When I was a child, my family had a motto: “It’s easier to move the furniture.”
My brother occupied lots of space in our home. His physical size, volatile temper and intractable will created an energetic ball so dense, he became our family’s gravitational center. Me, my mom, and dad all navigated our sense of wellbeing around my brother, orbiting his emotional state for any signs of tipping toward outburst, steering clear of anything that might trigger a bomb. Where to eat for lunch? He would decide. What to buy at the grocery store? He would decide. What TV show to watch, how loud to play the music, when to leave for church, what to talk about, where to go on vacation and how to get there? He would decide.
One day, my 6’ 5” brother was standing in the kitchen, blocking my friend who was trying to get through the narrow walkway between table and island. “Go around me,” he grinned. When she tried to get close, he’d poke and laugh. After a few tries, my mom walked over and pushed the kitchen island away to make a path around my brother.
“It’s easier to move the furniture,” she laughed, as if this were a delight.
As if this endearing son was just a misunderstood comedian, not a bully.
What this taught me, probably more significantly than any of my brother’s behavior, what this taught me was that bullies can’t be moved, even by their authority figures.
If the person I attached my safety and security and survival to, if not even SHE could move my brother’s will then there was no force strong enough. Why even try?
I lived my life following the form of safety she showed me: I rearranged the external furniture of my life so others’ internal furniture didn’t have to move.
Today I wrote on a piece of paper: “I will no longer move the furniture. I will move the man.” Now when I face another person’s forceful will, the inflexible kind that insists on their way and — the most covert bully — the kind that believes their way is the best way and they’re being benevolent by enforcing it upon everyone — I don’t face it with the belief that my safety is threatened. This old poem ran through my head all day:
“When you pass through the waters, you will have presence;
When you pass through the rivers, they will not overflow you.”
How is the water changed as we pass through? It moves around us, shaping itself around the firm volume of our legs and waist and arms. How are we changed as we pass through the water? We are unlayered, opened to ourselves in presence. I shed the 12-year old me who thought she had to move the furniture. I show her all the women who have taught me how to approach a bully. Not in smallness, not in fear - but with the calm confidence of a person who can size up the reality of her situation:
behind every bully is person who is afraid. Instead of working through their own fear, they instill it in others through intimidation. Thinking that if they can make others feel small, they won’t feel small themselves. Thinking that if they can make others fear, they won’t be afraid.
I shed the story that says their burden was mine to carry. I stand light but solid on my own two feet and watch the river move around me.
Oh, friend. I have a sister like this. Thank you for writing this. I needed to hear it. I will not move the furniture anymore either.
"I shed the story that says their burden was mine to carry. I stand light but solid on my own two feet and watch the river move around me."
beautiful beautiful!