Do you guys follow Prince Ea on Facebook? I’m not really sure how he pronounces his name or nickname (or whatever), but he really has taught me a few things about relationships and life in general (you should like him on Facebook). Prince Ea is a motivational speaker who rose to prominence after he released a video called ‘Everybody Dies, But Not Everybody Lives’ (which you should totally watch, by the way). Anyway, a few weeks ago, he posted this article on Facebook that asked a very critical question: are you being gaslighted? Now, I’d heard of the term before, but I never really knew what it truly meant. Gaslighting is a type of severe psychological abuse where the ‘victim’ is driven to question his/her/their sanity, memory and rationality. Now, I personally despise the word ‘victim’ (it’s condescending), so I will stick to using the terms ‘the abused’ and ‘the abuser’ hereafter. I think it’s important to accept when we have been abused.
The term ‘gaslighting’ originated in 1938 when genius playwright Patrick Hamilton wrote a play called - you guessed it - ‘Gaslight’ (also called ‘Angel Street’), where a husband systematically manipulates his wife into believing that she is losing her mind and basically going crazy (it really is as horrific as it sounds). Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the play anywhere in Lahore (another problem we desperately need to address), but I did find a 1944 movie adaptation of the play which was absolutely stunning. Starring Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer, Director George Cukor’s film noir left me feeling heartbroken, angry and overwhelmingly aware. This was so familiar. It had happened to my mother. It had happened to my friends. I hate to admit it, but it had happened to me as well. I want you to watch the movie, so I won’t give away too much, but I found the second scene of the film highly amusing. In this scene, the protagonist’s music teacher tells her that her talent is deteriorating and that it must be because she is in love. Apparently, according to him, love is happiness and happiness cannot exist with art. The film then goes on to completely thwart this perception, proving that happiness can exist with art, but more importantly, that love is not synonymous with happiness at all.
Arlington, Virginia. Midnight. It is Sahar’s 27th birthday and the fourth she is celebrating with her husband, Nadeem. She is feeling optimistic about her life, now that she has managed to reconnect with her husband, whom she had left for a few months after a bad fight. She is expecting a romantic surprise from her husband at any moment.
Nadeem: (entering the house). Sahar! I’m home! Happy Birthday my princess!
Sahar: (rushing to the front door). You’re back! How was your day—(Pause. She notices he is not holding a gift. Or cake. Or flowers.). Ah, I see you’ve decided against a typical midnight birthday surprise. What did you get me?
Nadeem: (caught off guard). I…I have something special planned tonight. All surprises will be handed out then, my love.
Sahar: (disappointed). Oh, okay. A cake wouldn’t be too hard to get, but its cool. I’m glad you’re back home.
Nadeem: (instantly frustrated). I work hard, Sahar. It’s your birthday and I love you, and I already told you I have something special planned. No complaining tonight, please jaan. I promise I’ll make it up to my special baby in the evening.
So, how can you tell that you’re the abused, or that there is an abuser in your life?
You start forgetting where you kept things, but someone tells you that it’s not normal (it is).
You start questioning your memory, and you blame Canderel for it.
You always end up apologising and feeling stupid for bringing up points of contention.
Instead of listening to why you’re upset, someone keeps telling you that you ‘like to fight’ and that you ‘constantly complain’, rather than addressing the thing that bothers you (relationships are work and everyone has to compromise, so this line of defense is basically b*******)
You are told that you’re overly sensitive, irrational, suspicious, or dramatic.
You are told that you’re crazy (open your eyes and exit this dumb relationship, please).
Arlington, Virginia. 8 p.m. It is a week after Sahar’s 27th birthday. Nadeem has just returned from work.
Nadeem: I’m starving Sahar, what did you make for dinner tonight?
Sahar: (disappointed, as usual). Oh, I thought we could finally go out tonight. You know, like you promised a week ago? For my birthday?
Nadeem: (instantly frustrated, as usual). Oh my god Sahar! (Yelling.) How many times are we going to revisit this conversation? I gave you an f-ing handbag that cost me my life! Should I take it back?
Sahar: (starting to cry). I love my handbag, I thanked you for it a million times…but I wanted to spend some time with you…and you promised to take me out…
Nadeem: Have you lost your mind? I promised to do something special, which I did. I never promised to take you out. I’m tired now so please stop complaining!
Zara C. Churri lives in Lahore
The term ‘gaslighting’ originated in 1938 when genius playwright Patrick Hamilton wrote a play called - you guessed it - ‘Gaslight’ (also called ‘Angel Street’), where a husband systematically manipulates his wife into believing that she is losing her mind and basically going crazy (it really is as horrific as it sounds). Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the play anywhere in Lahore (another problem we desperately need to address), but I did find a 1944 movie adaptation of the play which was absolutely stunning. Starring Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer, Director George Cukor’s film noir left me feeling heartbroken, angry and overwhelmingly aware. This was so familiar. It had happened to my mother. It had happened to my friends. I hate to admit it, but it had happened to me as well. I want you to watch the movie, so I won’t give away too much, but I found the second scene of the film highly amusing. In this scene, the protagonist’s music teacher tells her that her talent is deteriorating and that it must be because she is in love. Apparently, according to him, love is happiness and happiness cannot exist with art. The film then goes on to completely thwart this perception, proving that happiness can exist with art, but more importantly, that love is not synonymous with happiness at all.
***
Arlington, Virginia. Midnight. It is Sahar’s 27th birthday and the fourth she is celebrating with her husband, Nadeem. She is feeling optimistic about her life, now that she has managed to reconnect with her husband, whom she had left for a few months after a bad fight. She is expecting a romantic surprise from her husband at any moment.
Nadeem: (entering the house). Sahar! I’m home! Happy Birthday my princess!
Sahar: (rushing to the front door). You’re back! How was your day—(Pause. She notices he is not holding a gift. Or cake. Or flowers.). Ah, I see you’ve decided against a typical midnight birthday surprise. What did you get me?
Nadeem: (caught off guard). I…I have something special planned tonight. All surprises will be handed out then, my love.
Sahar: (disappointed). Oh, okay. A cake wouldn’t be too hard to get, but its cool. I’m glad you’re back home.
Nadeem: (instantly frustrated). I work hard, Sahar. It’s your birthday and I love you, and I already told you I have something special planned. No complaining tonight, please jaan. I promise I’ll make it up to my special baby in the evening.
***
So, how can you tell that you’re the abused, or that there is an abuser in your life?
You start forgetting where you kept things, but someone tells you that it’s not normal (it is).
You start questioning your memory, and you blame Canderel for it.
You always end up apologising and feeling stupid for bringing up points of contention.
Instead of listening to why you’re upset, someone keeps telling you that you ‘like to fight’ and that you ‘constantly complain’, rather than addressing the thing that bothers you (relationships are work and everyone has to compromise, so this line of defense is basically b*******)
You are told that you’re overly sensitive, irrational, suspicious, or dramatic.
You are told that you’re crazy (open your eyes and exit this dumb relationship, please).
If you're systematically told that you're crazy, open your eyes and exit this dumb relationship, please
***
Arlington, Virginia. 8 p.m. It is a week after Sahar’s 27th birthday. Nadeem has just returned from work.
Nadeem: I’m starving Sahar, what did you make for dinner tonight?
Sahar: (disappointed, as usual). Oh, I thought we could finally go out tonight. You know, like you promised a week ago? For my birthday?
Nadeem: (instantly frustrated, as usual). Oh my god Sahar! (Yelling.) How many times are we going to revisit this conversation? I gave you an f-ing handbag that cost me my life! Should I take it back?
Sahar: (starting to cry). I love my handbag, I thanked you for it a million times…but I wanted to spend some time with you…and you promised to take me out…
Nadeem: Have you lost your mind? I promised to do something special, which I did. I never promised to take you out. I’m tired now so please stop complaining!
Zara C. Churri lives in Lahore