Josh, ever since I found you, I have enjoyed every moment listening to your podcast, watching your You Tube channel, and reading your substack. Your hard take on the social idiocy of the progressive left, your truth and humor about gay life, your brilliant self-awareness, and not least your intelligence and heart give me hope. If you can find the healing path out of the trauma you've endured, most of us can. You brighten the space where you are, and the light is shining out. Thank you.
That wizened quality at a young age often belies a control complex that stems from a lack of trust in adult figures, which necessitates a heightened sense of situational awareness and body language. You pick up on small cues that might precede some shit hitting the fan; a slight twitch at the corner of the mouth that signals disapproval; the barely detectable inquisitive tone in someone’s voice that dares you to skip in that minefield and trains you to tread lightly (if you value peace). These are the things that teach you that to allow yourself to become light and present is to allow yourself to become a fool, and an internal cynicism takes root in the place where joy should otherwise live. After all, the world is full of predators, and failing to keep one eye open is an open invitation to be eaten alive.
The flip-side to that kind of wisdom is that you learn so keenly how manipulators manipulate well, that theirs are now tools in your toolbox just like any other. The healing begins with learning humility (and that it isn’t the same as meekness).
What feels “touched” is an almost overwhelming compassion that feels more cosmic than personal.
I rarely feel that any more because, as another commenter said - paraphrasing - remaining vigilant over my own vulnerabilities becomes the default position- intentionally in my case.
To refuse to hide and choose to expose your scars and scary stories can, weirdly enuf, require more courage than Conan the Barbarian displays.
Thank you for sharing the depths of the swamp as well as the precious slime covered jewels hidden in the mud.
Awesome dredging of the swamp on your part. 🙏 (I almost never use that particular emoji — but it seems very appropriate in this case.)
Wow, you are the only other person I know who pursued emancipation. I have been told by many they wanted to but didn’t know how. Neither did I and it seems to be deliberate because when I went to family court to ask, 16 years old too, the guy who attended me didn’t know either. He suggested an order of protection so I did it that route. The judge never gave me anything, at the conclusion of the case, and no official designation was noted (on my “permanent record” 😆). She just sent in mediators to see what I wanted to stop being an active case on the docket. They were busy at Brooklyn Family Court. I knew then I was safe from being kidnapped by my parents and that’s all I wanted. ***Disclaimer: it was nothing like the capitulation to gender dysmorphic youth today. I was first spoken to by BCW- the old name for child welfare- who conducted visits of my parental home and where I was staying, to make sure I wasn’t in danger and to investigate my charges of abuse against my parents. Back then the latter was harder unless your body was purple from bruising. I was afraid- no way I knew what was going to happen. The judge listened to my mother at length, who talked about me like the spawn of Satan or, alternately, a crazy liar. She wanted the judge to put me in a group home or institution. *The reason I left when I did was a gut feeling the latter would be her next move. I stopped feating her and I know she started fearing me. Latter is a long story. She was going to Toughlove (lol; nobody can know the irony of that better than me. My mother could’ve slid into a role as a nazi camp commander without any training.) But it was thanks to their manual I found, I saw they recommended that if your kid was not responding “appropriately” and kicking them out didn’t show ‘em, then see if you can lock them up, PINS or mental institution. If all else fails, emancipate them. My mother needed me under her boot to hate on as needed, so #1 and #2 were out, I knew. So I was more afraid of her trying to convince the judge I was crazy and needed to be locked up. I feared a Frances Farmer fate for me. Thankfully the judge heard me. I didn’t speak much, or freely, but I forced myself and the judge cried. I didn’t even say that much. Just: “I want to be free, to be happy. If I am sent back, I will leave again and again, or worse. Maybe kill myself. But it was enough. That’s my emancipation story. Sorry for the long explainer. I’ve known many runaways, throwaways, but not emancipateds, even if its a weird legal limbo.
You're a really good writer, Josh. I hope your substack grows along with the show.
Josh, ever since I found you, I have enjoyed every moment listening to your podcast, watching your You Tube channel, and reading your substack. Your hard take on the social idiocy of the progressive left, your truth and humor about gay life, your brilliant self-awareness, and not least your intelligence and heart give me hope. If you can find the healing path out of the trauma you've endured, most of us can. You brighten the space where you are, and the light is shining out. Thank you.
What kind things to say. Thank you for "consuming my content", as one says in 2022 speak!
That wizened quality at a young age often belies a control complex that stems from a lack of trust in adult figures, which necessitates a heightened sense of situational awareness and body language. You pick up on small cues that might precede some shit hitting the fan; a slight twitch at the corner of the mouth that signals disapproval; the barely detectable inquisitive tone in someone’s voice that dares you to skip in that minefield and trains you to tread lightly (if you value peace). These are the things that teach you that to allow yourself to become light and present is to allow yourself to become a fool, and an internal cynicism takes root in the place where joy should otherwise live. After all, the world is full of predators, and failing to keep one eye open is an open invitation to be eaten alive.
The flip-side to that kind of wisdom is that you learn so keenly how manipulators manipulate well, that theirs are now tools in your toolbox just like any other. The healing begins with learning humility (and that it isn’t the same as meekness).
Good read, btw.
Seriously deeply touching.
What feels “touched” is an almost overwhelming compassion that feels more cosmic than personal.
I rarely feel that any more because, as another commenter said - paraphrasing - remaining vigilant over my own vulnerabilities becomes the default position- intentionally in my case.
To refuse to hide and choose to expose your scars and scary stories can, weirdly enuf, require more courage than Conan the Barbarian displays.
Thank you for sharing the depths of the swamp as well as the precious slime covered jewels hidden in the mud.
Awesome dredging of the swamp on your part. 🙏 (I almost never use that particular emoji — but it seems very appropriate in this case.)
Wow, you are the only other person I know who pursued emancipation. I have been told by many they wanted to but didn’t know how. Neither did I and it seems to be deliberate because when I went to family court to ask, 16 years old too, the guy who attended me didn’t know either. He suggested an order of protection so I did it that route. The judge never gave me anything, at the conclusion of the case, and no official designation was noted (on my “permanent record” 😆). She just sent in mediators to see what I wanted to stop being an active case on the docket. They were busy at Brooklyn Family Court. I knew then I was safe from being kidnapped by my parents and that’s all I wanted. ***Disclaimer: it was nothing like the capitulation to gender dysmorphic youth today. I was first spoken to by BCW- the old name for child welfare- who conducted visits of my parental home and where I was staying, to make sure I wasn’t in danger and to investigate my charges of abuse against my parents. Back then the latter was harder unless your body was purple from bruising. I was afraid- no way I knew what was going to happen. The judge listened to my mother at length, who talked about me like the spawn of Satan or, alternately, a crazy liar. She wanted the judge to put me in a group home or institution. *The reason I left when I did was a gut feeling the latter would be her next move. I stopped feating her and I know she started fearing me. Latter is a long story. She was going to Toughlove (lol; nobody can know the irony of that better than me. My mother could’ve slid into a role as a nazi camp commander without any training.) But it was thanks to their manual I found, I saw they recommended that if your kid was not responding “appropriately” and kicking them out didn’t show ‘em, then see if you can lock them up, PINS or mental institution. If all else fails, emancipate them. My mother needed me under her boot to hate on as needed, so #1 and #2 were out, I knew. So I was more afraid of her trying to convince the judge I was crazy and needed to be locked up. I feared a Frances Farmer fate for me. Thankfully the judge heard me. I didn’t speak much, or freely, but I forced myself and the judge cried. I didn’t even say that much. Just: “I want to be free, to be happy. If I am sent back, I will leave again and again, or worse. Maybe kill myself. But it was enough. That’s my emancipation story. Sorry for the long explainer. I’ve known many runaways, throwaways, but not emancipateds, even if its a weird legal limbo.