There’s a very odd thing that sometimes happens in conversations. Some people think certain conversations shouldn’t take place at all, and resort to a variety of circumlocutions and thought-terminating clichés to try to shut it down. Perhaps the oddest of this is invoking the fictional “right to an opinion.”
A fairly subtle deception lies at the heart of this refrain, which merits teasing apart.
Since Donald Trump winning last night I’ve seen several posts by people urging those of us who are upset, hurt and terrified by this election to be understanding, open-minded and to love Trump and his supporters. To accept him as president-elect.
People have been sharing that one particular Martin Luther King Jr.,
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
And to that I just have one thing to say: fuck you. I don’t have to love Donald Trump, I don’t have to love the GOP, I don’t even have to fucking love the Democratic Party. The only people I have any obligation to are myself, my family, my friends and all of the people who are going to be hurt by the decision to elect Orange Hitler.
Don’t you dare tell me that the only way that oppression and hate will go away is if the oppressed love and are nice to our oppressors. I reject that notion.
I’ve already seen several posts from White liberals who are so surprised that America could elect Donald Trump. Marginalized people have been warning about this from the get-go. You love saying Donald Trump doesn’t represent America; doesn’t represent American values but if you knew anything of your history; of American History you fucking know that Donald Trump is a product of America. This is stolen land; it was founded on the oppression of people of color.
Conversion therapy to “cure the gay” is still a thing which Mike Pence, VP-elect supports and advocates for. Racism, sexism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, hatred of all religions save Christianity, all of these different types of oppression are completely American. Donald Trump is not an anomaly. Donald Trump exists because this country encourages, enables and fosters these types of attitudes.
I do not have to tolerate, accept, or love it. I’m beyond over liberals telling me and mine that all we have to do to make things better is to be nice. I am done being nice. Abusers and oppressors don’t deserve my kindness, let alone my love.
You know what? During the whole campaign I saw so many supposedly progressive people constantly throw mentally ill people under the bus by calling Trump supporters by ableist slurs; questioning their cognitive ability.
Accusing women of only voting Hillary becuase of some “gender bias”.
None of those things are very “nice”, but I guess when it’s white liberals doing it then it’s all OK. Let a marginalize person fight back and suddenly you white liberals get bent out of shape.
I will fight you every step of the way for myself, for my child, for my friends, for my family and all other marginalized and oppressed people. I am angry, I am sad, I am devastated but I’m not surprised. I’m in mourning and I’ll be mourning for a while but you’re not going to be able to get rid of me and mine. You’re going to get hatred, you’re going to get my anger, you’re going to remember me and you’re going to regret ever fucking with us.
By the way since you love all quoting MLK Jr. so fucking much, how about you read his Letter from a Birmingham Jail,
I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.
One of the best things about becoming a blogger has been meeting amazing people who have rapidly become my family. We’re all united by similar struggles – poverty, disability, abusive pasts or histories, – and some struggles unique to specific individuals – racism, parenting. We try and help each other out as much as we can: with information, ideas, fundraising when applicable, and occasionally, like with other family members, by showing up and lending a hand when things get tough.
I have one such friend in the New York area. This person is really an inspiration to me. With everything she’s been through she has done a magnificent job raising her daughter to be a confident kid who loves the things about herself that the world tells her she should hate: her skin colour, her Neurodivergence, her gender. This friend has been here for me and Alyssa when times were hard: staying up late with me when I was struggling with crohn’s and couldn’t sleep. Being there for Alyssa as a representative of the same heritage when it seemed like her own family might reject her.
We’ve been there for each other when discussing disability, and we’ve shared tips on working with difficult doctors. But like with most of us struggling with disability, things have gotten a little more complicated lately. Doctors are ignoring a serious symptom, and trying to get them to pay attention to it is exhausting. To add injury to injury, a misstep on the train has left my friend with an injured leg that slows her down.
Those familiar with New York know that if the things you need to do are spread across the city, getting anything done can take several hours. Add an injury and a young child, and it gets a whole lot worse.
New York is fairly close to where I live. Close enough to drive to in one day. Those who have been following our story though, also know that Alyssa and I are currently in a marginally more difficult situation. Since her graduation, Alyssa is no longer getting paid. She’s been diligently looking for a job: everything from the work she is qualified for –scientist for the federal government, assistant professor, teaching work, positions at universities, labs, anything – to part time work to help pay the bills at stores, pet shops, groceries, admin assistant, anything and everyone who might hire her.
In the midst of all this, we are also working on figuring out exactly what needs to be done to allow her to change her name and information, while fighting the clock on her immigration application this summer.
Have we mentioned it has been a busy summer?
I have the time and the inclination to go to New York. Not for long, just long enough to help out for a week or so. Help take care of my friend and her daughter, chauffer them around for a little bit so they can run their errands without having to spend multiple hours in the baking sun, make some ready meals for them so that she doesn’t have to worry about getting dinner ready in the middle of her exhaustion, and maybe, just maybe, knock a few doctor’s skulls around to help get them to take things seriously.
I have a place to stay, and my hope was to be able to take advantage of my Costco membership to get groceries for her that I could also live on while I was there! I’m asking for help with gas and cost of food and potential incidentals (parking?). Any donation would be greatly appreciated. I will also do what I can to promote Young, Sick, and Invisible while there, and maybe just maybe take advantage of the post office to finish sending out the books for the IndieGoGo (between the money needed for shipping and the [totally justified] post office strike it’s been rough getting all the packages sent).
Please help if you can and are willing. If you want to help, but can’t donate, please share this fundraiser and post in the hopes that someone else might be able to.
Thank you everyone.
PS: The link above is to a Youcaring page. If you would like to help out but are unable to donate to the youcaring link you can also paypal us here.
I came across this meme on Facebook today. I was going to repost with some commentary but the commentary turned into this blog post.
CN: abusive parenting
(image description: black text against white background reads: My 8-year-old just talked back to me. While she’s at school I’m logging into Minecraft and destroying her fucking village)
Look, I don’t care how annoying your kid’s behavior may be. I get it, I really do. But you DO NOT under any circumstances, destroy their things. Destruction of property is a sign of abuse. And yeah, I would count this as destruction of property. The kid spent who knows how long building the village and you’re going to destroy it because you can’t handle your kid standing up for themselves? There are ways to correct behavior that doesn’t involve hurting your child. Think of it this way, if I disagreed with my spouse, would that give my spouse the right to destroy something of mine?
Plus, behavior deemed “bad” is usually caused by some distress to the child. Figure out what it is and work through it. Talk to your kids. Don’t fucking do this. It disturbs me the amount of people sharing this on Facebook and commenting that this is something they’d do. We, as a culture, don’t see children as autonomous beings with fears and dreams like any adult. Why do we think treating children like this is OK and then act surprised when those children grow up to be maladjusted adults? Lots of parents think they own their children and treat them like property. Then when those children are adults who want nothing to do with their parents, those same parents act hurt. I see it every Mothers’ and Fathers’ day. I see children who feel pressure to talk with their parents. I see people shaming those children because we refuse to see parents as people who make mistakes. Some of those mistakes are too awful to forgive.
I get that that this is supposed to be humorous but honestly, where is the humor? Is it funny that I’m threatening my child with violence? (yes, violence, see above), is the humor in the fact that my child is supposed to be afraid of me? If I want my child to not talk back to me, how is doing this going to change that behavior? I’d like my child to respect me, but that won’t happen if I don’t respect her. And you know what? Sometimes kids will do things that will annoy you and down right anger you. It’s your job as the adult to set the example and regulate your emotions. If you feel you can’t handle the behavior at that moment, excuse yourself if possible. Take a breather and go back when you’ve calmed down. You can’t expect your child to exhibit certain behavior if you don’t model it for them.
This meme may seem innocuous on the surface but the people commenting how they’d do this reveal a deeper societal pattern. We just don’t respect kids. If we did, no one would find this funny.
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.
T/W C/N: links to post about reproductive coercion, brief mentions of r*pe, absent fathers
Note: Posts linked below will open in new tabs
Mother’s Day is always tough considering the circumstances of my pregnancy, but Father’s Day is just as bad. I can’t celebrate with my father. I don’t know where he is. I certainly do not want to celebrate my daughter’s father. Therein lies the problem. My daughter does want to celebrate him, and she has every right to. She’s already mentioned “papa’s day” to me a few times. She had a Father’s Day party at her school and the invitations asked if dad or a “special friend” is coming. I told TJ I would go. She said I couldn’t because I’m not a man. She had a another reminder invitation in her bag recently. This one was inviting “dads, uncles, grandpas or any special men in your life”. I find it curious that for the Mother’s Day party the invitations made no mention of aunts, grandmas or “special women”. The invitations simply said “mom and guests”. That’s another problem with these holidays. They tend to be heteronormative and cissexist.
She hasn’t seen her father in years. I don’t know where he is and I prefer it that way. TJ and I are much safer this way. She asks about him and I know she wants to see him. She’s too young to tell her what he did to me. I’ve simply told her that mami and daddy are no longer together and that we will not be getting back together.
Mother’s Day is hard on a lot of people because of the culturally pervasive idea that you must love your mom no matter how horrible she may have been. In my experience, there isn’t much of that when it comes to fathers . Fathers aren’t expected to do much anyway. There are countless memes and jokes about the incompetent dad. On the other hand, a father is often praised just for showing up; doing the bare minimum. How many times haven’t we seen articles or memes praising dads for “babysitting” their children?
Getting back to my daughter, as she gets older, she’ll have more questions about her father. My answers will become more detailed as time passes. As for the party, thanks to a friend’s advice I explained to TJ that mom and dad are just job titles and single parents do both jobs. I teach and protect her.
For her, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day are fun because there’s always gifts and fun treats. To me, Mother’s Day reminds me of my rapes. Father’s day reminds me of the same but with the added pain of my own absent father. They’re not easy days.
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