Project Angel Fouls Part 5

 Before I continue listing what is wrong at Project Angel Food, I want to acknowledge what they are doing right:

• Increasing their clientele (currently 2,500 pr day*)

• Expanding their meal plans to include other critical illnesses (currently 13 tailored meals*) 

• Continuing to reach large audiences & have large connections

• Implementing safety precautions like enforcing food handler training for all staff

• Continuing to have thousands of volunteers per year and retaining those same volunteers

• Creating an employee committee to address employee concerns

• Increasing technology to better handle routes and clients 

*Stats from Projects Angel Food

With any progress comes transitions, bumps, and curveballs. These issues are nothing new. The problem lies in how they are being addressed-which is either not at all or a little too late. With increasing numbers comes increased work. As mentioned in previous posts, PAF has practically tripled their employee count since before COVID hit. This has helped with the influx of clients that happened during the same time. I recently spoke with a Client Services worker who noted that there used to be only four staff members in their department compared to the current seven. We estimated that each client services worker has about one hundred+ clients. I asked, “Is this doable?” They responded, “We’re doing it.” 

As someone on the frontlines (so to speak), there is a major difference between “doable” and “doing it.” In a classroom setting it’s a good practice to have ten kids per teacher. In case management, the max is about fifty but more reasonable thirty. Having over a hundred clients per staff member means things fall through the cracks. On numerous occasions, I and other drivers have experienced unresponsiveness from CS when needing to reach a client due to an issue. Notes from drivers regarding gate codes, parking, or cancellations that CS is in charge of get delayed sometimes for weeks or worse never added. There have even unfortunately been clients who have moved or deceased and are still on our routes. CS does what it can, but what we need is more staff to meet the mark we’re missing. Doable means logical. Doing it means pushing past our limits.

The increase in meal plans has packed our freezers to the brim so much so that we’ve had to permanently install a trailer freezer in the parking lot which limits the already small number of parking spots. Our expansion/building project has already had its “groundbreaking ceremony” but we probably won’t see actual groundbreaking until summer 2024 or so. This will mean taking over the buildings/businesses next door (the same place that just redid their parking lot a month ago). I had suggested we look into the vacant building a few blocks up Vine which already had the building and parking space we needed, but I’m not sure as to why that was declined or if it was even researched. 

Increased meals also have meant more products that we now depend on-like cottage cheese, almond milk, and greek yogurt. Just like the problems we already had with the fruit, sometimes the items shipped aren’t up to our standards and have to be returned or simply arrive late. I understand this is a supplier issue, not ours. However, just like the problems we have with our vans-we CAN NOT depend on one source. We need multiple sources for when the first is unavailable. In the long list of funders we have and the powerful members supporting us, I would suggest partnering with grocery stores and mechanics. Continuous changes and substitutions in our food supply more often than not cause confusion among coworkers. Never has there been an all-staff meeting in Dispatch to show how to pack our special breakfast bags. Instead, we rely on sheets of paper with multiple and continuous edits. Soon only one or two staff members only know how these things are supposed to go while the rest of us are in the dark and then they get angry when others aren’t helping. Managers expect coworkers to teach others along with the volunteers, but the issue is that not everyone is a good teacher and even if they are, arguments arise on who is right-her way or his way? In addition to these directed meetings from managers, I suggest a large whiteboard with the lists and labels on shelves.  

Working with vulnerable clientele means we must have work conditions that are higher than most businesses/organizations. Our new Dispatch manager has incorporated that in addition to the face masks we continue to wear in the kitchen, Dispatch should also mimic their dress code of hair nets and gloves. This seems like a wise choice; safety is better than sorry, correct? Food Safety requires these items when working with open or ready-to-eat food. The difference between the kitchen and Dispatch is just that-we work with frozen meals and packaged items, placing them into bags to go back into the freezers for the next day’s delivery. Does it really make sense for someone working in a freezer all day to have to wear a hair/beard net and gloves? It seems more like a waste of our resources than being cautious. There are even talks of a uniform which shouldn’t surprise anyone in the workforce. Personally, I take the stand I did when my high school had the same debate. Uniforms take away individuality and are not economical. If the reason for a uniform is to easily identify who is a staff member versus a volunteer, I have suggested that we have name tags with our pronouns. Earlier this year name tags with our pictures were given, but only to a few people and then it stopped. Again, not sure why?

Technology has significantly gotten better since I began but is still behind. It’s been a year now since we’ve implemented driver cellphones (yes, before we used our personal cell phones) with a client delivery app. This (in addition to the phone holders we finally received with them) has helped in many ways. Our hope is to keep lessening our paper usage, which is wonderful. The complaints from many drivers have been that the app is too clouded with information we don’t need, in a format that doesn’t make sense, and has problems with GPS-leading to an approximate location as opposed to a direct one. I and several drivers have transitioned from Amazon and admit that their delivery app is the one thing they do excellently-it’s sleek, simple, and to the point with the information needed for drivers. Our app has cost a lot of money according to higher-ups. My question is must we stay with it? What was the research that went into what apps are out there? Why couldn’t we again partner with a tech company? PAF doesn’t even have a tech department. It wasn’t until a Dispatch meeting that one coworker spoke up saying they loved working with technology and were willing to help with this app/routing. This was of course after two staff members had quit from the frustrations. 

I was invited to join the Committee Staff from HR. They said, “You have great ideas. We need people like you who will bring these things to our attention and bring changes. Now it’s not to make your job easier but to benefit everybody.” 

This is why I write. To benefit the body that is called PAF.

Project Angel Fouls Part 4

 An organization is organization. It’s supposed to make sense. 

Organizing a nonprofit (NP) and for-profit (FP) can be very similar. They both have a Board as their governance. They create mission statements (although this began in the nonprofit sector) and draft visions. Each one has an Executive Director/CEO, a financial advisor, and lawyers. The list can go on.

The difference between them is that the Board in a NP volunteer their time and resources. Nonprofits are not a pyramid. They do not make money to serve the head-although they can serve themselves just as much as a corporation. A NP mainly receives (sometimes internally makes) money to serve the needs of the community (uschamber). 

It is important to note though that a NP can have Board members who are also employees, although this is not highly favored due to the possible conflict of interest(s). Similar to it not being the best idea to post religious symbols in a public space at your business (which PAF hasn’t shied away from). If a NP does have employees on the Board, they are legally not allowed to vote on specific decisions-especially financial ones that impact themselves. This should be laid out clearly in the NP’s bylaws (governing procedures) that were constructed along with their specific tax filing.

Simple enough right? 

According to Project Angel Food’s website, it has twenty-one Board of Directors with three CEOs, nine executive staff (counting Richard Ayoub again), fifteen Board of Trustees, nine Ambassador Councils and according to Human Resources (HR), around ninety employees. Mr. Ayoub sits on the Board and is a CEO. Our supposedly “sister companies” (according to PAF’s  Dispatch Supervisor), Project Open Hand, Open Hand Atlanta , and Mama's Kitchen do not even do this. However, PAF’s Bylaws (available upon PAF request) allow this to happen with the stipulation one can not vote for being paid as a Board Member and that the pay is “just and reasonable.” Unfortunately, hearings from voters are not made public to see how this technically pays out, I mean plays out, for Ayoub.

A NP is made by the people, for the people; thus, should be the faces of those people. PAF does well in photographing its events and ambiance, but perhaps too well or... too Hollywood-the same accusation workers had with their first CEO. Ayoub and celebrities become our “new face” with the occasional picture of staff posted on social media. (Note: It wasn’t until a couple of months ago did we sign a release of our photos/names due to me addressing the issue.) We understand the image that “has to be presented” to make it in such a city, but when “saving face” becomes more important than those working their butts off the NP has lost its vision. Ayoub is not someone who takes criticism well, will hide what's going on, does not know his employees, and lacks general respectful people skills. PAF, according to one Dispatch manager, “is not what it used to be.” It may seem like it’s for the people but the money speaks differently.  

“Currently those with gross receipts exceeding $1,028,500 for any year” (Guide For Charities, pg. 39) are considered a big NP by the Attorney General Rob Bonita of California. Which is four million less than what it seemed to be in 2005 according to the Center of Nonprofit Management’s Southern California Nonprofit Sector Report (pg. 20) Some of the largest revenues seen in ‘2020 by nonprofits were Feeding America ($4.21 B), Salvation Army (5.79 B), and Goodwill (7.41 B)’ (Forbes). In CA. specifically, the top dollar NPs are Kaiser, Schwab, and Dignity Health; with the biggest hubs of nonprofit revenue coming in from Los Angeles & San Francisco (CauseIQ). 

PAF sits right in the epicenter. In 2020, PAF brought in $11M. In 2021, $13M. And in 2022, $12M. (PAF Financials). According to Nonprofit Explorer, in 2020 Ayoub made $205,000 with an “other” of $12,570. In 2021, $225,606 with an “other” of $13,117. And in 2022, $234,859 with an “other” of $39,001. Executive compensation has only been around 4% of the cost while other salaries and wages have been near 40%. Interesting how a NP leader can still get a significant raise even if revenues have declined, but those “below” get less of a raise because there was “no inflation” this year. (Truth is there was just less inflation (consumer price)). PAF proudly displays that “our driver starting wage went up from $17.50 in 2021 to $23 in Oct. 23…a 32% increase in two years, with the new starting wage being $21.25.” It is true that this is higher than LA’s minimum wage and for a single-person household, this is considered “livable” (LivingWageCalculator). 

What they don’t reveal are the workers working outside of their scope or “wearing too many hats” and not being compensated for it. It’s nice to just say everyone gets paid decently and easier to make people do more when it's for a great cause, but this is what causes burnout, tensions, and high turnovers. I know one coworker who was doing management duties for months alongside their original position and not being compensated. Countless times they told HR and Ayoub, “This is it, either I get a higher wage or find somebody else.” The leadership delegated over and over again; they even brought in a new manager to help fix things. This manager still allowed this coworker to do management duties without being compensated and depended on them to come in earlier than themselves. Then, surprisingly during the time we were under investigation (future blog post), this coworker finally got their raise. However, there is still another coworker I know who has gotten two titles due to new responsibilities and still hasn’t been compensated.

When an organization gets messy and in my opinion Project Angel Food has, it's time to re-evaluate and re-adjust. A nonprofit needs to make sense to the community because it operates differently internally (or at least it should). A nonprofit can not evaluate itself, it takes the community. How would you judge Project Angel Food? What has been your experience?  

Project Angel Fouls Part 3

     The key to successful relationships is communication. This is no exception in the workforce. To many employers, however, Managers jokingly call themselves "the parent" which translates to: "My way or the highway," "Might is Right," and "Discipline is the greatest teacher." As a person who has gotten an education in psychology and nonprofit management, I have seen how Project Angel Food falls short in regard to having a successful relationship with its employees. Even without a degree, it doesn't take long for someone to see the breakdown of communication which influences our high turnover.   

Years ago my class studied successful businesses. At the time one of the happiest places to work was Southwest Airlines. Shouldn't a nonprofit whose mission is to help save lives through healthy food echo this? Instead, I hear more and more people applying to other jobs. I repeat what I have said from the beginning- I LOVE MY JOB. In fact, it is the ONLY job that I've ever said this about. But when leadership would rather make a profit than create a lasting, stable community no matter how important the mission, the workers will become extinct. A house divided can not stand. 

Break down in communication at Project Angel Food looks like: employees getting yelled at for doing/not doing something but never being informed about the change, last-minute meeting announcements, shouting matches between staff, not honoring past agreements, and divided management. Direct examples range from arguing about where exactly on the floor the kitchen starts and dispatch ends to when our shift ends on a holiday (literally three different answers were given today). I am not saying as employees we are perfect (no one is) and I don't expect management to be either. What I am saying is as much as training is harped upon employees (in any business) to do better, the same should be required from leadership. A whole staff meeting or biweekly meetings are not going to solve all the issues if the management is not healthy. 

Many today and before me have advocated for a union. Unfortunately, with the scare tactics and stress-inducing leadership, many employees have shrunk away from continuing to fight for our rights. Signs have been put up in break rooms, in hallways, and TV screens about how great this organization is to its workers. This then creates the image that all this fighting is in vain and worse those who continue to push against this system are the "true enemy." Unions are the reasons we have breaks, vacations, sick leave, raises, etc. Unions restore the healthy balance between people. It's no longer, "I'm the parent, you are the child. I give the command, you follow." Unions allow all of our voices to be heard and actually get past the meeting's notepad. Yes, PAF has gradually worked on getting everyone's input. They even established an Employee Committee...that you have to be asked to join by management first. Unions give the workers the same legal authority to say no and yes to procedures. There are no surprise last-minute decisions leaving half the staff boiling; instead, we all come together as the team we signed up to be. Unions do not say we hate our company. It acknowledges that we are the company.

In my opinion, PAF could be one the happiest places to work just like Southwest. They have the backing and power of many influential people. For a place that gets so much air time, it should be a place its employees won't shut up about for good reasons. The power we have in the community should be backed by an even stronger team. Some solutions to this, especially as we move forward in expanding, I believe should come in the form of:

• leadership training not just in policies but in group dynamics

• One of the best nonprofits I've served with was the Royal Family Kids camp. We were given training through the Empowered to Connect Conference that I found so influential not only for children in foster care, but all of us (since many of us are just big children) that I introduced this material/concept to the work field. The key isn't having someone in charge telling the other what to do. It's to challenge that very mindset which then allows procedures to follow naturally rather than forced. We are in a partnership and each person is a gift. Management should promote, encourage, and equip its staff with safety, freedom of individuality, and mutual respect. Practically this looks like leadership taking courses that address psychology giving them the tools on how to work with many types of people. Refreshment courses as such are required of other professionals; why should we be any different?       

• Team building activities 

• For five years I was a part of a nonprofit that implemented team-building activities frequently. Team building activities can be simple and fun, challenging and impactful. They can be quick and take place around a table, but again pulling from child psychology, it is always better to do something physical (physical movement also helps the brain function better). I would recommend an outside or event space away from the office. These shouldn't be just going around the room saying your favorite movie, these should require a significant amount of time. It should bring the body together in a way that highlights everyone's abilities. Then afterward a reflection should bring about a new fund appreciation for each other. 

• Meetings with hands-on training/reminders/walk-throughs

• It is said that if you love what you do, you never "work" a day in your life. This is why I would suggest this particular order in restructuring the work culture at PAF. Business meetings come after management is healthy and employees are well supported. It is proven that rows separate more than unite; thus, I would suggest encircled meetings. Every meeting should be recorded in some form, include a brief summary of the last meeting, strengths, weaknesses, and areas of opportunity. Meetings should not just be all sitting down. When operations or systems change, a physical demonstration should always be carried out to accommodate those with different learning styles. For example instead of having everyone arguing about where the kitchen begins, take the staff on a walk-through so everyone gets the same message at the same time.     

• Agreed upon clear signage w/ directions  

• Instead of spending money on signage about how many benefits we get, we should have more signage (colorful and clear) with precise directions on how to carry out certain functions. It wasn't until earlier this year that (with the recommendation from one staff member) was a sign about the correct order of putting on kitchen equipment posted to eliminate the sore throats of the Volunteer Coordinators. This should also be done in dispatch; signs echo what should have been already physically demonstrated. All staff should know how to carry out all their duties in their department. Management likes to put the responsibility on the staff to show other staff how to do things. Although a good manager delegates, they must first make sure everyone is on the same page. It should not be the responsibility/duty of a staff member to ask how to do something after months of working there. Everything should labeled and have its designated location and everyone should be shown this. 

Project Angel Food has a motto that says: “For Life, For Love, For as long as it takes.” Greatness begins from the inside, so if we are to accomplish this mission we must do some inner work. We must walk the talk not just talk the talk.

  

Just Symptoms

*spoken word emotional core poetry/song

It's falling madly in love

over and over again

thinking this could be the one

justifying everything they do

forcing myself to like everything about them

torn to utter pieces when they miss my mark

that I've never spoken

It's overanalyzing everything you said

and how you said it

feeling like I know what's not being said

holding in what I want to say

bottling up my emotions and going numb

It's exploding and not able to come down easily

For days I'll cry over it

It's doing everything for you

because you need to know how much you mean

then secretly hurt when you don't do the same

It's beating myself up mentally and physically

finding a razor somehow some way

scratching forcibly

punching myself repeatedly

It's feeling like I'd rather die than hurt you

and dying when you leave

It's preparing for the end

wanting to skip the beginning and middle

It's saying I'll change next week

next Sunday

on the 1st

Next year

It's knowing I'm contradictory

not simply defined

 It's forgetting what I look like

responding with a yuck when I do

thinking beauty is certain looks and angles

not believing their compliments

fishing for affirmation

having knowledge I'm pretty & feeling unhinged

It's risky sexual behavior

because I'm impulsive

because I'm scared of intimacy

because I'm not good enough for the person I want

It's spending years being taught the body is temporary

that is just a shell

that the REAL me is inside

It's years of being fed that I'm corrupt

that the body is evil

It's lighting up another after promising I was done

after I've gotten into thousands of dollars in debt

after having to go to the hospital

after no longer getting satisfaction

It's wishing I could leave everything

like that would somehow fix things

as if living on the streets is a choice

It's imagining the worst 

happening to others

and wanting the worst to happen to me

It's feeling  like I'm not here

I'm not what you see

I'm nothing

My scars don't tell everything about me

If they did,

There'd be a whole lot more of them

I hate my mind more than anything

These emotions and illogical thinking

Haunts me 

You'd think I'd be over it

But something triggers the pain, the hurt, the darkness

What can you do when you can't have 

What you want, what you need?

How do I speak?

The anxiety eats at me

I'm still bleeding

Why is this heart beating?

Life is something. 

 

Project Angel Fouls Part 2

Within my first year of working for Project Angel Food a coworker at my level proposed a new position where they would majorly be beneficial to the nonprofit. They had the resources, skill, and experience. I was so proud of them when their idea was accepted. Then so confused as to way not even two weeks into that new position they said they wished they never said anything.

Like this case PAF has proven many times that they are quick to jump on to great sounding ideas, especially if it comes cheaply (i.e not properly compensating the individuals).

One major donor wanted their logo seen on the products we deliver. The great sounding idea was to iron on hundreds of these patches onto the insulated bags we store the frozen meals in for delivery. The problem was that this material with a patch in the freezers for hours doesn't mix. Not only where there burnt marks on some of the totes from the volunteers doing this project but no where today can these patches be found.

I once dismissed PAFs fumbles saying, "Oh they're a young nonprofit... nonprofits are always like this... we have to be flexible." Truth is PAF has existed since 1989 when it was founded by author and spiritual leader Marianne Williamson. The podcast Maintenance Phase has already done enough background work on this past CEO that I'll kindly share the link here. What most people don't know is the article Scott Harris wrote on July 26, 1992 in the LA Times titled "Project Angel Food Rocked by Feuds" concerning her departure. Here's a hint to the current day employees-last year wasn't the first time PAF has tried to Unionize. Sick and tired of the management style, the previous employees agreed to not unionize if Marianne stepped down. My question is, when will we do this with Richard and Francisco?

Things are not what they seem on the surface. Behind those pictures and videos of employees working hard are very heartbroken individuals. 

Every meeting the same concerns seem to be raised; who's listening? 

I regret not recording meetings before (only recently have we installed a recording meeting room). I could have proven all the times we weren't heard... and lied to.

Don't take my word for it, research it yourself. The website alone will show you errors that you would think a high revenue place could do better on. For example the History timeline-the odd wording for year '97, the garden initiative that doesn't exist anymore, the mention of a past CEO (who stole money from them), the mention of Richard twice, the lack of mention of employee burst. This timeline is nothing compared to the fact that many employee's names and photos are used/posted/published for fundraising without their written consent.

PAF is not listed or rated (as of this date) on the BBB, Charity Watch, or GiveWell. Their last report on Charity Navigator and GuideStar was '21. Still proud of their two year old four stars, a Charity Navigator badge is posted on their website and fundraising booklets. One of our "competitors" Project Open Hand  still accurately holds their four stars, brought in $3,000 more with twenty more employees than us. (However, according to Indeed PAF definitely pays their employees more, the salary of both Richard Ayoub and Paul Hepfer are still sickening.) 

PAF needs more employees, better equipped and trained management; as well as safer equipment and a larger space. Ironically, for a place with high assets I don't feel they really count the costs. Upon my hire I was heavily warned about burnout since employees walk in and out like Amazon. To prevent this turnaround PAF promised to keep deliveries to 40 max per driver, an every 6 months peer review, frequent meetings, and better communication. I know drivers with over 50+ stops, I got my first review last month, most times workers are informed of meetings the day of, and then there's the problem with "too many cooks in the kitchen" (not literally). There has been at least a total of three times where police have been called to defuse (the jokes never stop here) employee retaliation. Of course the volunteers see an unruly individual, but as "insiders" we know the true story. Management doesn't know how to manage. Instead of giving warnings, they give final write ups. Instead of having conversations, they suspend you. Instead of firing you in the beginning of the day, they choose the middle. Instead of showing fairness, they show partiality. (I am not exempt from either sides of that coin.)

Does it make sense to you that a new manager be hired for a position they can't come in on time for because they live too far away?

Does it make sense to you that an employee who got fired for sexually assaulting an underage volunteer and other staff members got a severance pay?

Does it make sense to you that Richard is not only the CEO but sits as a head of the Board?

How about that fact that my purse was taken out a locker so that a volunteer could have it instead or that I drove a van several times now with no gas cover and no front licenses plate?

Or how about the fact that I was told I can't take a nap during my lunch break sitting on the corner of the only couch in the building? Or that after finding a fly in my food (that's served indoors) to just get another piece?

What about the fact that I had to ask three people for the copy of the Bylaws and was first told by an HR employee that they had never seen them? 

I encourage...no challenge you to look deeper. Look past the smoke and mirrors. And when you do you'll maybe understand why a union vote must pass next time! 

Project Angel Fouls Part 1

I have worked with Project Angel Food for the last couple of years. In the beginning, I had no idea what I was getting into; I had never heard of them! This is ironic for someone who has a non-profit background and the fact that this is a very well-publicized organization. Right from the start I was thrown off by how unorganized and unprofessional they were. Hired in September of '21, the height of the pandemic and PAF's exponential growth of employers, I was told a start date that fell on either a holiday or weekend which meant the offices were closed. Then I was told a different date, which fell on a Sunday. I arrived expecting to get behind the wheel along with the other recent new hires. The manager asks if I've done any paperwork, for example filling out their insurance forms. "No, this is my first day." Only dispatch is open on Sundays, so I had to come back the next day. This didn't bother me but immediately communicated a poor lack of attention to detail. This manager told me to arrive in the morning but not right away since the other manager I needed to speak to might come in a little later. Again I arrived, but this time met with hostility: 'Weren't we supposed to meet at such and such time?' 

Within the first month, I and other employees discovered that one employee was very immature...unprofessional... inappropriate....and intolerable. I personally heard this employee comment on the underwear of another's and what was worse it was a homophobic joke-something they did not shy away from! This employee still works for PAF today. 

I've driven and still drive vans that are falling apart (just like Amazon's). One employee finally quit after being miles away from base with a van whose sliding door wouldn't stay shut. I had to go rescue this person. This same vehicle I later had to drive and was not informed how to "properly close it " due to its damage. I ended up hurting my wrist from slamming it all day.

Today after being told since January about raises and having them pushed back twice we received them. $1. Of course, everyone is going to jump on it because we live in Southern California and need every cent, but $1? After taxes that's not even going to buy a McDonald's cheeseburger! This "raise" was a major slap in to face to employees who for months been "helping managers" with their duties and not being compensated for it. I was told however that last year's raise was more due to inflation...how every year it's going to fluctuate because we're a nonprofit and won't always bring in the income. Yet, just a couple weekends ago we held a very well-to-do ceremony where we award generous donors...

I love how when it comes to a matter of pay those in charge are quick to remind you we are a nonprofit, but when it comes to enforcing their new policies it's always, "Nonprofits are run just like businesses."

Who's going to fight for us? The CEO, Richard Ayoub, who makes $230,000+? The same person I've heard say to my manager, "Look at me when I am talking to you!" (Right...right...and this coming from a white man to a black man is even more distasteful). The same person who shoos people out of his office and brings in a majorly expensive Union Buster. The same person who's allowed to park (with their 'new' tesla) in our small parking lot but not the rest of the 90+ employees.

Or

The Human Resources Supervisor, Francisco Perez, who told me personally that he "can't be responsible for answering every email" after I had emailed him a total of four times concerning applying my Short Term Disability benefits. The same person who months ago was trying to implement a points system to control time theft and said that "even if public transit were the cause of you being late you would still get a point." The same person who entered his same contest for a holiday celebration we had which involved financial prizes.      

I am not the only person who has experienced hurt and seen violations at PAF. In the coming weeks with these individuals' permission and respecting confidentiality, I will be sharing their stories. Why? In hopes that someone hears us and can bring justice, reconstruction, and create a different work culture. Project Angel Food may be all glitz and glamour on news stations, but behind the scenes, we have managers who slept with coworkers, police called on angry employees, sexual assault cases, and served chicken with feathers.  

May it be known that I am a whistleblower and I love my job. I love its mission. 

We deserve to be heard because we deserve better.

BPD & Christianity Part 3

 Continuation of Part 2 on Identity

What’s the ideal self? Why? And who defines it?

It seems to me that it is a mythological notion made into a standard that we can always be in perfect harmony or in line with a specific mindset and lifestyle presented as the BEST or ONLY mindset and lifestyle.

It sounds to me like a well-disguised cult. 

"Know thy self!" People have shouted since philosophy hit the scene. 

That’s what religion is for, right? To know our TRUE SELF?! The major religions teach something greater than ourselves is out there, can be known, and should be worshiped to gain something physical and/or metaphysical. In my seminary Spiritual Formation classes we discussed at quite some length about the I to Thou conception. We know ourselves in relation to others (ex: I am a child. She is a mother. They are my uncle. He is my cousin.) However, from the beginning, we are broken, sinful, deserving of hell, created in God’s image, and fallen perfection. "The Bible tells me so." We can not reflect holiness, goodness, or righteousness between each other because of this error in the story. We need to take on the image of Him who had no sin, yet “became sin” to save us. Jesus loves me. Jesus take the wheel. Jesus t-shirt. Jesus mask. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus!

Christianity teaches me to lay myself down…crucify myself so that I may actually live. (Gal. 2:20). 

“No pain! No gain!” Bonnie mocked as we brought up the topic of me joining Junior High Cross Country. She didn’t think I could do it. In fact, I hated running. I had tried to get fit many times before; making promises to myself and others that I would “change” the following week…month…or year. I needed to change. I was chubby. I wasn’t pretty. I wasn’t strong. I had thick hips, unruly hair, and “man hands” like my Mom. Why was I joining this physical sport? To prove her wrong. So she said this to warn me…motivate me…mock me? Who was I trying to impress? The guys at school who couldn’t remember my name but liked the outfit I was in? Or so that the guy I really fantasized about would HAVE TO take notice of me? 

I secretly loved this notion of HAVING TO do something. This set of rules, standards, and outlines that I could follow every second of every day would be perfect. Tell me what to do! 

Why? Because I don’t trust myself. In fact, I hate myself. I hate myself so much that I take sharp objects against it until my favorite color appears. I’m disconnected. Dysregulated. Longing to be disembodied. And as much as I had gained in becoming a “child of God,” I further lost that trust in myself. Churches shout this is good; my psychotherapy bill said otherwise.

My childhood already taught me to suppress my emotions; “giving it to Jesus” and “letting go letting God” was just another way of doing so. 

My childhood already showed me that withdrawing was a way to protect myself; “retreating to my Strongtower” to me now just seems like a fancier way of me talking to my imaginary sister Samanthe. Of course, that’s blasphemy. 

                                               {...cutting people off people

                                                          ….patterns of unstable relationships}

So what does all of this hot mess do when confronted with her desires that conflict with those of the sect she belongs to? Since I was not given a new coping mechanism (as established), I resorted to my old patterns. What do I mean? 

The “Living Water” flowing through me was more precious than my very blood. 

I cut off friendships…but oh how I prayed for them! I cut off from my family…because “whoever loves their father & mother greater than I is not worthy” (Matt. 10:37)! I cut off relationships…because they're simply not THE ONE. 

The problem with bringing in that which is “bigger/greater than ourselves” is that we little by little chip away at the fact that we had some power to begin with. We’re taught that certain things are bad; thus, those who do them are bad. And just like that segregation is born. My old friends gossiped, lied, cheated, stole. Whereas my Christian friends gossipped I mean prayed and cared about my walk with Christ. My family, no, my country, had Christianity alllll wrong. iT’s NoT a ReLiGiOn, iTs a ReLaTiOnShiP.

Let's speed up a few years-I’m in college, states away from my hometown, and have my first boyfriend. He’s so good to me. He cooks for me. He opens the door for me. He listens to me. He pushes me off of him when I want to have sex because he knows how important marriage is to me first. Only problem-he’s Hindu. He’s not the one. Next, we have a guy at work who is smooth with words and can always conjure up a phrase that cuts to you quick. He’s too business and doesn’t do conflict. He also thinks the Old Testament was mainly fictional. He has to go. The next is a guy I cheat with to get back at the last guy for being an asshole. This one years later after off and on again sex threatens to shoot up heroin if you don’t come visit. But he also was the one who said, “Please don’t cut yourself when you go home” after we left the hotel hours later. Before I’m physical with anyone I spend years camming and DMing strangers around the world. 

Christianity taught me to hate my body, but sexuality was trying to revive it…to help me really feel…to get what I rarely received-physical touch, appraisal, and admiration. 

BPD & Christianity Part 2

 Continuation of BPD & Christianity 

I try to think about the first time I perceived my individuality. It was ALWAYS there before I understood the words I, me, and mine. Before I choose to contort my fingers into a paw shape and mimic my cat crawling on all fours, there’s a video of me (how I can only best describe as) “trying to dig” myself out of Mom’s stomach.

My Grandma always took me to her Lutheran church every Sunday since I popped out. I was baptized while in the arms of my Mom, who stopped going to church after she was Confirmed (a ceremony of owning one’s faith by confirming your knowledge about the religion and church), and my Dad* (*not my biological father), who probably had never been inside an all white church. This was my Grandma’s decision no doubt, but Mom was/is more than willing to make her happy. Mom believes in God, but not like Grandma, and certainly wouldn’t want to ever talk about it like Dad. Then there’s me, the silent biracial baby intersecting all of their paths.

When I think about who I am, this collision of a unique nature with this unique nurture, it’s hard to say it without telling a story of them.

{Rapid Changes in Self-Identity

…feeling emptiness

….self hate}

A lot of people describe children as sponges-soaking in everything and anything. And yet, many still don’t understand what’s happening when that now adult-child is squeezed.

I was squeezed and hardpressed way before “adulting” became a thing. Am I black or am I white? Am I her’s or his* (or his, his, his, his?) Am I to speak up or be silent? Am I a cat or…

we’re not taught what “human” means well enough. 

Mom pulls my thick hair into a ponytail in the middle of my head where the hair now only grows to an inch. Dad paid for my hair relaxers, where my hair was “finally manageable.” I asked him to layer it when I was nine. It’s never been the same since. Mom made me promise never to tell Grandma what went on at home, yet all of my nightmares take place at that two-story white house off that gravel road “in the middle of nowhere” where my grandparents reside. There’s no one like me in my family, on either sides-and I only know one side. I still get the “What are you?”’s and “Where you from?”’s. I moved it seemed like every year, adjusting right and left dragging along PTSD like my worn-out teddy bear. 

I’m lonely. 

I’m fearful.

I’m angry. 

I repeat because god forbid someone see me cry!

I used my imagination to bring me comfort, but just like playing with my dolls, it echoed what I’ve heard, what I’ve experienced, what people say I am, and who I long to be. 

As a Christian, we are taught that God was/is always there. He (using not gender specifically) is the Alpha=the beginning and the Omega=the end. There was nothing before. There is nothing greater than this God, YHWH/Jesus/Spirit (three in one God). God was “the missing piece” taught my junior high youth group. He knew me before I was born. He had plans for me before I took my first step. Thus, just like moving into a different place comes with its own set of rules, I am under new management. I freely accept this Jesus that’s presented in a grandiose way because “no one loves me the way God does.” I didn’t know what I was doing with my life-what twelve year old does? My obvious need for Him turned into a want. Why? Because “He wanted me first.” 

You want me? Me. Me? Me!

I break from addressing myself and comforting myself to now being on all fours worshipping an invisible, all-mighty Spirit. I will trade in this depressed outlook on life for one that has a “peace and joy no one can take away.” I see the error of the world, the corrupt nature, the fallen mankind. 

And then those arms open wide showed me a mirror. 

I am the broken one, not just from other’s stones but from my internal bricks it says. I can’t change others and I don’t know what’s best for me they say, so I eat everything that’s on my plate because “there’s kids in Africa starving.” Jesus must be consumed DAILY to defeat the evil. My fear of Mom not returning is replaced with this fear that I have abandoned the King of Kings.

Christianity isn’t about going to church, helping people, or just being nice; no, in fact, according to Romans 6:23 outreach tool we were taught in Ministry team, those things lead you to Hell if you’re without Jesus. Your faith is meant to be active, passionate, alive, on fire, electric, and always willing to testify! The powerhouse of the New Testament writes: “Therefore I do not run like someone running aimlessly; I do not fight like a boxer beating the air. No, I strike a blow to my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.” (1 Cor. 9: 26-27). My body must be stricken into submission for my Lord.

Now we have a conundrum, the person who hated life finds True Life only to feel guilty. 

Good things given to me? Why, again who am I that you would die for me? 

I hated that my Mom didn’t give me the love I needed and wanted. I hated that I wasn’t enough like the alcohol and drugs. I hated that Jesus had to suffer so much because of my sins, but here I was singing “Amazing Grace” and cutting myself because I would always fail Him. 

This spring, now a couple years of being an ex-Christian, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Like my once god, you couldn’t see it unless you “looked a little harder.” It was the reflection staring back at me this whole time.  With therapy, I’m relearning what it means to reconnect with my body…to be whole and not ashamed of anything I am. There was no “God-shaped hole.” The “brokenness” I was taught we had was just another name for the maladaptive coping mechanisms. 

My only responsibility is to love me. May I love me well. Whomever that is.

I'm Not Wanted

 *The following is based on true events to the best of my capability. Trigger warnings: alcoholism, childhood trauma, emotional abuse

My alarm goes off, it’s time to get ready for another day at Blackhawk School (whose mascot at the time was a young 'Native American child' with a Warrior's headdress). I had already been going there since we lived with David. We now live with another white, racist man named Joey. He is part Italian. Joey’s apartment is a large lavender Victorian two-story home converted into two apartments. We live on the bottom. The only times the front doors open are when I’m journaling underneath the shade of the decorative overhang listening to both my stereo and the busy street. Our place sits on Highway 26. Joey’s daughter is occupying the second bedroom until she moves to college in a month or so. I envy her massive water bed. My mattress sits on the floor facing away from the bedrooms and towards the front doors. My right wall consists of Mom’s and my wooden horizontal dresser along with an old sheet she 'got' from work. My bedroom doesn’t have much privacy, only rounded doorways. Between their bedrooms and mine is an empty space I often mimic our cat in. (The same cat Joey later shoots because it gets 'trapped' in a sewer.) I go to gently wake Mom up so that she can help me get ready for school; she mentioned the night before that she wanted me to take a bath. “What time is it?” I answer her. “Wake me up in fifteen.” The problem is I struggle with reading clocks. I don’t understand how the numbers printed turn into increments of five; I see no fifteen. I take a guess at what time she meant and wake her up accordingly. She explodes with anger because not only is it passed the time she originally thought but school has started (or is close to starting). I usually don’t hear this much anger unless she’s intoxicated, so I presume she’s hungover. Her words hack me apart: “WHAT DON’T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?! HOW THE HELL DON'T YOU KNOW HOW TO TELL TIME?! YOU'RE TOO OLD FOR THIS, SAMANTHA! DIDN'T THEY TEACH YOU THIS IN SCHOOL?!” Stomping to the kitchen where our clock hangs, she frustratingly explains how seconds work. “GOD DAMMIT, SAMANTHA! I TOLD YOU I WANTED YOU TO TAKE A BATH! FUCK!... GOD DAMIT! UGH, I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL YOU'RE EIGHTEEN AND MOVE OUT!” She rushes to get ready. She has torn me from head to toe; a wound she'll never be able to heal. I’m frozen once again, trying to hold in the tears because if she sees (or perhaps she did see) she’ll yell, “STOP CRYING!” We finally arrive at school and I’m escorted to class. It’s here I know I’m able to let go. It's here I know I'm heard, I'm safe. At some point, I’m taken into the hallway and my first-grade, pregnant teacher, Mrs. DeWall, asks what’s wrong. I repeat my Mother’s words with heartache, “...I can’t wait until you're eighteen and move out…” My teacher gives a sympathetic look, trying to comfort me she says, “Oh…I’m sure she didn’t mean it…”

I Don't See

 *The following is based on true events to the best of my capability. Trigger warnings: alcoholism, medical emergency, childhood trauma

My Sunday ritual is like many in my hometown. I get dressed in an outfit that pleases an older generation and am hustled to a church I don’t want to go to. Grandma is the only one in our family who consecutively goes to church. She had tried getting her children to stay, but once they were confirmed at Prince of Peace Lutheran Church they split. Lucky for me, she always seems to be in charge of getting coffee ready; thus, we have to be there even earlier than the first service. She waits for me in the parking lot behind our blocky U-shaped apartments. The night before I didn’t get much sleep due to Mom, (Bonnie?), Dolly (Bonnie’s adult daughter), and Dolly’s boyfriend partying. It was the first time in a long time that Mom was having fun, but it still involved liquor, weed, and cigarettes-the three things I’ve learned to have hostility towards. Yet, laughter was better than the fighting. Yells which I now heard from Dolly's bedroom instead of the living room where Mom has kept the mattress she and Bonnie once shared. It’s also way better than the cries of Dolly’s daughter, Wynter, who is a toddler also living with us. I walk from my bedroom at the end of the apartment to the bathroom across from me, then down the cold tiled hallway, and into our moderately sized kitchen. It’s here I see Dolly’s boyfriend, a short, big-eyed African-American man lying on the ground. He’s lying on top of our sink floor mat. He’s lying on his right side facing me. He isn’t sleeping. He is convulsing. He is having a seizure. A puddle of foamy saliva pours from the corner of his mouth as his eyes seem caged. I don’t know what to do! I’ve never seen anything like this! Do I try to talk to him?! Do I  try to touch him?! I remember this shaking uncertainty mixed with distress. I don’t scream. I don’t make a sound…for I’m afraid of the consequences. I’m a thirteen-year-old afraid of consequences. My Mother is snoring away behind the sheet separating the kitchen and living room where she traps the air conditioning. She’s always a pain to wake up. I could already imagine her big bugged, glossy, dead stare; looking but never comprehending. If I wake up Dolly I risk waking up Wynter, which risks waking up the whole apartment. But should everyone be awake? I feel the pull of needing to help, dragged down because I didn’t know how, and tied to this belief that somehow I would get in trouble with Mom. I couldn’t delay any longer because then Grandma would know…even if she is a retired nurse…if she came inside she would see the beer cans and smell the smells that Mom desperately tries to hide…Mom made me promise years ago to never tell Grandma what goes on at home…So what am I to do? I’m angry to again be put in a situation I feel like I shouldn’t be in. My solution is to just lay a towel down beside him hoping he’ll be ok. I wipe the developing tears in my eyes, walk head down the long sidewalk, and into Grandma’s white van. She says good morning. I greet her back. I mention nothing about what just happened (or is continuing to happen for all I know). I feel guilty thinking that maybe I had just let a man die. My fear of my Mother prevented me from once again helping. After service and Sunday School, I return home to find only Mom. She asks if I saw anything that morning. I tell her. She is solemn and without saying it, scared. Yet, she hints through her words and demeanor that what happened was his own fault.