Remember the days where I wrote on here somewhat regularly? I mean, they were the early-to-mid 2010’s, and blogging has certainly gone by the wayside as of the past…like…what is it, 3 – 4 years now? I didn’t stop writing because the trend began dying down, though. I stopped writing because of TRAUMA *throws glitter bomb* While I do still post on…Read More
This Saturday, April 22, I will turn 30 years old. (Want to help me celebrate?)
Frankly, this terrifies me.
All my life, I never envisioned myself living past the age of 28. I figured that either the rapture would have occurred, or I would have killed myself. So you’d think 29 would have been my all-out panic year, but I spent 29 dealing with a lot of other things.
Now, with 30 at my doorstep, I’m caught in its headlights, awaiting its impact with an ever-increasing sense of dread.Read More
Brought to you by intense introspection during a season of traumatic anniversaries. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to describe my mental health struggles, and I think I touched on a couple of things pretty well here.
i do not mean to
overwhelm you. i simply
It’s been a full year since I broke up with my spouse. A very hard year, if you recall. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to process things as best as I can, and that often looks like distilling emotions into haikus. Something about the structure and limitation seems to lend itself well to expressing myself in succinct and powerful ways (much like how Twitter’s character limit can help focus one’s thoughts).
I don’t really want to offer commentary on this. There is so much I am still processing. But it feels important to share it, and to share it now. And one of my goals is to listen to my intuition far more than I’ve been able to in the past.
One thing I will say is this: it’s a terrifying time in our country right now. To be a woman, not white, not straight, not healthy in body and mind. Most of my friend group — myself included — are fighting the creeping despair as we watch this new administration work so hard to make our lives at best uncomfortable and at worst nonexistent. It’s easy to not take care of yourself in an effort to remain informed, to know what fresh hell awaits every morning.
But the little things matter. Little things like remembering to eat. Checking in with friends. Asking people to check in on you. Kissing your loved ones. Snuggling your pets. Or even daring to simply take up space.Read More
There’s a lot going on in my life. I’ve deactivated my Twitter for a little bit. Vulnerability is terrifying, but it’s easier to be vulnerable to an amorphous mass of people than talk to anyone in particular about what’s been happening, even the things that are only happening inside my own head. Therefore, you’re getting more of my depressing fragments of dialogue, this time brought to you by my very own JerkBrain.Read More
I’ve been rather existential lately. I mean, I usually am anyway. But back to the “it’s hard to explain in anything except shards of thought” kind of existential. So. The contents of these haikus will likely turn into blog posts at some point. But for now, I serve them to you as the fragments they are.Read More
I mention it because one of the defenses of his insensitivity (to put it mildly) was that his argument was logically sound. And that’s a point that gets brought up an awful lot in discussions of social justice and in general when someone is called out for doing something harmful. It’s especially a point brought up from men against women, usually as a way of gas-lighting us and saying, “You’re too emotional to get this, let me logic at you in a manly fashion.” It’s sexist, it’s dismissive, and it focuses on one aspect of a situation to the exclusion of all else.
As I said on Twitter in my original thoughts about Dawkins’ asshattery:
This is the kind of argument I see quite a lot from those who tend to hold a lot of privilege & experiential ignorance of the topic at hand. Honestly…it makes me think of that scene in the RDJ/Jude Law Sherlock Holmes. Holmes is holding something in his hand, the end of which is mere inches from Watson’s face. Watson: “Get that thing out of my face.” Holmes replies, “It’s not in your face, it’s in my hand.” That’s what these logical men are like. That’s their argument. TECHNICALLY, they’re right. But the practical application & observation of the situation shows that one can be correct but still wrong. In this situation, the argument can (& has been, repeatedly) made that Dawkins wasn’t minimizing when he was making the comparison. TECHNICALLY, he wasn’t. But functionally, he was. Just like the thing TECHNICALLY was in Holmes’ hand but FUNCTIONALLY was in Watson’s face.
Part of me says, “You’re not a Christian anymore, so just ignore it. It’s not like it affects you anymore anyway.” But that’s not really true. There are lots of things about Christianity that deeply affected me for over 20 years, and when Christianity also tends to play a role in U.S. politics, it sure as hell affects me.
And the thing is, when I stopped believing in God, I didn’t stop caring about people.Read More
Examining and critiquing cultural narratives as they appear in “real life” and entertainment is important work. It’s life-changing and empowering work.
It’s important for women to know that they aren’t crazy when a man is stalking them and demanding attention and affection.
It’s important for women to know that if a man — even a man they love — attacks them, it’s not okay.
It’s important for black girls to know that they can grow up and go into space.
It’s important for trans people to see themselves accepted in society.
It’s important for people to know that they are more than a caricature, that the stories of their lives matter.Read More
Rape culture affects everyone, but we don’t have to have all the conversations about all the things any time we want to talk about one of them.Read More
It’s been gradual, over the past year or so. But I’ve started embracing myself, my whole self, feminine aspects and all. I’ve been letting myself explore the things that I’ve suppressed for so long — “girly” things, “childish” things, vain and wasteful things that I only deemed vain and wasteful because I enjoyed them and I mistrusted my tastes as a woman. I’ve been learning to do what I enjoy and to love myself for the first time in my life.Read More
Since publishing the admission of my deconversion from Christianity, I’ve been questioning myself an awful lot (to put it quite delicately).
Maybe I shouldn’t have written it. Maybe I should have kept playing along so I didn’t hurt anyone. Maybe I should have kept it all to myself for the rest of my life. Maybe the timing was bad. Maybe I should have consulted with anyone who would have been upset about it before publishing. Maybe, maybe, maybe…
I keep coming back to the same answers. I had to write it. Lying to everyone for the rest of my life would have been more damaging to us all than telling the truth has been. There was never going to be a “right time” for it. Consulting with those who would be hurt by it would have only served to delay then intensify the pain, because their displeasure wouldn’t have kept me from publishing.
That leads me to two questions that apply both to that post in particular but also to my entire blog:
- Why did I write it, and why do I write in general?
- Why did I write it publicly, and why do I write in public?
When I say I am sad, it’s because I don’t really have words to explain what’s happening. It’s because it’s easier for me to say, “I am sad” than it is to explain what I actually mean.
And, if I’m honest, it’s because saying “I am sad” is easier than owning to myself how bad things can get. Have gotten. Will get again. It’s my way of downplaying something that is all-encompassing and overwhelming and frightening and stifling and maddening and exhausting and devastating.Read More
There is so much I want to say. So much I want to talk about, share, unload from the heaviness of my heart and dredge up from the murkiness of the swirling waters of thoughts in my head. There are people who have contacted me that I want to respond to.
But all I can really muster is silence.Read More
What’s so wrong with attention? Does my wasting body not tell you about my wasting soul? Do the scars on my arms and legs not tell you about the scars on my soul? For the girl with the words, the girl who was going to write books some day, I never ever had the words for the pain. And I still don’t, even though I’ve long left the starving and cutting.Read More