Problematic People
+ loving my neighbor as myself
For better or worse, I now move through the world with muscles of cynicism. My radar watches for when ruthlessness is named righteous.
Having left a harmful religious community, I know how gutting it is to see problems in spaces meant to be safe, and I know the wretchedness of not being believed when you speak about the problems you see. It is debilitating when you are put in a place to distrust your own discernment. Entering new spaces today, especially religious spaces, means I might meet people whose behavior and beliefs rub up against the bruises left behind by religious trauma.
So when I was sending a book proposal out into the world last year, I reached out to a writing friend. She’s long been a part of the Christian publishing world, and I asked her a specific question: How do you sow goodness in religious spaces when they are rife with problematic people?
We were speaking specifically to Christian publishing, but my question certainly isn’t limited to this realm. It applies not only to the wider world of publishing, but also to nonprofit organizations, corporate work environments, governmental agencies, creative spaces, and yes, churches and faith communities. Any space we enter will be rife with problematic people.
I asked my friend this question in an attempt to gather data so I could better gauge my own safety. My friend's answer, though, had me zoom out and reorient with wisdom. She said, “To many others, I am the problematic person.”
She was neither trying to gaslight me into believing I was the problem nor was she making an attempt at having me question my internal world. My personal safety was and is important to me; gauging my safety lies firmly within the realm of my responsibility. What she was alluding to was the idea that that which we define as problematic is incredibly subjective. Based on the life I have lived, the experiences I’ve had, and the wounds I’ve weathered, I’ve identified the problem I want to speak to: harm done in God’s name. In her response, though, my friend was giving me space to grow and see the question in a new light. She was inviting me to hold a tension that is tiresome but good—the spiritual practice of loving my neighbor as myself. Even my problematic neighbors.
To my friend’s point, I am a problematic person to other people. I am a problem to those who want to keep their harm unseen. I am a problem to those silencing the minority to keep peace and unity for the majority. I am a problem to those who keep the status quo at the cost of the suffering. I am a problem to those who hoard comfort by keeping the afflicted in their affliction.
Despite what those who deem me problematic may believe, healing the harm done in God’s name does not mean my sole work is to call out every single person who contributes to a culture of harm. Naming the problem gives me the context I need to find a solution. Because of the journey I’ve walked and the lens through which I see the world, I know I may be able to name the poison pandered as peace. I know that my differences help me bring sunshine to where there is shadow. It takes courage to be vulnerable and raise my hand among peers, especially peers who have deemed me the problem, to say, “If you’re willing to hear me, I might be able to help.”
The truth is, I grew up believing I was the problem. Childhood trauma does that. I believed I was such a huge a problem to my family, my teachers, my classmates, and my friends that I worked overtime to make myself small so I wouldn’t be in their way. How my friend answered my question could just as easily hurt me as it did help me. For it to be a help, I had to put my ego aside while I held my personhood close. My healing has meant detaching myself from a story that others would write for me—one that says I am a problem to fix. My mending heart knows I am a person to love. If my grounding philosophy of personhood and imago dei—image of God—says that every person is, in fact, a person to love, then I must see my neighbors first as people before I name them problems.
We build walls when we hold to narrow categories without humility. We do not promote conversation, but prevent it when we force others to view life through our lenses. The truth is there are very few people who are wholly villainous—always the problem all of the time to everyone.
My responsibility is to identify the tables where I can safely sit to help effect change. My responsibility is to learn to disagree well such that I continue to see the humanity in the faces of those with whom I disagree. My responsibility is to make space for others while I keep and hold space for myself. My responsibility is to speak from courage and curiosity, not to respond with combative defensiveness. And, perhaps the hardest, my responsibility is to remember I am securely kept in God, even as I face someone using God’s name to destabilize me.
It is a privilege to do the work I do today—to advocate for a world that welcomes differences. I don’t want to do my work in an echo chamber, only associating with those who look, act, and think like me. With my privilege, I work to resist the temptation to “other” people as I have been “othered.” And my sincerest hope is to set a table where different people can feast. And if problematic people are willing to hear me, I hope I have the courage to speak from a hospitable and generous heart.
May we be problems to the right people,
and may we continue to extend God’s promises to everyone.
With you and for you,
Book Updates
For those following along for book updates, I wanted to briefly mention that I turned in the first draft of my manuscript on May 1st. 💃 It clocked in at 58,000 words, nestled neatly within my contracted word count window. I also worked double time to turn it in a month early which is the reason for my slight social media sabbatical throughout April.
My team at Baker Books is still aiming for a summer 2024 release date. I have a fairly good sense of what the final book title will be; I hope I’ll get to share that in my next newsletter, so keep your eyes peeled.
So On & Etc.
The 2023 Broken to Beloved Summit I mentioned in my last newsletter is over, but you can still buy an all-access pass and listen in to all the sessions. It was a great experience, and I’ve walked away with some new friends. You can buy the All-Access Pass here.
I’ll be hosting an IG live with my friend and creative coach Justin McRoberts on June 7th. He has a new book coming into the world on work and rest, and I think many of you will appreciate it. *In case you missed it, I was on his podcast, the @ Sea Podcast, recently.
I’m in the process of becoming certified as a trauma recovery coach through the IAOTRC. I shared a bit more on that in my last newsletter here. ⬇️
In case you’re new here, you can find me on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.
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You can find past posts from Letters for the Wilderness by visiting jenaiauman.substack.com.
I felt seen and understood as I read this. I, too, am the problematic person to many. May we not find silence our only answer. 💛
I love this. I can’t wait to read your book