I chose work like photography and being an interviewer that kept me behind the scenes and out of the spotlight. Standing in front of people to speak or perform was the last thing I desired for myself. I probably would have stayed in that comfort zone my entire life if my love for this cause and humanity didn’t give me the drive I needed to use my voice. Ironically, I would now consider public speaking and performing to be what I do best! Overcoming this fear has unexpectedly opened up a whole new world for me, connecting me with gifts I didn’t know I had and sides of myself I never knew existed. Tomorrow I will post a video of myself facing my stage fright. Is there a fear you faced that ended up being a catalyst for major growth and positive change in your life? Please share your answer in the comments. #ReclaimYourVoice
The Idea That Changed My Life || My awakening inspired within me the longing to bring hope to people’s lives, but I didn’t know exactly how I was going to do it until one evening a short while later. I was hanging out with @tungztwisted when he put on the movie Exit Through The Gift Shop, Banksy’s Academy Award nominated documentary. I knew very little about Banksy at the time and I rarely watch movies, so I was unenthused about it and my mind began to drift before he even pressed play. But in the opening credits alone, these lyrics by @RichardHawley hit me like a bolt of lightning: “Those people, they got nothing in their souls And they make our TVs blind us From our vision and our goals Oh, the trigger of time it tricks you So you have no way to grow But do you know that tonight the streets are ours These lights in our hearts they tell no lies.” All of a sudden this film had my full attention. I’d never heard music like that, music with a message trying to awaken people. But then again my awakening had only recently happened and my eyes and ears were newly opened to receiving messages like these. As the movie progressed, I watched as these street artists used their art to create powerful messages of rebellion, subversion and disruption. That’s when it clicked for me and I sat straight up. Sean noticed this and intuitively, brilliantly, handed me a notepad and a pencil and said, “Write.” And I did. I couldn’t stop the ideas from flowing and couldn’t seem to write them all down fast enough.
Finally it all came together: I was going to create what I called a ‘humanitarian street art project’, using my art to anonymously create messages that would inspire hope. I knew that so many people in this world were hurting and I wanted to do something to let them know someone cared about them; I had learned firsthand that there was something so powerful about being on the receiving end of unexpected kindness, specifically when it was coming from a stranger. The project came to be called ‘500 random acts of beauty: the pursuit of positive change through beautiful thinking’ and I committed to dreaming up and executing 500 acts that would add positivity to the world, even if it took me my whole life to do them. In fact I hoped it would take me my whole life, because that meant it would keep my mind in a state of looking for opportunities to do so―a state of beautiful thinking. Most of all what I hoped was that it would create a ripple effect, that when someone was on the receiving end of one of these acts of kindness, they would be inspired to do the same for someone else, the same way woman at the train station in New York had done for me. It was this idea and the decision to act on it that completely altered the course of my life.
ADOLF PUTIN (this is all so weird. It’s happening at all levels. what is the worst thing you can call someone else, to get others to believe that person or those people are the worst possible? Nazi? Pedophile? my guess is that the former only works in the Old World and the latter works best in the new world. have you heard these terms being used to label certain targets people recently? #alwaysassumetheopposite when it’s something this awful. none of this is difficult to figure out and it’s not like there is a huge amount of people who are lying personality disordered narcissists, but there are a huge amount of people that are damaged by them and even more who are used by them to carry out their worst campaigns.
Your girl serves many purposes, but don’t forget that she can provide a great deal of personal amusement.
One such form of entertainment is gaslighting. By making her question her own memories and even her sanity, she’ll keep you entertained for hours.
Make sure you’ve both signed a consent agreement before you do it to her, but by gaslighting her until she thinks she might be losing her mind, you’ll find she bends more easily to your will and is more interesting to be around.
-VIS
Devotional Training: Most effective and entertaining.
The homophobes be calling the LGBTQ+ community entitled meanwhile we’re over here asking the sea double you to please acknowledge our existence without senselessly slaughtering us in their representation only to be consistently exploited for profit and then ignored. It’s not okay.
This is my 3rd? Or 4th period off hormones this time around and it’s already making me so sick I have diarrhea and vomiting and the pain is making me moan and cry which is literally something I never do with pain. At 35 I’m now so angry when I think back on all the doctors that told me this was ‘normal’ that dismissed me when I told them I would vomit or pass out in the street from the pain. That never even considered endometriosis as a possibility until I figured that out myself in my late twenties. 25 years of this interspersed with hormones that have made me sick, made me more disabled and at times severely affected my mental health and my relationships around me. At 35 I still feel like I’m no closer to getting this treated. I’m still not being offered the surgery available to most other severe endometriosis sufferers due to concerns with my connective tissue disorder. Before surgery is on the cards I have to try an IUD which comes with its own risks and by most accounts is also extremely painful for people with Ehlers Danlos (and also sometimes even those without that diagnosis). Stumbling out of the bathroom this morning I moan that I guess I have to give it a try. I’m desperate once again. Already. I guess I’ll try anything. I’m done with hormones though. They’re not worth it and too disabling day to day. The difference is stark despite the increased suffering of having periods. I’m doing much better now, hours later. The pain is 'tolerable’ again (as in I can think to type and I was able to hold down a little food and liquids). I’m so thankful and relieved I wasn’t alone today. M looked after me in the early hours as I alternated between toilet, bed and hot bath crying and yelling and eventually vomiting that signature green bile (and my most expensive meds ). Odin brought me the toy I give to him when I put him to bed when he’s feeling bad. MaoMao stayed in bed with me with her incredibly worried expression. Endometriosis is absolute hell and no person should have to live through this. I’m exhausted but angry that we are forced to live this way for so long and gas lighted over our pain tolerance & coping methods. But I’m loved by so many around me ❤
hi. if you’re a young person or teenager who happens to be following me: write it down! keep a secret diary, a notepad, a blog your parents don’t have access to. write it down. keep a record somehow.
when i was a little kid and both my dad & i were being actively abused by my mom, he was familiar enough w her gaslighting that he instructed me at elementary school age to write down all the horrible things she did/said to me. it would be useful in court when custody was being argued and it would be useful to ME, years later, when my mom would try and convince me none of it happened. i had the proof, often word for word, that it did–and there was no hope in convincing my mom but a lot of hope in convincing myself and holding my stance against her. it was pivotal to advocating for myself and my feelings and eventually leaving her in my dust!
write it down!!! it’s so frustrating to have to deal with this bullshit, whether your parents are outright abusive or just fucking toxic/dysfunctional assholes. but you can do something for yourself and your mental health and that something is writing it down.
Yeah bury it in a box in the woods and write in it once a month if you have to, but write that shit down. I wish to fuck I had.
[Image caption for original post: bus on a road by a cliff meme, with the sad guy facing the cliff labeled “people remembering their childhoods”, and the cheery guy facing the open view labeled “their moms being like ‘that’s not how I remember it’.” End caption.]
You were born with the ability to see a person’s true form. You didn’t really think much of this, until middle school when all of the demons and dragons were missing from the Biology Textbooks. Maybe this explains why calling Mrs Miggins a Demon got you sent to detention…
Eliza had known for as long as she could remember that you weren’t supposed to describe people how they actually looked. It was one of those deep, half unconscious social rules, like wearing clothes in polite company.
Her parents only seemed to think it was a little rude. If she talked about scales and wings on Mr. Wilmington next door, they laughed indulgently, signalling she’d said something wrong but delightful.
She watched and listened, and learned that polite adults all somehow memorized a specific description for each person. She wasn’t sure how they learned it so quickly, and always got it right. When Eliza invented her own fake description for someone, others always knew she’d gotten it wrong.
She did her best to memorize the lies like everyone else did. It was harder than learning people’s names. Usually, she preferred to tell the truth instead of messing up on the lie.
It wasn’t until first grade that she learned how taboo that kind of honesty really was.
Sidekick didn’t sleep all night. When the morning sun broke through his window, the anticipation was painful. Any second, now, Hero would go downstairs to find Villain missing. And then what? Would he be able to claim innocence? Would it even matter? He would be in deep trouble, no matter what he did. He watched the minutes tick by on his alarm clock.
5 am. He got hungry, but didn’t dare to move out of his bed. If he just stayed here, under the blankets, maybe he could delay the inevitable a little longer.
6 am. He tried to remember how kind Hero had been last night. It was just like before Villain arrived. It would be difficult for a moment, but he was sure Hero would calm down eventually.
7 am. He was probably going to have a terrible headache from the serum. Sidekick winced at the poor timing.
When he heard Hero scream his name at 8 am, he was flooded with relief and a nauseating fear. There it was.
He curled up tighter under the blankets, shuddering in fright, as he heard Hero storm up the stairs. The bedroom door hit the wall, and he flinched.
“Where the fuck is he?” Hero yelled, still wearing his pyjama and dressing gown. His curls were unstyled, which only made him look more explosive with anger. Sidekick sat up and pretended to wipe sleep from his eyes, like he’d just been startled awake.
“Wh-Hero? What do you mean, where is who?”
Hero’s dark blue eyes were alight with fury. His mouth was a tight line, and he stomped over to where Sidekick sat.
“Don’t you dare play dumb with me,” he hissed. “I can smell the guilt on you, and this is your last chance before I really get angry. Where is he?”
Sidekick held up his hands, and pressed his back against the bedroom wall.
“Please, Hero, I don’t know what you’re talking about! I haven’t done anything, I swear!”
He had to at least try to insist on his innocence. But just like he feared, that only made Hero angrier.
That moment when you notice they’re manipulating you, and you just let the gaslighting happen because if you’d ask for honesty they’d give it to you. They know you’re getting off on it and they’ve made you feel safe to the point where you’re just smiling nodding, letting them mindfuck you into thinking this was all your doing.
And in a way it was.
Because they cared about what you want and what you don’t. You built this together. The thought “Well that’s the gaslighting talking, you dummy” turns from something scary into the most enticing pleasure.
You’re safe and you can stop and they want you to know that.
