Floating

I've been in a weird place. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually.

I'm not sure why this semester seems so different than ones past, but it's taking all of my energy to just survive it. My grades are not what I want them to be. I'm not performing at my job in the ways I want to be. I'm giving the bare minimum to many organizations I run/participate in, and at the end of each week, I still feel incredibly drained and unsure of how to do it all again.

I think a part of it probably has to do with the breakup. (Gasp! This femme-inist has feelings, a lot of them, and sometimes they are a bit fragile) It left me with this feeling that I'm in this transitional space without anyone by my side to help me through it. Of course, that's not true-as I have some of the best friends a girl could hope to have, but the feeling still resonates. I also feel an incredible attachment to spaces and the current living situation I have (in which I live in the ex's old apartment...) takes its drain on me. I also thought for most of last year that I would be graduating a year early and starting my life this May, instead of 2012. That all changed, however, and now I have to figure out how make myself happy as an undergrad for another year and a half. I lived alone in England and I got used to it and learned to love it. When I lived in my parent's house, I was incredibly protective of my space. I didn't really allow anyone into my room and was very uncomfortable when someone was in my space. I was not hiding anything, but I felt like unwelcome intrusions into my room were like unwelcome intrusions into my soul. When I lived in dorms in college, I left behind a lot of those weird space issues, but they seem to be reemerging. I love my roommate dearly and she is one of my closest friends, but I'm realizing that I might be someone that needs to live alone.

If you're wondering at this point what the purpose of this post is, join the club. I think I am just trying to understand the feelings I am having and how they relate to my past and how I can incorporate them into positive moves in the future. Next week is Thanksgiving Break and I've never so looked forward to it before. We all (need a) break sometimes.

Fireside Chat:Identities

Identities.

We all have them. We all choose these words that would otherwise be arbitrary and try to make them have enough meaning to explain our existence. I think it's one of the most core essences of our humanity, a need to explain ourselves.

I thought it might be interesting (probably more for me than for you) to explain a little bit about my identities and why this blog is named as it is. Here goes.

In a very particular order:

Woman- I identify strongly, fiercely as a woman. Now, I'll be the first to call people out at attempting to universalize a female or woman experience, but it's still an identity that rings strongly with me. It encompasses my love of things considered to be feminine (baking, knitting, talking, caring) and my place within history.

Feminist- Every day, I attempt to live my life in the most feminist way I can. I struggle with feminist as an identity, as I'm much more sympathetic to the bell hooks idea of redefining feminism through doing feminist work, rather than owning an identity, but again, it's an identity I deliberately choose. Feminism truly saved me. It opened my eyes to a world I didn't know existed. A world in which there were other people who were angry about things in the world and who helped me learn to be angry about what happened to me. Feminism helped me understand the beliefs I'd always had and never been able to defend. In case your wondering, my personal brand of feminism fluctuates between third-wave and radical lesbian separatist. Feminism gives me a goal to live by each day-living intentionally and ending oppression.

Lesbian- It's funny that it felt pertinent for me to list this before queer, the word I actually use to identify my sexuality. Lesbian, rather, for me is about a life. Though I don't exclusively date cis-women, many of the people I am closest to are lesbians. The lesbian community is the one that most closely matches my life experience.

Queer- My sexuality has never been something I've really understood. I feel attracted (most times) to combinations of masculinity and female bodies, but have experienced attraction to almost everything in between. While I tend to be most attracted to butch(y) lesbians, limiting myself to that has never felt nearly adequate.

Femme- Through beginning to own my femme identity, I've discovered a lot about myself. I've discovered that there are some femmes with which I have nothing in common and some that seem to mirror my experiences and beliefs eerily. For me, my femme identity rings true because of the people I am typically attracted to, my love of feminine fashion/makeup/shoes, and the fact that I tend to take on the more feminine gender roles in relationships. But trust, I have a feminist critique of all of those things. Identities are hard, y'all.

What's striking when reading this over is that in all honesty, this is just how I experience my identities right now. In this moment. 11:30 on Sunday night in November 2010. Things change. Me especially.

Anger

Let’s chat about something.

Anger.

I have it. I have it boiling inside me most days. Just a constant, rolling, rage about the state of our society and things that happen in the world. I have it about being told I shouldn’t have it. I have it about more things that I could possibly fit into this blog post.

(I don’t have it about a lot of things in my personal life. It seems I have trouble transferring this emotion from macro to micro levels. Thanks, therapy.)

But back to the point.

I’m not sorry about my anger. I don’t care if it turns people off or is not relatable. People are turned off by it because they are scared of it. They are scared of tapping into their own anger and realizing the incredible amount of power it holds.

Audre Lorde wrote about this very thing, and my favorite quote about it is that “anger is loaded with information and energy.” But really, if you haven’t read her “The Uses of Anger,” go do so immediately.

Anger is what keeps me getting out of bed each day. Because let’s be real, there’s not a lot else out there to hold on to. I could choose to be dejected and saddened, but that’s an emotion that drains energy rather than giving it. I could choose to ignore all the shit that is fucked up and be happy, but that’s not a whole existence. So I have anger. Lots of it.

So no, I won’t apologize for it, and for people who are turned off by it, I don’t apologize. It’s their problem, and the day they realize the power of their own anger, they will be throwing tissue boxes right along side me.

Halloween

So a few weeks ago, I got the breakup haircut. I convinced myself I could pull off Bettie Page bangs and off went my beloved hair.

Luckily, it worked. It's definitely the best haircut I've ever had and I love it.

Well, when researching my bangs, I came across this picture of Bettie Page and I knew instantly (with the encouragement from many friends and my roommate) that it needed to be the inspiration for my Halloween costume.

To put the ensemble together, I used lingerie from Hips & Curves, borrowed some gloves, found a whip for a few bucks at a Halloween store, and applied the perfect pinup makeup. Here's the final result!

(Barack Obama approved, clearly.)

Fierce Fashion

So last week, in a sadness-induced online shopping binge, I bought two fierce dresses fromFaith 21. (I HATE the name, and worry that Forever 21 still uses unethical labor practices, but I was having a moment.)

Anyway, they arrived earlier this week and they are both pretty fabulous.

For your viewing pleasure:

I already bought a pair of fierce pink peep-toes to go with this one.

Me thinks this will be my Pride Prom dress :)

Also, apologies for the photo quality. I'm still working on the kinks of taking full length pictures of myself.

Embarking on New Journeys

My life has been in a transition state as of late, and as an effect, I often find myself feeling sort of directionless and unsure of where I want to go next. I’m torn by a devotion to being a passionate advocate of too many causes, some of which contradict one another, and I’ve been looking for something into which I can focus my energies.

I think I’ve found that something in doula. A doula is trained in everything from massage techniques to ease the pain of surges (aka contractions) to breastfeeding to helping a birthing mother exercise her rights in a hospital setting. A good friend of mine and I have discussed for a good long while becoming DONA certified Birthing Doulas together. It’s something I’ve wanted to do since I first learned what a doula was and is something that is required for her on her bigger journey of becoming a midwife. Said most simply, a doula is an advocate for the pregnant woman and the birthing mother.

Today, we really committed to the idea. We bought the books we have to read, scheduled out when we were going to accomplish certain aspects of the training over the next year and a half or so, and made our commitment more concrete. It’s a long process that involves books and papers and workshops and trainings and character references and attending births and a million other hoops through which we’ll have to jump, but it’s one that I’m so excited about.

The idea of reclaiming birth is something about which I care deeply. I can’t tell you exactly why, though it probably stems of my intense desire to birth and mother children one day and the rejection of the fact I need help from doctors to do what my body is literally designed to do. I hate the idea of pregnancy and birth being seen as a medical condition or problem. It makes me sad to see birthing mamas hooked up to IVs and surrounded by a stressful and fear-filled hospital environment. Let me insert here that I am not opposed to hospital births or obstetricians or C-sections or pain medication-I’m simply opposed to women being raised to think that this is their only option when it comes to birth. I would be happy to work as the doula for a woman who carefully examined her options and decided that a hospital birth was still best for her. One of the biggest roles of a doula, in my eyes, is to help women realize all the options they have when it comes to their birth plans and help them navigate through any problems that arise.

As I move through this process over the next few years, I’ll be sure to share my journey and what I learn about birth, mothering, and myself.

The Whistles

I’ve been trying to write this post for a few days, but each time I tried to explain how I felt in an even-toned, well thought-out way, it devolved into rant.

And then I realized I was treating my ranting as though it wasn’t an appropriate response to the situation, when instead, I should be focusing on the power my outrage holds.

Here’s the situation. It’s a Friday evening. I look killer because I have a date later that night. I’m walking home, and out of nowhere, I hear the yell. The “Hey girl. Looking goooood. Want my number?” yell.

Later that night, whilst walking around the downtown area of my college town, I hear the sound that I can only describe as a “whistle-grunt.” Anyone who has been cat-called knows what I’m talking about.

I was alone the first time it happened. I turned up my iPod, hurried home, and tried to shake the incredibly disgusting feeling that kind of thing always leaves me with. The second time it happened that night, I was with my date. I had already talked about what had happened earlier and how much I intensely dislike being yelled at by strange men in passing cars. When it happened again, I screamed back “my short skirt is not a fucking invitation” and my date tried to figure out the best way to support me. I said there was no right way. I just needed to be angry for awhile and sort it out.

The next day, I discussed the situation with one of my best feminist friends. When expressing my disdain for cat-calling, she said something to the effect of “I know. It just takes away all your power in that one moment. It’s such a sudden and powerful shift and it’s an awful, awful feeling.”

I couldn’t agree more. When it happens, it’s like all at once, the years of work I’ve put into loving my body-seeing it as a temple I am lucky enough to live within, means nothing. It feels like no matter what I do and how hard I fight for the kind of justice I believe in, to some, my body will always be some sort of public domain upon which they have the right to comment.

It’s also made me analyze the different things that get yelled at me while I’m walking down the street depending on who I’m with. (The whole cat-calling/slurring happens to me on a way too frequent basis) When I’m by myself, it’s almost always a traditional cat-call and the same when I’m with a more masculine looking date/friend/partner. When I would walk around with a former partner who was more feminine presenting, however, we always got the “DYKE” slur yelled from cars of anonymous white men. My real point, however, is that no matter what the situation, it seems my body or my life is still something that people (read: white men) feel it is their place to speak about.

I know there has been a real movement to reclaim cat-calling and I think the women who can turn random comments from random men into something that affirms their beauty and self-worth are truly radical. But I can’t. At least not yet. When it happens to me, I still feel like the 12 year old I used to be. The one who hated her body and didn’t know how it fit into this great big world. I’m not her anymore, and I’m tried of people trying to bring her back.