Barbie and Representation

Mattel recently revealed what they’re calling “The Evolution of Barbie”. It includes three new body types (along with new hair and eye colors, and funky new hairstyles) that will sell alongside the original doll. These body types are curvy, petite, and tall.

I love Barbie. I had about 30 of them when I was little. Most of them were the white, blue-eyed, blonde Barbie. I had a few brunettes, one Teresa (she was the Hispanic Barbie), and the Puerto Rican Barbie which was part of the Dolls of the World collection.


(image is of two dolls. Both dolls are brunettes. The doll on the left is the Happy Birthday Barbie doll. She is wearing a pink and white ball gown with balloons and ribbons print. She has a party hat on her head. The doll on the right is wearing a pink and white dress. She has a pink flower in her hair. She is the Puerto Rican doll.)

When I was little, I hated my big nose and my huge curly hair. White skin was prized and I was always told it was a good thing I wasn’t darker. It wasn’t until recently that I started appreciating my natural hair. My mother was constantly buying hair straightening cream “para matar el rizo” (kill the curl).
I always liked the brunette and darker skin dolls best but I was always given white Barbie. So I would take my mother’s brown eye shadows, crush it and mix it with water and dunk my blonde Barbies hair in. It lasted until I decided to wash my dolls.

I got the message that my natural hair wasn’t beautiful. I was always told I was too fat. I would hear people say girls looked like a Barbie if they were thin, white and pretty. I would never be a Barbie. But I could pretend. My Barbies had fantastic adventures. They were singers, cops, teachers, spies, feminist bad asses who didn’t need Ken. Although that was mostly because I only had one Ken. So that Ken played different characters, while my Barbies had different names and personalities, I still remember most of their names.

My Barbies provided me an escape from my unhappy childhood.

It’s a little tough being a feminist and a huge Barbie fan. For a while I thought I was a bad feminist for loving Barbie. I didn’t realize I could appreciate Barbie but also critique her shortcomings. I was also hesitant to apply any critical thought to Barbie because I was worried it would tarnish my childhood memories of her.

Once I had a daughter, I realized I needed to look at Barbie (and all other media directed towards her) critically. My daughter doesn’t look like Barbie, and she never will. That is ok. That’s what I need to hear when I was little. Barbie was an unrealistic standard. I didn’t need to look like her to have worth and be loved.
Barbie didn’t make me have self-esteem issues. It was the adults around me with fat-phobia, anti-blackness and colorism who caused my self-esteem problems.
My daughter knows that her curls are beautiful. That her light skin doesn’t make her any better than someone darker.

Barbie has been pretty good in showing racial diversity. I always could say Teresa was “for me” but never “she looks like me” because Teresa was thin.

Having a fashion doll who’s curvy is a huge deal. Not only will chubby girls finally see themselves in a doll, but they’re also getting the message that they too can be fashion forward and fun.

Curvy Barbie is not without her problems. She could be bigger. Her figure is the “acceptable fat”; an hourglass shape. That’s a problem plus-size modeling and the body positivity movement have as well. But, I’m glad that Curvy Barbie is here. It’s a step in the right direction. Curvy Barbie is the doll I wished would have existed when I was little. Needless to say, my inner child is excited for this.

I’ve posted a review of Curvy and Tall Barbie! Click on links to read them!

Barbie and Representation

The Cost of My Disability

Once again I am left in a position of asking for help to cover what is an essential medication for the management of my symptoms. As many of you have doubtless figured out by now, I use medical marijuana to treat my Crohn’s disease.

The medication acts on two fronts. The first is symptoms management where it relieves the severe pain and nausea caused by my conditions. The second is by making the other medication I am on, more effective.

I’ve mentioned time and time again that it can be expensive, but for once, I am going to share specifics.

Every once in a while, someone will complain about the fact that I ask for monetary assistance. I get advice on how to “save money” which often ignores the reality of my situation.

So just how much does my medication cost?

Medical Marijuana ranges from $6 per gram to $12 per gram. Thanks to compassionate pricing, I get a 20% discount with my dispensary. I do my best to buy the cheap strains as much as possible, but often those strains are not the ones that work for my conditions.

More frequently I end up needing the strains that cost me $7.60 per gram.

My prescription is 2 grams per day.

That adds up to at least $465 in an average 30 day month. If the cheaper strains are not available, that total can go up to $600 per month. The choice literally becomes, do I buy groceries or do I buy my meds. Frequently what happens is I use the money we used to pay down our debt on the credit cards, to then purchase my medication, in effect never actually making any improvement in the debt situation. The remainder comes from the overdraft protection, which in turn can cost us up to $5 for each day that the account in overdrawn.

Some months it is a matter of deciding which is more important, my meds or groceries.

Medical Marijuana has not been covered by Trillium or ODSP since the rules surrounding prescriptions were changed by Harper’s government. It is also not covered by any other insurance, even if I wasn’t prevented from accessing other forms of insurance due to my “pre-existing conditions”. This despite the fact that it is a known treatment for chronic pain, chronic nausea, and a variety of conditions.

Every month means an overwhelming amount of anxiety as I try desperately to come up with some way to get extra money, so that maybe just this once, we don’t overdraw and can start the month without being in the red. Overdraft protection is supposed to be a failsafe, not a line of credit. The anxiety of course makes my conditions worse, increasing pain, increasing nausea, increasing blood loss, to the point where medication becomes even more of a priority.

It’s a desperate circle, and one I hope someday to be able to escape. But in the meantime, I ask for help.



The Cost of My Disability

Quickie Rant: Hey Actually, That's Ableist

Since getting involved with atheist activism, which was my first introduction to online social justice circles, I have seen people make an effort to drop racism language, cissexist language, sexist language, etc. from their vocabularies. Yes not all and not nearly enough, but still there was a visible segment of the community that made this effort.

The same cannot be said for the effort people put in to remove ableist vocabulary from their language. Sure some of the big ones like R*t*rd that many of us have known since childhood was a slur, but st*pid, Id*ot, Cr*t*n, M*r*n, l*me, Cr*zy, for those I haven’t seen as much effort, even from people who claim to care. It’s disheartening.

Every day I scroll through my newsfeed and I’m bombarded by these words from people who are my friends, who claim to care about me and people like me.

Do you really think we don’t notice?

Many of us are just too exhausted to have the same argument again and again. When many of us struggle to survive in a world that in some cases is actively trying to kill us, often through neglect (think flashing lights, they are fucking everywhere!!), it can feel like too much to tell yet another person: “Hey actually that’s ableist.”


Quickie Rant: Hey Actually, That's Ableist

I’m not beautiful and that is OK.

I’ve started therapy at a new clinic. My therapist is a WOC who identifies as a feminist so she gets points for that. We’ve talked about growing as girl children in machista families. She understands where I’m coming from with certain things.

However, every time I mention the word ugly she stops to ask if I really think I’m ugly.

No, I don’t. By conventional standards, I am ugly and not very feminine looking. I’m fat, I have stretch marks and cellulite. I have jiggly and flabby skin. I have scars from self injury. I’m tall. I have short hair dyed an unnatural color. I have piercings and I’m hairy.

But I really don’t give a fuck if I’m ugly or not. Not anymore.
When I was little all I heard from my family was how fat and ugly I was. So, as I got older and the other girls were trying on make up and exploring their femininity I decided that those things were vain and frivolous. They were weak and I wouldn’t be.

I had internalized the misogyny hurled at me all my life. I would be one of the guys, not like those other silly girls. I shunned anything that could be called feminine while simultaneously adhered to other rigid gender norms like shaving. And why did I shave? Because hairy women are “ugly”. Men don’t like hairy women. So while I shunned certain aspects of femininity to protect myself I also chose to follow some to also protect myself. I was a mess. A chill girl mess.

As I’ve matured into my feminism, I’ve learned that femininity isn’t weakness. Once I learned to let go of that internalized misogyny, I realized femininity is powerful. I wear make up and dresses now because it makes me feel good about myself. It makes me feel pretty. Not pretty for other people. Pretty for me. I don’t shave because it’s too much hassle and I was only doing it for other people.

I’m going to have to explain that being ugly isn’t the worst thing. I’ll have to explain what I mean when I use the word ugly. I’ll have to spend part of my therapy session explaining 101 feminism/social justice stuff. And that’s exhausting. My thinking I’m “ugly” isn’t more important than treating my PTSD.

On a typical summer day, you’ll find me wearing a pretty dress, make up on my face all while my pits and legs are hairy. I’m not beautiful by conventional standards and that’s OK. I never will fit into the white ideal and I don’t want to. I’m beautiful for me.

I’m not beautiful and that is OK.

Open Letter to Prime Minister Trudeau and Premier Wynne: Legalize Patients

To the Right Honourable Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and to the Honourable Premier Kathleen Wynne:

My name is Ania Bula, I am a citizen of Canada living in Ottawa, and currently a recipient of Ontario Disability Support Payments (ODSP). I am also a registered medical marijuana patient.

I receive this prescription to help me manage the symptoms of moderate-severe Crohn’s disease. As a quick background: Crohn’s Disease is an autoimmune condition that affects my digestive system. Symptoms can take place anywhere from the mouth down to the anus. This condition causes my digestive system to become inflamed and swollen, which in turn causes it to be very delicate. During flares, the inflammation can be so bad that the lightest pressure causes the membranes to tear and ulcerate, causing blood loss. The inflammation can also cause blockages in my intestines that need to be operated, a loss of digestive ability leading to malnutrition, as well as causing severe pain, nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. Needless to say, it is not a pleasant condition to have.

I have been treated for Crohn’s, in addition to other conditions, for close to a decade. The primary medication I receive is an immune suppressant by IV once every 6 weeks.

The prescription marijuana serves two purposes. The first is symptom management. Marijuana helps with pain and nausea control. Without it, many days are too painful for me to function appropriately. I cannot get out of bed, I cannot keep food down, I become malnourished and have to be admitted to hospital. Once there I am usually prescribe harsh steroids which, while helping minimize the flare, also causes damage to bones and joints already ravaged by this and other conditions.

Because I can take marijuana in ways other than through oral ingestion, it makes the pain treatment more effective. Frequently, the swelling in my intestines prevents more severe oral medications like dilaudid, Percocet, morphine, and others, not to work effectively. Moreover, the side effects of opiates can often mirror some of the same symptoms I am already dealing with like nausea.

I take small doses of marijuana throughout the day, which helps me get work done: either paid work like writing, or even just domestic chores like making dinner. For me, marijuana has been the thing that has helped the most when it comes to regaining some semblance of normalcy when it comes to quality of life. It has kept me out of the hospital on more than one occasion. It has helped me feel human again, when many of my conditions conspire to do the opposite.

In addition to symptom management however, marijuana also helps actually treat my condition. Studies have shown promising results when it comes to difficult cases such as mine. Many patients who have not responded to conventional therapies alone, have managed to go into remission when given the added treatment of marijuana.

Why am I telling you all this.

Recently, under the direction of Prime Minister Trudeau, the Canadian government has started the process towards legalization of cannabis. While this news makes me happy, there is a much more pressing issue facing patients that I believe could be addresses even before legalization can officially happen.

Medical Marijuana, ever since the new rules put forth by the Harper Government, is not covered by insurance. Not even that provided by ODSP.

The cost of marijuana is high. The standard dose of 1 gram per day can run you about $10 per day. For those of us with larger prescriptions, the associated cost is even higher. Often patients are forced to choose worse or less helpful strains in order to deal with the cost. My prescription can cost me up to $600 a month. As someone who lives on a fixed income from ODSP, that number is far beyond what I can reasonably afford. As a result I have had to go into debt to get my medication, borrow money from friends, ask strangers on the internet for monetary help, and sometimes make the decisions between groceries or my meds.

This is not a decision that should ever have to be faced by patients. Even if the mmj was only for symptom management, it would still be an essential part of my treatment. The increased stress surrounding the ability to get my medication also has negative side effects on my conditions itself, which are sensitive to anxiety and stress.

I am asking you to please help patients like me. To work to make our medicine a help and not an additional burden. Healthcare is, I believe, an integral Canadian value. We’ve built a national identity out of being the country that cares for its sick, and I am asking you to please continue that tradition. Help us get our meds covered. Help us not have to struggle to get treatment when already living on an extremely fixed income.


Ania Bula

Writer of Young, Sick, and Invisible

Open Letter to Prime Minister Trudeau and Premier Wynne: Legalize Patients

What’s the Harm in “Female-Bodied”?

Guest post by America Yamaguchi

[CN: sexual assault]


“Female-bodied” is a term that is endlessly harmful.

It reduces cisgender women to their uterus. While childbearing is a massively important component of patriarchal harm, it goes far beyond that. It is also harmful to insist that childbearing or a uterus is what makes a woman a woman, both to trans people of all genders, and to cisgender women who are infertile for any reason. It compounds a major source of psychological distress to cis women who cannot have children. By the standards of “female-bodied” to mean the uterine body plan, a cisgender woman who is missing any aspect or has a dysfunction by any part, is bound to feel like less of a woman. Thus, this term directly attacks the womanhood of a variety of cis women as well as trans women.

Continue reading “What’s the Harm in “Female-Bodied”?”

What’s the Harm in “Female-Bodied”?


Growing up I had my whole life planned out. I saw how miserable the women in my family were as wives so I decided I would be a Career Woman and never marry. Then I decided I would marry and have children after getting a Ph.D. I’d live fabulously ever after in a mansion with two daughters and one son and some movie star husband. I had the children’s names picked out. I had my wedding planned down to the color of the table cloths. All this would happen by the time I was 30. All of this planning and I was only about seven.

Obviously most of that was a child’s fantasy. As I got older I realized I didn’t want children or marriage after all. But I still wanted to go to college. Growing up that’s how I heard adults measure their child’s success; with whether they had a degree or not. I felt neglected and lonely as a kid so I thought this would be the perfect way to finally get some validation.

I’ve dealt with, and in some cases I’m still dealing with, mental illness, extreme poverty, homelessness, single motherhood and domestic violence. All things which prevented me from going to school. I did complete two semesters but the system being what it is, I had to decide between school or work at the time since the shelter I was in preferred I was working. Currently, I’m not in the right place mentally for school.

As I get older, I’m realizing I don’t need a degree to matter. While I would like to go back to school, I’m not as upset with myself as I used to be. I do have days where I think I am huge failure but most days I think considering the circumstances I am alright.

So I don’t have a huge mansion, but I did finally leave the shelter and have my own apartment.

I don’t have a husband. Thank misandry for that!

I have one child and she is just about the greatest kid alive.

I’m not living a fabulous life but most days it isn’t half bad. I have a loving support network of friends. I have this blog, that while it may not be widely known, some people seem to like. I have my mom who’s extremely patient and understanding. We’ve had many ups and owns but I can count on her.

Through all the shit I’ve gone through, I’ve come out more compassionate, caring and stronger. Which isn’t to say that those things were blessings. If I had to choose character over having an easier life, I’d choose easier life every time. But I have to deal with what I got. Life and lemons and what not, right?

No, my life isn’t perfect and these last few sentences aren’t meant to erase the bullshit I deal with daily; a racist, sexist, classist, ableist system, mental illness, poverty. I wish I was financially stable, I wish I wasn’t disabled. I wish my bodily autonomy had been respected. I wish for a complete system overhaul.

In the meantime, all things considered, I am glad I’m the person I am.