Messages I wish my mom had actually taught me

10464169_10201853698937124_3923966816234564280_nContent notes for abuse, ableist slurs, misogynist slurs, beauty standards, drug use, mental illness

My mother considered herself a feminist. (She’s not dead, I just don’t talk to her any more and she might as well be.) She was also bipolar and had a difficult time communicating things in a way that made sense, even though she was intelligent and thoughtful about a lot of things.

Looking back on my childhood, I realize that there were messages she sort of tried to teach me, but didn’t effectively teach me at all. To me, it just looked like more things fitting into her patterns of erratic behavior, but now I understand why she behaved the way she did about me wanting to shave my legs and wear makeup, and why she didn’t mind walking around the house naked after a shower. A lot of my opinions were (unbeknownst to me) influenced by popular culture, so I looked down on her for some of it.

I first wanted to shave my legs and armpits when I was about 12. She stubbornly refused to let me for about a year, and I never just went and did it because she was abusive and generally I feared what would happen if I went against her directly, even if it had to do with my own body. All she ever said was that I was “too young” and that I “didn’t need to” shave my legs. It was never articulated, but now I think I understand her reasoning. [Read more…]

To my future mother in law on the occasion of my impending wedding

We chose a theme today. You don’t keep in touch too often, but even if you had you might have missed the significance of that one so no harm done so far. This week, we crossed a significant hurdle in the progress of my divorce. My ex-husband and I had some tax debts that would have been more than complicated to resolve on account of his status as a non-resident alien. This year’s filing resolved that debt with my refund and gave me a little extra money to boot. We are now no longer impeded by the debt or the lack of funds that once stood in the way of serious wedding planning. So, we chose a theme.

We also chose a venue. We wrote a guest list. We’re making a budget. We’re working on a timeline. So if your hesitance to display enthusiasm was at all related to my legal marital status, I hope this clears up any reservations you may have had on Lauren’s behalf. I can assure you that the length of our engagement has had everything to do with raw numbers and nothing to do with any sort of indecision or unwillingness on either of our parts.

If your reaction to Lauren’s phone call today was fully a result of the above, you can disregard the rest of this correspondence and stop reading now, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t believe for a minute that you have – or at least, not honestly. Since forming a relationship with Lauren, my second-hand encounters with you have been littered with painful aggressions wrapped in cowardly excuses, casual blame shifting, and disingenuous denials. You have actively shielded your family and friends from the reality of Lauren’s gender and sexual orientation. You have continually expressed humiliation and unwillingness to prioritize your familial bond with Lauren above the meaningless, shallow social capital you’ve amassed in your little suburb.

If only you could see your words from an outside perspective – from the vantage point of somebody who just watched her partner disintegrate into tears as her mother offered to “skype in” to a wedding. What would you think of yourself, do you suppose? Are you the sort of person who is perfectly content to discard your family’s well-being for the sake of your reputation? Oh, who am I kidding. Of course you are. “Don’t tell grandpa.” That’s your favorite phrase, right? Or is it “I’m glad you live far away.” Well, I’m glad you live far away, too.

But perhaps I’m being too harsh. Perhaps you simply don’t possess the wherewithal, courage, or natural instincts with which most of us are endowed. Maybe you’re simply not capable of caring for people other than yourself. In which case, I’m sure you’ll understand that your presence is not welcome at our wedding. While your presence would certainly save on electricity bills, we’d much prefer an air conditioner for keeping our venue frosty.



Guest post by Trinity Pixie

Green. The color was chosen without much thought, she liked green. It was a pleasant dark shade, and covered the thirsty white walls in only a couple hours. ”Why do we have to move my room so quickly?” she asked, frowning as she continued laying tile on top of the unfinished wooden floor. ”Your sister wants her own room, and it will be more… private for you down here.” Her father didn’t – refused to – look at her as he answered.

Green. She celebrated her first birthday since the move in that room, alone watching movies. The color was made a nice backdrop behind the TV, and made her feel a little less lonely. The room seemed less empty than it would have with bright, white bare walls.

Green. It was what she woke up to instead of sunlight, whenever it was that she slept. The room had no windows, and she had started to lose track of when day and night came and went. She hadn’t seen the sun in a week, though it didn’t seem quite that long.

Green. It surrounded her constantly. She all but stopped leaving her room except when using the bathroom or retrieving meals. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of the sun through a window in those brief moments she left, but she nearly stopped noticing. It was all the same.

Green. It filled her field of vision when she finally opened her eyes after crying. She didn’t feel better, but there were no tears left and no one around to notice if she cried more anyway. The color was soothing and irritating. A prison and a sanctuary at once. Green.

Trinity Pixie is a member of the Secular Woman advisory board.