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aroworlds · 4 years

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Fiction: The Pride Conspiracy, Part Two

December isn't the best time of year for a trans aromantic like Rowan Ross, although—unlike his relatives—his co-workers probably won't give him gift cards to women's clothing shops. How does he explain to cis people that while golf balls don't trigger his dysphoria, he wants to be seen as more than a masculine stereotype? Nonetheless, he thinks he has this teeth-gritted endurance thing figured out: cissexism means he needn't fear his relatives asking him about dating, and he has the perfect idea for Melanie in the office gift exchange. He can survive gifts and kin, right? Isn't playing along with expectation better than enduring unexpected consequences?

Rowan, however, isn't the only aromantic in the office planning to surprise a co-worker.

To survive the onslaught of ribbon and cellophane, Rowan's going to have to get comfortable with embracing the unknown.

Contains: A trans allo-frayro trying to grit his teeth through the holidays, scheming aro co-workers, a whole lot of cross-stitch, another moment of aromantic discovery, and many, many mugs.

Content Advisory: A story that focuses on some of the ways Western gift-giving culture enables cissexism and a rigid gender binary, taking place in the context of commercialised, secular-but-with-very-Christian-underpinnings Christmas. Please expect many references to said holiday in an office where Damien hasn't figured out how to run a gift exchange without subjecting everyone to Santa, along with characters who have work to do in recognising that not everybody celebrates Christmas.

There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual" and a passing reference to allo-aro antagonism, but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with and attitudes towards romance and romantic attraction as a frayromantic. Please also expect casual references to amatonormativity and other shapes of cissexism.

This section contains multiple depictions of platonic physical intimacy.

Length: 4, 789 words (part two of two).

I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!

On the last working day of the year, Rowan staggers into the office holding a plate of homemade shortbread—the top layer of plastic wrap bearing the Sharpie-written words “NOT FOR HOUSEMATES BUY YOUR OWN FUCKING BISCUITS”, his mood sour. On the one hand, he’s free until January (although he’ll prefer that circumstance more should this be a paid break). On the other hand, Christmas and its family awfulness tag-team with the heat to curse him with mind-racing, restless 4 AM wakefulness.

He chose right. Didn’t he?

In six days, he’ll have survived the family dinner and his housemates will be with their people or travelling for the holiday. He can bag up his presents for their customary donating, buy something online and spend the day baking food he doesn’t have to share or hide.

Christmas will be an exercise in endurance, but it’s a known terrible. Better to suffer one day of hell and leave than to poke the hydra in each of its eyes and allow it, enraged, to hunt him across the earth. Right?

“Rowan!” Melanie greets him at the door, today wearing a silky blouse with a poinsettia print, a pendant shaped like a miniature tree bauble, and stocking-shaped earrings of the heavy, dangly kind. A Santa hat trimmed with silver sequins and a large golden bell sits atop her short hair. “Merry Christmas!”

“Uh … back at you?”

“You didn’t wear anything Christmassy!” Melanie flutters her hands at him: she painted her glossy crimson nails with white and green stripes like the fancier sort of candy cane. “Can’t you get anything in your size?”

“No...” Rowan glances at his usual outfit: dress shoes, jeans black enough to resemble slacks on forgot-to-do-laundry days, navy shirt.

Couldn’t he have worn his cherry-red Docs?

Her suggestion gives him a convenient out, but isn’t he trying to be honest about his feelings? “I didn’t look. Christmas … isn’t that exciting when you’re enduring family.” He barks a laugh, hoping Melanie understands. “At least being trans, nobody asks me if I’m dating anyone or when I’m going to bring someone home to meet the family, because they don’t want to think about trans people in a relationship.” He steps sideways, hoping to navigate around her, put his plate down and move the conversation towards something less fraught. “I made shortbread. Do you like shortbread?”

He stiffens, trying not to panic, when Melanie envelops him in a bear hug, smushing Rowan’s chest and one arm against her necklace. “You spend Christmas with your family?”

“Don’t most people who celebrate it?” He shuffles out of her embrace to slide his cling-filmed plate onto Shelby’s desk beside a plastic container of pizza scrolls. He slips the ingredients card from his jeans pocket, straightens the creases and rests it by the plate. “Uh … is cling-film better or worse for the environment than biscuits in a freezer bag? I had a set of clip-seal containers, but my housemates left me two condiment-sized ones in the cupboard. I could use a bit of plastic or defrost frozen stir fry, except I didn’t know what I’d put that in if I used the stir fry container for the shortbread...”

Rowan realises he’s rambling and presses his lips together before he rants on how his containers must be growing five types of mould in the bottom of Matt’s backpack.

“Happy Holidays, everyone!” Shelby, both arms burdened by plastic cake containers, enters wearing a red T-shirt with the legend “All I Want for Christmas Is a Unicorn”, a glittery ribbon tied around the end of her braid. Only twice before has he seen her without a blazer. “Mel! Your earrings! Millers?”

Rowan swallows a laugh and, freed from awkwardness, heads for the relative comfort of his desk.

A party day, he soon realises, possesses a distressing lack of work. He acquires plates and spoons from the kitchenette, he works on a few photos from last week, he sorts his emails. He notices Melanie pulling Damien aside to talk about something that requires the waving of candy-cane fingernails, but, before he can start to wonder, the volunteer ropes him into a conversation about a loving family with unusual pavlova-eating habits. Shelby saves him from that oddity only to tell the story of her family’s chipping in to get her granddaughter a four-hundred-dollar dollhouse. “My parents wouldn’t have spent that much on a toy! How can anyone charge four hundred dollars for plastic?”

That seems like a good time to head over to the food table.

Shelby does make a good chocolate cake.

“Rowan.” Damien heads towards him, his approach signalled by a trailing, bell-ringing Melanie. “A minute?”

Nothing good has ever been heralded by this question. Nothing.

Rowan nods and follows them over to the whiteboard, standing in front of the List.

“Do you,” Damien says, at least doing the decent thing of asking straight out, “need somewhere to go for Christmas?”

Oh, god. What provoked this horror? Melanie?

Why...?

“We’d non-romantically love to have you.” Melanie’s smile beams as bright as her nails—her lips a close match for their glossy crimson basecoat. “Me and my daughter and her partner, I mean—not me and Damien together. It won’t be anything fancy, but you’re welcome to come.”

“My wife said my telling her about being recipro makes so much sense, and she’d like to ask questions of someone who actually knows things.” Damien nods, his holiday cheer demonstrated in the absence of a tie, rolled-up shirtsleeves and reflectively-shiny shoes. “And I make beer batter fritters.”

Never has Rowan heard Damien speak in aromantic-identity terms with that much casual fluidity, and he would smile but for two co-workers waiting, expectantly, for his answer.

How does he express appreciation for their kindness while explaining that he can’t not go home for Christmas?

A few moments pass before Rowan’s lips and tongue produce sounds that aren’t “I”, “uh” and “I … uh”. “Thanks? But … well, I’d be fine being alone on Christmas and I'm not doing that because … that’d be bad, so... And, you know, family? And I want to see my dog? So ... thanks, but...”

“But you’re one of us,” Melanie says with unusual solemnity, resting a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Just like Damien’s now one of—wait, we need to get you a mug! Why didn’t we get Damien a mug?”

“Well, actually...” Rowan, thanking the Aro Gods for Melanie’s willingness to head down any conversational tangent, darts towards his desk and satchel, the latter housing a heavy tissue-wrapped box. Pinkish-red, of course. “Here. Have a mug.”

“Oh! You should have told me!” Melanie’s lips tremble as she and Damien follow him back across the room. “I would have gotten a mug with you!”

Rowan rests the box on his lap, startled. Why didn’t he think to tell Melanie that he bought Damien a mug? (How else does one welcome another into aromantic kinship?) Why didn’t he wait until Damien was busy and order a mug with Melanie, instead of buying one on his phone on the train home from work?

Rowan owns skill in list-making, cross-stitch, baking, fixing other people’s photos and designing his own leaflets. He’s quietly proud of the many arts in which he dabbles with varying degrees of success. He’s mastered, too, survival on the fringes of other people’s lives, survival in a world where few are worth trusting. That ability though, makes him a man too comfortable in isolation. It makes him, in ways that have nothing to do with allosexual frayromanticism beyond his living in an aromantic-antagonistic world, a man who doesn’t know how to welcome other people into the house behind his five-metre fence.

He keeps everyone at arm’s length, even when—perhaps especially when—he plies his crafts for their benefit.

Does everyone experience acute flashes of insight at inconvenient times, the irrevocable sense that their personhood is one bewildering state of immeasurably fucked up?

“I’m sorry. Really.” He passes the mug to Damien, looking at Melanie. “I’m used to doing things on my own. I should have thought, but I didn’t.”

“We do realise that,” Damien says, tearing both wrapping paper and the box lid in a sharp tug. “You got the green-stripe one—oh, wait, it’s got both?” His hands render the mug’s size almost laughable, but Rowan couldn’t find soup-sized variants from a store willing to custom print aromantic flags on crockery. “Mel, there’s both. The recipromantic-only one and the shared one. Thank you!”

Is Rowan imagining that hint of passive-aggression? “You realise...?”

“That you’re independent, that’d you’d rather suffer alone than risk asking for help, even when it causes problems for you. That you’re only comfortable with people when you’re in a position of knowledge or authority. We learnt early on that you work best when we get out of your way.” Damien sets the mug on the desk with a soft clink. “I’m not completely useless in my job, so try harder to stop rolling your eyes over my photos.”

“They’re terrible,” Melanie says, squeezing Rowan’s forearm—apparently forgiven. “You know that, right?”

“The next person to say they can do better has to prove it—”

“My dog photos prove it!”

“At an event! Not in your backyard!”

For a reason likely tied up in internalised ableism, Rowan thought anxiety his designated, annoyance-causing personality failing. His tendency to overreact, freak out, let things get to him; his tendency to shaking hands and rambling incoherence. He didn’t consider that, in the company of people more inclined to decency and less inclined to avoid criticism on deadnaming and cissexism by casting him as the problem, they may find something else frustrating or difficult.

“Is this...” Rowan halts, thinking better of it, before he says the words “being fired just before Christmas”. Even he doubts Damien capable of inviting someone to join him for the holiday only to retaliate with a firing on Rowan’s refusal, although logic doesn��t still his hands. What’s the good of logic if my anxiety still ignores it? “What is this?”

Damien shrugs, tapping a finger against his new mug. “Yearly performance evaluation, maybe? Shame that I’ll have to write it down. I’d rather just call this sort—”

“What’d you say on mine?” Melanie blurts, clapping her hands.

Damien raises both eyebrows. “As if I’d answer that sober!” He shakes his head; Melanie trills her laughter. “We realise that there’s reasons, Rowan. It isn’t a real problem for us, but it may be one for you. If you find yourself in the company of a therapist at some point, consider mentioning it?”

Reining in Melanie wasn’t the reason Damien asked her to work with Rowan, he realises in yet another dizzying, revelatory moment, but that isn’t the cause of Rowan’s spluttering. “If? You think it’s only if? I’d have more aro shit on my desk if I weren’t paying a psychiatrist and a psychologist!” He sighs and nods. “January. I see them January.”

“I don’t like to assume.” Damien shrugs again; Rowan guesses it his attempt at conveying casualness. “Given that this isn’t quite the … er, situation for this conversation, I should—”

“I’m fine,” Rowan says, thinking Melanie’s heedless interrupting a contagious quality. “Really. It’s good. Like actually...” He doesn’t know how to voice this feeling that, for the first time in his life, someone has voiced a critique that doesn’t feel like he’s being disdained or unravelled. “Melanie … again, I’m sorry.” He thinks the time right for another distraction and grabs the second parcel from his bag—tissue paper tied with strands of aro-coloured embroidery floss. “Here. I’ve been working on this. I got your name.”

Melanie lunges for the parcel, struggling to untie the knot with her long fingernails until Shelby—was she close by?—hands over a pair of scissors. Blades click shut; Melanie pulls away the paper.

Twenty square embroidered patches in the purples and greens of many aro-ace and aromantic pride flags cascade from Melanie’s hands onto the worn carpet.

Melanie has always been given to laughter, but the way she bends over, resting her elbows on her knees as though she can’t hold herself up, has Rowan fearing that he’s given her a heart attack via pride patches.

“Aro-ace! Are these all of them?” She draws a shaking breath and carefully kneels, gathering patches. “I didn’t know there were this many!”

“Aro and aro-ace. The ones I know about, anyway. There’s probably a few I don’t.”

“Did you make all these?” Shelby asks. “You should sell them!”

Rowan considers explaining why he’ll never make even minimum wage selling hand-embroidered patches in aro pride flag colours, but Melanie’s pulling him into another grasping hug has him scarce able to breathe, never mind speak. He doesn’t know for how long Melanie smothers him, just that she, like an eventual retreating tide, steps back, leaving Rowan bewildered and giddy. Perhaps this is too much?

“You’re a liar, and this must have taken forever, and you shouldn’t have. I can’t believe you sew!” Melanie shakes her head, shuffling through the patches. “There’s the aro-ace flag with blue and orange, and a combined one, and one without black stripes—oh, thank you!”

Rowan shrugs, relieved that she seems happy. “Do you have something to put them on?”

“I have a coat. I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!” Melanie grins, shaking her head, before leaning over to tap Damien on the forearm. “Should the rest of us swap gifts now?”

Damien settles himself down on the closest chair. “Good idea. Do you want to—”

“We’re doing Secret Santa now!” Melanie stands on her tiptoes, waving the hand not clutching a handful of patches. “Find your person and give your gift, and then come here and show me what you got! Rowan made me aro-ace patches! All the aro-ace patches!”

“You know your evaluation says ‘needs to stop interrupt—’”

“Quickly, because Damien’s nattering on about performance evaluations!”

Damien sighs, shakes his head and leans back on his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Lord give me—is that mould up there?”

“Probably,” Rowan says, hoping that he doesn’t look like a man expecting to open a set of golf balls. Did Shelby get him and lie about Melanie? Does that explain the voice recording? “Does the janitor have a step ladder? It’d be easier to tell if we got up close.”

“She does, because of the lighting.” Damien shakes his head. “Remind me first week back to get someone in to look at that. Or to write it on the whiteboard before we leave.” He reaches inside his left trouser pocket, removes a small card-sized parcel held between thumb and pointer finger, and flips it onto Rowan’s lap with surprising deftness. “I think this will be appropriate? While I didn’t know what you planned for Melanie, I saw you working on the train one evening. You had earbuds in and were too busy looking at your hands to notice, but I guessed then you’d made your bag’s patches.”

“It’s hard to cross-stitch on a moving train,” Rowan says by way of apology, a shade confused: what gift needs this explanation? “Hard to cross-stitch well. Not so hard if you don’t care about neatness.” He peels back the tape—Damien wrapped the card the way he presses his suits, the edges inhumanly crisp—and finds a gift card for his local sewing store. Rowan stares, drops the card on his lap and slides his hands under his legs, doubtful he can say anything comprehensible past this isn’t a gift pack of golf balls.

“That’s what you got him? A gift card?” Melanie shakes her head and pokes Damien in the shoulder with startling vehemence; only Damien’s size and his feet, firmly planted on the ground, keep him from falling. “Did you put any thought into that? I don’t like to be that oldie—” She stops, scowling: Rowan can’t hold back his spluttering laughter. “As I was saying, gift cards are the laziest way to—Rowan’s laughing at me, isn’t he?”

Damien tucks his hands behind his head and leans further back in his chair, grinning up at the popcorn ceiling.

Moments—in which Shelby gives Damien a six pack of fancy-looking artisanal beer—pass before Rowan’s ribcage resumes its regular pattern of movement. Finally, he manages to rasp an explanation: “Buying a gift card for a department store? Impersonal, but okay if they shop there. Buying a gift card for a trans man at a clothing shop where every tag has woman on the label? Hateful, unless you know he wants it. Buying a gift card related to someone’s interests so they can pick what they want? Good. And I need fabric, so … thank you.”

“Did someone get you a Millers gift card?” Melanie asks, her hands raised to cover her mouth. “That’s horrible!”

“That’s Aunt Laura,” Rowan mutters. Melanie’s expression of horror, Damien’s surprising evaluation and the wonder of a good, useful present leaves him inclined to truth: “That’s the most considerate gift I’ll get. One with thought that isn’t ‘outright cissexism’ or ‘you’re a man so we’ll ignore your personality to give you the most generically-male of generically-male items’.” He places the gift card and paper on his desk before nodding at Damien, who continues his overgrown Cheshire Cat impression. “Really, thank you.”

Even though Rowan isn’t standing atop his desk to blather about names, the room falls into an uncomfortable quiet.

Shouldn’t someone rustle some wrapping paper? Bite into a biscuit? Thank somebody for their gift? Why aren’t they making noise?

Melanie breaks into a broad smile, threading her fingers together like a self-congratulatory cartoon villain. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Rowan’s body, ever alert to strangeness in the people around him, stiffens long before his brain concurs that this change in conversational direction is at minimum odd and veering towards confronting with a high likelihood of I’m so not going to like it.

Damien jerks upright, chair creaking. “Didn’t we talk about how to do this—”

“His aunt gave him a Millers gift card!” Melanie grabs Shelby by the arm and drags her towards the meeting room like an illegal firework gone out of control.

Damien isn’t much an arbiter of this office’s brand of chaos, but he’s the closest thing to a pillar of stability inside this mouse-scented bewilderment and therefore the person at which Rowan directs his questioning: “What...?”

“You know how Melanie gets all enthusiastic?” Damien runs both hands through his already-mussed hair. “She comes up with plans and you can’t so much stop her as guide her in the safest direction and hope you’re alive come the landing?”

Does Damien know that is the worst answer anyone can give to a man with more than one anxiety disorder? At least short of pronouncements like “we volunteered you to give year 12 biology students a seminar on recessive genes and you’re starting right now”? Wasn’t that something to do with the monk who grew beans? Hendel? Mendel? Or did he just grow beans at a monastery for some reason? Or was it peas?

“What...?” Rowan croaks, staring at the dark meeting room like a man waiting to face a starving tyrannosaurus.

“She thought we should demonstrate our acceptance of you, after our failures in this. And then she realised Christmas isn’t a great time of year for you, which made her even more … uh, enthusiastic. I made her promise she’d do this after everyone else left, but...”

Melanie staggers out of the meeting room with a large basket held in both hands, a basket covered with glinting cellophane and decorated with a mix of blue and green ribbons.

Shelby trails after her, clasping another pair of scissors.

Rowan will never understand, never mind be able to explain, the thought processes leading to his diving off his chair for the sanctuary underneath his desk—just that one moment he’s sitting on his chair and the next he’s crouching beside computer cables and a lid from someone’s Pikachu lunch box. Some primeval sense of cave as safety, perhaps … but didn’t prehistoric humanity fear cave bears and cave lions? Aren’t large, bright spaces, with visibility and room to run, safer than small, dark places concealing unknowable predators? What about drought, then? Or deserts? Are there any safe places, really...?

Melanie holds no respect for the ancient tenets of let the hiding man hide undisturbed until he’s ready to stop hiding, but she does rest the basket on the ground at the entrance of Rowan’s desk-cave, blocking legs and chairs from sight. “Merry Christmas,” she warbles from behind the mountain of cellophane and wicker. “We hope there’s something there that you like!”

“Happy Holidays!” Shelby echoes, followed by a few more rounds from the rest of the office. “Do you want scissors? Melanie wraps things like she’s paid to use sticky tape by the metre.”

“We only have cheap tape in the office! It won’t stick unless you use heaps!” A thunking sound echoes from above Rowan’s head, and then Melanie’s candy-striped hand reaches around the leg of his desk, offering Shelby’s scissors. “Here. You’ll ... probably need them.”

There’s something to be said for this workplace’s willingness to treat escapades atop and beneath office furniture as normal, Rowan thinks. Breathe. “Than—uh—thanks.” He takes the scissors, staring at the back of shining cellophane; a miscellany of shapes wrapped in green paper sit within like an aromantic dragon’s treasure hoard.

“Damien, can you make them give us better tape next year?”

“We can have good tape if we stop spending the stationery money on good coffee and your fancy teas?”

“The tape’s fine,” Melanie announces before changing the subject: “Rowan? Are you opening anything? You have to tell us what you’re opening if you’re going to do it down there. Oh, do be careful—I think Liam used to shove his chewing gum under the table.”

Rowan shudders, but better his hair brushing old chewing gum over seeing his gift-opening become the focus of everyone’s attention! He draws a steadying breath, tells himself delay won’t help and slits the cellophane until he can draw out a wrapped box, one suspiciously weighty. At least fifty pieces of tape fasten the flaps on each end; Rowan promises himself that he’ll wrap everything in string and tea towels from now on before ripping into the paper. A mug with five horizontal bands wrapped around its body, the trans flag fading into the aro flag—blue into green, pink into green, white unchanged, pink into grey, blue into black.

Shelby, he thinks in disbelief, the non-existent golf balls making their appearance inside his throat. He rests the mug in his lap before reaching through the cellophane with shaking, sweating hands for another box. Another box with the same dimensions and weight...

“Oh, god,” he whispers.

His co-workers got him a basket of pride mugs for Christmas.

Melanie breaks into ringing laughter.

He needs a moment to find his voice, a moment in which he unwraps a mug with a gradient allo-aro design and another with the aromantic flag on one side and the bisexual flag on the other. “Did you … did you … uh, get me any coffee to go with all my mugs?”

“It’s on the bottom!” Melanie trills. “And it isn’t just mugs!”

“Mostly mugs,” Damien says.

After another couple of minutes, a gradient frayromantic and a frayromantic-and-allo-aro mug join the collection precariously balanced on Rowan’s thighs. He sighs in relief when the next item in the basket feels soft, flat and light, something rustling underneath the wrapping paper, but a second lot of golf balls settle in his throat when he spots the pink and blue stripes, the drape of fabric: a trans pride flag.

He can’t swallow, can’t lessen the burn in his eyes or ease the stiffness in his jaw and neck; his fingers fight to tear, peel and grasp. Bewildered to the point of dizziness, he finds an aromantic flag with its glorious green stripes, a frayromantic-and-bisexual mug and the expensive coffee Rowan permits himself on special occasions.

He scoops wrapping paper and boxes back into the basket before hugging his clinking pile of mugs and flags.

Inchoate feeling abounds: a tangle, a knot of emotion with trailing threads of pleasure and overwhelm, surprise and gratitude, guilt and shame ... and something like the shock of being slapped across the face. They shouldn’t have done this! He shouldn’t be like this! Why is this too much? Why can’t he say “thank you” and express a normal, sensible gratitude for these people doing what Rowan’s family can’t ... instead of struggling with the feeling that Rowan, ungrateful and demanding, doesn’t deserve anything from people who have provoked his annoyance, frustration and alienation?

Mugs. Mugs and flags.

Why does something this wondrous have to hurt so much?

After a few moments, the only sound from him the chink of shifting crockery, someone moves the basket. Melanie sits on the floor and wriggles herself backwards underneath the table, grunting, to sit beside him. For once, she doesn’t speak; she rests a hand around his shoulder and lets him be a shivering mass of man clasping mugs.

Finally, Rowan’s rasping, croaking voice manages a few words: “Is this why Shelby recorded me ... talking about my identities?”

“I told you he thought it was suspicious!” Shelby crawls to Rowan’s other side, her braid trailing over the carpet. “Mel said you’d think it was just me being old—no, nobody does that!” She clasps his forearm, squeezing like a vice on wood. “Mel tried seeing if you’ve got a … all those accounts that aren’t Facebook, where you might say what you are? But she couldn’t find you, so I had my granddaughter show me how to record you. We knew we wouldn’t remember if you just said them.”

“I don’t know all the flags yet,” Melanie says in apologetic tones. “And I thought if I made the others check, they’d learn more about us!”

Part of Rowan feels a habitual spike of terror at the thought of offline people finding his social media accounts; part of him feels a quiet pride at Melanie’s using him to educate others in aromanticism. Most of him, fearing a blubbering breakdown, clings to the lifeline of asking questions: “And why Damien started that whole conversation?”

“We had to know where your mug seller was.” Damien bends down to peer underneath the desk and, at Melanie’s brow-arched stare, adds: “I’m not getting under there! You’ll have to call the SES to cut me out!”

Rowan nods and draws a breath. “I … I...”

“You’re very welcome.” Shelby squeezes his arm again. “Can I have your shortbread recipe? They’re good!”

“Yeah. Bag. Front pocket, left-hand side. People ask, so...” Rowan tries for another slow inhale. It’s supposed to help. Supposed.

His family expects gratitude said clearly and directly, even when undeserving; they’ll never take emotional speechlessness as its shorthand. They want the formula followed, interactions never deviating from the same narrow structure: gift given, thanks provided, everything right in their world where it’s the thought that counts justifies disrespect of another’s personhood. They avoid messiness and honesty; they fear navigating and acknowledging mistakes and missteps.

They won’t see him as a man, or understand the pain they cause in believing his masculinity something he can put aside for their comfort, because they fear a world with unpredictability and fluidity.

Mum and Dad will never conspire to give him a gift like this. They’ll never want to get to know Rowan well enough to try. They’ll never put his needs ahead of their comfort. They’ll never speak of challenges or difficulties with Damien’s kind casualness. They’ll never want to acknowledge their failures. They’ll never give him an awkward, chaotic Christmas that veers from their notions of how things are supposed to be.

Does he want to endure their narrowness, now that he knows what better looks like?

Does he want to endure their truth that Rowan Ross isn’t a real man to them—and won’t be a real person until he remembers his deadname and the stereotypical trappings of the gender presumed to accompany it?

Or does he want to expect and get something else?

Maybe he doesn’t want a world so predictable his erasure becomes acceptable collateral damage for sticking to the pattern.

Maybe, despite his anxiety, he wants a world where people can surprise him.

“Melanie? Damien?” Rowan, shaking, pokes his head out from underneath the desk. “Can I … can I still spend Christmas with one of you?”

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pepperoniwhirlwind · 5 years

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🌼~Honesty Hour~🌼 (pt. 2)

I was asked by @lovelynhiddenkittens to do 150 questions in the honesty hour tag quite a while ago, and only did a third of it. But no longer will this be the case! Midterms are mostly over (the two biggest ones are done at least) so I can focus on more fun things, like answering these questions! Here’s my answers to questions 51-100:

51. Ever wished you were someone else?

Yes. I have a lot of internalized shame about my body type (petite and curvy) that whenever I see someone super tall or toned I just want to be them. Even if it’s only for a day. I don’t have these wishes so much anymore though. Alex and I have been dating for 5 months (on the 21st of this month) and he loves my body type. Thanks to him, I’m learning to love myself, and learning that I don’t have to be a model to be loved~ 💕

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself?

My depression. I feel like it makes me a burden on everyone, and although it’s shaped who I am, has it really changed me for the better? Maybe I’m more understanding and empathetic because of it, but it’s also caused me an inordinate amount of pain, and unnecessary pain for my loved ones.

53. Favorite make-up brand?

I don’t wear make-up often enough for me to even have a clue.

54. Favorite store?

What I’m buying changes which store I prefer. If it’s food, I generally hit up Fry’s. If it’s home decor (Which Alex and I needed quite a bit of in recency, given that we just moved into an apartment together a few months ago) I shop at Target. If I need to buy shampoo, face wipes, deodorant, shaving cream, etc. I typically go to Wal-Mart. Does anyone really have just 1 store that they shop at? I know if I bought non-food items at Fry’s I’d go bankrupt. 😂

55. Favorite blog?

That’s a real tough one. I love all of my Tumblr friend’s blogs. @im-here-cause-im-not-all-there posts a lot of stuff I relate to, same for @theperksofneurodivergency, who always posts great content. Seriously, I could sit here for ages and list off all the people on Tumblr that I follow, but that would be ridiculous. Rest assured that if I follow you, it means I generally like what you post.

56. Favorite color?

I love darker colors on the cooler end of the color spectrum; mainly green, blue & purple. I even like pastel colors occasionally. Though that’s more likely when I’m being influenced by some of my alters who like lighter colors. Like Honey, who loves pastel colors, and all things sweet really. That’s why sunflowers are her favorite flower. She appreciates all the sunny and cheerful things in life. ☀️ In our inner world, she even has a garden that she tends to regularly, and grows (you guessed it) sunflowers, among other things.

57. Favorite food?

Oh look, another tough one. Hmm... It really depends what I’m in the mood for. But my boyfriend recently started taking me to Schlotzsky’s, which has a lot of really good sandwiches. Though, I’m always down for some Arby’s. I’m in a rut there, but I don’t care. Their roast beef classic and curly fries are to die for. 😋

58. Last thing you ate?

Speaking of Arby’s... 😆 I ate there for dinner last night in celebration of passing my proctored exam for my math class. It was worth 75% of my grade, and I wasn’t allowed to have anything (they even confiscated my bottle of water). It took 2 hours and was suuuper stressful. So my BF rewarded me with Arby’s when I passed~ 😄 This is just one of the many reasons why I love him~ 💖

59. First thing you ate this morning?

It’s the morning right now, and I haven’t eaten yet... 😅 Does the two sips of my boyfriend’s coffee count?... No?... Okay. *sighs* I should go eat now actually, so I can take my morning meds. Thanks for reminding me, Tumblr ask!

60. Ever won a competition? For what?

I got first place in a race once... then immediately quit the track team. 😂 Running just wasn’t for me. I’ve won blue ribbons for art (culinary and painting mostly) before at the 4-H Fair, but I don’t think I’ve ever been in a proper competition that I won. I recently participated in a Drag Show at my college, and even signed my performance (I know ASL, and I hoped it would make me stand out a bit against the competition), but I didn’t win. It was actually a really close call between all the participants, and the host/judge couldn’t decide who the audience cheered louder for, so the lady who’d set up this event had to come up and make the decision. I was one of the first people she decided should leave the stage. So, needless to say, I felt a little embarrassed and defeated afterwards.

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what?

I never even had detention 😂 ; I was a goody two-shoes growing up. I was always the teacher’s pet, so no, I was never suspended or expelled.

62. Been arrested? For what?

⬆️ See the point I made above for your answer. ⬆️ I’d have to cease being a goody two-shoes first before being arrested is even a possibility, so no, my record is squeaky clean... we won’t speak of the songs I’ve illegally downloaded from YouTube though. >-> <-< Don’t tell the po-po about this, or else I’ll be forced to participate in court-ordered rehab for my music addiction. 😂

63. Ever been in love?

Yes~ 💘 I’m in love right now, with the most supportive and understanding man I’ve ever known~ I shouldn’t have to say who at this point, but I will. It’s my BF, Alex~ ❤️

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss.

Well, this was back when I lived in Indiana. I had a core group of friends, that all happened to be on the LGBT+ spectrum, so we were practically dripping in rainbow-y goodness. 🌈 Mich, essentially the leader of the group, is trans. While Levi is gay and Laci (she thought she was a lesbian originally, and identified as such for the time that I knew her; I don’t really have contact with any of them anymore) is bi. That just leaves Sasha, who is also bi, and she was my first kiss. Mich, Sasha, I, and others (Levi and Laci weren’t there though) all decided to play spin-the-bottle. Sasha was the first person I landed on, and I still remember her kiss. It was soft, like a cloud, and tasted like strawberries. 🍓 It was a wonderful first kiss, but I definitely prefer kissing Alex the most~ 😍

65. Are you hungry right now?

Well, considering I just ate a mini donut with my pills... yes, yes I am. 😂 ...Don’t you judge me either! Alex and I bought a bunch of mini donuts for our last D&D gaming sesh at Tyler’s, and there was still a bunch left over, so someone has to eat them, and I didn’t feel like making a proper breakfast. Plus, the one I ate is strawberry flavored, so how could I not eat it? If anyone turns down a strawberry donut, suspect immediately that they are a lizard-person.

66. Do you like your Tumblr friends more than your real friends?

What a savage question. No, I do not. I like all of my friends, equally, whether they’re online or offline. I only care if my friends are good people or not; and if they care and respect me as much as I do them. Whether they live nearby or not is of little importance to me. I base my friendships off of their character, their morals; not their place of residence.

67. Facebook or Twitter?

Well, I don’t have a Twitter, and only really check my Facebook once in a blue moon. So... neither?... What, is that not an option? Fine... I choose Facebook... I guess.

68. Twitter or Tumblr?

Tumblr.

69. Are you watching TV right now?

No, I’m currently typing this... I am listening to music though, of course. 😆

70. Names of your best friends?

Well, Tyler’s the only friend I have IRL that knows me, like, truly knows me. By that, I means she knows about my DID, among other diagnoses, as we’ve talked at length about both of our diagnoses before. Since she has Bipolar disorder, she gets what it’s like to have a “scary” mental illness; the ones that get characterized by media to always be violent and unhinged. She didn’t judge me or fear me, she only asked questions and tried to learn as much about my system as she could, which tells us that she truly cares and understands. I’ve told other people before, but they’re either no longer a part of my life, or were creeped out by my DID, and are choosing to forget that I ever told them in the first place. My Tumblr friends also know about my DID, given that I post about it and mention it in my blog bio, but there’s a certain level of anonymity on the internet that allows for me to be more open about it. Telling someone IRL? Now that’s terrifying. It takes a lot of trust, and given that I have had some bad reactions in the past, it makes it even more daunting.

71. Craving something? What?

Honestly? A vacuum. And a mop, while I’m at it. I’ve been cleaning for most of the morning, and those are the only cleaning supplies that I need and don’t have. I keep trying to talk Alex into buying them, but he’s not as bothered by dirty floors as I am. He even walks around barefoot on these filthy floors! IDK how! Even if I’m wearing socks it bothers me. I don’t like stepping on anything, and the only way I don’t feel what’s on the ground is if I’m wearing shoes. So... I basically never take off my shoes except for when I’m in bed. 😂

72. What color are your towels?

What a weird question. 😆 Before I moved in with Alex, I lived with my parents, and we didn’t have a standard color of towel. We had an assortment of colors from multiple old sets of towels, a lot of them raggedy, some of them bleached, most of them ancient. Then when I started living with Alex, we still have some towels of differing colors, but most of them are blue and soft~ ✨ The sheets and pillow cases are blue too, though a lighter shade.

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals?

Not anymore. I used to when I was younger though. When I was a kid my stuffed animals felt like my children. I would rotate which ones got to sleep with me each night, hug and kiss them all goodnight then tuck them in. If one of them fell out of my arms in the middle of the night, it would wake me up immediately. Not even a slow, groggy wake-up. It was like my motherly instinct was an alarm clock, so I would wake up instantly and be wide awake, frantically searching for the stuffed animal that fell out of my arms. I would then pick them up, dust them off and apologize, then snuggle them and drift off back to sleep. When I was a teenager, I mostly cuddled them when I was lonely and needed some companionship to fall asleep. Now that I snuggle and sleep with my boyfriend each night, I no longer sleep with my stuffed animals, but I still love them and keep them as decoration for my bed at my parent’s house, since I never really sleep there anymore. I nap there occasionally, but that’s about it.

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have?

Uhhh... I’ve never actually counted, but at least a tub full.

75. Favorite animal?

Elephants and foxes, equally~ 💖

76. What color is your underwear?

I’m wearing black panties at the moment. It’s satiny with lace, so it’s cute and comfy; the best of both worlds. 😉

77. Chocolate or Vanilla?

Definitely chocolate, 🍫 provided it’s not too rich.

78. Favorite ice cream flavor?

I’m obsessed with matcha green tea ice cream right now, OMG, it’s sooo good~ 😋 Same goes for the matcha green tea frappuccino at Starbucks. It’s the only drink there that I actually get. I’ve tried other beverages they have, and generally don’t like them, but the matcha green tea frap is too delicious for it’s own good.

79. What color shirt are you wearing?

I’m actually wearing a really comfy dress right now, that I slept in as a nightgown last night. 😆 It’s gray and has a lace band on each sleeve.

80. What color pants?

⬆️ Once again, reference my previous entry. ⬆️ I am pantless, given that I’m sporting a dress at the moment.

81. Favorite TV show?

Oh geez... another hard one. Let’s see... I’ll just put the name of the show I’m watching the most right now. That would have to be “Crazy Ex Girlfriend” on Netflix. Before that I watched the newest seasons of “BoJack Horseman” as well as “Orange Is the New Black”, but I’ve already finished those.

82. Favorite movie?

Honestly, I’ve been really obsessed with “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” recently. When I re-watched it as an adult, I noticed how much more serious that movie is compared to Disney’s other films. They cover some pretty dark subject matter, and do it well... *sighs* if only they’d nixed the addition of the gargoyles. They ruin every emotional or tense scene that they’re placed in, and make the lighter scenes just plain cringey. I know they wanted to make it suitable for kids, but I think Disney underestimates what kids can handle, especially considering they reference the darker scenes subtly enough so as to keep the movie’s G rating intact. Like what about the goat, Djali, that belongs to Esmeralda? The goat could have been the comic relief, but instead they brought in the talking gargoyles. They couldn’t even do something cool with the gargoyles, like make them a part of Quasi’s imagination. He’s been alone in a bell tower for his entire life, so it would make sense that he would begin talking to the statues and giving them personalities... but no... it’s shown at the end that the gargoyles can interact with and impact the real world, making them a part of it as well.

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2?

Well, considering I’ve only ever seen the first one, and didn’t even know there was a second one, I’m gonna have to go with “Mean Girls”.

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street?

I’ve never seen “21 Jump Street”, so once again, “Mean Girls” takes the cake.

85. Favorite character from Mean Girls?

Oh, that’s hard, especially when they’re all such fun characters. Janis is pretty cool, so she’s up there, but Karen is probably my favorite. She’s such a simple, naive soul, you can’t help but love her.

86. Favorite character from Finding Nemo?

Dory, hands down. But I wanna give a special shout-out to Bubbles, the character from the fish tank that, (you guessed it) is obsessed with bubbles. 😆 He cracks me up every time.

87. First person you talked to today?

Alex. Considering we both wake up in the same bed, it would be nearly impossible for him not to be the one I talk to first thing in the morning.

88. Last person you talked to today?

Once again, Alex, given that it’s still early in the day and I haven’t seen anybody else yet.

89. Name a person you hate?

All of my abusers. Every. Single. One. They made me feel small, worthless, and unloved. So I hope each one of them feels that way for the rest of their miserable existences.

90. Name a person you love?

My boyfriend, Alex~ He’s my world, my hopes and dreams, and everything I aspire to be~ 💖

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now?

No. I want to punch all of my abusers in the balls. With a baseball bat. Repeatedly, until they’re infertile.

92. In a fight with someone?

No.

93. How many sweatpants do you have?

Only one. I want to buy more, but that requires that I have money, which I don’t.

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have?

I have my Nirvana sweatshirt, my “Nightmare Before Christmas” sweatshirt, and two hoodies with my college logo on them. One’s gray and the other is red.

95. Last movie you watched?

“The Hunchback of Notre Dame”.

96. Favorite actress?

I have no idea. So I’m gonna go find a list of the top 100 actresses and go from there. *some time passes* So, I found an actress I actually know, and that’s Krysten Ritter, who played Jessica Jones on Netflix’s hit series named (you guessed it again! Wow, you’re really good at this.) “Jessica Jones”.

97. Favorite actor?

That’s a tie between Robin Williams (I really miss him... He was such a vibrant and energetic actor, who also knew how to portray more serious, and heart-felt scenes. He was a skilled actor and a good man. May he rest in peace.) and Tom Hanks. I like quite a few films starring those actors.

98. Do you tan a lot?

Never.

99. Have any pets?

No... 😭 RIP Batman and Robin (my previous pet hermit crabs).

100. How are you feeling?

Productive! I practically cleaned the whole apartment in like 2 hours this morning, and just finished another third of this ask! I’m on a roll, and intend to do homework in a minute. For now though, I’d like to thank everyone who read through to the end, as well as thank @lovelynhiddenkittens for sending the ask in the first place! Sorry it’s taking so much time to finish it, but I’m over halfway done now! Whoo~! 🎉 *sets off a confetti popper and basks in the confetti shower* Anyways, take care everyone! I hope you all have a fantastic rest of your day (or night, wherever you are, just have a wonderful time!) See ya ‘round the bend~! 👋

*grabs a broom and begins sweeping up the confetti, muttering to myself* Why do I do this? Every time, I know I’m gonna have to clean it, but I do it anyway...

#honesty hour #asks #tony

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feministlikeme · 6 years

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1. Before explaining something to a woman, ask yourself if she might already understand. She may know more about it than you do.

2. Related: Never, ever try to explain feminism to a woman.

3. Trans women are women. Repeat that until you perish.

4. RESPECT PEOPLE’S PRONOUNS. It’s not hard.

5. Remember that fat women exist and aren’t all trying to get thin. Treat them with respect.

6. In fact, just never comment on a woman's body.

7. Be kind to women in customer service positions. Tip them extra. (But not in a creepy way.)

8. Trust women. When they teach you something, don't feel the need to go and check for yourself. And especially do not Google it in front of them.

9. Don’t maintain a double standard for… anything, ever.

10. CLOSE YOUR LEGS ON PUBLIC TRANSIT, OH MY GOD.

11. Trying to describe a woman positively? Say she's “talented,” “clever,” or “funny.” Not “gorgeous,” “sweet,” or “cute.”

12. Examine your language when talking about women. Get rid of “irrational,” “dramatic,” “bossy,” and “badgering” immediately.

13. Don't think to yourself, I describe men like that too. A) You probably don't. B) If you do, it's to criticize them for acting like a woman.

14. Do you love “fiery” Latina women? “Strong” Black women? “Mysterious” Asian women? Stop. Pick up a book on decolonial feminism. Read.

15. Stop calling women “feisty.” We don't need a special lady word for “has an opinion."

16. Recognize women's credibility when you introduce them. “Donna is lovely” is much less useful than “Donna knows shitloads about architecture.”

17. Think about how you describe the young women in your family. Celebrate them for being funny and smart, not for being pretty and compliant.

18. Examine the way you talk about women you’re attracted to. Fat women, old women, queer, trans, and powerful women are not your “guilty crush.”

19. Learn to praise a woman without demonizing other women. “You're not like other girls” is not a compliment. I want to be like other girls. Other girls are awesome.

20. Share writing by women. Don't paraphrase their work in your own Facebook post to show us all how smart or woke you are. I guarantee the woman said it better in the first place.

21. Buy sanitary pads and tampons and donate them to a homeless shelter. Just do it.

22. How much of what you are watching/reading/listening to was made by women? Gender balance your bookcase.

23. Feeling proud of your balanced bookcase? Are there women of color there? Trans, queer, and disabled women? Poor women? Always make sure you’re being intersectional.

24. Don't buy media that demeans women’s experiences, valorizes violence against women, or excludes them entirely from a cast. It's not enough to oppose those things. You have to actively make them unmarketable.

25. Pay attention to stories with nuanced female characters. It will be interesting, I promise.

26. If you read stories to a child, swap the genders.

27. Watch women's sport. And just call it “sports.”

28. Withdraw your support from sports clubs, institutions, and companies that protect and employ rapists and abusers.

29. Stop raving about Woody Allen. I don't care if he shits gold. Find a non-accused-abuser to fanboy over.

30. It's General Leia, not princess. The Doctor has a companion, not an assistant. It's Doctor Bartlett, not Mrs Madame First Lady.

31. Cast women in parts written for men. We know how to rule kingdoms, go to war, be, not be, and wait for Godot.

32. Pay for porn.

33. Recognize that sex work is work. Be an advocate for and ally to sex workers without speaking for them.

34. Share political hot takes from women as well as men. They might not be as widely accessible, so look for them.

35. Understand that it was never “about ethics in journalism.”

36. Speak less in meetings today to make space for your women colleagues to share their thoughts. If you're leading the meeting, make sure women are being heard as much as men.

37. If a woman makes a good point, say, “That was a good point.” Don't repeat her point and take credit for it.

38. Promote women. Their leadership styles may be different than yours. That's probably a good thing.

39. Recruit women on the same salary as men. Even if they don't ask for it.

40. Open doors for women with caring responsibilities by offering flexible employment contracts.

41. If you meet a man and a woman at work, do not assume the man is the superior for literally no reason.

42. If you're wrongly assumed to be more experienced than a woman colleague, correct that person and pass the platform to the woman who knows more.

43. Make a round of tea for the office.

44. Wash it up.

45. If you find you're only interviewing men for a role, rewrite the job listing so that it’s more welcoming to women.

46. Make sure you have women on your interview panel.

47. Tell female colleagues what your salary is.

48. Make sure there's childcare at your events.

49. Don't schedule breakfast meetings during the school run.

50. If you manage a team, make sure that your employees know that you recognize period pain and cystitis as legitimate reasons for a sick day.

51. If you have a strict boss (or mom or teacher) who is a woman, she is not a “bitch.” Grow up.

52. Expect a woman to do the stuff that's in her job description. Not the other miscellaneous shit you don't know how to do yourself.

53. Refuse to speak on an all-male panel.

54. In a Q&A session, only put your hand up if you have A QUESTION. Others didn’t attend to listen to you.

55. If you have friends or family members who use slurs or discriminate against trans or non-binary people, sit them down and explain why they must stop. (This goes for cis women, too.)

56. If you have friends or family members who use slurs or discriminate against women of other races, sit them down and explain why they must stop. (This goes for white women, too.)

57. If you see women with their hands up, put yours down. This can be taken as a metaphor for a lot of things. Think about it.

58. Raising a feminist daughter means she's going to disagree with you. And probably be right. Feel proud, not threatened.

59. Teach your sons to listen to girls, give them space, believe them, and elevate them.

60. Dads, buy your daughter tampons, make her hot water bottles, wash her bras. Show her that her body isn't something to be ashamed of.

61. But dads, do not try to iron her bras. This is a mistake you will only make once.

62. Examine how domestic labor is divided in your home. Who does the cleaning, the childcare, the organizing, the meal budgeting? Sons, this goes for you, too.

63. Learn how to do domestic tasks to a high standard. “I'd only do it wrong” is a bullshit excuse.

64. Never again comment on how long it takes a woman to get ready. WE ARE TRYING TO MEET THE RIDICULOUS STANDARDS OF A SYSTEM YOU BENEFIT FROM.

65. Challenge the patriarchs in your religious group when they enable the oppression of women.

66. Challenge the patriarchs in your secular movement when they enable the oppression of women.

67. Trust women's religious choices. Don't pretend to liberate them just so you can criticise their beliefs.

68. Examine who books your trips, arranges outings, organizes Christmas, buys birthday cards. Is it a woman? IS IT?

69. And if it is actually you, a man, don't even dare get in touch with me looking for your medal.

70. Take stock of the emotional labor you expect from women. Do you turn to the women around you for emotional support and give nothing in return?

71. Remember that loving your mom/sister/girlfriend is not the same as giving up your own privilege to progress equality for women. And that gender inequality extends beyond the women in your direct social group.

72. Don’t assume that all women are attracted to men.

73. Don’t assume that a woman in public wants to talk to you just because she’s in public.

74. If a woman tells you she was raped, assaulted, or abused, don't ask her for proof. Ask how you can support her.

75. If you see a friend or colleague being inappropriate to a woman, call him out. You will survive the awkwardness, I promise.

76. Repeat after me: Always. Hold. Men. Accountable. For. Their. Actions.

77. Do not walk too close to a woman late at night. That shit can be scary.

78. If you see a woman being followed or otherwise bothered by a stranger, stick around to make sure she’s safe.

79. This should go without saying: Do not yell unsolicited “compliments” at women on the street. Or anywhere.

80. If you are a queer man, recognize that your sexuality doesn’t exclude you from potential misogyny.

81. If you are a queer man, recognize that your queer women or non-binary friends may not feel comfortable in a male-dominated space, even if it’s dominated by queer men.

82. Be happy to have women friends without needing them to want to sleep with you. The “friend zone” is not a thing. We do not owe you sex.

83. Remember that you can lack consent in situations not involving sex—such as when pursuing uninterested women or forcing a hug on a colleague.

84. Champion sex positive women but don't expect them to have sex with you.

85. Trust a woman to know her own body. If she says she won't enjoy part of your sexual repertoire, do not try to convince her otherwise.

86. Be sensitive to nonverbal cues from women, especially around sex. We’re not just being awkward for no reason. (You read “Cat Person,” didn’t you?)

87. It is not cute to try to persuade a woman to have sex with you. EVER. AT ALL. Go home.

88. Same goes for pressuring women to have sex without a condom. Go. Home. And masturbate.

89. Accidentally impregnated a women who doesn't want a kid? Abortions cost money. Pay for half of it.

90. Accidentally came inside a woman without protection? Plan B is expensive. Pay for all of it.

91. Get STD tested. Regularly. Without having to be asked.

92. Examine your opinion on abortion. Then put it in a box. Because, honestly, it's completely irrelevant.

93. Understand that disabled women are whole, sexual human beings. Listen to and respect them.

94. Understand that not all women have periods or vaginas.

95. Believe women's pain. Periods hurt. Endometriosis is real. Polycystic ovaries, vaginal pain, cystitis. These things are real. Hysteria isn’t.

96. If a woman accidentally bleeds on you, try your absolute best to just keep your shit together.

97. Lobby your elected officials to implement high quality sex education in schools.

98. Uplift young Black and Indigenous girls at every possible opportunity. No excuses.

99. Do not ever assume you know what it’s like.

100. Mainly, just listen to women. Listen to us and believe us. It’s the only place to start if you actually want all women to have a “Happy International Women’s Day.”

#feminism #sexism #misogyny #patriarchy #equality #truth #rape culture #trans #lgbtqia #girl hate

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crimsxnflxwerz · 6 years

Text

I would like that [shyan oneshot]

I would like that summary: the third person who knew Ryan was trans was the ghost that haunted his apartment. rating: teen+ fandom: buzzfeed unsolved pairing: ryan bergara/shane madej warnings: mentioned [murder/death/drug use/stalker/abuser] tags: ghost!shane, trans!ryan, ghost boyfriend, lol, weird universe notes: this is just a random little thing that wouldn’t leave my head no matter how hard i tried so I wrote it down to give myself some peace. have fun guys! this makes no sense, so fair warning!

Ryan could count the number of people who knew he was trans on one hand.

The first person that he counted would be himself, of course. He’d known ever since he’d heard the word. Whether it was from some botched argument about gender roles or a fresh criticism of Rocky Horror Picture Show, he couldn’t remember, but ever since that he’d been sure that was what he was.

The second person to find out was his brother, Jake. He’d always had a good relationship with his brother, and that didn’t change when Jake had grabbed Ryan’s laundry for him when he still lived at home and accidentally witnessed Ryan’s binder. Jake actually didn’t even realize what it was at first, thinking it some kind of cheap sports bra, and Ryan figured this accident was as good as any to use to come out to him.

It seems horrible to say, but his parents don’t make this list. Ryan moved out of his parents house after graduating college and getting a job with a company he interned with. When he was safely away with his parents, he legally changed his name, started T shots, and got top surgery. He still spoke to his parents, but it was usually over the phone, and if they noticed a change in his voice, they refused to mention it.

The third person who knew about it wasn’t even really a person at all, but rather it was the ghost that haunted his apartment.

Sounds crazy, and for a while, Ryan thought he was. He went to therapy briefly,not for any depression, just to help him through his transition. He figured maybe the stress was getting to him, or the T affected his brain somehow, but couldn’t find any definitive evidence that linked these things to what he was experiencing.

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in ghosts, but rather, now that he was actually the subject of a haunting- he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.

There were many things to tip him off that it was a ghost in his house and not just random happenstance that seemed paranormal. The first thing that happened was one night he had been drifting off while watching television on his couch. Behind him, on his kitchen counter, his microwave had randomly turned on. He jumped up and turned it off, before any damage was done, but afterwards just blankly stared at it. He had just gotten the thing, brand new. It shouldn’t have been acting up yet. He figured he’d check it out later.

The second thing happened after he adopted his first dog, a dachshund named Dori. The first few weeks with her were eventful, but more so in the new puppy way than haunting. After he potty trained her, he let her sleep with him at night, making sure to leave the door open in case she got hungry or needed to pee.

One night, he woke to find Dori softly growling, while still curled up next to him. He rubbed his eyes and tried to look over to the door she was facing to see if something was there, but he couldn’t see anything. All of a sudden, however, the door slammed shut, and he was snapped right out of his groggy state. He stared in horror and fear at his bedroom door. He didn’t go to sleep again that night.

The third thing to happen was something that continued to happen regularly after that. Ryan would wake up, go into the bathroom, and take a shower. After coming out, he noticed that there was some form of scribbling on his mirror, as if someone had run their fingers through the steam. It never really spelled anything, at most creating a dumb shape or something. At first, Ryan was scared of it, but then he figured it was harmless, so he took it as just a normal part of his life.

All these things eventually prompted him to do some research on his apartment. At first, he didn’t find anything, but that was just from surface level research. He began to get to know his neighbors, and they were fairly quick to open up. Apparently, a man had lived there before him. He had worked as a freelance website designer, but was also known to frequent the local bar and sing or do stand up comedy. His neighbors were deeply saddened when they found out that he had passed away.

His name had been Shane, and he overdosed on sleeping pills at 35. He had no family or friends close enough to him to confirm anything, but police ruled it a suicide.

After this, Ryan tried communicating with him. He purchased a Ouija board to ask him some questions, but he either must’ve done something wrong or Shane wasn’t too keen to cooperate, because nothing happened.

Ryan forgot about it for a while, forgot about him. After a few weeks of no more activity, something else happened. Ryan came home one day to find Dori cowering near the front door. Everything in his apartment was okay, but in his bathroom, the medicine cabinet looked like it just exploded. The door was handing off it’s hinges, bottles, pills, liquids, band-aids, everything scattered across the floor. Ryan was glad that Dori was too scared to eat anything, but he wondered what had caused the outburst.

He tried reaching out to Shane again, and this time, the Ouija board spelled out “pills” and then stopped working with him.

The interaction basically confirmed that the ghost in his apartment was, in fact, Shane. For whatever reason, he was unwilling to talk to him. Except to tell him his non-explanation as to why he destroyed his medicine cabinet.

He figured that before he left for work that day, he’d taken a pain killer to help his headache- something he did very rarely, since he didn’t normally get headaches.

Maybe it bothered Shane, considering how he died.

Anyways, Ryan knew that Shane knew that he was trans. That was his third person. How did he know this? Well, the scribbles on his mirror after each shower slowly became a dialogue between them. Shane would normally leave something for him to see (like “dog?”), and Ryan would reply with an answer (like “Dori”) and then leave the bathroom.

One day he stepped out of the shower to something quite comical. It was a drawing of him, albeit crude, and there was an arrow pointing to his crotch with a question mark at the end. Ryan rolled his eyes playfully, and wrote “I’m trans” on the mirror. The next thing that happened really spooked him.

Slowly, new words started forming in the condensation, “trans?” Ryan stared in disbelief for a moment, before he recovered and wrote, “female transitioned to male”.

There were no more responses after that, but Shane didn’t go away.

Through his time living there, he began to warm up to Shane. The fact that he was regularly interacting with a spirit was wild enough, but that spirit knew and understood that he was trans as well was even more outlandish. He couldn’t imagine telling anyone about it. This would be his secret- but he was fine with that- he was used to keeping secrets.

Sometimes he would wake up to his coffee already made, or the news on. One time he woke up to find that Shane had literally picked out his clothes for the day.

Ryan began to get more and more curious about the specter living with him. He asked around and found out Shane’s last name, and scoured the web for any information about the man. He even frequented the bar that Shane had gone to in his life to perform stand up. Some people knew Ryan as the guy who moved into Shane’s old apartment, and they were pretty willing to share stories about the dude. Apparently he had lots of friends.

So why did he kill himself? Why did he overdose on those sleeping pills? Was it an accident? Ryan realized that he was being nosy, but he had to know. It was killing him to not know.

Maybe he was being too invasive, since not long after he started researching and compiling information, things started happening in his apartment. He’d get out of the shower to the word “no” written all over the mirror. He’d come back to his apartment, only to find his lights flickering or his fridge door opening and closing. Sometimes, he found Dori growling and barking at empty corners, and random spots in his apartment freezing cold.

Was Shane angry that he was looking?

Ryan set up some candles to try out the Ouija board again, but each time he lit one, he would go on to the next to find the first one had already gone out. He tried several times, the candles getting put out each time, before he gave up. He cursed at the room.

“You don’t want to talk to me? Fine! Fuck you!” he shouted, making Dori whimper next to him.

That night he dreamed of a tall, lanky figure with soft features, and messy hair. He had warm, brown eyes- calloused hands- rough five o-clock shadow. The figure in his dream slipped into bed next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. He felt warm as he slept. When he woke, the space next to him was still warm like someone had slept there. It couldn’t have been Dori, since she always slept at his feet.

So maybe Ryan had developed a little bit of a crush.

Even though it was impossible. How could he have a crush on a ghost? Though, the ghost knew more about him than anyone else in his life. Shane knew how Ryan liked his coffee, he knew that while Ryan found it hard to wake up early, he enjoyed the soft silence before dawn. Shane knew that he sang pop songs in the shower, and that he preferred shampoo that smelled like lilacs, and sometimes when he was cooking he did a little dance while he waited for something from the oven.

And Shane knew that he was trans, and he respected that.

Not that he’s sure what Shane would or could do if he didn’t respect that. He was a ghost after all.

When he came home from work a few days later, he found something tied onto Dori’s collar. It was a little note. He opened it. It read: “talk ?” in a messy scrawl he recognized from the many conversations on his bathroom mirror he had.

He smiled and brought out the candles and Ouija board and got everything ready. He opened a channel and put his hands lightly on the planchette. He moved the object over Hello to welcome Shane, and then let it move freely.

“Sorry,” Shane spelled out. “End like me.”

“Were you afraid I’d end up like you?” Ryan asked. He was sort of confused, because he wasn’t really depressed or anything. Ever since he moved out of his parents house, he felt the stress of hiding his identity wear off. After top surgery, he felt even better. The only thing stressing him out right now was Shane.

The planchette moved to the yes on the board. Ryan shook his head.

“I’m fine, Shane,” he reassured him. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Not depressed.” Shane spelled out. Ryan paused for a moment. He wasn’t really sure what he meant by that. Did he mean to say that he knew Ryan wasn’t depressed- or had he not been depressed? Did that mean that what happened to him wasn’t a suicide?

“Did...Did you...” Ryan started, hesitating. “Did you kill yourself?”

There was along, silent moment where the planchette didn’t move at all. Then it slowly moved to the no in the corner. Ryan felt like his heart had stopped. It had been the usual story, the funny guy with no family killed himself in his apartment alone one night. He hadn’t really found out anything about the cops doing any blood tests or anything- only an empty pill bottle on the bedside table. He figured that kind of thing wouldn’t have been released anyways, but maybe it was never done. Maybe they saw this lonely, dead man and figured it was a suicide.

Was Shane still here because he had been given no justice in death?

“What happened to you?” Ryan asked, even though he knew the ghost wouldn’t be able to give him any long answers. He stayed quiet, however. The planchette remained still for a moment longer, before Ryan’s laptop that had been sitting on the coffee table near the couch flew open and turned on. Things were being typed into the search bar, and eventually a social media account was brought up. It was a dating website profile. Ryan let go of the planchette and moved over to look at it closer.

Shane Madej. Age, 35. Male. Hey, my name is Shane. I’m really just looking for a chill relationship with someone I have some stuff in common with. I love cartoons and video games, so I’m kinda nerdy, but I’m not opposed to a night on the town, or a romantic dinner and movie. I’m obsessed with popcorn, and just a foodie in general. If interested, please hit me up, maybe we could meet.

There were lots of comments and likes on his profile, but they were all from a long time ago- a few years in fact. It looked like the account had been inactive for at least a year before Shane had passed away. The most recent comments, however- just weeks before Shane had died, were the most disturbing. They were from a man named Zach Smith, a white man with dark hair who looked to be in his forties.

Zach Smith Hey babe, want to catch a drink with ol Zach-y sometime? I’ll make it worth your while.

Zach Smith Hey, answer me sweetheart, or you’ll regret it, I promise.

Zach Smith Oh darling, I’m obsessed with you. I know where you live, I saw you park outside your apartment today and I almost just went up and grabbed you.

The comments went on, but Ryan couldn’t stomach them any longer. Ryan looked back at the planchette that started moving on it’s own. It spelled out found me and hurt and drugs. Ryan felt his stomach flip as he glanced between the Ouija board and the dating website. He clicked over to Zach Smith’s profile, and immediately saw that it was a fake account with a false name. He turned back to the board again and saw that Shane was spelling something else out.

“Hate that they think I wanted to die,” he spelled out. “afraid of drugs afraid for you.”

“Why are you afraid for me?” Ryan asked.

“Trans boy,” he spelled out. Ryan felt a little cold at the explanation. He sighed.

“Just because I’m a trans boy?” he asked, sounding a little annoyed.

“I was gay.” the planchette spelled. Ryan let out a soft ‘oh’ upon realizing the connection. His killer had been preying on gay men looking for relationships online, and that was how he’d found Shane in the first place.

Ryan wondered if he should turn over this information to the police. But, It wasn’t as if Shane’s case was any kind of mystery to them. He knew the dark truth, but no one else did.

“Is there anyone you want me to tell?” he asked Shane. The planchette didn’t move. Nothing moved. Dori started barking, but after Ryan reached out and pulled the puppy into his lap, the candles were blown out. He figured this session was over. Maybe Shane could only speak for so long before he got tired.

Either way, a lot of information had been exchanged today.

That night, when Ryan slipped into bed, he waited for the dip in his mattress and the warm arms around his waist to fall asleep. Peaking over his shoulder, he could just make out the angle of a broad shoulder, and he felt safe.

A week later, he came home to a note on his fridge. it read: nobody. He could tell it was written by Shane. At first, he wasn’t sure what it meant, then he remembered his question from the other night about telling people. Shane was killed, and he didn’t want anyone to know. Ryan wondered if Shane was estranged from his family because he was queer, too. He wondered if Shane just didn’t want to reopen old scars with new information about his death. Whatever the reason, it was Shane’s decision, so he respected it. It wasn’t like the police would believe him if he told him he could talk to Shane from beyond the grave or anything.

“I wish you weren’t dead, though,” Ryan said out loud to himself. “Although, if you never died, we never would have met.”

After the revelations, weeks went by without any communications from Shane. He attempted to talk to him several times, but after still only getting radio silence on his fifth attempt, he decided to stop trying. He knew Shane was still hanging around, he hadn’t moved on or anything yet, he just wasn’t talking to him. Ryan still felt the familiar presence join him for bed at night, and the blanket of security he always associated with Shane meandering about the house moving things around. He wondered why Shane wasn’t talking anymore, but he was okay with it.

He was starting to really settle into the neighborhood- gaining more and more friends- and he’d even invited his brother over to his apartment a few times. His job was the best thing ever, he had fun everyday, and worked with amazing people. Though, no matter how many people he met and became friends with, a little nagging voice in the back of his head would always remind him of Shane. He wondered how different the man would’ve been while he was alive. Ryan had heard plenty of funny or wild stories from everyone who had known Shane, but hearing a story and living one where two different things.

A year went by, and Ryan was finally looking like the kind of male he wanted to look like. He started working out to give his body a more defined shape- lifting, jogging, stuff like that. He wasn’t super obsessed with working out or anything, but he did enjoy it as just a little past time thing to stay in good health. He also loved checking out his own flexing in the mirror sometimes, although he would never admit it.

It was the one year anniversary of the first day Ryan had moved into his new apartment. Dori was bigger, and Ryan was thinking of getting another dachshund to keep her company (and just because he wanted another one). That day, he came home from work and popped himself some fresh popcorn, making more than he usually made just for an extra little treat. He plopped down to watch Netflix on his tv, when he heard something. It sounded like a shifting noise, like someone was shuffling around, and it was coming from his bedroom.

He put his popcorn down on the coffee table and grabbed a skateboard that he had resting up against his hall closet. He carefully approached his bedroom, seeing that the door was ajar. He crept up and paused at the door momentarily, taking a shaky breath in, before slamming the door open. Inside his bedroom, there was a tall, lanky man, back facing him. He was wearing a worn, jean jacket and black pants, but no shoes. His brown hair was shaved on the sides, long on top, and unkempt- some pieces sticking straight up dramatically.

As soon as he saw him, Ryan screamed. The man spun around, the motion almost comical, and he started screaming as well. Ryan, spooked, swung the skateboard at the stranger, hitting him so hard that it cracked. Although, he’d only managed to hit the length of the man’s arm, even though he was aiming for his head. He was too short.

The man started speaking, or rather, shouting.

“Wait! Wait!” he begged. “Wait a second! Ryan, wait a second!”

“How do you know my name?” Ryan demanded, dropping the skateboard, but not relaxing in the slightest. He looked as if he were about to bolt.

“It’s me-” he said. “It’s Shane. I’m Shane. You can see me now.”

“It’s-- It’s uh--” Ryan stuttered, still feeling shell shocked. He looked the man up and down. Now that his brain wasn’t in danger mode, he could tell that the man looked very familiar, similar to the man he’d seen in all the pictures. From the warm, brown eyes, to the worn jean jacket, to the unkempt hair and soft stubble framing his face. He was tall, and awkward, like he heard about.

But-- he was right there- he was standing right there and Ryan had hit him with a skateboard, not passed through him, actually hit him! This person was a solid, real human.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” Ryan said bluntly. He didn’t mean to sound so rude, or cold, but he was confused. Wasn’t Shane dead? Hadn’t he been killed? Was his happy life just a dream? Was this a dream?

“Well,” Shane said, patting himself down. “I was dead. I might still be?”

Ryan felt some of the tension in him melt away. Just a tiny trickle, at the smile that pulled Shane’s face, and he sensed himself smiling back- if only just slightly. He shakily reached out a hand for Shane to touch, to see if he was really real- if he was really solid. Shane saw this, and reached out as well.

When their hands touched, Ryan felt it, and he was warm. The calloused pads of Shane’s fingers traced over the lines in Ryan’s hand, sending shivers all through him. He stared for a heartbeat or two at Shane, completely speechless.

“You’re warm...” he said. “You’re alive?”

Shane didn’t move or response to the question- as if this all was some kind of illusion- as if the wrong movement would shatter it all. Ryan payed that no mind, he had one thing in mind that he wanted to do.

He moved forward and wrapped his arms around Shane’s torso before the other man could protest. Ryan pressed his ear hard against the man’s chest and listened. Against his ear, he heard, without a doubt, a heartbeat. After a moment, he felt Shane’s awkward arms come down around him, and it was like all of those night they shared Ryan’s bed, but this time- Shane wasn’t cloaked in darkness. This time, it was real, and Ryan could hug him back.

“H-How?” Ryan asked softly, feeling a weird, overwhelming emotion bubble up in him. Confusion, sadness, happiness, and love.

“I don’t know,” he said. “One moment, I was about to toss around your pillows for something to do, the next moment, I could see my reflection in your mirror.”

“You were gonna mess up my bed?” Ryan laughed, but it sounded a little choked, as a few tears ran down his face.

Shane moved his hand to wipe away the tears.

“Yeah, I’m haunting you after all,” he said, although his voice was softer now, his arms pulling Ryan closer- tighter- “isn’t that what ghosts do?”

“I guess it is.” Ryan said, and closed his eyes. He felt safe. “But you’re not a ghost anymore. What are you gonna do now?”

“Idk,” he muttered. “become a human again?”

Ryan laughed, Shane joining in, too. “You can stay here if you’d like.”

Shane paused for a moment, before running his hand through Ryan’s hair. “I would like that. No- I would love it.”

-the end(?)-

#wow this garbage #amazing #shyan #skeptic believer #buzzfeed unsolved #idk #lol #random shit #my fic #my writing

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mediocre-wannabewriter · 3 years

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My Online Life

By: Mads

Online I can be anyone I want to be. Still me, but a more confident, bubbly version of myself. No longer that little girl, clinging to the back of her mother’s leg while her food is ordered. Although, I’ll be the first to admit, I long to go back to those days, the days when my parents would order for me at dinner, call and make appointments for me, help me to stay in my little safety bubble.

Back then it was cute, they’d gush over me, “oh look how shy she is.” As you get older it’s no longer cute, it’s a burden. Something that needs to be fixed with medication and weekly counseling appointments. 6 ways to overcome social anxiety, tips for living with social anxiety, how to make friends when you have social anxiety. Am I something that needs to be fixed, and if so, does that make me broken?

There are all kinds of different levels of social anxiety, there are people with it who find their daily life is hardly affected. For me, however, it’s a constant battle just to leave my house and that was even before covid-19. When I do manage to make it out, I have to have my big headphones on, I watch the ground the entire time and avoid eye contact as much as possible. Sounds pretty bad, wouldn’t you say? I also have generalized anxiety disorder, but we can talk about that one another time. Social anxiety makes it hard to leave my house, to make phone calls, go to appointments, make friends, attend professor’s office hours, go to interviews, and the list goes on and on (trust me you don’t want to know how long it goes on).

Making friends has never been easy for me, as I get older it seems to get harder and harder, I didn’t think that was even possible. That’s when the online part of my online life comes in. The internet is a safe haven, you’re free to be yourself, if someone doesn’t like it, you block them and move on. You can’t block people in real life, as hard as you may try to. The block button becomes a safety net, you hope you don’t have to use it but find comfort in knowing it’s there.

Is this the reason I met most of my best friends online? Is this the reason I met my boyfriend online? People tend to like the online version of me better, the version that has all the confidence in the world, the one that’s not afraid to speak first, and speak their mind. The version of me that doesn’t long to cling to the back of mother’s leg. When you make friends online, they get to see the calm, level-headed façade first and find out about the anxious, awkward reality later. When you make friends in person, there’s no room for a façade, all they see is me, in all my nervy glory.

I have two main groups of friends online, ‘The Struggle Society’ and ‘AC Babes.’ Yes, we have group names, it’s not weird, I swear. The struggle society is what I refer to as my gaming group, it consists of me, my boyfriend and our group of friends. We love playing all kinds of video games together, as well as just hanging out and hosting online movie nights. The AC Babes stands for animal crossing babes, we’re a small group of people who originally got together over our love of animal crossing (you know that cute little Nintendo game) and have slowly become really good friends beyond that. Have you ever met someone that you just instantly connected with, to the point of it feeling like you’ve known them forever? That’s what it was like with the AC Babes, just this instant connection to them all, I knew we were meant to be friends.

I met Jonathan, Anna and Paul just over a year ago, we had similar interests, personalities and played the same games so we hit it off right away. They quickly became very key members of my life, and I spent most of my evenings on the Xbox laughing, playing games and enjoying myself with them. They of course, had other friends in the gaming community and eventually ‘The Struggle Society’ was born. Just a group of 10 or so socially inept, anxious gamers in their 20’s and 30’s.

Jumping back in time, just a little, before ‘The Struggle Society’ was born, there’s a boy named Jonathan. And there’s me. Yes, the same Jonathan from before, if you were wondering. The age-old love story, girl meets boy online, girl likes boy and works up the courage to tell him, time passes, and boy asks girl to be his girlfriend. That’s how the story typically goes, right? Minus the online part and the fact boy lives 870 miles away from girl, in America. Oh, and the girl no longer identifies as a girl, but we’ll get to that soon enough.

Leaping forward again (hopefully I haven’t lost you yet), not too far, not quite back to present day. We get to meet the ‘AC Babes,’ a snapchat group of around 7 lovers of Animal Crossing and various other Nintendo Switch games. Just a couple months off of present day, I made a big decision, something I had been fighting with inside myself for a while. I decided I was gender queer, I no longer wanted to use she/her pronouns but they/them instead, and the ‘AC Babes’ were one of the first groups of people to know. I don’t know if it was the fact they had always been so kind and supportive, or if it was because I hadn’t known them very long and it would hurt less if they rejected the new me, but I wanted to tell them before anyone else.

I’ve always been very certain of my sexual identity, it’s something I confirmed for myself back in high school. If your upbringing was anything like mine, then sexual identities were something discussed very openly among family and in sex-ed. I knew from a young age that it was okay to love anyone I wanted, any gender I wanted, and because of this, it was never too difficult to figure out I liked more than just men. Gender identity, on the other hand, was never really discussed. I learned about trans males and females in high school, but things like non-binary, gender queer, and gender fluid identities were never brought up. To be honest, without the internet I don’t know if I’d have ever figured out, I prefer being genderqueer. Without the internet, I’m sure I would still be identifying as female, so I guess I have the internet to thank for finding my true gender identity.

Finally, we arrive back at present day. I’m sitting in front of my computer, my cat asleep in my lap, trying to find the right words to bring this talk to a close. How would you end a talk on the importance of the internet in your life? I suppose that would depend on whether or not the internet is a key feature in your life. When the majority of your friends are online, including your boyfriend, it’s not always easy. Sure, it’s easier to be that more confident, bubbly version of yourself but sometimes you find yourself wishing one of your friends could come over to watch movies, paint each other’s nails and do face masks. Sometimes, you just want a hug. It’s hard being so far away from them, and with covid-19 I don’t know when I’ll be able to visit my boyfriend next, or any of my friends for that matter. Nothing in life is ever easy, but I suppose in a way, that’s what makes it worth living. In the end, whether you choose to make your friends the old-fashioned way or on the internet like me, what’s really important is finding those connections. When you find the right people, the ones that are meant to be in your life, you’ll know it.

#creative nonfiction #essay #short essay #online life #internet friends #writing #writer

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a425app · 5 years

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Interview 07

Interview Questions

How are you?

Pretty good! It’s been a nice morning so far. Woke up at my leisure, had some coffee, conducted an interview with my father-in-law, and now I’m here

What is your name?

Cory Timmons

What is your age?

What gender do you identify as?

Female. I’m a transwoman, and I make that distinction. I can’t deny that I lived as a man for most of my life, although, that’s not how I felt inside. Many transwoman do not like to make the distinction between being a woman and being a transwoman, but I think it’s the most accurate way to describe me. I’m still very early in my transition, and expect to change a lot in the next 2-5 years.

What are the things that have been on your mind today?

Getting my interviews done is really stressing me out. I’m very nervous that I don’t know enough people to properly conduct the required number of interviews.

What's been the most enjoyable part of you of your day so far?

My coffee and chat with my husband this morning. I love him so much.

Is there something your looking forward too?

I’m looking forward to checking some things off my list today so I can reduce my stress. I know what I have to do, I took some time before bed to make a list of things for the weekend, so now I just have to GSD- get shit done!

What is the most important thing that matters to you at the moment?

Completing my degree.

Do you work? If so how many hours a week and what sort of job is it? / do you work on site or at home (or alternate location)

Yes. It varies. I work between 5 and 20 hours a week. I make posters for the music department, and occasionally do administrative work for an occupation/physical therapy company who helps kids with special needs in SF. I work at home for both jobs.

What are some things you like to do on the weekends?

Lately, working on homework. My husband and I like to have morning dates.. so we go out thrift shopping and have a nice lunch together. I like to just be cozy, so I immediately put my pjs on after we get home. If I have time, I clean the house, organize/work on little projects to make the house a little easier to live in. Every few weeks, we get brunch with my mom. If I perform in drag, I usually do so on the weekends.

What is your living situation like?

We live in a spacious house surrounded by trees with our pets. We’re very near a park, and near to amenities in town. I’m very very lucky.

is your living space organized to help you accomplish your tasks or goals, whatever they may be?

I think so. I have a dressing room/private lounge that’s just for me. It’s my own little haven in the house. We also have a nice art studio that’s set up for physical and digital arts. The rest of the house has a great flow, lots of pocket doors and things so we can close off parts as we need to. I love this house. It’s very well-designed.

What kinds of chores did you do during childhood/adolescents?

Very few. Basically just cleaning my room to the point it wasn’t a fire hazard, but even then, my parents were incredibly lenient about my chores. My mom did all of it, and I still feel immense guilt about it. That’s probably the most “male” part of my up-bringing—I was waited on hand-and-foot by my mom. I ultimately suffered for it. I had none of these skills, yet I was often in the position of being asked to do those tasks because of the dynamics of my relationships. I basically taught myself housekeeping from martha stewart, and then tried to come back down to earth to a more practical style of keeping house.

Would you say you actively seek out new things to try?

Oh totally

What are some of your goals for your daily life?

I’d like to walk the dog more consistently. I’d like to get in the habit of writing for thirty minutes every single day. I would like to be better about my makeup removal/getting ready for bed routine.

What are some of your goals in general?

I want to make Salem more comfortable fore queer/trans folks. Our city can be very hostile and cruel toward people with deviant genders and sexualities, and we don’t really have a ton of resources considering our city’s size. So that’s a big focus of my life. In fact, I’d say it’s what I’d identify as my purpose for the time. Besides that, more short term, I want to graduate and get a good job making a difference in the world. I’d like to work for a non-profit or some other kind of business/entity that improves peoples lives. I want to keep my art-making practice outside of school—it’s changed my life for the better and I don’t want to lose this power and passion I’ve developed.

What are some things that make you feel proud of yourself?

When I complete an art work that accomplishes my content and formal goals I feel very proud of myself. I feel proud of myself when I survive harsh and cruel situations and still keep my head up. I feel proud of myself when I speak my truth, not fearing the reprisal or consequences.

What activities give you the most satisfaction?

At home, DIY projects and gardening are probably the most satisfying. I get to see it change from A to B and it lasts—something that I can continue to witness over time.

What kinds of things do you to relieve stress?

I listen to guided imagery. I find it helps immensely with my anxiety and PTSD symptoms. I used to self medicate much more with alcohol and marijuana, but I’ve cut back a lot on both of those things, but still use. Not the best way to relieve stress, so I’m trying to be more mindful about it and use healthier options. Meh. No one’s perfect.

What is something you wish you had more time to do?

Making art, particularly digital art. I dream of making a video game. Some kind of RPG, like Final Fantasy or even action-adventure like Zelda. I’d love to have more time to devote to that.

What kinds of things take up most of your time?

Homework right now, and miscellaneous administrative tasks. Honestly, my schedule is so tight right now that it’s all kind of a blur.

How do you feel after you have completed a task.

Great!

How do you reward yourself?

This is a step a rarely do. I only really reward myself for BIG things. When I quit smoking cigarettes, I saved the money I had been spending on that and bought myself a game console.

How much time do you take just for yourself?

I spend a good hour and a half each morning waking up, drinking coffee, listening to podcasts and doing my shower/makeup/dressing routine. At night, I spend about an hour listening to music/podcasts, playing video games, or reading.

What are the most frustrating aspects of your daily activities/ day?

Driving. I love it and hate it. I like the ability to drive, but I hate commuting. So it’s a a weird dynamic! I would love to have the ability to ride a bus or trolley or something to work so I don’t have to think about it. But I’d still want a car because I enjoy driving. Weird, huh? I guess it just feels like I’m losing about an hour of productive time each day.

What time of day do you tend to do your work/chores/ homework

Any time I have, I spend it on that. So, usually 4-9 MWF, 12-9 T/R. All day on the weekend.

Do you feel like you have a good balance between work and personal life?

Not at all, but this period of my life is not about that at all. I’m doing all this work so I can have a personal life again. I absolutely do not intend to keep this pace. It will destroy me and my marriage if I do. I intend to be a more normal “adult” when I’m done with school.

How consistent is your schedule?

Parts are very consistent, other parts are variable. School obviously doesn’t change, but I have counseling/therapy appointments at various times of the week/alternating weeks, evening events, etc.

Can you describe a typical day for you from the time you wake up to the time you go to bed?

7:15 wake up, glass of water, take pills

7:30 coffee, read news, listen to podcasts, homework if needed

8:30 Shower

9:00 Makeup/dress

9:25 Leave for school

9:30 McDonalds

9:55 Arrive at school

10-4 classes

4:00 leave for home

4:25 get home. Drink water, take dogs out

4:45 use the bathroom

5:00 start dinner

5:30 hug mike when he gets home (our main ritual), then feed the dogs

6:00 eat dinner

6:30 dishes

6:45 watch tv/chit chat catch up with mike

8:00 Homework

9:00 alone time in my lounge: video games, music podcasts, drawing, etc.

9:30 remove contacts/makeup, night cream, take night pills

9:45 alone time again

10:15 – 10:45 slip into bed. Read in bed until I pass out.

What time of day do you feel the most alert/happy

Mid-day, 2-6

What do you think having a routine means?

Doing stuff without really thinking about it.

Do you have a daily/weekly routine(s) If so, What are some of your daily/weekly routines?

My days are pretty routine in the way I describe it. Not a lot deviates from that. The main consistent routine centers around school and caring for my dogs.

What tools do you use to plan or remind yourself of activities or a routine if any?

I have a family calendar mike and I share to keep aware of our day-to-day. We have a chore chart for those kinds of things. Other than that, not realy.

Do you think having a daily routine would/does benefit you? Why or why not?

I think some of the things that’d be good for my skin/body would definitely benefit me. I’m pretty inconsistent about makeup removal, and I’d like to be better about caring for my skin in that way.

Have you done any research / read articles about having a routine?

No.

How often would you say you search for things involving lifestyle: blogs, articles, magazines etc.

Rarely.

Would you be interesting in learning how to best establish and stick to a routine?

What would that look like to you?

Yes. I think it would be positively encouraging and would try to keep me going if I fuck up. I think a lot of times it feels like “all is lost” if I miss a day or don’t do something quite right. So I’d want something to hold me accountable but still keep my interest? Maybe some funny content, connections with others. Tricks on how to get your brain to re-wire.

Do you use technology for planning and/or reminders? If so, what are your favorite tools/programs.

Why are those your favorite?

Yes. I use the apple calendar, and mike and I share it. It’s pretty intuitive, it’s native on the phone, and I can share with hubby.

What are some of your favorite apps to use? Why those? How do you use them? How often do you use them?

I don’t use a ton of apps, but I like the adobe apps for iPad a lot. I think they have the right amount of features for me to draw or do whatever. It’s like JUST what I need… no bloat. It doesn’t feel hard to learn. You just kind of open it and it’s obvious what to do. I use them to make vector drawing sketches that I pull into illustrator and refine. I use adobe capture a ton to make cool shapes and illustrations, too. I use these almost daily.

If you could make a app for keeping track of a routine what would be some of the features you would want?

I would want to sync up with others doing it too. Social really helps for me. I’d want it to keep track of what I’m doing, maybe remind me of the benefits of what I’m doing. That was something that really helped me when I quit smoking… your lungs are x better and your risk of x is x or whatever really helped me to see the benefit of continuing something that was fucking sooooo hard I wanted to quit a million times day. Six years later it’s hard to imagine that, like it really worked for me. So, I guess getting through the shittiness of starting and then reinforcing after I’ve picked up the habit.

Have you ever failed to stick to a routine? If so, why do you think that was?

Yeah, I can’t tell you how many diet and exercise routines I used to try. I think I always wanted to go whole hog instead of just accepting that a little bit at a time over time is better than a quick burst all at once. I think it has to be something that will fit into my normal life..,. I shouldn’t have to plan my whole fucking day around a routine just to stick to it. I don’t do well with anything regimented or with negative punshiment. Fuck that. So it has to feel good, be easy, and feel positive.

Do you have any medical conditions that you think might affect your ability to stick to a regular schedule or routine?

Not really. Allergies maybe.

Do you think your profession has an impact on your routine?

Yes. I think being a student puts me in a position of forcing myself into a certain structure of time. In my old job, I had a very consistent schedule and no work to take home. My husbands job is not like that. We have different routines. SO I dunno, maybe it’s profession, maybe it’s the level of job, maybe it’s personality.

To what degree do you think other people impact your routine?

A lot routines and things need support, and I think if someone else is against the change, it can make the change very hard to deal with. I think everyone in a household kind of has to be on board.

Would you be more likely to do something if someone else was holding you accountable?

Maybe, but not in like an authoritarian sense. Like not like a directive, but more collaborative, like we’re in it together. Like… my bestie and I like to walk, so we often encourage each other in that way, but the same is true… she’s my bestie so it’s just as easy to say “fuck it” because we know neither of us REALLY wants to do it, ya know?? So maybe it’d need to be someone I was less close to so the social pressure to maintain the habit was a little higher.

If we came back in [x number of] years to have this conversation again, what would you like to be different?

I think I will have a pretty routinized daily life that is hitting all the boxes of things I want to work on and accomplish. Ithink I will have built more “down time” into my schedule because right now I’m working way too fucking hard and I know I can’t keep this up.

Is there anything I’ve missed?

Maybe what inspires a change. So I want to walk more for the main reason of my health: I’m very sedentary and I’m worried that as I get older I will miss my “easy” chance at starting to exercise and incorporate something health related into my lifestyle. To be honest, my disconnection from my body is not surprising. It never felt like home to me. It felt inhospitable and like someone else’s body. Now that I’m on the path of having the body I want (through hormone replacement) I’m feeling a much deeper connection to my body and the way that it cares and provides for me. So, in many ways I regret the apathy and neglect I demonstrated toward my body during my youth. It’s hard to know that I did so much damage to my body in my younger years and that I can’t take that time back. So maybe some motivation for wanting to change. I’m starting a new life, and I need to think about what the life means and what I want out of it, if that makes sense. And the health of my body is central to my ability to live the life I want. So that’s why I want a better routine.

Is there anything you want to tell me?

Thank you for being a good friend. : )

Any questions?

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transpartnerblog · 5 years

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My wife and I have been together for 6 years now, we met when I was at uni and we both worked in the same shop. We moved in together almost right away. She changed jobs from retail to care work for disabled people, which is a very high stress job and she did really well at it, but after about a year she completely burnt out and had to be signed off work with GAD (Generalised Anxiety Disorder) and depression. She was given CBT therapy which helped marginally but the course was over with quickly and she still couldn't face working full time. During this time she "dabbled" with gender identity, wondering if she was non-binary or "demi-boy". It was never really proper discussed and made no real difference to our lives as it was so it sort of just got swept under the rug. I feel kinda bad looking back and wondering if I should have been more supportive but it just seemed like a non-issue as such. She didn't want pronouns to change (was happy with male ones then) and it was more a personal understanding of where she was than something which affected anyone else.

After I graduated we moved 3 hours away. I got a shitty job unrelated to my degree to support us and she continued to work on herself. She managed to get a job doing a paper round for a local newsagents which helped to get her up and out the house but panic attacks continued, and sometimes got violent, the depression got worse and she went through bouts of not being able to do it.

We married in May 2017. It was a wonderful day but we didn't get to actually spend much time together, she was quite absent and anxieties were understandably high.

Things had stayed much the same for years at this point. Never ending cycles of depression and anxiety and stress, I have no idea what life is like outside of these patterns anymore really.

In about November 2017 or so she came out to me as trans. She'd spent a lot of time reading and watching others feeling similar things and felt it just made sense. Hell, we'd had jokes for years at this point about how un-masculine she is, it made sense to me too. She cried a lot and we hugged a lot and we spoke about what actually happens from here. The answer is a lot of waiting and a lot more introspection.

Although she felt better for being out to me, of course her anxiety and depression persisted. It took until March 2018 to visit the docs for a referral to a gender clinic and then she was put on a 24 month waiting list for her first appointment. The waiting begins. We discussed the feasibility of private or GenderGP but decided we couldn't really afford it rn.

She quickly made what seemed like leaps of progress, trying more feminine things and figuring out how she was comfortable. It eased her anxiety a little, but new anxieties arose in her hairline or "passing" or any number of things - she'd left it too late etc. Etc.

Throughout this time we were mostly just getting on with life. We had the odd argument, usually due to frustration on my end. Sometimes it would be nice to not have to deal with mental health, amirite? But it's not as if that's a choice my wife gets to make, so we always speak - in great detail - after any argument, and usually cry and snug down together and apologise profusely each for our own mistakes.

She picked a new name in November/December time. It's a lovely name and I tried my best to use it whenever possible. I don't really use names in conversation, especially between ourselves, so I had to force myself to say a name where I wouldn't usually. It felt stilted, but not because of the change in name itself. She glowed whenever I used it.

Then comes Christmas 2018, we visited her family, who she is out to, over Christmas itself. One night (after a lot of wine) the conversation comes round to the elephant in the room - her transition - and her mum tried really hard for the 4 days we're down to use her new name and pronouns wherever possible. We then go to my family's for NY, she is only out to my parents and sister and so there wasn't really a chance of validation there and she is consistently referred to with male pronouns and name. This hit hard. Firstly, she felt like an imposter for being called her chosen name by her mum, and secondly the consistent misgendering and busy house on my side of the family.

What felt like all the work we'd put in over the year to improve her mental state and anxiety just dropped away overnight. She fell right back into deep-seated depression and depersonalisation/derealisation alongside intense health anxiety too.

It took a week or so, but she eventually went to the doctors and was referred to CBT again, as well as an MRI to check there's nothing actually wrong with her brain. This is where we are now. Desperately trying to claw back from the depths of suicidal thought and depression. Anxiety which makes her ears ring and panic attacks which make her feel like she can't breathe. Referred for therapy which doesn't really address the route of the problem - dysphoria - but might help to alleviate some symptoms. We're still crawling along, trying our best to come out the other side.

This is an overview of 6 years of our life. I'll be revisiting some of these situations and speaking about new ones as they arise. Sometimes it helps to just write it out.

#transparter #transhealthcare #trans #mtf #summary #us #anxiety #depression #dpdr #uk #diary

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ivehungtheskywithstars · 6 years

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To the men reading: You may already do some of these things, and others you may not be in the position to do. But a good place to start is by, at the very least, reading the list through—in its entirety. And remember: These apply all year, not just during the annual 24 hours dedicated to half of the planet’s population. 1. Before explaining something to a woman, ask yourself if she might already understand. She may know more about it than you do. 2. Related: Never, ever try to explain feminism to a woman. 3. Trans women are women. Repeat that until you perish. 4. RESPECT PEOPLE’S PRONOUNS. It’s not hard. 5. Remember that fat women exist and aren’t all trying to get thin. Treat them with respect. 6. In fact, just never comment on a woman's body. 7. Be kind to women in customer service positions. Tip them extra. (But not in a creepy way.) 8. Trust women. When they teach you something, don't feel the need to go and check for yourself. And especially do not Google it in front of them. 9. Don’t maintain a double standard for… anything, ever. 10. CLOSE YOUR LEGS ON PUBLIC TRANSIT, OH MY GOD. 11. Trying to describe a woman positively? Say she's “talented,” “clever,” or “funny.” Not “gorgeous,” “sweet,” or “cute.” 12. Examine your language when talking about women. Get rid of “irrational,” “dramatic,” “bossy,” and “badgering” immediately. 13. Don't think to yourself, I describe men like that too. A) You probably don't. B) If you do, it's to criticize them for acting like a woman. 14. Do you love “fiery” Latina women? “Strong” Black women? “Mysterious” Asian women? Stop. Pick up a book on decolonial feminism. Read. 15. Stop calling women “feisty.” We don't need a special lady word for “has an opinion." 16. Recognize women's credibility when you introduce them. “Donna is lovely” is much less useful than “Donna knows shitloads about architecture.” 17. Think about how you describe the young women in your family. Celebrate them for being funny and smart, not for being pretty and compliant. 18. Examine the way you talk about women you’re attracted to. Fat women, old women, queer, trans, and powerful women are not your “guilty crush.” 19. Learn to praise a woman without demonizing other women. “You're not like other girls” is not a compliment. I want to be like other girls. Other girls are awesome. 20. Share writing by women. Don't paraphrase their work in your own Facebook post to show us all how smart or woke you are. I guarantee the woman said it better in the first place. 21. Buy sanitary pads and tampons and donate them to a homeless shelter. Just do it. 22. How much of what you are watching/reading/listening to was made by women? Gender balance your bookcase. 23. Feeling proud of your balanced bookcase? Are there women of color there? Trans, queer, and disabled women? Poor women? Always make sure you’re being intersectional. 24. Don't buy media that demeans women’s experiences, valorizes violence against women, or excludes them entirely from a cast. It's not enough to oppose those things. You have to actively make them unmarketable. 25. Pay attention to stories with nuanced female characters. It will be interesting, I promise. 26. If you read stories to a child, swap the genders. 27. Watch women's sport. And just call it “sports.” 28. Withdraw your support from sports clubs, institutions, and companies that protect and employ rapists and abusers. 29. Stop raving about Woody Allen. I don't care if he shits gold. Find a non-accused-abuser to fanboy over. 30. It's General Leia, not princess. The Doctor has a companion, not an assistant. It's Doctor Bartlett, not Mrs Madame First Lady. 31. Cast women in parts written for men. We know how to rule kingdoms, go to war, be, not be, and wait for Godot. 32. Pay for porn. 33. Recognize that sex work is work. Be an advocate for and ally to sex workers without speaking for them. 34. Share political hot takes from women as well as men. They might not be as widely accessible, so look for them. 35. Understand that it was never “about ethics in journalism.” 36. Speak less in meetings today to make space for your women colleagues to share their thoughts. If you're leading the meeting, make sure women are being heard as much as men. 37. If a woman makes a good point, say, “That was a good point.” Don't repeat her point and take credit for it. 38. Promote women. Their leadership styles may be different than yours. That's probably a good thing. 39. Recruit women on the same salary as men. Even if they don't ask for it. 40. Open doors for women with caring responsibilities by offering flexible employment contracts. 41. If you meet a man and a woman at work, do not assume the man is the superior for literally no reason. 42. If you're wrongly assumed to be more experienced than a woman colleague, correct that person and pass the platform to the woman who knows more. 43. Make a round of tea for the office. 44. Wash it up. 45. If you find you're only interviewing men for a role, rewrite the job listing so that it’s more welcoming to women. 46. Make sure you have women on your interview panel. 47. Tell female colleagues what your salary is. 48. Make sure there's childcare at your events. 49. Don't schedule breakfast meetings during the school run. 50. If you manage a team, make sure that your employees know that you recognize period pain and cystitis as legitimate reasons for a sick day. 51. If you have a strict boss (or mom or teacher) who is a woman, she is not a “bitch.” Grow up. 52. Expect a woman to do the stuff that's in her job description. Not the other miscellaneous shit you don't know how to do yourself. 53. Refuse to speak on an all-male panel. 54. In a Q&A session, only put your hand up if you have A QUESTION. Others didn’t attend to listen to you. 55. If you have friends or family members who use slurs or discriminate against trans or non-binary people, sit them down and explain why they must stop. (This goes for cis women, too.) 56. If you have friends or family members who use slurs or discriminate against women of other races, sit them down and explain why they must stop. (This goes for white women, too.) 57. If you see women with their hands up, put yours down. This can be taken as a metaphor for a lot of things. Think about it. 58. Raising a feminist daughter means she's going to disagree with you. And probably be right. Feel proud, not threatened. 59. Teach your sons to listen to girls, give them space, believe them, and elevate them. 60. Dads, buy your daughter tampons, make her hot water bottles, wash her bras. Show her that her body isn't something to be ashamed of. 61. But dads, do not try to iron her bras. This is a mistake you will only make once. 62. Examine how domestic labor is divided in your home. Who does the cleaning, the childcare, the organizing, the meal budgeting? Sons, this goes for you, too. 63. Learn how to do domestic tasks to a high standard. “I'd only do it wrong” is a bullshit excuse. 64. Never again comment on how long it takes a woman to get ready. WE ARE TRYING TO MEET THE RIDICULOUS STANDARDS OF A SYSTEM YOU BENEFIT FROM. 65. Challenge the patriarchs in your religious group when they enable the oppression of women. 66. Challenge the patriarchs in your secular movement when they enable the oppression of women. 67. Trust women's religious choices. Don't pretend to liberate them just so you can criticise their beliefs. 68. Examine who books your trips, arranges outings, organizes Christmas, buys birthday cards. Is it a woman? IS IT? 69. And if it is actually you, a man, don't even dare get in touch with me looking for your medal. 70. Take stock of the emotional labor you expect from women. Do you turn to the women around you for emotional support and give nothing in return? 71. Remember that loving your mom/sister/girlfriend is not the same as giving up your own privilege to progress equality for women. And that gender inequality extends beyond the women in your direct social group. 72. Don’t assume that all women are attracted to men. 73. Don’t assume that a woman in public wants to talk to you just because she’s in public. 74. If a woman tells you she was raped, assaulted, or abused, don't ask her for proof. Ask how you can support her. 75. If you see a friend or colleague being inappropriate to a woman, call him out. You will survive the awkwardness, I promise. 76. Repeat after me: Always. Hold. Men. Accountable. For. Their. Actions. 77. Do not walk too close to a woman late at night. That shit can be scary. 78. If you see a woman being followed or otherwise bothered by a stranger, stick around to make sure she’s safe. 79. This should go without saying: Do not yell unsolicited “compliments” at women on the street. Or anywhere. 80. If you are a queer man, recognize that your sexuality doesn’t exclude you from potential misogyny. 81. If you are a queer man, recognize that your queer women or non-binary friends may not feel comfortable in a male-dominated space, even if it’s dominated by queer men. 82. Be happy to have women friends without needing them to want to sleep with you. The “friend zone” is not a thing. We do not owe you sex. 83. Remember that you can lack consent in situations not involving sex—such as when pursuing uninterested women or forcing a hug on a colleague. 84. Champion sex positive women but don't expect them to have sex with you. 85. Trust a woman to know her own body. If she says she won't enjoy part of your sexual repertoire, do not try to convince her otherwise. 86. Be sensitive to nonverbal cues from women, especially around sex. We’re not just being awkward for no reason. (You read “Cat Person,” didn’t you?) 87. It is not cute to try to persuade a woman to have sex with you. EVER. AT ALL. Go home. 88. Same goes for pressuring women to have sex without a condom. Go. Home. And masturbate. 89. Accidentally impregnated a women who doesn't want a kid? Abortions cost money. Pay for half of it. 90. Accidentally came inside a woman without protection? Plan B is expensive. Pay for all of it. 91. Get STD tested. Regularly. Without having to be asked. 92. Examine your opinion on abortion. Then put it in a box. Because, honestly, it's completely irrelevant. 93. Understand that disabled women are whole, sexual human beings. Listen to and respect them. 94. Understand that not all women have periods or vaginas. 95. Believe women's pain. Periods hurt. Endometriosis is real. Polycystic ovaries, vaginal pain, cystitis. These things are real. Hysteria isn’t. 96. If a woman accidentally bleeds on you, try your absolute best to just keep your shit together. 97. Lobby your elected officials to implement high quality sex education in schools. 98. Uplift young Black and Indigenous girls at every possible opportunity. No excuses. 99. Do not ever assume you know what it’s like. 100. Mainly, just listen to women. Listen to us and believe us. It’s the only place to start if you actually want all women to have a “Happy International Women’s Day.”

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