I needed this today . . .

Yesterday, this whole election really, was brutal.

My candidate did not win.

The winners have made walking back protections on families like mine

part of their campaign promises,

and given the VP Elect's record in Indiana I have to believe that

they will work to accomplish those promises.

So today, I needed a reminder that those communities

(Women, LGBT+, People of Color, Muslims,

Latinos, the Disabled, the Media, etc.)

that the President Elect has spent the last 18 months

ridiculing and denigrating have pulled together before.

And we will do it again.

The movement is hurting and tired,

but our momentum to make the world kinder, more inclusive

and less fearful has not been lost.

My daughters were watching this today,

and I realized just how much I needed to see a diverse group

(even one as nonsensical as multi color anthro ponies)

support one another, lift each other up and rally together to make things better.

We are stronger together.

We will make it through this.

We will protect each other.

We will not let our momentum falter.

And until then . . .

We have singing anthro ponies.

Unicorn

The woman I love is sleeping. I should be, too.

But this post has been rattling around inside my head 
for such a long time. I have to let it out.

It has been two and a half years since Hunny came out to me and we started on the journey of her transition. It has been beautiful, isolating, freeing, difficult, transformative, terrifying, joyful, bleak, nerve wracking.

And it has been so very worth it.

Some friends have been left behind, not because we didn’t want or need them, but because the changes were too dramatic for their comfort. We have made new friends within the community, helping us to rebuild what others had ripped away. Hunny has found a new community, others who have gone through what she has; those who have shared her struggle.

I have not found the same welcome. 

And I do not ask or presume membership, 

the dues are far too costly and the jacket wouldn’t fit anyway.

I understand many of the reasons why I am held at a distance.

 I am, at once, a representation of the spouse who stayed, and a reminder of the ones who didn’t. By staying with Hunny, by supporting and encouraging her transition, by loving her through everything . . .

I am salt poured into the wounds of those whose 

partners didn’t, or couldn’t.

Conversely, I have had members of the community look at me with such heartbreakingly forlorn hope in their eyes. Eyes that want the kind of love, the kind of life that Hunny and I have together but have already given up hope of ever finding it for themselves.

Eyes that have become resigned to loss and loneliness as the exchange they must make to live authentic lives.

At those times I often feel like an exotic animal on display, 

to be admired from a safe distance. 

To be seen and appreciated but too dangerous to get close to.

The world is often unkind to those who break the mold, and I don’t blame those who have been hurt, who have had to give up everything, for the sadness and anger that they feel when I am around.

Like I said, I do understand.

I still stand with you.

I promise not to bite any fingers that reach into the enclosure.

Arguing with Myself: Sticks and Stones

A Case for Compassionate Speech

*trigger warning – discussion of homophobic / transphobic slurs*

I want to say first that I am only going to talk about a small handful of terms used in regards to the LGBT community. I know that there are so many more that need discussion (both within this community and in our broader culture), but those are not my stories to tell, or iniquities to contend with. For some well stated arguments about some other terms that need addressing in our broader culture please check out Tanis Miller’s post on able-ism and AAfterwit’s post regarding the discussion of racist terminology. 

 

. . .

 

‘The first amendment gives me freedom of speech. If that dyke doesn’t like it, she can f@#%ing blow me . . .’  

‘I didn’t know tranny was considered offensive . . .’

‘I’m gay and I don’t have a problem with it. Why can’t that faggot take a joke?’

In the past few months there have been a number of incidents involving people in the public eye 

(or at least on public social media) making statements including terms that offended others. The public response to this tends to be outrage, sometimes at the person who made the statement, and often at anyone who takes that person to task for saying it.

Don’t get me wrong, I believe that each of us has the right to voice our own opinions as we see fit. And the government agrees, since the First Amendment only protects from government action on grounds of speech.

This post is not about them.

I do believe that those who do not know (their reaction to being informed is usually to apologize when informed of an overstep) should be taken at their apology and allowed he chance to do better.

This post isn’t about this group either.

One of my wife’s friends (from before transition) commented on an anti-bullying article I had posted to face book about how “as a Mormon” he liked to open with a ‘mormon joke’ as a way of starting a discussion about the church. The problem being, most of those kind of jokes don’t have the same type of cultural stigma attached to them that slurs do. Someone is far less likely to be victimized, often violently by another for being openly Mormon. Religion has an element of choice that being part of the QUILTBAG spectrum doesn’t.

The line at where humor becomes derogatory speech is easier to define when the person using it is from outside that community.

It becomes much more difficult when it is a member of that group who has chosen to ‘reclaim’ that term as a source of empowerment. 

Here’s the thing, if you fit into this last group please understand that not everyone is in the same place in their journey that you are. That word may have lost its power for you, but others have not gotten to that place yet.  For them, every syllable is an act of violence against their soul, a way that people have tried to shame them into living someone else’s beliefs.

Words can re-open scars and propel people back into the darkness they are only just winning free of.

People don’t want your voice silenced, your truth stifled.

We all need to speak with more compassion, lest we cause more pain to those already hurting and scarred. For some, a small, unthinking comment can be incredibly destructive. So many have had wounds inflicted by those who should have treated them with love and kindness.  

Please don’t use your victory over the hurtful terms in your life blind you to how much potential they have to hurt others.

- Vixi

 
 

Arguing with Myself: An Ode to Pierced Ears

Or why informed consent is important when dealing with hereditary allergies

When I was in Junior High I begged and pleaded to get my ears pierced. My sister and
I had tons of old clip and screw on earrings, but they were so painful to wear.
I eventually prevailed and got my much desired pierced ears. After six months I
noticed a problem. My ears were getting infected even though the holes had been
healed for months.

So I tried different earrings. Eventually I determined that
I could only wear sterling silver or pewter, not just in my ears, but now
anywhere on my body. My neck would break out in tiny sandpaper bumps, and if I
wore a watch without covering the back it would eventually irritate the skin so
much it would lift right off leaving a raw red area.

Over time I learned to deal with my allergy. Every few years I develop a fun new
facet (because staying the same would be boring).
In High School I wore a costume necklace for a choir performance. After less than an hour I had broken out so badly that I still have a scar in my cleavage from the center drop.
In college I found out that the rivets in my jeans were a problem, so I cover every rivet in every pair with mole skin.
My husband and I had to drive almost 60 miles to find a jeweler who would cast our wedding rings in sterling.
When Elroy was born my best friend made me a sling with special plastic rings so that I wouldn’t have to worry about having a reaction.
If I hold straight pins in my mouth, even for the time it takes to stitch a seam, my lips blister and swell.

I have adapted. My inability to find or afford jewelry I can wear is part of why
I design my own. About 2 years ago I found out that my allergy is hereditary. My maternal great grandmother had the same allergy, as does my cousin. Up until then I thought it was just because my body didn’t like me.

Now that my girls are two, Hubby has been pushing to get their ears pierced. He does not have any allergies in his family, and his nieces both had their ears pierced as toddlers with no ill
effects. I understand that piercing infant and toddler’s ears is a normal and perfectly socially acceptable occurrence in many cultures. I feel that it is every parent’s right to make that decision
themselves. I’m not trying to advocate one way or another.

Hubby argues that so far the kids don’t seem to have picked up the other issues (low-grade febrile seizures) that run in my family, and so should not have picked this one up either. He may be right. My sister-in-law often references a study she read somewhere stating how allergies only get passed on the dad’s side. Her girls ears were pierced early (her husband is of Latin descent) and
she has ‘theories’ about allergies. This is not true. I know for a fact that I have family allergies from both parents and those have been passed on regardless of the parent’s gender.

I’m not against them getting their ears (or other places as they get older) pierced; I just want to wait until they’re old enough to understand the possible consequences and give informed consent. I can’t take the thought of dooming them to my allergy because earrings are pretty on
little girls. And I can’t imagine having an allergy like this and finding out that I could have avoided it if not for someone else’s vanity. Had I known how bad it could get, I might have gotten mine done with more caution.

Happily, I have come up with a way to check for the warning signs without getting their ears
done. I have always had issues with watch backs. I used to cover mine with nail polish or later moleskin long before my allergy reared its ugly head. As watches might be wasted on toddlers, I found a company on-line that sells stainless steel jewelry for reasonable prices (I couldn’t find surgical steel for cheap enough to buy three just as a test). So, just after Christmas each girl got a steel I.D. style bracelet with her initial engraved on it. I plan to have them wear the bracelets for at least the next year or until they show signs of sensitivity. Peach is already starting to show what could be early symptoms . . .