Inauguration Day


Not My President 



I wear black because I am in mourning. I am in mourning for the country I thought I lived in. The country that is most certainly dead. My privilege allowed me to believe that Hillary would win by a landslide. It was beyond my comprehension to think there were enough United States citizens who aligned with Drumpf’s values of hatred to elect him president. I was so wrong.

In the past year, Drumpf has said the following:

Mexican immigrants are rapists

He will kill the families of “terrorists”

He wants Hillary assassinated

Muslims should be banned from the USA

Women should not have reproductive rights

Marriage is for straight people only

It’s OK to perpetrate non-consensual sexual acts (i.e.: Nothin’ wrong with rape)

He is narcissistic. He is a pathological liar.

He is selfish, self-centered, inarticulate, incites hate, preaches hate.

He does not understand how to run an ethical business, let alone a country.

The subtext for the slogan, “Make America Great Again,” is “Make America Hate Again.” Or, as the electoral college just informed us, “Bring Forth America’s White Supremacist Values Again.”

Drumpf is not my president. Drumpf will never be my president. I do not acknowledge his position because I do not believe in hate.

I do not acknowledge his position but I do acknowledge my racial privilege. I acknowledge the ideological, institutional, and systemic racism upon which this country was built. I acknowledge the implicit and explicit sexist values upheld by Drumpf and his supporters. I acknowledge the extreme violence perpetrated against trans people. I acknowledge the high rates of alcoholism and suicide of Native Americans.

I have been saying for years that this country is ill. I see the symptoms of its illness manifest as depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, and PTSD in the children and teenagers to whom I offer therapeutic support. The election of Drumpf to the presidency of this country is proof of this illness.

I hear some of my fellow writers and activists calling for strength and action. I wish I could say that I am in a place to offer such things, but I am not. I am afraid for my life and my liberty.

We just elected a man to the highest office in the world who admitted to molesting women and denied any wrongdoing in doing so.

I support everyone who holds enough privilege to face this embodiment of hatred head on. As of now, that’s not me.

To all the people who voted for Drumpf: You can have this country. I will take my brilliance elsewhere.




Is There A Right Way To Misbehave?

I sometimes think the whole world is stuck in that old nursery school rhyme:

What are little boys made of?

Ships and snails and puppy dog tails.

That’s what little boys are made of.

What are little girls made of?

Sugar and spice and everything nice.

That’s what little girls are made of.


From the moment we are assigned a gender at birth, we are shoved into this rhyme. Even if our parents acknowledge that they have independent puppy dog girls and sweet little boys, something in our socialization process requires that most of us hang out somewhere inside the box of this nursery rhyme. And God help you if you try to break out.

Besides, queer*trans* people aren’t even mentioned! Where is our rhyme?

What are little queers made of?

Cells and hearts and really pretty parts

That’s what little queers are made of.

What are little queers made of?

Stress and strife and fighting for life

That’s what little queers are made of.

Heh heh. If only that nursery rhyme had been whispered into our ears as infants. We would have been empowered AND prepared.

But I’m guessing that rhyme won’t go viral, so here we are, “freaks” born into a world that only sees a narrow, binary concept of gender and sex. And even though those of us living in progressive parts of the United States are feeling less oppressed than previous generations, we still have to fight for space; fight to be seen.

I don’t think straight people understand the depth of invisibility that comes with being queer*. I am misgendered every single day. I am generally assumed to be straight (though how anyone looks at me and sees heterosexual is beyond me).

I have to speak up, speak out, get on my soap box, be loud, yell and wave my arms, write blogs, publish articles, shave my head, refuse to back down, stand my ground, fight for my community, fight for employment, fight for legal rights, march in a parade, and carry a metaphorical sword JUST TO BE SEEN in the smallest way.

And then, when I have finally yelled and jumped up and down and waved my arms and pointed to injustice enough times for the heteronormative world to take notice, I hear “Wow, you’re awfully aggressive. What happened to the nice, sweet girl we used to know?”

I will tell you. She’s gone.

I am no longer nice, sweet, and compliant. Nice, Sweet, Compliant Me was violated over and over and over. Nice, Sweet, Compliant Me took care of everyone else instead of fighting for what I knew was right. I stand my ground. I stand up for what I believe in and I fight for social justice.

Why is it that people love the saying, “well-behaved women rarely make history,” but when they actually encounter a woman who is not well-behaved, they attack her? Do we only love and accept women who misbehave in the proper way? I’m not interested in what is proper. I am interested in what is right.

So there.

Stop the hate.