I've been thinking about friends and relationships and vulnerability lately, in particular as we've heard back from folk we've invited to our wedding. Several wonderful, deeply joyous "yesses" have come in from people we didn't expect to come (because of distance and therefore the cost of getting out here) but who have decided to make the trip for our special day. Those have been truly uplifting, affirming, deeply meaningful and very exciting for us.
On the other hand, there have also been a handful of folk we really hoped would come, people we have loved and do love dearly who have responded with "no". Some of those have been very painful for David, or for me, or in some cases for both of us. We have, whether right or wrong, taken those "nos" as an indication that we are not valued to the same depth with which we value the other, and that has hurt. With a couple of folk, it has actually caused me to pause, consider the nature of our friendships, and wonder if I needed to take another distancing step... "unfriend" from Facebook, for example; or at least move the friend into the "acquaintance" category of those who see less of my posts, and those whose posts I no longer see regularly. Of course in many ways that is a very childish response on my part. I see it as such. I know that if I cared less, I would react with less extremism, and that the fact I even consider a distancing act is a sign of how much I really do care. Therefore any such action on my part is more likely to hurt me than the other person anyway. I recognize the impulse for what it is: a desire to strike out at someone who has hurt me. And I see that the one who would ultimately be hurt by that striking out is myself. So I let my revenge fantasies fly for a few minutes, and then I breathe, take a step back, acknowledge the pain for a moment and then make the decision to behave better.
Still, I'm left with the realization that inviting people to something this important to us is an act of deep vulnerability. It is so deeply vulnerable that I have thought, more than once, that we probably just should have eloped and avoided the entire big production. And yet I know that if we had made that choice, other people would be hurt instead. Also, the decision to celebrate what has been five years in the making is an opportunity to spend time with folk we don't regularly get to see, and to honor that our relationship does not exist in a bubble. I believe in the collective connections of our relationships and our community. We would not be where we are without the family and friends that have surrounded and supported us, that continue (in most cases) to surround and support us. And so, the wedding is a celebration not only of our coming together, but for me, of all the relationships that have made ours a possibility and a blossoming reality.
I know some of you will say that our reaction to the "nos" are just over-sensitivity on our parts. So let me just clarify, that not every "no" produces this response in us. It is just a few very specific folk with specific ways of saying "no" that are causing the pain. At the same time, there is no doubt that both David and I carry some scars that make us much more likely to jump into feeling rejected than might be warranted. Still, acts of vulnerability, such as inviting loved ones to a wedding, are risky because they do sometimes bring clarity about where people stand and how deeply people value their relationships to you. Other times the assumptions we make based on peoples' behavior are inaccurate. But regardless, I think events like this can change relationships, either by making clear what they really are, or by creating assumptions about what others feel that have consequences. In the bravest folk, perhaps these hurts are invitations for deeper conversations about what a person values and how deeply a person cares about another. But after the initial hurt, it is hard to take that next step into even greater risk.
The point? Relationships are hard. They are complex. They are, by nature, risky; and the choice to be in relationships creates a vulnerability that sometimes leaves us wounded. I wish it were otherwise. I know I have done my share of wounding as well as being hurt. And for that I'm sorry. But still I choose to step into that vulnerability. I choose it and pray for the grace of gratitude and joy in the face of the unexpected depths and gifts; as well as for healing and wisdom in the face of the disappointments.
Showing posts with label wedding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wedding. Show all posts
Thursday, December 6, 2018
Saturday, November 24, 2018
The thing I'm NOT looking forward to.
Weddings are exciting events. They are times of transition, times of hope, times of promise. As I'm gearing up for my New Year's wedding, I have all of the normal feelings of anticipation and excitement. But I've also done this before, and because of it, I am aware of one big thing that I am dreading. That one thing is the loss of my personal identity.
Don't get me wrong: I'm not changing my name. I didn't the first time, and I won't this time. I know too much about how that practice began, what it meant (and what it sometimes still means) to make that choice. I'm all too aware that marriage used to be an exchange of property, said property being the bride who was literally purchased or sold (hence dowries, bride prices, etc.). The bride's name change would symbolize the change in her ownership. Often she would not only lose her last name, but her first name too, "Introducing, Mr. and Mrs. George Smith!" The wife would become a person without her own identity: simply the Mrs. to a man with a full identity left intact.
This passing on of property is the same reason at weddings we still, more times than not, have the father walk the bride down the aisle and we still ask the question, "Who gives this woman to this man?" Yes, it is still a real and active part of our weddings that the ownership of the bride is passed on from one man to another. In case you were wondering, that, too, will not be part of our ceremony. Many people tell me that the question and the tradition no longer mean that. But what else can that question possibly mean? I am not the possession of my father, something he could therefore "give" to another man. At fifty years of age, having supported myself and having raised my kids on my own for many years now, the very idea of being my father's possession is preposterous. But even when I was young, I would have balked at the idea. I hope to God we have moved past the idea that children are simply possessions of their parents, objects that parents can "give" to anyone.
People will also tell me that changing one's name to that of one's husband is no longer a symbol of female ownership or possession. I believe that for many it is not and I do not question their decision to change their names. But I also know that my decision NOT to change my name will be met with by anger on the part of some people. The first time round, I cannot tell you how many people turned to my husband and said, "You LET her keep her own name?" And that in itself is pretty telling, don't you think? Who was he to "let" or "refuse to let" me do something that was about me and my identity? My answer, of course, was always the same, "And I let him keep his, too. Lucky man!"
But despite the decisions David and I have made for an equal partnership, decisions that state that we will not continue to honor symbols and rites that at any time were signs of spousal possession, I know that people will question and be bothered by both the decision not to be given away and the decision to keep my name, ALL of my name. And so, despite the fact that we have made these choices together (as I told David, I was more than willing to adopt his last name as part of my own if he would take mine as part of his: he declined saying his name was part of his heritage, part of his past, part of his history, part of his identity... hm. Imagine that?), there will be people who will not accept it. I am dreading the first Christmas card that we receive addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. David Louttit." I am dreading the first phone call that asks me if I am Mrs. Louttit. I am dreading the conversations I will have to have with people at work and in other places where I will have to explain over and over that at 50 years of age, my heritage and my history, my past and my identity also matter to me and that I would be giving up a great deal to part with them. I am a published author with this name; I am active, socially, politically and spiritually in the larger community using this name; I have served as a pastor with this name for twenty two years. I am proud to be part of my family of origin and I value the name connection to my parents and grandparents. These, too, are a big part of my identity and parts I don't feel I need to sacrifice in the process of joining with another person in marriage. I am dreading the constant need to claim my identity as my own, the constant need to defend a choice that is really David's and mine to make.
Of course, I could potentially thwart all of that by stating that I want to continue the connection to my kids that our shared last name maintains (they have a hyphenated last name, half of which is mine), and no doubt I will fall back on this also-important-answer at some point in time. But it is just a part of the truth of the decision.
I'm certain that in every union of people there are things that one may dread or fear. This is mine. And I guess I am hoping that by putting it out there in this post, perhaps I will limit, just a bit, the hassle that will come my way as a result. As I said, I do not judge others' decisions to come together in their last names. I understand that sharing the same last name can be an important symbol of unity for many people and since traditionally the name taken has been that of the man, that it just becomes easier for many to practice that tradition. I also understand that for many women, "wife" is the primary identity that they happily claim. But my hope is that others will also understand and respect the decisions we are making that are best for our marriage as well as for the rest of my family. The world is full of diversity and difference. This is a difference we are choosing. And I hope it can be met with respect or at least tolerance.
Don't get me wrong: I'm not changing my name. I didn't the first time, and I won't this time. I know too much about how that practice began, what it meant (and what it sometimes still means) to make that choice. I'm all too aware that marriage used to be an exchange of property, said property being the bride who was literally purchased or sold (hence dowries, bride prices, etc.). The bride's name change would symbolize the change in her ownership. Often she would not only lose her last name, but her first name too, "Introducing, Mr. and Mrs. George Smith!" The wife would become a person without her own identity: simply the Mrs. to a man with a full identity left intact.
This passing on of property is the same reason at weddings we still, more times than not, have the father walk the bride down the aisle and we still ask the question, "Who gives this woman to this man?" Yes, it is still a real and active part of our weddings that the ownership of the bride is passed on from one man to another. In case you were wondering, that, too, will not be part of our ceremony. Many people tell me that the question and the tradition no longer mean that. But what else can that question possibly mean? I am not the possession of my father, something he could therefore "give" to another man. At fifty years of age, having supported myself and having raised my kids on my own for many years now, the very idea of being my father's possession is preposterous. But even when I was young, I would have balked at the idea. I hope to God we have moved past the idea that children are simply possessions of their parents, objects that parents can "give" to anyone.
People will also tell me that changing one's name to that of one's husband is no longer a symbol of female ownership or possession. I believe that for many it is not and I do not question their decision to change their names. But I also know that my decision NOT to change my name will be met with by anger on the part of some people. The first time round, I cannot tell you how many people turned to my husband and said, "You LET her keep her own name?" And that in itself is pretty telling, don't you think? Who was he to "let" or "refuse to let" me do something that was about me and my identity? My answer, of course, was always the same, "And I let him keep his, too. Lucky man!"
But despite the decisions David and I have made for an equal partnership, decisions that state that we will not continue to honor symbols and rites that at any time were signs of spousal possession, I know that people will question and be bothered by both the decision not to be given away and the decision to keep my name, ALL of my name. And so, despite the fact that we have made these choices together (as I told David, I was more than willing to adopt his last name as part of my own if he would take mine as part of his: he declined saying his name was part of his heritage, part of his past, part of his history, part of his identity... hm. Imagine that?), there will be people who will not accept it. I am dreading the first Christmas card that we receive addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. David Louttit." I am dreading the first phone call that asks me if I am Mrs. Louttit. I am dreading the conversations I will have to have with people at work and in other places where I will have to explain over and over that at 50 years of age, my heritage and my history, my past and my identity also matter to me and that I would be giving up a great deal to part with them. I am a published author with this name; I am active, socially, politically and spiritually in the larger community using this name; I have served as a pastor with this name for twenty two years. I am proud to be part of my family of origin and I value the name connection to my parents and grandparents. These, too, are a big part of my identity and parts I don't feel I need to sacrifice in the process of joining with another person in marriage. I am dreading the constant need to claim my identity as my own, the constant need to defend a choice that is really David's and mine to make.
Of course, I could potentially thwart all of that by stating that I want to continue the connection to my kids that our shared last name maintains (they have a hyphenated last name, half of which is mine), and no doubt I will fall back on this also-important-answer at some point in time. But it is just a part of the truth of the decision.
I'm certain that in every union of people there are things that one may dread or fear. This is mine. And I guess I am hoping that by putting it out there in this post, perhaps I will limit, just a bit, the hassle that will come my way as a result. As I said, I do not judge others' decisions to come together in their last names. I understand that sharing the same last name can be an important symbol of unity for many people and since traditionally the name taken has been that of the man, that it just becomes easier for many to practice that tradition. I also understand that for many women, "wife" is the primary identity that they happily claim. But my hope is that others will also understand and respect the decisions we are making that are best for our marriage as well as for the rest of my family. The world is full of diversity and difference. This is a difference we are choosing. And I hope it can be met with respect or at least tolerance.
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