Hands down, one of the worst episodes that I experienced with a rageaholic happened on the telephone. One night, about 9:00pm, I received a call from a man that I loved and who claimed to love me. He asked me about my day.  As I began to share the events of my day, and expressed my disappointment about the delivery of an item that I had purchased online, he went into a rage. From out of nowhere he was yelling at me, repeating the words: WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE???

As he raised his voice, assaulting me with his words, I stopped talking in mid-sentence. I was totally stunned and mentally searching for a way to understand what in the world was going on. It was an episode that was terribly unexpected, uncalled for, exhausting, and traumatizing. His outburst was the last thing that I expected in that moment as he was clearly out-of-control and using his words and his “smartphone” to go off on me about an experience that had nothing to do with him. I was just sharing information, as requested, about my day.

The next morning he texted me to apologize, but the kicker was that he justified his yelling blaming it on “our lack of chemistry.” Not one word about a totally ambushing me emotionally with outrageous and unacceptable behavior caused by who knows what and by some very hostile, even hateful words aimed at me. Just days before, he told me how much he loved me, but yelling “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE” for no reason at all is not how you show someone that you love them. Frankly, that tends to disqualify any claim of love, for me.

Indeed, I could not let him get away with acting like nothing obscene happened the night before. In response to his so-called apology, I simply texted back and rejected any claim that the incident had anything to do with me or with anything that I had done. In fact, the words that I used were: that was all you. As expected, there was no response, except for complete silence. He took absolutely no responsibility for his words and actions the previous night.

Nevertheless, I knew that I was not to blame for his unacceptable behavior. I was a victim of his words and actions, but I did not need to become victimized by his silence. What he was doing to me was totally incredible, but, sadly, it was a reflection of the hateful perceptions that he carried within himself about the person that he had become in response to the events of his life and as a result of his poor choices.

In the past several years, I have learned enough about addiction and alcoholism not to let a person who is struggling with his own identity or sense of self accuse me of not knowing mine. Under no circumstances would I or should I take responsibility for another person’s outrageous behavior, nor would I be an emotional punching bag for someone who was controlled by their fears and addictions.

Thankfully, I have learned how to give myself what I need when others break my heart or show me that they cannot or will not be kind to me or be there for me, emotionally or otherwise. It was a very troubling encounter, yet one that I will not allow myself to forget. Several years before the phone encounter, my friend admitted to me that he was a wounded man because of his experience with childhood trauma; in fact, the word he used to describe himself was “broken.” When I first heard him say this about himself, I did not want to believe him, but the more that I experienced him, the more I could understand how a person’s brokenness can cause problems for everyone with whom they come into contact. This is why it is important for those suffering from the memory of childhood trauma seek help in adulthood as they become able.

As I sought the help that I needed, I learned many valuable strategies and lessons that empowered me to respond, or not, to the toxicity of an emotionally abusive partner or entity. For instance, following the call, I allowed myself to acknowledge and feel the pain that he caused. I took the time to feel the trauma of his words move through my body; I did some stretches on my exercise mat; and then I made myself a cup of hot tea. As I sat down in silence, I took at least three long, deep breaths. In that moment, I grieved, and I was kind and loving to myself.

In that moment, I gave myself the compassion and permission to be deeply present to myself. This quiet, solitary exercise empowered me to embrace my feelings and own my feelings and thus my power in the moment, even as my assailant was no where to be found, nor did he seem to care. But I knew better than that: I knew that his silence was filled with his shame. Today, when I remember that incident, it still stings; still hurts, but I know what to do with the hurt when it comes to my awareness: I feel it, acknowledge it, and I send it back to where it came from. 

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

I share this memory for two reasons: 1) because telling my story enables me to heal; and 2) as we head into a new year, I want to say that the words who do you think you are are significant for all of us.

When COVID-19 first made its onset, I remember saying to another friend, “Is the whole world going to shut down?” A few weeks later, it definitely seemed to me that the whole world was shutting down. Everything was changing, and super fast! As time went by, like everybody else I knew, I had to think long and hard about the shifts that were happening in plain sight. The world was changing, and sooner or later, we all had new and renewed ways of working, loving, and being.

As an urban planning academician, I teach courses about ethnic identity and the relationship it has to the history of place, as well as to the practice of urban planning. This year, I found myself emphasizing the intersectionality of identity, place and urban planning more than ever before. Currently, most of my students are non-white: they are predominantly Mexican-American or Asian-American, and I have structured the course to explore how specific narratives about cultural identity of black, brown, red, and yellow people, as it pertains to place, have emerged as a central aspect of placemaking in the U.S. Each of us has a cultural identity or heritage, which has everything to do with the expression of who we are, individually and collectively.

When I introduce my students to a concept that I and urban planning scholars call “emancipatory urban planning,” I reference the work of Dr. Gabor Maté. His recent best-selling book, The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness and Healing in a Toxic Culture is already a best-seller, and I am savoring every word. Yet, one of Dr. Maté’s best presentations with Diederik Wolsak and Sat Dharam Kaur ND, where they explore the importance of self-identity and self-awareness – is one of his best conversations online, as far as I am concerned. My takeaway is that if as individuals we think that we are worthy and valuable of love, then we will act that way: we will treat ourselves and others with compassion, love, and respect. On the other hand, if, deep down, we believe that we are not worthy of compassion, love, and respect, then we might mistreat ourselves and others, or we might rage and scream and point the finger at everyone else and make up all kinds of twisted and justifications for  out-of-control behaviors, just as described above.

I teach my students that before they go out into the world to work with communities as urban or regional planners, they must first know how to love, respect, and value themselves. In other words, before those of us who are in the business of sustaining communities and thus empowering others to be co-creators in making and remaking communities, we must know who we are and from whence we have come. We have to know and acknowledge our histories and cultural heritages, which are as different as we are. We are all human beings, but culturally, we are quite diverse. Becoming aware of our cultural heritages, and how they enable us to survive and even thrive in the world is essential for professional urban and regional planners. 

Over the years, I have endured terribly abusive verbal attacks by those who express hate or rejection of who I am (or how I self-identify) in various forms, including passive ones. In previous blog posts, I have written about the insults and verbal attacks that I have experienced by others because I identify as an atheist and as a womanist. Because our world is dominated by patriarchal and theistic thinking, many women, believe it or not, perpetuate patriarchal, theistic beliefs, consciously and subconsciously. Being on the receiving end of a woman who articulates toxic patriarchal ideas and norms is just as difficult as it is for me to be confronted by a black man who has internalized self-hate due to racist or white supremacist thinking and takes it out on me. Indeed, I have learned to anticipate hateful responses to my being an atheist and a womanist, yet because I anticipate them does not mean that I am comfortable with it when it happens.

At times, I must consider whether to take action against those who express hate or exclusion of me when they learn that I am an atheist. Sadly, there are times when I must take formal action to protect myself when people threaten to do harm to my person because I am a woman or for any other reason. There are some forms of disrespect and disregard that I simply do not tolerate. However, when my person or my mental health are not in danger or under threat, I have overcome abusive and hateful encounters by focusing on my breathing and on what I am feeling. Aside from the use of external assistance for protection from an abuser, like a restraining order, breathing has empowered me to keep my mental health in tact.

I am also usually willing to listen to others even with they have false or wrong perceptions, such as the false belief that an atheist does not have morals or has an alleged allegiance to an alleged being that is called “the devil”. For the record, I do not believe in any gods or supernatural beings, including the one that is called “the devil.” As long as it is clear to me that a person is not acting willfully to disrespect, devalue, or harm me, I am willing to entertain a conversation about what it means to be an atheist for the sake of definition. But, these interactions usually do not go much further than that.

I am very thankful for what I have learned about the power of mindful breathing from the teachings of Thich Nhat Hahn. A few years ago, I became intrigued by the Buddhist notion of the “bodhisattva.” A bodhisattva is more than an enlightened person. In the words of Thich Nhat Hahn, a bodhisattva is someone who “will allow another person to empty their heart,” even when that person has wrong perceptions or hurtful things to say. A couple of years ago, I began to incorporate the way of the bodhisattva in to my day-to-day interactions. When presented with the opportunity to listen, I allow the people that I love who intentionally make wrong or false things to empty their hearts, to an extent.

Everyone is not willing to aspire to be like a bodhisattva. Some could care less about listening to the pain and anger of their loved ones, but the more that I listened to Thich Nhat Hahn, the more I wanted to embrace bodhisattva practices. I wanted to listen to people that I cared about, even if what they said lacked validity or even truth, so that I could understand them. It was difficult at first, but learning to listening to others who express wrong or even angry perceptions – for the purpose of gaining an understanding – without trying to correct them nor taking responsibility for their thoughts – is an exercise in the power of love, which is the subject of my 2019 e-publication Rebuilding Black Communities, With Love.

As I continue to experience hate and rejection, I would rather be like the bodhisattva than anyone else. To some degree, I am even willing to listen to the pain of my loved ones, although they may refuse to listen to me, because sometimes it is just about being present, not about creating a teachable moment. Although I am an educator at heart, it is not always about education or agreement, rather there are times when assuring others that they have been heard is all that matters.

Perhaps, as Dr. Cornel West would say, I want to be like a “wounded healer, not like a wounded hurter,” because although repeatedly wounded or hurt or abandoned by many worldwide, black and brown people have taught the world how to heal, and we have done it through the unapologetic and authentic embrace of our heritage or cultural identity; through the creation of the literary and musical art forms such as the blues, jazz, and gospel music, for instance. Indeed, I have come from a people that have survived unthinkable hate and rejection simply because of the color of their skin, and yet have nonetheless created all kinds of beauty in the world.

There are many aspects of my cultural heritage that have enabled me to understand myself, even in the face of abuse or hate. In 2012, I published an essay in a peer-reviewed journal about the dialectical relationship between womanism and feminism in the planning profession, as I see it. In that article, I reference Alice Walker who asserted with her 2001 book, The Way Forward is with a Broken-Heart. As a woman who proudly identifies as black, I know first-hand how black people have experienced personal, social, and spatial heartache in a world that does not respect or value us. For instance, there are numerous black women writers and artists, such as Bernice Johnson Reagon and Toni Morrison, who lived with the pain of alienation caused by wrong perceptions of who they were and what they stood for. Yet, they moved through the heartache with mindful breathing and living, and sometimes without saying a mumbling word.

When I was in elementary school, I observed the elders in my life live mindfully and in silence. For a short while, one of my siblings and I walked a short distance (less than a mile) to the babysitter’s house everyday when school let out until our mother could come to pick us up when she got off work. My babysitter went by the name of Bachi (I have no idea how to spell it) and we called her husband, Granddad. Granddad was a chauffer for a living and they lived a quiet, simple life taking care of their children, grandchildren and other peoples’ children, like my siblings and me.

Bachi was very sweet to us; she always provided us with something good to eat (a habit that I tend to do whenever I have visitors). Granddad did not say very much; most of the time he moved without uttering one word, but he almost always managed to smile at us. When he arrived home daily, he sat in his chair amongst us (there was only one living room); and usually he fell asleep while we all sat and watched television. The memory of Bachi and Granddad is quite memorable to me because they taught me the importance of quiet dignity and the significance of living simply and with a sense of purpose. Their house was full of children and love.

When it is appropriate, and when my person is not in danger, I endeavor to employ the power of this type of self-lovingkindness. Breathing deeply and focusing on my inner peace or serenity is one way of tapping into the power of who I am. It is certainly what I do when I go for a daily two-mile walk or bike ride, which brings me back to the truth of who I am; these quiet moments do not make me think of a god or a higher power; they are acts that situate me at the center of my being, and they cause me to get in touch with all that has made me who I am.

Surely, there are times when I speak up and stand up for myself or others, but sometimes, I remind myself, that it is best to be like Bachi and Granddad and move in simplicity and silence using only my breath to remind myself of who I am. It may look like I am not doing much by breathing, but it is a powerful act of self-love if I am able to be wholly in the moment and totally aware of what is happening within – in the present moment. This gives me strength. Of course, there are times that my choice to breathe instead of responding with words may also be my way of letting others know that I have had enough. Choosing to act in this way – with mindful breathing and self-care – is one of the powerful ways that I have seen responsible adults and elders in my life manage painful moments and realities; breathing deeply is a practice that is inextricably tied my cultural heritage, or growing up as a black girl in what seemed like white America. Thankfully, I do not believe that this land belongs to any one group of any one group of people. In the words of Dr. Paul Ortiz, “the United States is a nation of ethnicities.”

If you have not done so already, I hope that you use this new year to come to a better understanding of who you are and where you came from. You can do this by looking at the way you value yourself and by the way that you treat others, everyday. If you were taught by the people who raised you to truly value and respect yourself and others, that will help you to answer the question who do you think you are? On the other hand, if you were taught to devalue yourself and others, that is probably who you will be, everyday, unless you do something – yourself – to change that, because who you think you are has an awful lot to do with where you come from, how you grew up, and of all the people and places that made you who you are today.

© 2023 annalise fonza, Ph.D., MURP, M.Div, MPA

Updated 09/18/2024