Losing battle.

My body is like an angsty teenager - I'm doing everything I can to take care of it, but it hates me - and I despise it.

I despise it because it makes me feel weak. Broken and feable. Because people feel bad for me. And because other people have no empathy or no understanding. Because I can't do normal things - like go out to eat or to a holiday dinner without complications.

And I can't ever escape it. I can't leave my responsibilities with a babysitter for the night.

It took me a few years to accept my body for what it is. It was a long time before I stopped needing to quietly excuse myself to restaurant bathrooms to cry alone. A long time before I could stop viewing myself as inflicted, and instead became responsible. 

But now my body is waging a new war. New allergies - that complicate everything so much more. And the weighty fear that this may never end. 

My body doesn't rationalize, or empathize. It doesn't pay attention to what products are available, or what my budget is like - or to how everyone around me eats. It doesn't care if I do everything I can to feed it properly - it's still going to keep on fighting me.

But to war with ones own body? Who gets hurt? 

I want to rebel, fight back & stubbornly take a stand - "I refuse to be allergic to that."

Then what? I get the headaches. I'm the one with a stomach-ache. The one who deals with the inflammation like wildfire throughout my joints and muscles - the sleepless nights, the chronic pain.

Oh yeah, I sure showed me.

And damn it, I'm too self-aware to stay in denial. And I either 1) value myself too much to treat my body horribly or 2) have too much health shame to do what I know is bad for it. Maybe it's both, or whatever fits the bill for the day.

It doesn't matter how responsible I am - my body will continue to fight back. 

I guess it's time to relearn that this can be used as an opportunity to empower myself. 

For tonight, fuck you body.

The clothing department.

Our society is absolutely obsessed with women's bodies, most specifically our weight.

I've had my own struggles with weight obsession, but really, really - I've come out alright.

Not to mention, I'm pretty privileged in this area - as I am slender.

Still though, I will choose not to wear an outfit if I feel like it causes me to look heavier than I am. Something in me wanted people to know that I am slim.

There is this picture. It's of some famous musician, a man - wearing an evening gown & holding a purse. It's captioned by quote - he says he's not ashamed to dress as a woman because he doesn't find being a woman a shameful thing.

I appreciate that. A lot.

Then I realized, I don't think it is or should be a shameful thing to be any size or weight. I believe society is wrong to put more value and give more opportunity to individuals who are thinner. 

So, I don't care any longer if an outfit makes me look larger. I'm not ashamed to appear heavier, because I don't think being heavier is a shameful thing.

Beliefs

I hate harmful beliefs.

I spend time around so many people with the most harmful beliefs, and I just can't stand it.
I feel terrible hearing them all the time, understanding how harmful those beliefs can be, and it being the social norm.

But whats worse, I hate my harmful beliefs.
For the most part I think I'm doing pretty good.
But sometimes I find myself face to face with another harmful belief, one that I have, and one that I don't know what to do with.
Those times are hard.

As much as I know I want to believe myself to be an equal, sometimes I still don't.
As much as I know I don't want to give away my individual power, sometimes I still do.
As much as I know I don't want to use tactic of control, sometimes I still try.

Those times are scary for me.
Scary because being so unhealthy has been really harmful to me in the past.
But this fear isn't helping.

Acceptance.

I'm starting to wonder if there are more side-effects than I'd first thought. I mean, there should be...

It seems like anything, no matter how small, has the potential to put me in an emotional state that is much stronger than it normally would be and much harder for me to shake.

Which is horrible because socially I'm just being an emotional woman, socially there is something wrong with me. And there isn't support to help me navigate it, or patience to allow me to understand myself in this new way and begin to be balanced again.

I loved where I was at, how balanced I was, so this is difficult.

For now, I might be angry - for a day and a half, instead of ten minutes. And I might cry when my dad uses an unfriendly tone. And I don't know why. 

But I'd love it if people allowed me to be human.

Thanks, but no thanks.

I was that kid.

The slightly chubby & absolutely awkward child whose hair was always creased in all the wrong ways and whose clothing style, if the word style were applicable, was eclectic - but not in a good way.

I was better at having conversations with adults than with kids my own age, but I suppose it's because they'd had more experience in communicating with awkward people. Perhaps it was all a bit endearing.

I had little, if any, interests or hobbies of my own. I'd try to adapt myself to the interests of others - because I wanted to be interesting too, but really that's not the kind of interesting that I was.

The one thing I did always have - my own opinions. Yes, they were influenced by the thoughts of others, of course. But I was the first one to shout out about perceived injustice - even though that meant I was picked on and belittled.

I survived middle & high school by trying to blend in, and through a mix of kindness and intelligence. Still, my opinions ousted me regularly as I made enemies by calling out bullies or refusing to play social games.

My opinions themselves have changed a thousand times over. They've been reworked and reframed, they've evolved, been created, and been abolished. They are fluid. 

But they are strong. They make me strong. They're were my motivation, for so many things. They were, inside me, a driving force for reinvention and discovery and growth. 

I am no awkward child anymore. I thrive socially, I have a deep interest in many things, I have a good sense of style (though my hair may still be a little funny) and I still am quick to stand up for the things I believe in.

To this day (literally, just today) people will  caution me against them, or belittle me for them.

As if I am not the best person to understand what beliefs and opinions I should want to have at any given time.

Or they're intimidated and villianize me for them.

As if I only have and use them as a weapon to yield.

But I go on. It's part of who I am - and that's not about to change.

My Body, My (limited, lousy, consequence-ridden) Choice. But its ALL MINE.

I'd say I handled things pretty well, am handling things well - especially in consideration of my experiences with patriarchy and control. But I definitely found myself thinking more than once that, "being a woman is the best and WORST thing I could ever be."

I researched, a lot.

At first it was difficult because, as a woman, all of my options are terrible. Just awful. The few times he tried to empathize I became angry, and expressed it, because my cost is so much greater if I take responsibility and so much greater if I don't, then his will ever be. Of all the people to direct anger towards, he is not the one - he's understanding, and compassionate - and he doesn't like any of this either. But in that moment I was angry at how unfair the whole thing is, I was angry that because I'm a woman, in this culture - things are the way they are, and really - I was angry because I was afraid.

And when I made the decision for which method I was going to try, I knew it was going to be difficult.
I anticipated physical pain, a lot of it. And I very carefully evaluated my mental stability as well.
Would this trigger any traumas for me?
Is this something I actually am choosing to do, or feel forced to do?
How would this make me feel?

I decided, rather than allowing this to be yet another form of control over my body - that I was going to use it to liberate myself. (It helped that I appreciate the heart of the clinic that I went to.)
Yeah, my options suck - but I chose one because I know what I want to do with my body, and I know what I DON'T want to happen if I do what I want with my body.

So, I took matters into my own hands.
I made my consultation appointment, and asked tons of questions. I was super direct with my doctor in asking her practice style and informing her of my expectations because of past traumas. And then I had two weeks to wait.
I spent those two weeks practicing deep breathing exercises - so that during the procedure it would be easier for me to enter a peaceful and calm state. I planned for the right support during and after the procedure. I talked about it, often, because I wanted to normalize and accept that it was coming. I set up everything that I could need for recovery and took time off of work.
And that morning - I was fine. My stomach was a little jittery in anticipation, but I was still calm enough to breathe. I made jokes in the beginning of the appointment, and just focused on remaining really calm.

I had done everything within my power to be prepared, so imagine my disappointment when the pain became so unbearable that the my doctor refused to continue with the procedure. I had not expected that.
She tried to go over other options with me, but I didn't want to deal with any of that, I was too upset.
I felt so disappointed in myself - I had hoped to liberate myself, and couldn't in that way - so I felt like I had failed. Like I was weak. Why couldn't I have just pushed through the pain?! And I cried. I thought everyone that was a part of it was ashamed of me, because I was ashamed of me - it took me a while to be okay with admitting what had happened.
See, I grew up learning a very wrong idea of what strong is - and in those moments, those unhealthy beliefs and fear took charge.
And to top it all off, I still didn't have a solution - let alone the solution I had thought was best.
He suggested I try again, because he knows how much I had been wanting my decision to work out - but that just made me angry, because the physical pain was far too great.

My options B & C are... alright. I have gotten used to the idea of them, though I still liked option A, a lot. This time I'm less dead-set on either. I'm just trying one out for now, seeing how it works & then I'll go from there.


I may not have things figured out - but I will say, I am strong. Damn strong, a different kind of strong.
And though I still may rant about how horrible everything is - I'm no where near about to give up.

All of it.

I've been thinking through a lot lately.

I've been crying for porn stars.

Remembering lost loved ones.

Taking back control of my own life.

Soothing well learned fears.

Feeling nervous for an upcoming procedure.

Letting go.

And,

Enjoying another.

Appreciating our health and skills in communication.

Experiencing thrilling and lovely times.

Meeting weekly with my closest friends, planning adventures when we can.

Building community.

I think I'll feel better in two weeks, after what seems to be the event where my past & present collide. I'm trying to breathe instead of continually panicking.

Growing Up

I love that my brother & I can still make each other laugh.

Tonight I had dinner with a majority of my extended family. My brother, his girlfriend Tara & I sat off to ourselves & were laughing so loud it was disturbing the others.

I took a moment to wonder what that would look like to, say, my grandparents, or my mom.

They knew us as little kids, they watched us grow - and worried about how we would turn out.

I guess we turned out pretty well.

I hope someone in my family was emotional about that, I know that at least I was.

And the Feminist-Mom-Award goes to...

My mom is probably like the best mom out there.

Today she casually asked if I was having sex.

See, most parents would ask that because:
1) they are shaming their kids,
2) to make sure their kids aren't,
and 3) to have control over their kids.

My mom asked because:
1) she wanted to make sure I know that just one form of birth control is not enough, but that both the pill AND a condom should be used,
2) that medical exams are always a good idea, even without prior sexual history,
3) she was just curious since I'm an adult, dating an adult.

Ha, well - it took me a few moments to not shame-defense that conversation. *Awkward* - but not really. She's great.

Rape Culture, you suck.

Some people would say that what happened to me wasn't a big deal.

That I am wrong to believe I was sexually violated.

That the residual effects & anxieties aren't valid.

And that it's unfair to "him" that I say he violated me.

Well, fuck them. Fuck those opinions.

Not Buying It

I've always been told there is something wrong with me.

That my independence was unnatural.

My adversion to the "dating-game" a fault.

My strength - only a hard protective shell for a fragile and frightened heart. 

They said that I needed to lighten up, loosen up & become helpless and dependent.

I was supposed to yearn, crave, cry, hunt and attract.

Marriage was to be my greatest dream.

A happily-ever-after my dearest hope.

When it wasn't, I was told I was unhealthy and often people attempted to fix me.

I was assured that I was the total package. Looks, brains & heart. "You're just what any guy would want." But I detested that.

I was always told that the way I felt about those things was wrong.

But you know what?

It wasn't. It isn't.

I'm not the total package. I'm not a package at all, I'm a person.

Indepence and strength are qualities I have, they're beautiful and healthy and I love them.

I'm not bigs into playing games or dancing in triangles - the fair share I've done proved sick & twisted. I find no problem with an adversion to that.

I'm not helpless. In no way am I helpless - you can't convince me I should be otherwise.

There is nothing wrong with not participating in systemic oppression. There is nothing wrong about not buying into the lies.

There is certainly nothing wrong with having higher expectations for my life - mutuality, respect, appreciation, autonomy, and intimacy.

And there is certainly nothing wrong with me.

Suffer silently

no more.

I can't express with words what's it's like to have friends who listen.

Who don't doubt.

Who understand.

Who support.

Who empathize.

"I'm not okay with that. You're so strong."

"I wondered if that was hard for you."

I feel like I can breathe.

I don't have to fight to be heard.

I'm not used to that.

Conflict

I'm still afraid people won't ever view me as more than something to be owned. So afraid that sometimes it's me who's got the awful view, not just them.

Make it last

Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing in life.

What I've done.

What I'll ever do.

I think of all the things I want to do to make this world a better place. How much I want people to know their own love and beauty.

It worries me, I don't have enough time to learn.

Why do I have to waist my time doing things that aren't meaningful?

And then I remember the people I get to spend my time with. 

The laughter over senseless looks & jokes. 

The long deep conversations. 

The nerdy shared interests & fancy sentiments. 

The hugs. 

The real tears. 

The dreams and hopes.

The passions and the safeties.

And I think it might just be enough.

I still want to do something more - and I always will. 

But for me, whatever I get to - well, it will be amazing.

Fuck this.

http://thegospelcoalition.org/mobile/article/thabitianyabwile/the-importance-of-your-gag-reflex-when-discussing-homosexuality-and-gay-marriage

That's probably one of the worst articles I've read.

There's some damn good blogged responses to it, though.

Oh, society.

Society is messed up. Society is so screwed up.

Today a work some guy was being super persistent.

After questioning my coworker about me while I was in back he finally asked if I had a boyfriend - to which she quickly replied, "yes, actually she does" (I appreciated her quick thinking, there) because she was picking up on his super creepy vibes.

He grabbed some paper & insisted on writing down his number for me "just in case", then waited around in the lobby for me. (She warned me of what was going on & asked me to stay back there.)

I was irritated, but didn't really care otherwise & continued doing my job, which included coming out front again & ignoring him until he left.

After "that" was over - my coworkers went on for a while about it. And that when things got weird for me. I jokingly added, "just so you know - I'll not ever be interested in anyone trying to give me their number here." (I didn't think it was that surprising of a thing to say) but they responded differently.

All three of them were shocked & thought I didn't mean it.

"But what if he's like a super hot fire-fighter?"

"What?! But you'll be alone for the rest of your life!!" ((A note of panic in her voice))

"You're not serious. How are you going to meet anyone?"

"Really though, I just don't care. I'm not going to be interested."

Finally a coworker was trying to be understanding & said, "she's going to go out and find him herself!" - thanks, but...

Society is so weird.

Brooke

So, my sister died seven and a half years ago.
The day that was her birthday is Monday.
It should be something that is good - a nice time for me to remember how beautiful of a person she was and how appreciative I am that she was a part of my life.
It would be a time for me to crack a smile as fond memories of her running through the halls laughing weave their way in and out of my thoughts. I still know exactly what her many laughs sounded like, and sometimes I can still hear them in my own. I remember her smell, the details of her hands and the feel of her hair. I occasionally catch myself saying how much she loved a certain movie or activity.
I also remember her pain. I remember her whimpers as another needle bruised her fragile skin. Or her exhaustion from having to take yet another pill. I remember her silent tears and the reddened whites of her eyes. And I remember the feel of her hand as it stiffened in mine - and the very horrifying realization that she'd just taken her last breath.

I remember so many things. I cherish who she was.
I wish that was enough for some of my family.
I wish that Monday was a time we could remember how beautiful she was, and realize how beautiful we all are - and take a moment to see how much we've healed.
But that's not what it is, ever.

I don't want to go to what they have planned.
I don't want to see how some have chosen to handle her death.
I don't want to feel so alone in a group of the only people who could understand.
I want to remember her beauty.
I want to remember that I am whole, and that she is a part of that.

There's always a thing about dads.

For years now we've simply existed near one another but anything than close.
Our interactions consisted of infrequent grunts of acknowledgement and the occasional polite conversation.
But recently that's been changing.

I've shown interest in the things he likes, the person he is - and have tried to become more involved.
In return, he's trying to do the same.
The last few weeks I've found myself somewhat comforted when he is near.
Which, believe me, is absolutely foreign.
I've made him laugh a few times, have shared some of my interests and opinions and even high-fived him once.
And while its still a whole lot of politeness - hidden there is some actual, real, there-is-something-there connection in our daily interactions.


So tonight was tough.
It was tough because he yelled at me like I was the one who was unreasonable.
Tough because in a few simple statements it was as though he was shaming me for anything I've ever been shamed by him for - without cause.
And tough because it wasn't possible to get past that angry exterior response to the tender interior of his heart - where we could communicate clearly, respectfully and in a sense of understanding and awe of one another's wholeness.
I think he'd find I could understand his opinion much better than he thinks - I wish he could communicate it without fear, and listen to my opinion without fear too.

But worse of all - tonight was tough because I felt like I'd lost that tiny bit of hidden connection. I lost the desire to be in the same room with him, to carry on small talk conversations with him. I lost hope that we could have a relationship. The "So much for that..." or "I knew it wouldn't last..." dampened the spark of hope within me.

Then I realized - I want a relationship with him. Not just the ideal him.
Yeah, I wish he could communicate. That he could understand himself. And then someday me.
I wish I could have the depth of relationship with him that I've found in others.
But really - this is our relationship, exactly how it is.
Part of it will be unhealthy. Part of it will be irrational and a little crazy-making. A lot of it may hurt.
But he's a man I've known my entire life - and just now I want to start to actually get to know him.
I wont let the crazy-making stop me.

"Did you hear?!"

It was "incredibly unfortunate," I was told.

But that's not what it was, was it? No.

It was wrong. Disgusting, even.

I can say that now. 

I don't have to suck it up for their honor or lest I be disrespectful. 

They had no right to share the very painful happenings of my life.

Again and again like wildfire until it fell upon the ears of those who've most expressed resentment towards me.

I was in so much pain.

My wounds were constant agony.

And that information was tossed around like a local news story. 

I hate the news.

They did not have any right to treat me so callously, regardless of their intentions in sharing.

I am not a woman to be shamed or devalued. 

My life is my own - and mine alone.

I'll never go back.

Friendship.

I'm so thankful for the people who understand that I am complex.

For those who don't look at just the surface.

And for those who are willing to listen to my story of survival & love me for who I've become.

I'm not a shepard.

I cried on the way home tonight.

I'm really beginning to resent the sheep.

I don't want to think for you.

Do it yourselves.

Meet Your Demands.

I have no need to defend myself,
and I see no reason for me to waste my time trying to
convince someone to love me despite their prejudices.
The way they hate is their problem, not mine.

Don't ask me to prove anything to you, I couldn't if I wanted to.

Part-time Zen Master

Tonight at work things went from flowing very smoothly where we were super slow - to absolute chaos.
Both of our registers stopped working at the same time (for various reasons) right during our peak hour - when the lobby was full and the line long. I was working with two people who are still training - both very capable, just not yet completely comfortable, of course.
This was a high stress situation. One of the most extreme I've faced at work so far.
Yet, I was absolutely calm. I didn't panic in the slightest. I wasn't overwhelmed at all.
When the craze was over I was so impressed and shocked with myself.
It was wonderful. I was a zen master for that entire half hour or so.

A customer and his four-ish year-old daughter were there during the chaos.
He'd been watching me for quite some time, but I honestly interpreted it as he could see how ridiculous the situation was and perhaps he was impressed by my zen, too.
Then - he said, "I know you're really busy, but would you mind taking a picture of us?"
I'm thinking, "sure, not a problem."
Then am swept away to another emergency before I can respond to his request.
When I finally get back to him, and before I know it - he hands his phone to his daughter, stands next to me and has her snapping a photo of... him and I together...? What the hell.
He then preceded to spend the next hour sitting at the counter, trying to catch my attention by loudly tickling his daughter and asking me questions.
I did my best to ignore him, but I still had to step into the back a few times to regain my composure.
I managed not to actually cry - which was a big deal in itself. And probably was only possible because I'm friends with a person I was working with & I felt supported by him.
I was still shaken up after the customer left.
Which left me incredibly frustrated.

How is it that I can be a zen master through uncommonly high-stress situations and yet want to curl up, hide in a corner and cry when a person treats me like, well... like they do all the time.

Someday I'll be able to be a zen master in both situations.

Denny's

I really am so interested in him.
I love hearing about his weekend plans.
Seeing pictures of his dog.
Hearing his stories about life and childhood.
Or empathizing with his double-shifts.
Its a true pleasure to be able to give him a little extra each night, just because I can.

I hope talking with us makes as much a difference to him as talking to him does to me.
He's such a great guy.

Slow and Steady

I'm completely awed by the little community I'm privileged to be a part of.

The love, acceptance and understanding reaches a rare depth - one I am ever thankful for.
Most do not know the pain I've experienced, and I am not aware of theirs either.
But I do know that I wouldn't have made it through the times I have without their support.
My weakest, darkest moments couldn't have been conquered without knowing they believe in me.
We laugh together, hurt together, wonder together and love together.
I know of nothing more meaningful to me. It is beauty in its most raw form.

Often I cry after spending time with them. Cry because its beautiful, they're beautiful, and because I am beautiful. Cry because of the things I know they're going through. Cry because I hurt - and spending time with them gives me the strength to finally face those pains.

We're all a bit jagged. We bump into each other's soar spots, we have off nights - but we genuinely care about one another and care about learning how to show it. I love the moments when I can listen and share life with them. When I can connect deeply to them.

I'm still afraid. And I know some of them are too.
But the beauty helps heal the hurt and drive away the fear.

Thank you.

A note for the past.

What you knew of me was true. 

The love I expressed to you was real.

I believe that of you, too.

Each of you.

I wish we'd never hurt.

I believe in healing.

Our lives will move forward into new beauty, just not together like we'd once hoped.

You're beautiful. Really.

So am I.

Biscuit-happy.

I forget how easily I can gauge my mental health & satisfaction in life based on my interest and satisfaction in food.

I'm turning into a foodie again, finally. This is a good sign. 

It's a brave endeavor - fighting fear and shame with love.

A deep sadness.

Over two years ago I heard a rape joke made at the expense of someone I care about - and all women, really.

It's plagued me since - and as of late the horror from that moment only seems to intensify.

I often wonder if it plagues her too.

It really was a good day.

I was really disappointed by some things yesterday.

I had high hopes, and was excited for the lesson I had prepared - but I became overwhelmed and unfocused so I came out... messy. I had been in my brain for days, processing and thinking and going the kind of crazy I get sometimes - only to have all of that come up and spill onto my friends before and after the Underground, and onto everyone during the Underground. I don't like when I let that kind of crazy have control, so I focused on trying to listen and trying to sit quietly  rather than share. I didn't do that well, which was also disappointing - but I'm learning!

It took me a while to recover from the disappointment of the day but these are the things that helped me do that:

- sitting outside on a blanket in the sun next to a really good friend, thinking and writing - and listening to calming music.

- a hug from a friend I saw for only a moment or so.

- the excitement & relief I felt for a friend who's been eating wheat this past week like the plant is going extinct or something (and NOT getting sick from it!)

- hearing of a friend telling a coworker to f-off. BEST. STORY. EVER. Go empowerment.

- feeding said empowered friend random food from my kitchen.

- my outfit - it was ridiculously cute. And absolutely not planned. 

- getting to have a really cool conversation with someone I've known for a while, but don't know well - it was interesting getting to share about how our brains work differently & what we think about the church.

- "well here's the thing..." statements that make me teary-eyed.

- nerdy puns that make my laughter come out in snorts.

- and a few more present-moment peace-givers.

I really had a great day.

Nap time.

Sometimes I'm tired.
I'm tired of being cat-called.
I'm tired of being observed only for my potential to meet a standard.
I'm tired of hearing ridiculous statements like "sexism doesn't exist."
I'm tired of having to tell myself my worth in a culture that says its in something else.
I'm tired of having to fight for myself.

Sometimes I wonder if things were better when I believed all the lies.
When I let others lead, let others protect.
When I allowed others to determine my worth.
When I didn't believe I could trust myself.

Then I just get mad, because I know how horrible that was, too.
And how much I'm here to fight for others, not just myself.
But I wish I didn't have to.
And its so discouraging to hear that I'm not the one with the power to most effectively change things.

It's Complicated.

One of my favorite and most frequent "day-off" activities is to spend hours in the kitchen. Usually soon after rolling out of bed I'll walk into the kitchen, cook a lovely breakfast and then spend the next few hours either cooking more food or prepping the vegetables and other new groceries for easier use throughout the week.
Today I was peeling and cutting vegetables for this week's stock of vegetable stock (yes, that was on purpose) and was practicing mindfulness as I did so.
I realized how much peace and joy I find when I'm working with fresh foods and then wondered how it could make me so happy to end the life of something (I was feeling a bit bad for the celery).
That led me to wonder how much food I've consumed over my life time - how many vegetables and other resources were taken from their form and added to mine.

My thought process may have seemed strange - but really, the depth to which everything is interconnected is so mind-blowing.
Its odd to me that we think we're at all individual. Perplexing that we don't recognize how much we're influenced, one with and sustained by the things around us.
Our culture is so individualistic, as though the environments we're in are not major factors - this makes no sense. All life is interconnected.

I've been researching human reproduction systems and from the very beginning we're entirely dependent on other life for our own. This doesn't stop upon exit of the womb.

Heated Discussion Melts Yogurt, FroYo Place Forced to Rename Product "Warm Smoothies"

Four hours after our heated half-hour "discussion," and I still don't know what the hell happened.
At first I was certain this was a misstep in my plight to be a pacifist.
Then I realized boundary-setting and attempts at communication do not negate pacifism.
Though, I've not raised my voice so sternly in years - I honestly can't remember the last time.
Lets just say the "attempt" to communicate was thwarted (and I'm pretty good at communicating, and pretty decent at interpreting what others are communicating) - but I left only understanding, well, nothing.
Perhaps I now understand that instability is certain, when it comes to my interactions with him.
I now remember what its like to fight to be heard, and still be certain I was not heard.
I yet again understand how it feels to be treated like a child, like a liar and as though I'm irrational.
and I still know that I have no idea what happened or what goes through his mind.

It didn't help that the entire conversation was littered with sexist comments.
No, sir - men don't think frozen yogurt is gay.
And thanks but no thanks, I can protect myself.

Nor did it help that he thought everyone but him was focused on the wrong thing - and soon to run the store into the ground.

But, as he so clearly reminded me - he is a minister. I'm glad he let me know that I just need to get that through my head. Its there. Trust me.

I eventually let the conversation sizzle out. And by sizzle out I mean die out painfully slowly - as he nonsensically rambled bullshit for another five minutes while I just stared blankly at him.

This insanity was immediately followed by my exit of the store, bursting into tears and exclaiming fuck more times than I have in the last six months.
Fortunately, the most lovely of friends were paying me a visit. They joined me outside, hugged me, and let me yell. I needed that.

Of course - when I returned from my "break" he apologized for being a jerk and said from now on he would only listen. Then continued the night having pleasant to normal conversation.
WHAT? I don't even know.

My store manager was also on duty, even though I was running the shift. It was helpful - because she witnessed the situation and even enforced that he follow me into the back so I could address the situation. She's supportive of me, which I really really appreciate.
Unfortunately, she ended up saying something almost worse than his & I's conversation.
Once I left the store she told him that he needed to become a better listener because he hadn't been listening to me at all. When he protested a little bit she explained to him, "Sometimes girls just need to explain. You may not understand, but she needed to talk through it and so you needed to listen."

LOVELY.

Replay

I wonder when a visit back home will become just that.

For now its still that I'm overwhelmed by each drive back to that little town.

The route there is a rewind of my life and I can't help but watch the replay.

I'm now. I'm on the roads I drive all the time - with the friends I love, with the life I'm proud of.

Then I begin to by-pass the church. Something about driving past it, not to it, brings a wave of memories.

I think of how much has happened in the last three years. Has it only been three years?

It seems I've lived a lifetime since I first entered those doors.

I think of all the people I've loved and shared my life with, who have grown into different people now or the ones that I no longer know.

I think of all the happy times, and the laughter, as well as the devastating times.

All the hours I've spent there, the faith I've wrestled with there, and the love I've found there.

Though I know it is no longer my life there, anymore.

A little while down the road I drive past the year of my life that I can hardly remember. 

I lived there, but I can't remember the color of the house - or even the dog's name.

All I remember is darkness, fear and depression.

There is little to reminisce here.

Then the miles of evergreen. 

These remind me of an old friend, one that I've since lost.

But then our lives were intertwined, then we were close - and that was beautiful.

I remember her.

Once I get into town I can't  keep a timeline. 

How do you recall fourteen years of your life in the span of a few miles?

My mind wanders from memory to memory, emotion to emotion as I drive past the church I was raised in, and the homes I grew up in - until I arrive at my destination.

Today's destination proved similar to any other visit.

Straddling reality between the life I had, and the one I have now.

I feel such deep connection, but realize somehow that the connection is weak.

I've changed so much. And so have my opinions about the things I've experienced there, and the things I see happening there.

It seems my only tie to reality, my middle-ground, is in a friendship that doesn't make sense.

We've grown independently from each other over the last few years. 

We don't speak the same language.

But I've noticed we stand for the same things.

That is so beautiful to me.

I could try and share more, but working out even this much has given me a bloody nose.

It was such a very long day. A very long life. I don't understand how I'm not yet an old woman.

At some point I leave that little town again - and work my way back through my life story until I'm here, now. Living and breathing for this right now, and just a little more aware of how I got here.

The Minister

So, really he's just misunderstood - and misunderstands. Which is not to say I understand him anymore than anyone else. Because working with him is still frustrating and I really don't understand him, plus I'm certain he doesn't understand me.

But I'm glad to know now that he's not just a big jerk.

And I'm relieved to discover he treats me respectfully. Called me ma'am at least eight times a conversation, bowing his head every time and eagerly did as I instructed (or at least tried to......). And didn't try to usurp my authority, which was good - fighting for authority is... messy and senseless.

So, it's not just him. It's me too. 

We'll both need to learn how to better communicate. And I need to remember to see how uncomfortable he is, then connect it to my discomfort so I can empathize and treat him, in turn, compassionately and respectfully.

Hopefully he begins to fit there better, because not fitting sucks, and the disconnection right now is very difficult to work with.

Chocolate covered strawberries.

I'm not really sure how to make the biggest difference.
Boycotting specific industries for exploiting people by hoarding their profit doesn't always help.
It just reduces the capital, and therefore reduces the minimal percentage the workers end up receiving because "well, hey, we can't afford to pay a decent living because this season didn't make us rich enough for our own jet."

But refusing to purchase products because the industry, the capitalist structure, and the exploitation of people  is unacceptable could make a difference if enough were demanding a change, and the industry suffered a big enough blow that they have to listen.

"If enough," though.
How do we awaken the people around us?
How do we make the biggest impact?

Get back in line, uterus-bearer.

The reactions I receive when talking about gender equality and non-complementarian styled marriages are incredible (and somewhat comical, in a dark sort of way).

I mean, really?

Is that really all you can hear?

Me wanting to get married (because of course I have to want to get married),

and then wrecking havoc on all the lives around me - to include and certainly target the poor patient husband that is willing to put up with me. (He didn't know what he was getting himself into.)

He'll have to put up with me controlling everything in our lives. 

Bossing him around. 

Disrespecting him regularly and publicly. 

Being so noisy that he's never heard.

And intentionally using rebellion to disappoint God and poison the women 

around me with evil and fanatical ideas on "equality". 

I mean, I might even - "let myself go"... (stop wearing make-up? gasp!)

Or some nights that he's "in need", I may even not be up to... serving him.

Well if that's what you hear then, I suppose I get your concern. I suppose I can begin to understand those worried and disapproving glances, those passive-aggressive prods back towards the "light" of delicacy, meekness and submission.

Because hey, I wouldn't want to marry someone that thinks in that way and treats me like that, either.

(But understand that I also wouldn't want to marry someone like you insist I need to be.)

Oh gosh, did I just hint at wanting something contrary to my nature, position and calling in life... oh jeez. Whatever will they do with my rebellion?

Yep, still "just" a woman.

Yesterday, someone was trying to explain their opinion to me.

In the midst of the conversation I was very seriously explained,

"well, the problem is - you're not a man."

To do justice to the context; they did not intend to say that it was inherently a problem that I am not a man, but rather it is difficult for me to understand their viewpoint because I am of opposing gender. 

(Ouch, anyways.)

Unfortunately, that statement emphasizes an active cultural perspective.

And I cried, because I understand the reality of such a haphazard declaration.

The most feminine.

This is super cool:

"Here’s what it comes down to for me. My gender is not something I perform; it is something I am. Womanhood is not something I do; it is something I live. Femininity does not define me; as a woman created in the image of God, I define it, in community with my sisters. When we reduce manhood and womanhood to a list of characteristics, behaviors, and roles assigned to each gender, we are not defending masculinity and femininity; instead, we are diminishing and impoverishing them."

Thank you, Jenny Rae Armstrong.
http://www.jennyraearmstrong.com/2013/02/06/john-piper-women-in-combat-and-how-gender-roles-fall-short-of-the-glory-of-humankind/

It's not fair.

Sometimes I'm just really angry.

Its not fair that they have to be apart for so long. Again.
I ached for them last time - I can't imagine what it was like.

And this time it is so much worse.
He's not having to leave only her,
but also their newborn.

Its not fair that they don't get to be a family right now.
Its not fair that he has to miss this time getting to know his daughter.
And its not fair that, once again, they have to be apart.
Its such a very long time.

This time in their lives was supposed to be so exciting.

Evolution.

It's funny how little I agree with the ways I used to think and the things I used to believe.
It's a strange thing to look back.

This blog helps me laugh.

http://www.theveryworstmissionary.com/2012/09/read-between-lines.html

Off the cuff.

Today I interviewed for a job that is steeped so strongly in a culture of sexism that the interviewers felt it necessary to warn me; making certain I understood what I might be getting myself into.

My response was that I was aware and that,
"I know how to treat myself with respect."

A surprising and peculiar statement, I thought.
It being my natural response felt pretty good because though it doesn't necessarily change the culture, it is probably the best way for me (as a human being, not sex object) to handle it.

I do wonder if they thought I didn't understand the question.

Not so proud.

So that afternoon, while he was reading in a chair in our living room, I curled up next to him and made my announcement.  ‘Daddy, guess what?  I figured out what I want to be when I grow up.  I want to be a preacher just like you.’  I remember how his face looked as he thought about his answer, like he was arranging the words in his mind before he let them out.  His pause was my first inclination that he wasn't as thrilled as I expected him to be at the announcement that I would be following in his footsteps.  When the words came out, though, they were worse than the silence.  ‘Well, honey,’ he said very slowly, ‘In most churches, women aren't allowed to be pastors.  You could be a children's director or something like that, but not a pastor."


--- Liz Myrick with “Screaming From the Pew”

That's what I meant, I just didn't know.

Last night I spent a lot of time writing, trying to figure out how to say how I felt - and then I came across a blog this morning that had the words I didn't understand how to say.

Its just another person trying to figure things out,
but I really resonate with what she has to say.

http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/scandal-evangelical-heart

What about it?

I guess its the formulaic, the black and white, the ignorance.
Its the "this is how it is, don't disagree, don't ask questions" philosophy.
The "you are sinning. stop that."


Its believing that what we have to say is so true, so important - that it actually trumps the person in front of us and gives us authority to disregard their feelings or experiences.
The painfully blind eye turned to true brokenness, true pain and true suffering - and worse, the dismissive solutions.

Its all of the words, and none of the understanding.
A faith lacking pervasiveness, authenticity and consideration.

Example: "love others, evangelize, and live upright" has somehow been translated into:
Going against our better judgement; "well I really was trying to reach out to her, but she obviously doesn't want to turn her life around - not my problem" mentality.
Where an act of our "kind Christian service," (trying to rope her into our way of living)
now somehow means love and not the inconsideration that it is.
Where evangelism is an obligation, a formula - and if people aren't living up to the expectations then they're a lost cause.
And certainly, we do not fraternize with those kinds of people.

However, you've neglected to notice that real faith is messy. 

That it is pure, deep, unadulterated humility;
And not even knowing how to have it.
That it means sometimes not being sure of a damn thing anymore, and being terrified by it.
That it means not knowing how to have faith.
Not knowing how to believe in anything.
Not knowing how to surrender.
Its trying and failing to throw the addiction of being "good enough".
It means a kind incomprehensible healing and restoration.
It means being bold enough to ask questions like, "how can you still be good, God?"
Its taking the time to care enough about the people around you, that you learn to understand them.
That you listen, you love, and you hurt for others.
Its doing even the most painful thing, because its right.
Its seeking truth because its true, not because it makes you feel better.

A faith lacking discomfort, insecurities, questions and a genuine heart - is it faith at all?
Or is it simply a religious lifestyle that hurts others?

That's what's about it.
That's what bothers me when I see places like that.

Lets all just be people.

http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/feminism-objectification/

Objectification is a notion central to feminist theory. It can be roughly defined as the seeing and/or treating a person, usually a woman, as an object. In this entry, the focus is primarily on sexual objectification, objectification occurring in the sexual realm. Martha Nussbaum (1995, 257) has identified seven features that are involved in the idea of treating a person as an object: 

1. instrumentality: the treatment of a person as a tool for the objectifier's purposes; 

2. denial of autonomy: the treatment of a person as lacking in autonomy and self-determination;

3. inertness: the treatment of a person as lacking in agency, and perhaps also in activity; 

4. fungibility: the treatment of a person as interchangeable with other objects; 

5. violability: the treatment of a person as lacking in boundary-integrity; 

6. ownership: the treatment of a person as something that is owned by another (can be bought or sold); 

7. denial of subjectivity: the treatment of a person as something whose experiences and feelings (if any) need not be taken into account.

Rae Langton (2009, 228–229) has added three more features to Nussbaum's list: 

8. reduction to body: the treatment of a person as identified with their body, or body parts; 

9. reduction to appearance: the treatment of a person primarily in terms of how they look, or how they appear to the senses; 

10. silencing: the treatment of a person as if they are silent, lacking the capacity to speak.

http://www.rolereboot.org/culture-and-politics/details/2012-12-a-letter-to-the-guy-who-harrassed-me-outside-the-bar

"You don’t get it because in your world, this is just you being clever and hilarious, just a little light-hearted late-night banter! Where's my sense of humor? Dude, you are the third, or fifth, or ninth man this week to be rude to me, to think that what you want—to get a rise from your friends, to make your desire known, to make me uncomfortable, to project some twisted "proof" of your virility into the air—is more important than my comfort or safety. This is not an anomaly. This is constant."

I remember how I've been treated for yelling at someone for slapping my butt, or referring to me in a crude sexual manner. It was always as though I was out of place for doing so, out of place for sticking up for myself. 
I received responses, subtle or direct that resembled: "aren't you just cute when you're spit-fire angry" like a toddler in a tantrum with the adults smiling at their 'precious little attempt.' 
Or, "Whoa, you're touchy... so easily offended - its not like I meant it like that. What's your deal? Obviously you have some unresolved issues..." 
Or, "not everyone is out to get you, paranoid much?"

Its become easier to recognize it when crude - but its pervaded so much more than that. 
It's covertly taught women that they aren't capable of protecting themselves, that their personal boundaries are feeble and unwarranted.
- "Does me doing that make you uncomfortable?"
- Um, YES. "No, of course not." My discomfort is probably irrational - I mean, he's obviously okay with it... I don't want him to think I am (insert any quote stated in the paragraph above).
We stifle how we feel about things because culturally we've been taught that it isn't rational, lucrative or acceptable. 

So either we women treat ourselves with dignity, and we're returned with a philosophy that says "how silly." Or we women treat ourselves as invalids and by it we prove to ourselves that the "how silly" philosophy is true.

Think of the cultural image that manifests when a woman stands up for "women" or "feminism" or comment on unequal gender treatment while in a group. "Unnecessarily feisty" or "irrationally cynical" or "man-hater". 
And that image appears for both the men and the women observing her.
Those women are too independent and outspoken for their own good, they're unsuitable for romantic relationships, they're harsh and controlling and they have got some serious problems...
But what if its not those women with the problem, but rather ALL of us with a problem.
We all live out sexual objectification.
I'm not vilifying men, I'm not "over-compensating" for weakness in women - I'm stating that sexual objectification effects even more of our lives than we sometimes realize, and I am OVER IT. Over believing it myself. Over perpetuating it myself. Over having to fight against it, when I actually realize to.

Its not all about sex.
Women are not objects, and men are just as deceived when they believe their power comes from advancing that social perspective.

People, let's change this.

Men, when women say "no" (and I mean in everything, not just in the context of rape) then respect her to be HUMAN and her response as valuable and firm, not unnecessary or a boundary to be pushed - EVEN IF she has not yet learned to be confident against social precepts by holding her boundaries firm by herself. Not because its your job to protect her, but because she's human too & should be respected..
And women, stick up for yourselves. Know your feelings, concerns or convictions are not crazy, that they are not petty - and learn to fight believing and acting as though they are. Also,  do not allow yourself to believe and do not tell other women that they are paranoid for standing up for their own. 

Grammar is complex.

In researching a variety of grammar rules I've come across this passionate little defense for using "but" in the beginning of a sentence - which is so commonly believed to be wrong, but not actually so.

"If you are trying for an effect which comes from having built up a small pile of pleasant possibilities which you then want to push over as quickly as possible, dashing the reader's hopes that he is going to get out of a nasty situation as easily as you have intentionally led him to believe, you have got to use the word "but" and it is usually more effective if you begin the sentence with it. "But love is tricky" means one thing, and "however, love is tricky" means another--or at least gives the reader a different sensation. "However" indicates a philosophical sigh; "but" presents an insuperable obstacle. . . .

"But," when used as I used it in these two places, is, as a matter of fact, a wonderful word. In three letters it says a little of "however," and also "be that as it may," and also "here's something you weren't expecting" and a number of other phrases along that line. There is no substitute for it. It is short and ugly and common. But I love it."

-St. Clair McKelway

(I like him ;)

Hospital Visits Suck

Today I visited someone in the hospital.
Her pneumonia is so severe that one of her lungs is ruptured and three-quarters full of fluid.
She weighs a mere 80lbs.
And she is detoxing off of meth, the main cause of her pneumonia.
Her pain was so extreme that she couldn't move, but she managed to engage in some conversation.

She says she'll only be in the hospital for another few days.
She hates it there.
Once she's out she'll immediately return to work.
I asked her what she did - she's a stripper, she said.
She doesn't have any other choice, she stated.

I barely had the chance to hold her hand and stroke back her hair out of her face, but how I wish I could do so much more.

I wish addiction didn't have such a firm grasp on her life.
So firm, its grasp, that she genuinely believes living as destructively as she does is her only option.
She knows it is destructive.
She's aware that she hasn't kissed her little baby girl in months.
And she's been offered nearly limitless rehab opportunities by people who still have hope for her.
Yet its a hope she doesn't know how to hold for herself.
She's surrendered and been overpowered by addiction and hopelessness that now also determine her options, and she's clear in that she has no desire to fight it against its reality.

And there's really nothing I can do but try and express my care for her...