Learning to Trust the Part of You that Knows
This passage is dedicated to those who have experienced relational dynamics where you felt lost. While you read, I hope you will listen first to that feeling in your core, and then watch for the moment where reason overlaps.
Or doesn’t.
And then let that have the floor.
To follow is a series of cases in my life where I have understood the language of the subconscious. The defense may argue some of these as trivial, but let me insist- the undercurrent of plausible deniability is where the deceptive get to hide from their charges.
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My mother, on her way to blindness, unwittingly taught me how to see. I am so insistent on accuracy with my language now because I made a thousand pit maneuvers to try to get her to understand me. Now I know a thousand different sentences to say the same thing at any given time.
I searched for the words to say “will you please be here with me, even if only for a minute?” She would be silent. Sometimes, she would narrow her eyes and just glare at me. Others, she would sigh loudly or directly assault my bids for presence and reflection with “you, you, you.” Like I was the assailant. Like I was asking the impossible of her. Like I was demanding for her to call a version of herself from another dimension to observe us in the third person.
Actually… I was. On every plane, she would have to have a seat with herself in order to have one with me.
Not only could she not, but there was no alternative because I could. And the deliberation went on like a spiral; because I was asking too much of her wanting her to acknowledge the ways she avoided responsibility at ALL costs, but would feign compassion with “I didn’t know you felt that way,” when a family counselor was in the living room. The more I asked “Can we acknowledge this?” the louder her behavior shrieked “How dare you ask!”
In my sentencing, I have by some alchemy integrated the testimony of that pain, and know one thing- if what someone says is disorienting, you can find the truth in what they aren’t saying, or in the part of you that flinches at what they are. It is so quiet, but it’s there. Once you see it, it transcends. Are you still here? Have I lost you? Please don’t worry, I’ll explain:
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Statement of Record– Builder of the Fourth Wall
When I moved here a little over a year ago, I had followed someone high-profile in the local cycling community on Instagram. I had intended on reaching out directly to ride together later because we had a lot in common. When I got around to doing that, I saw I had been blocked. I had never had a single conversation or encounter with this person, so I was puzzled. I explained this result to a mutual friend who had encouraged reaching out, but was met with little comment.
Weird, but oh well.
Encounter #1– Weeks later, this person approached me at a race. They asked if I was Genna, and if I was racing that day. I told them I wasn’t- that I was opting to stay fresh for an ultra race the following weekend. They said “Oh, you’re doing that on those tires?”
Wait, what?
“Yeah,” I stated. “My frame doesn’t accommodate wider, unfortunately.” They responded by insisting that I should run wider, and that I could borrow their bike.
This is a wild course-correction from blocking me.
I thanked them, but declined. We parted ways and I said, “It’s nice to finally meet you.” They said, “It’s nice to meet you… finally.”
Nothing about that interaction was natural. That was uncomfortable.
Encounter #2– After the start of the race, I drove to the aid station I was working. My best friend was in town from out-of-state and hung out with me and one other volunteer for hours that afternoon. Eventually, this individual, our mutual friend, and another mutual friend all rolled into the aid station as a trio. The mutual friends stood at the table and talked to us, but this individual kept wide physical distance from me and didn’t make eye contact with me once.
Okay. Maybe they’re struggling today? But that would generally just look like weariness, not evasion.
My best friend, with very minimal context, saw exactly what I did.
Encounter #3– I didn’t see them again until the next race. We were both on the line this time, but racing different distances. My new boyfriend was standing next to me when this individual left their group to come over to us, and asked me if I was nervous. “Actually, yeah,” I said.
“Oh, there is no reason to be nervous,” they said.
The words were kind, if we are being completely objective. But the delivery was subtly condescending. My boyfriend saw it too. It was here that my thoughts and the feeling in my body eclipsed.
This person isn’t saying what they mean.
Encounter #4– Not long after the start of the race, I had found myself settling in solo for a really long day. This person came up from behind me, again alone, and asked “Are you watching your heart rate?”
By this point, I was no longer open to further interaction with this person. They kept approaching me in this interrogative way. No real warmth, just like they were keeping tabs on me and attempting to ascertain dominance in the most underhanded way possible. But all I said was, and I’m not paraphrasing- “I don’t need your advice. I know what I’m doing.” No inflection, no emotion, just dry. It was automatic. I wanted to turn this off without theatrics, because I didn’t like any of it.
Their jaw dropped. They fell back for a few minutes and I thought the interaction was done, but they came flying back past me, yelling “I wasn’t trying to give you advice, I was trying to be nice!”
Nothing about that felt nice.
There was also that delay. Not responding on-scene, instead dropping back to then come by me again, felt like when the GPS says “recalculating,” and has to pause to find a new route.
Our mutual friend was the race organizer. I later heard that this person went back to them crying, and expressing how mean I was.
Encounter #5– The next day, I was still feeling this behavior in my gut. Had it stopped after I told them “I don’t want your advice,” I would have left it alone. But the “I was trying to be nice,” spit like venom, was the incongruence between words and behavior that I had been feeling. As you can clearly tell, I am not a passive communicator. If there is a problem, and I feel it’s worth addressing, I go to its heart. I bring what’s uncomfortable into light. So, I sent them a stern but deathly accurate Facebook message (where I had not been blocked, yet) about how their approaches and use of language had made me incredibly uncomfortable. I twice referenced the blocking in those messages because it was too big of a paradox to write off.
I was promptly high-roaded. Their responses were brimming with “The world isn’t out to get you. I’m a great person. I even offered you my bike. We need to support each other and embrace our differences. You’re the problem, not me.”
But what did they not say? “I hate that this was misunderstood. Let’s talk about it.” There was no open door to real conversation here. There was no intent to understand. I did go in pointed, and I did so because I trusted my perception that this was not actually misunderstanding- it was design. Even with my edge, though, I asked the question “Can you at least understand why I took it that way?” A person who is interested in repairing after conflict is going to at least try to appeal to that question. Instead, I was met with blame. And the blocking? Completely ignored, both times I mentioned it.
The next day, our mutual friend (who had been a huge support to me while I navigated a lot of struggle, and had even shown me the skeletons in their closet) called me and asked “What’s up?”
“Not much, what about you?” I said.
“I’m done doing you favors. I saw your messages to them. I understand now why everyone thinks you’re a bitch,” they said, coldly. They didn’t even ask me to explain myself.
“Okay…” I said. I did not argue.
My boyfriend was beside me on the couch when I got that call. He heard it too, and while I was sitting in shock, he was furious that I wasn’t given an opportunity to tell them my side of the story. But I already knew it didn’t matter.
They didn’t care.
They chose allegiance and bias over “drama.” Because on a surface-level account, I had looked like the aggressor- that is the foundation that was already laid. This person had only ever spoken to me in isolation or in sight of my friends. And they validated that I was seeing it clearly because it was off for them too. The one encounter we had where both of our circles were present, this individual acted like I didn’t exist. Because they knew, too, that they would have had to change their tone.
I have not had interaction with this person since. I had to create all-new social media accounts recently because I got locked out of my old ones, and I noticed that they promptly blocked me on all three of those, too. They couldn’t just ignore me- they had to erase me. It still is all a game of optics- of yelling “kindness!” but whispering “I don’t want you here,” and expecting me not to respond. Because in the silence, they conceal.
They were trying to fly under the radar by employing calculated moves that would make me look like the “problem” if I called it out. I chose to anyway. They were playing social checkers, and I wasn’t playing at all.
Final observation: The mask slipped under questioning. Observe.
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Statement of Record– The Masked Horseman
For two and a half years, I worked as a farm hand for a private equestrian facility- hired by the owners, but answering to the trainer. I had been living in another state when I found the opening online and thought “eureka!” I worked a trial weekend for them at a show an hour from home, and by the next weekend I was moving.
I must have really made an impression for them to hire me from this far away.
I was in paradise. I had my hands full of personal dramas but my job was a rugged, sweaty dream. I could never strike a social rhythm with my trainer through the stall bars as we forked s*** into a manure spreader, at least not the way most others were, but I wrote it off.
I’ve been told I’m unreadable, so they might just not understand me.
Over that year, there was a repeated discourse about how none of the grooms she personally hired to travel to shows with her ever lasted. Those individuals would share with me how the trainer “was more intense,” in those environments, but also that “they are just under a lot of pressure.” I was the one who held down the fort when everyone was gone, so I was only ever the observer. The revolving door of grooms was well-maintained, and so was the looped recording of “you just can’t find good help anymore.”
My own experience was less than noteworthy (usually). I had noticed that this trainer would ask for the same task to be done one way, then another, and then a third. I would ask for confirmation on everything to suit their very particular style, but rolled with all of it with neutrality.
Then, moving into my second autumn there, a newer coworker who was also very point-and-shoot, but more placid, began to vent her frustrations about the trainer’s unstable directions. We both acknowledged the same feeling- that they were never happy with any job. Not long after, the trainer then asked me “does something seem off with them?” I told them that this coworker had recently shared some medical concerns that were weighing more than usual, and left it there. The trainer hung on that for a minute.
I don’t trust your intent with that question.
Soon, the trainer asked to speak to me privately and began to critique me on how I had been slacking off, yet also how they “saw so much potential in me.” I followed my usual code- you’ve got it, boss. I’ll fix it.
Come January, the trainer shipped the show horses, themselves, and a groom to southern Florida, 1200 miles away. That same week, I got a call from them.
“Can you come down? My other groom walked off.”
“I’m game, but I need two days to get down there,” I said. They agreed, and gave me the rundown of expectations:
“I’ll still find a third person so you can have two days off. Afternoons are wrapped up around 3:00-3:30.”
These terms sounded fair. Early mornings, long days, but I could still get my coach-led bike workouts done in the evenings, and I’d have a place to park my van and shower. I accepted.
“Okay. I expect perfection,” they said.
I don’t think they mean that.
By request, I made sure my coworker was comfortable handling the rest of the barn solo for the two months that I would be gone. They confirmed, and by the evening I was prepping the van for the haul from bitter Missouri to sunny Florida.
When I got there, it was business immediately. Hustle, think fast. Learn fast. “You better have this done when I get back.” Learn faster. “I already showed you that.” Constant manic phone calls asking where I was. “You have to watch the live show grounds schedule and anticipate where I need you, and when.” Walk faster. No, RUN. “We should be done by 6:00p.m., but also you’re on night-check tonight.” Do this faster, but also be perfect.
I had one day off, and worked 60 hours that one week for $700. I still got on the bike, pre-steamed. The third groom? An attempt was made to hire one, but then the trainer said “I think we’ll be fine.”
Week two. I texted the trainer and asked if they had a minute to talk. I walked out to the arena where they were riding, and they came over to me.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I ask you to imagine yourself, with all of the outlined expectations for your job completely blown apart, approaching a person that already has power over your accommodations and your income while 16 hours from home, while they literally sit on their high horse. Additionally, I want you to try to imagine this person observably, however infinitesimally, somehow cowering to you.
They don’t like this.
However, all I said was that I needed my schedule there to more closely resemble the one they had described on the phone. My own training was still a priority even with the high physical and logistical demand of this job.
They have known my habits and lifestyle for a year and a half already, so why do I suddenly need to assert that?
They levelled with me enough, however coldly, to say we could figure it out. But they needed me to also prioritize this job.
Why does that sound like there is no real compromise?
The other groom, much younger than I, started to confide in me that week. During our shared night-check that evening (where we topped off hay, water, and picked stalls for the third time, no earlier than 7:00 p.m.), they found a release in the trainer’s absence. They told me how they had borrowed the trainer’s second vehicle to drive down from Missouri because theirs had been totaled- they had lost control on black ice the week before it was time to head south. The trainer used this “courtesy” to deny covering their fuel costs for the trip. They also shared how they had told the trainer about their weight-consciousness, and later received comments like “oh, you’re eating that? I thought you were worried about gaining weight?”
We compared more experiences, frustrations, and understandings. They called their parents while in the barn, crying. They were being lorded over, shamed, and bullied. They drove home the depth of their misery with this line: “I feel so awful for thinking this, but I have moments where I hope something bad happens at home so I have an excuse to get out of here.”
And also, “But they said they saw so much potential in me.”
Oh my god I can taste the blood in my own organs. We work for a tyranny excused by how “lucky” we are to do this as a job.
Among so many other micro-grievances that week, the trainer set me up to fail by telling me to wait until their text to get a client’s horse tacked up and start walking the 1.5 miles to the ring. They finally messaged me and then called frantically like I was crazy for not teleporting when I had barely learned to trot.
When I didn’t have to lead a horse, I (a former criterium racer) was making runs between the rental house and the showgrounds on the bike with a 30-pound backpack (at least), blowing past golf carts on the street, and I still wasn’t fast enough.
The other groom was getting more anxious and upset, but also inexplicably more distant from me.
I was struggling with my ears clogging up and told the trainer if I didn’t hear something they said, that was why. I was so cautious to not make any noise in the house when I went in for breakfast in the mornings, and they still told me I was being too loud.
Wait, are they criticizing me for exactly the things I give them disclaimers for?
At the end of that second week, I was done. I sent a text to a member of the family that owned the home barn (who was also a client of the trainer, and there at the show that week) asking if I could talk to them. I told them in private that I needed to go home, because this was not what I signed up for, but I wanted to make sure my job at home was secure.
They immediately assured me it was.
But then they went straight to the trainer and told them that I was unhappy. Minutes before (and I am not exaggerating here) I was about to go into the house to tell the trainer that I was leaving, they came outside first.
They’re isolating me again.
They told me I had poor work ethic. That I was too dramatic. That they needed me and I was letting them down. That people in this industry have to earn their right to be there, but they do what it takes because they love the sport. They said they respected what I did and the sacrifices I made to make things happen for myself, but they desecrated it with their misrepresentation of the job and thinking I’d tolerate being steamrolled.
I told the other groom I was sorry, and I left.
The van broke down on the way home, and the trainer denied me the full amount of the agreed-upon fuel money because I left early.
When they all got back in March, the trainer barely acknowledged me; if they could, they would text someone else to give me information.
I noticed that the to-do list that was usually written on a whiteboard was now being jot down on a sticky note placed in the tack room, undisclosed to me.
I see what you’re doing.
Over a text, I asked for a joint conversation between the trainer, myself, and the owners. The owner had Covid, and couldn’t attend right away. The trainer replied that I didn’t need them for a meeting- that I could just talk to them one-on-one.
“I’m not comfortable talking to you without a third party,” I said.
They told me I could just wait to come in to work again until after everyone was ready.
They’re punishing me for not letting them control this.
I instead found a different role on the property where I was no longer answering to that trainer. They buzzed me with a side-by-side twice.
Another winter set in, and I ran out of work.
And I left.
Final observation: The right candidate will exhibit an excellent work ethic self-abandonment.
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The court is adjourned.
Proceedings resume in Part II.
I will the machine. 