When Pigeonholes Become Black Holes

When I was but a wee, awkward sprite of an adolescent girl, I contracted a terminal case of Little Sister Syndrome. I longed to be seen as an independent and interesting person in my own right, but frequently played second fiddle to my more physically and socially developed older sister. Try as I might, through my teen years, this reputation followed me, even as I made friends who had never heard of my sister. It felt like a curse. It didn’t help that I was also a late bloomer in terms of my womanly assets. In retrospect, this was probably for the best; it shielded me against inappropriate advances from older men and boys for a few more years. This lack of attention made me inarguably bitter and a kind of “femcel”, years before that term existed. I was convinced men were shallow creatures who were only interested in ample bosoms and plump posteriors; it didn’t occur to me that my attitude was off-putting to a potential mate, to say nothing of the social ineptitude that resulted from growing up in a cult. Instead of engaging in self-reflection and assessing why I might not be perceived as a desirable partner, I allowed myself to wallow in self-pity. This could be waved away as typical teenage angst, so it was easy to indulge without being criticized too much for it. Poor me, the intellectual, creative type! Boys only want giant tits! Yada, yada. In a way, it was my eventual physical development that raised me out of this pit of emotional stiltedness. At the relatively late age of 17, I finally grew some modest curves, and male attention followed, for better or worse. It was long past time for me to dip my toes into the dating pool, so I’m grateful that this physical inevitability finally broke me out of my state of self pity and bitterness. Had I remained as flat as a two-by-four, I can’t say whether I would have ever broken free of the Little Sister black hole I’d created for myself. I certainly leaned into it for some time. I didn’t break out of it because I was smarter or more enlightened than anyone else; I just got lucky. In another reality, this sad, bitter person could have been me for more than just a season.

Some black holes are easier to escape or evade than others. Sometimes we make them for ourselves, and never get out because to do so would take too much effort…too much dignity could be lost by admitting fault. We might never recover from a dip that low in our reputation, especially if one has the celebrity of a Louis C.K. or a Dave Chappelle. Both of these men were “canceled”, as they put it. I’d say it was closer to a small, collective criticism, considering both men still have thriving careers and vast fortunes. When comedian Louis C.K. was first exposed as a sex pest and serial sexual harasser, he disappeared from the public eye for a while. He issued a short apology, and dipped out. Most people thought this was a smart move; as a former fan of his and a survivor of SA, I felt dumbstruck at the news, and was glad not to hear from him for a while. A very few months later, clips and reports of his new standup material was released, and it was…horrifying? It wasn’t even dark comedy, it was just an angry old man taking a massive shit on the CHILD SURVIVORS OF A MASS SHOOTING. Despicable is the only real word I have to describe it. I’m no mind reader, but if I had to guess, I’d say Louis has been making traumatized teenagers his punching bag because he can’t face the shame of what he’s done, and the person he now has to face in the mirror. Will he ever break free of his black hole? Who knows. Stranger things have happened, but I wouldn’t bet my money on it; his pride is too deeply rooted in his identity as a Truthteller™. He can’t stand to gaze at himself, so instead, he gazes into the void, and the void gazes back. Punching down to that extent is, beyond anything else, just baffling to me. I honestly didn’t understand the impulse when I heard of this behavior.

For myself, I’ve started to realize that the behavior of those who lash out at innocent bystanders actually feels sickeningly familiar to me. It reminds me of a person I never want to be again. I took delight in tearing other women down because I felt unable to meet the beauty standards of a patriarchal, misogynistic society. I remember angrily thinking and muttering misogynistic phrases at passing women, absolute strangers, all because of my perception of their “sluttiness” or “sinful” behavior, judging them based on their clothing or even just the shape of their bodies. I fell into the black hole of judgment because I was deeply insecure about my own attractiveness. Don’t ever think that your moral superiority or emotional intelligence inoculates you from falling into your own black hole. Some of us are only one emotional devastation or incidence of a past behavior being exposed away from breaking down completely. We all think it could never be us, until one day we wake up and realize that we’ve changed completely. The gravity of self-pity is almost irresistible at times. It’s a hell of a lot easier to give in to its pull than to actually address your trauma and make things right with those you’ve harmed.