Parenting, Politics, Raising a Trans Child, Ranting

Why Parents of Trans Kids Are A Special Kind of Tired

Yes. All parents walking the earth are tired.

We are all absolutely in solidarity with that fact.

We could all use about a week on a deserted island without any children, technology, or responsibilities of any kind.

But I feel the need to tell you about the special kind of tired that parents of transgender kids are experiencing.

It’s different than most versions of tired.

And this isn’t to “one-up”. And this certainly isn’t to take away from an LGBTQIA child themselves, their own struggles and hardships. This isn’t to take away from, or distract from… anyone.

This isn’t a competition.

This is just to simply explain and shed light on how we’re feeling, since it’s of my belief that we, the parents of trans youth, are living in our own marginalized community.

Unless we happen to live in some uber progressive area, we are all acutely aware of the discrimination that the trans community faces. We see it everyday, especially on social media. We hear it on the news, we see how the current administration is rolling back Obama-era LGBTQIA protections.

Or maybe we all aren’t as aware as I hope we are. Maybe that’s utopian of me. Because it doesn’t matter to most if it’s not personal, if it doesn’t hit your heart.

I’m not sure.

I digress.

Although the conversation about trans folks is seemingly becoming more expansive, even a bit more accepted amongst the general public, (especially with headlines such as the American Academy of Pediatrics recent policy statement on how to care for trans youth best is by affirming them), we still have such a long way to go overall.

And who is leading the fight for trans youth?

Parents. {Mostly. But not ever to slight or dishonor our trans warriors themselves.}

And it is indeed a fight.

The pioneer parents in this fight have been visibly on the scene for less than a decade. True publicity and awareness for trans youth has really only been discussed for the last 3-5 years. And amazing strides have been made in many ways.

I, myself, just joined the fight within the last 9 months.

And I. Am. Tired.

In the short amount of time I’ve been on a mama bear, warrior path, yes, I’m a special kind of tired.

Because we are the advocates, the fierce allies, the public speakers, the meeting schedulers, the school board meeting attendees, the researchers, the therapist seekers, the medical professional seekers.

We are the ones out in front of our kids with swords and shields, fighting like hell for equality and basic human rights.

We are fighting for our kids to be heard. To be seen. To be viewed the same as every other child.

We are fighting for policy changes, locally and globally.

We are fighting for bullying protections, for bathroom spaces, for name changes, for gender marker revisions, for medical care.

We are thinking about our children nonstop while they’re at school, wondering if others are being kind, if the correct name and pronouns are being used, if teachers are abiding by our requests, if our kids are being bullied, assaulted, chastised, outcasted.

We are wiping our kids’ tears for far different reasons than that of any other parents, fielding emotional meltdowns, especially when dysphoria hits our kids, when they loathe their bodies, when they’re frustrated.

We are navigating emotional issues when their peers reject them, when they can’t find jobs, when they can’t participate in sports with the rest of their cisgender peers, when others refuse to use their chosen name or intentionally misgender them, when adults harass them, when people tell them God hates them and they’re going to hell. When their classmates tell them they should kill themselves.

We are running to doctors to treat urinary tract infections because they held their pee all day so they didn’t have to use the bathroom in which they feel unsafe.

We are sometimes not even the biological parents fighting this fight. We are the amazingly unselfish, loving adoptive parents, accepting and affirming someone else’s child who was rejected by their own family, by their own blood. Just for living their truth.

All the while, we are simultaneously defending ourselves from hate.

We are falsely accused of pushing agendas, of having some sort of “liberal” brainwashing scheme that we are somehow instilling in our children and poisoning every other child within a 100 mile radius.

We are falsely accused of administering hormones and “mutilating” our children at the young ages of 7, 8, 9, and 10.

We are falsely accused of being crazy, of making our children mentally ill, of abusing our children, of allowing them to be transgender.

We are told we are wrong.

We are told that our children are confused, sick, misguided.

We are fighting false claims coming from anti-LGBTQ+ hate groups, Christian extremists, politicians, none of whom base their claims on facts or research. We fight the ignorance and dismissiveness of the general public.

We are the educators, the question fielders, the soundboards.

We are losing friends and families, fighting battles that our children might know nothing about.

We are fighting online trolls, personal attacks, worrying about safety for our families, especially since trans women are being murdered at alarming rates.

We are also having to pack away the child we thought we birthed, the assigned gender of our child, the hopes and dreams we had tied up in that little human. Some of us are even grieving a loss of sorts that’s very difficult for others to understand. We are grappling, struggling to understand what’s happening, how our child is feeling, how best to help them.

We are putting old pictures away that are hurtful to our kids, literally packing away our memories, careful to not use their birth name, vigilant about using the correct pronouns even though it might feel profoundly unnatural to us.

We are doing an unbelievable amount of emotional work.

And we are tired.

Because none of this is for us. This isn’t about us.

Because when we have children, nothing is about us, our needs, our wants.

Because this is about loving fiercely, loving unconditionally, and loving unapologetically.

Because this is about paving the very best path for our children that we possibly can, leading with love and acceptance, working with what we’re given in our hate-filled society.

Because that’s what makes our tired a different kind of tired: our tired involves fighting hate, discrimination, prejudice, erasure, and bigotry.

Unfounded, unacceptable, misaligned hate is pervasive in our lives. Just because our kids are trying to live their lives as who they really are, without hurting anyone or interfering with anyone else’s life.

They just want to live. And we just want them to live.

This isn’t an attention grab. This isn’t a post for accolades. This isn’t for praise.

This is for knowledge sake.

This is for awareness.

Because we are tired.

And we just want our kids to be able to have the same rights, the same opportunities, as every other human.

And we won’t rest until that’s real.

———————–

Edit: I had no idea this post would resonate with so many and make it around the internet. Thank you for reading.

I’ve upset some wonderful people and I’m so sorry if you’re one of them. Please click here if you’re a trans teen.

Life Lessons, Parenting, Raising a Trans Child, Ranting, Uncategorized

Gender Best Guess Parties

Hi.

My name is Vanessa and I hate gender reveal parties.

There. I said it.

I can already hear the clicking off of my page, and your eyes are rolling so hard that they might pop out of your head, because my opinion doesn’t matter. But listen, I have some valid reasons that might make sense to you if you read on.

I’m not aiming to change thoughts on these parties, because, at the end of the day, you do you, but just hear me out and you might learn something from my rambling. Or, at least I’ll give you a good excuse to argue in the comment section.

Around 2010-2011-ish, a year or two after I birthed my child, these gender reveal parties started popping up everywhere.

And I was so confused.

I mean, I saw couples go all out for these events. Fireworks, and smoke, and balloons, and surprise cake filling, all filled with the color that supposedly suggests the sex of the baby. Sometimes, like, super over the top shit goes down at these parties. This is a big deal for a whole lot of people these days.

But. What’s the purpose?

When these parties surfaced, I wasn’t some warrior on a path to dissolve the gender construct and it wasn’t because I’m a feminist who thought them to be inappropriate since they perpetuate the gender bias and ultimately the patriarchy.

I just simply thought they were silly.

Aside from feeling that they’re a bit lavish and silly, it also occurred to me that these parties are literally celebrating genitals. And that’s weird.

As expecting parents, typically, we can’t wait for that 20-week big ultrasound, for the tech to exclaim “It’s a boy/girl!”. And they do that solely by looking at…genitals. So, these parties feel a lot like, “Hey, come and guess what kind of genitalia my baby has!!”. You might as well have penis or vagina shaped cookies on the table, too.

Ew.

And I know you’re pushing back right now, arguing that it’s a celebration of the gender itself, right? But is it? And if so, why?

Turns out, for me, I became the mom of a transgender son. I was one of the thousands who thought that I had birthed a gender, a girl in my case, one that would love to go shopping with me, share make-up and maybe love gymnastics, only to be oh so very wrong. I had the nursery painted purple, donned my child in all pink at his first birthday, complete with a tutu and headband, tried to shove him into that gender conforming box.

And he would have none of it.

As soon as he could assert his opinions and his choices, around the age of 2-4, he was all boy. For him, his gender identity didn’t match his genitals. And that does happen more than you probably realize. So, it would have been a complete waste of good pink unicorn poop shooting out of a cannon, had I celebrated that way.

But aside from that, what I’ve learned is that gender is nothing more than a social construct. If you don’t believe me, dig into history and read up on how gender roles have changed over time, how that up until the 1920’s, little boys wore dresses and kept long hair until they were between the ages of 6-8. That these pink and blue boxes that we all like to put almost everything in life into didn’t really surface until the last century. Girls like pink, and make-up, and princesses. And boys like dirt, and sports, and trucks. That’s what we’ve been groomed to believe in modern day society.

It just seems narrow to me to celebrate these gender roles and societal norms for girls and boys. Especially since you have no idea what your child will gravitate towards and what they’re going to capable of. It might not fit into the box that you’re hoping for.

And if you’re saying “No, no, no! My child can like whatever they want! My girl can love sports and the color blue and my son can dance if he wants!”…then what on earth are we celebrating at a gender reveal party if that were true?

Even if I can’t get anyone on board with any of the above, here’s my final thought: Oftentimes, we hear “I don’t care what the gender is, as long as they’re healthy”, and if we mean that, why have a party to reveal the gender? What significance does it truly hold? I can’t think of anything worthy or reasonable to answer those questions.

I’m all for a good, fun party, for sure, but this is one party theme that has always rubbed me the wrong way, even before I knew my son was trans. When I’m scrolling my feed and I see pictures or videos of pink or blue sky writings announcing the sex of babies, I have relabeled them as “Gender Best Guess Parties” in my head.

And then I imagine a rainbow of colors shooting out of that firework, or oozing out of that cupcake.

Because our kids are so much more than just pink or blue. Let them be colorful.

Life Lessons, Parenting, Ranting, Social Media

The Bullies Have Arrived. And I’m Ready To Use My Words.

My daughter was bullied for the first time two weeks ago.

Unfortunately , I’m not surprised. But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less as a mom.

When you’re a little girl that appears to be a boy, when you don’t fit into a perfect little societal norm box in this hateful world, bullies will find you.

She was on a play date in a different neighborhood. Her and her friends went to the community’s playground and met two boys around the ages of 10-12.

All started out well and fine, they all played together, until they didn’t.

The two boys began picking on my daughter, before even knowing she was a girl, making fun of her clothes, her shoes, her hair. When she corrected one of them for calling her an “ugly boy”, telling them she was a girl, they then called her a “tranny”, a freak, a fag, and gay. None of such terms were even understood by my child. Because she’s 8 and ignorant to such slurs and hatred.

She handled it well enough. She talked it out with me when I picked her up. She asked a lot of questions about the words they used and just seemed overall confused, but not overly sad.

She is the type to stuff emotions a little bit so I’m not sure the validity to her dismissive attitude but I was proud of her strength. We keep open communication about the incident and I made sure to tell her that these boys were just mean because they didn’t understand her and that they must have felt bad and ugly inside to do that to someone else, to which she responded well.

As for me? I didn’t handle it quite as gracefully.

I was so sad. I am so sad.

This is a tough pill to swallow for a parent. This bullying epidemic is some scary shit, especially when you bring the notion of social media into the conversation. It’s fucking terrifying.

I analyzed the incident for days. And by analyzed , I mean obsessed over it. And by obsessed over it, I mean I lost sleep, I cried and I thought about running away with my child somewhere it feels safer than this. Anywhere that posed promise for more open mindedness.

Because I know this won’t be the last bullying incident. I knew this was coming and it was the day I dreaded for years.

When my daughter’s gender identity adventures began at a very young age, of course I was hoping it was a phase. Of course I was.

Who would want their child to have a more difficult life? Who would want their child to be different, to stand out, to struggle? No one. Absolutely not one parent on the face of the earth.

But alas, she continued to express herself in the same patterns: “boy” toys, “boy” clothes, “boy” haircut, all with a bit of a masculine nuance to her mannerisms since age 4.

I’ve never labeled her transgender, as I’ve written and talked about publicly. Let me be clear here and interject- I would label her transgender, and let her socially transition, if she asserted herself that way, if she affirmed that in her heart she feels like a boy, if she ever went into depression or anxiety over it, or if she attempted suicide over it as many young children do when they’re trans. Because I now know that being trans a science based fact, because I’ve done my research, because I know families that have had a suicidal 7 year old because their brain doesn’t match their genitalia.

But thus far, that hasn’t been the case. We keep an open dialogue and yes, she sees someone that specializes in gender issues. Because it’s confusing as fuck, for her and more so for me. This is not a made up thing.

So, for now, she’s a girl with a very feminine name who looks like a boy and confuses so many strangers.

Which is where the bullies will continue to dive in. Because they’re afraid. Because whether you’re a child, a teen, a young adult, or full grown, fear breeds ignorance and ignorance breeds terrible behavior, as we have all been privileged to witnessing.

People are afraid of things and issues and other people that they don’t understand. They’re afraid and they react out of that fear. And the bullies aren’t taught to filter that out by their parents. Ignorance is perpetuated in their homes, it’s learned behavior. And that behavior translates into hatefulness. Just look around social media. Adults are the absolute worst offenders.

People ask me all of the time. “why do you write about this? Why do you put this information out to the universe to get scrutinized?”.

And all of this analysis of this first bullying incident solidified my answer- to preach the word of kindness. To maybe, just maybe, educate one person on what it is that makes my child different. To advocate for all differences.

I posted a little blurb about this incident on my personal Facebook page, trying to spread a message of kindness and teaching children to not say anything if they don’t have anything nice to say.

I received a private message from a person I knew from high school who stated that I set my child up for this bullying, that this is my fault, because I “let her dress like a boy”. To which I replied, I simply will not shove my child’s wants and needs aside, force her into a box, for the comfort of everyone else. No way. That would certainly make it better for everyone else wouldn’t it? But that is not allowing my child room to be who she is. That is not setting her up on a solid foundation.

She is who she is.

And that’s why I write.

For her.

To create a better world for her the only way I know how.

And to those that believe writing about this topic is over exposing her- that’s a fair concern but listen, she will grow up knowing her mother is a fighter for equality. And I hope that makes her proud. I will absolutely stop writing about this the moment she asks me to.

But in the meantime, I will fight for a better place for her to exist just how she is. Her authentic self. I will use my writing as a super power of education and plea for kindness.

And hope for a day where acceptance is commonplace and bullies have no place in the world.

A mama can hope. A mama will fight.

Parenting, Ranting, Relationships, Uncategorized

FYI: You’re Not A Single Mom If You’re Married

I read yet another blog piece about how difficult it is to be a “married-but-single-mom”.

You know the ones.

The ones crying about how difficult their life is because they signed up to be a stay at home mom and now their husband’s work 60 hours a week…so they can be a stay at home mom… and the husbands don’t feel like changing diapers, or they don’t clean up their own dirty underwear, or perhaps the husbands literally don’t lift a finger in the house. The moms that complain that their lives are so painfully lonely because they got everything they ever wanted and now realize how hard it is to be a mom and a caregiver to all of the humans in the house and they think they’re living the same life as a single mom…

Listen. Just stop with this.

Ladies, (and yes, I’m singling out the moms here since that’s who I see debating this subject time and again), if you are married you cannot be a single mom. It is virtually impossible.

Simply put, “single” and “married” are antonyms. They have opposite meanings. You cannot be married and single at the same time.

When can you call yourself a single-mom? When you’re single and unmarried, raising children. Full stop.

Husband gone 5 out of 7 nights a week for work? Not a single mom.
Husband works nights and you work days? Not a single mom.
Husband doesn’t lift a finger around the house to cook, clean, or care for the kids? Not a single mom.
Husband is included in any of your vernacular when describing your relationship status? Not.a.single.mom.

I understand that your husband might put in long work weeks and expect dinner on the table and the laundry to be done and that yes, you are the primary caregiver for everyone in your household. I get that. I get that is nothing short of the most incredibly difficult job on the face of the planet. Because it is. Parenthood is hard. And yes, husbands are like having an additional child. Absolutely.

But you know what you have that single-moms don’t, in case it isn’t obvious? A partner. Of some sort.

If you’re a stay at home mom, you have a person providing financial means. Emotional support. An adult human that lives with you at least some of the time, even if he works long hours or even if he travels for work. Someone to talk to about something other than MineCraft and 3rd grade math. You have a person.

And I’m not willing to give those a pass, who do not actually know this struggle, to share a title with any single mom. Just…no.

Call me an asshole. Call me bitter, (because a divorce that I didn’t want has made me both of those things), but that title isn’t suited for you as a stay at home mom who has a partner. Sorry.

I’m not saying your situation isn’t difficult. I’m sure that when you’re comparing yourselves to other married moms whose husbands come home at 5pm and immediately chip in with the kids, help with dinner, bathe the kids or whatever, I’m certain you have it more difficult. But you’re still married. Maybe it looks different than the fantasy you created in your mind about how it would be, but you’re married.

When I was married, I worked a typical 8-4 job and my husband worked nights as a restaurant manager. When my daughter was a baby and a toddler, six nights a week after 4pm- the caregiving and on weekends? All me. And I do remember making comments to friends like, “Man, sometimes I feel like a single parent!”, because I had no clue what that actually meant.

Now I do.

I am divorced. I have my daughter 5 nights every week, including every weekend. I run two businesses, so I put in about 50-55 hours of work a week, and I provide about 90% of my child’s financial well being.

I certainly could have it more difficult. Obviously, there are moms (and dads) who have their children 100% of the time without any help, some working more than one job. The real single parents. The toughest of the tough shit. I’m sure some reading might be in this category and believe that even I shouldn’t be using the term single mom, and I can respect that to some degree. I will happily accept an alternative title of “bitter asshole, divorced mom”.

But what we both don’t have is a person.

That person that promised me for better or for worse, the one that said “I do” in that thing called marriage? He’s no longer here with me because life had other plans. No more confidant, no more equal contributor to finances, no one to fight over the remote with, no more 30 minute timeouts so I can walk the dogs if I’ve had enough of being a mom in a given moment on a weekend. Because I am single. And a mom. And I’m on my own.

I know we all live in our reality. And all of our realities are hard. That’s the truth. I don’t think any of us as parents believe our lives to be easy. We can all find solidarity in the struggles of raising small humans. This shit is difficult no matter how perfect it looks on paper. All of it is hard. Marriage certainly isn’t a romance novel and raising children isn’t puppies and rainbows like we dreamed these things to be before we had them.

We know mom life is hard. We know.

But, please. Please reserve the title of “Single Mom” to those who actually live it.

Life Lessons, Parenting, Ranting, Uncategorized

Thickening of the Skin, Strengthening of the Spine

I had the first real heartbreaking conversation with my 8 year old daughter. The kind where she was sad and confused. The kind that began her story with friendships, fitting in, and feeling left out. The kind that makes me want to take her away to some island where her and I can just be together and safe and happy and free of hurt.

I knew it wouldn’t be long. I’ve predicted this conversation for at least 3 years. Most parents have to have these conversations in some variation, of course, but I knew ours would come a bit prematurely because my child doesn’t fit those traditional molds specific to her gender.

She does well with the one-on-one play. She has school friends, she has her neighborhood friends, but activities like recess and any type of party scenario, she tends to be a bit…awkward. Kids aren’t mean to her, they’re not bullying, and I certainly hope it stays that way, but, she struggles, internally.

A few nights ago, our community had their fall block party. There were probably 30 children there and I noticed that my child had been adopted by an older girl, an 11 year old, that just so happens to be on the autism spectrum. Their friendship seemed to happen quick and easy, despite their age difference. I observed them and it seemed to just make sense to both of them that they’re natural friends. I couldn’t help but feel and think that this was the coming together of two unique spirits, of sorts.

After this sweet girl left, my daughter wanted to leave, too. But I wasn’t quite ready, since I only socialize twice a year, and so I said to her, “why don’t you go play with one of the 30 other kids here? I’m sure you can find something to do with one or a few of them”.

She reluctantly took my advice and I continued to observe, noticing it wasn’t going so well. The boys tossed the football to her a couple times but then quickly divert to boys that could sustain more of an aggressive game. One thing my child is not is physically aggressive in sports. She’s not a tomboy.

The girls really don’t have anything in common with my daughter, being that they were in a group doing gymnastics and braiding one another’s hair, nothing my child would have any interest in, so that just left…my daughter.

As I put her to bed that evening, she said, “Mom, I wanted to leave the party tonight because I don’t fit in with anyone. The same reason why I hardly ever play with anyone at recess. No one is like me. I feel different than everyone”.

Ouch. Stab.

Open, gaping wound.

Blood spilled out of my heart.

Now. I don’t believe my child is immune to being dramatic, and she’s certainly bossy at times so I recognize that some of this falls on her because she wants to play what she wants to play, when she wants to play it. And I realize that many children feel like they don’t fit in for many reasons. But. That doesn’t negate the feelings of being different, feeling left out,…because she is, indeed, different.

It’s an awful feeling, at any age, to feel like you don’t belong. I’ve struggled with it more in my adult life than I did in my school years. We all just want to feel accepted and loved.

I could certainly go into the amazing wisdom I feel like I imparted on my child, how I told her that’s she’s incredible and unique and that because of that, she’s going to have to work a little bit harder to find her tribe. I could go on about how I told her that when someone dares to be different, and someone dares to live outside of “normalcy”, you should never compromise and your people will find you, like the sweet 11 year old found her. I could rehash how I stressed the importance of having that one really good soul that “gets” you rather than 25 fake friends that don’t really get you at all, won’t be there for you in the long run and highlighted all of the amazing friends she does have.

But here’s where I want to swing this into a selfish story:

Yes. I cheer-leaded for her last night. The first time of many, I’m assuming. I told her all of those amazing things about herself and how it makes her who she is, etc. but after I shut her door behind me, after our good, long talk, I cried. A lot.

Because this shit is hard.

We can say all day long that every child struggles, every child goes through the proverbial growing pains, and that’s very true, but I cannot ignore, for my daughter, that this is about her gender identity struggles.

30% of kids that struggle with gender identity attempt suicide and 42% engage in self harm and the stats for depression and anxiety are even more staggering. And between 5-10% of all LBGTQ youth attempt suicide. This is scary. Like, fucking terrifying, knowing this is the reason why she’s different. It is and there’s no reason to sugarcoat that fact.

She’s realizing she’s different, she’s realizing she’s not like anyone else. It’s getting harder for her. The confusion is just beginning.

And this shit is hard as a parent.

I feel it, as a mom. I feel the struggle. My friendships have changed since it’s been apparent who my child is and especially since I have written about this topic. Not all friendships, but some. I feel the distance. I feel the chatter behind my back. It’s palpable. Its like a thick cloud sometimes. It’s tangible.

I don’t have many local friends anymore, in this small, conservative area. I notice the lack of Facebook friend engagements. I notice the lack of invites to social events. It’s not in my head. It’s real. The distance is there.

People think this is my doing, that this my choice. That I want this for my child. That being out of the ordinary is my thing and I thrive on it. I’ve said it before but it’s worth repeating: no one wants their child to struggle, ever. For any reason. Being deemed “normal” or more “mainstreamed” would be much easier, yes? A parent would not choose this.

And even if these people know that this is who my child is, they want my silence. They don’t want me to make a deal out of this. They don’t want me to talk about it. They say it’s because they worry how my daughter will feel about these writings someday when she’s older, but I call bullshit. It makes them uncomfortable. They don’t say these things to my face, but they don’t have to.

And sometimes it’s painful. I’m slowing giving away my fucks, little by little, one by one. But sometimes it stings.

Then, little things happen. Just a nudge to remind me that my voice matters.

Just yesterday, my daughter and her dad went to get her hair cut. One of my friends from high school, whose son goes to my daughter’s school was there, too. I received this text from my friend:

Hi there. Just wanted to let you know that my son and I were waiting to get his hair cut here at the Great Clips. Your daughter was getting her haircut. First of all I have to tell you, she is the most beautiful little girl or handsome boy- whichever she prefers. Well, when she and her dad left, the older gentleman next to me said to the stylist- ‘was that a girl or a boy, I sure hope with that haircut it wasn’t a little girl!’ The stylist QUICKLY said. ‘Her name is in our system as a female name and she is a just a kid being who she wants to and obviously has supportive parents’. He just looked like he’d been hit in the face with a bag of bricks. I just looked over and said, ‘yes, she is my friend’s daughter and likes to associate as a boy, but I don’t believe that makes or breaks who she is as a child’. He just gave me a blank look. It was very eye opening to see what you and Lily have to deal with first hand probably on a day to day basis. It really opened my eyes to how cruel some people can be and especially regarding a child! So I truly admire you and all that you do for your daughter!”

Validation. It exists.

This text validated that, yes, people do spew their unsolicited, hateful opinions behind my back, whether they’re strangers, friends, or even family, but more importantly, someone else was able to see how hard this can be. And also? How incredible was that stylist that shut that man right up?

I was so thankful for this text, for this moment. I cried happy tears that people can open their minds if they so choose.

We see the pendulum swinging a bit in terms of LBGTQ acceptance, for sure. Just yesterday, the first openly trans political officials were elected (way to go, Virginia and Minnesota!!). And amazing as that is, the absolute HATE I read spewing online today because of those election results was so fucking depressing and made me realize how much work we still have to put in.

We’re are headed in the right direction, but it’s just awful to see so much hate, so much division over this topic, still. All because people want to live within their ignorance. They want to deny the science behind this discussion, they want to pretend it isn’t real…because it makes them uncomfortable. It’s much easier to call people “freaks” than to open their minds to other possibilities.

The take away here is: there is far more hope right now than hate.

And at the end of the day, my spine is stronger, my skin is thicker, because of raising this child of mine, thereby allowing me to teach her that she is a badass.

My child will only know how to stand tall and take no shit, letting no one talk her out of who she is. She will rise above the hate, she will look down on the ignorance. She will only know self confidence and never apologize for who she is. Her skin will be so thick that she will feel sorry for the idiots that believe that her lifestyle is a choice, whatever that ends up to be. She will be firmly planted in her truth and have no problem telling someone to “fuck off”.

We’re getting somewhere, one political office, one high school friend, and one hair stylist at a time. So, my child and I stand tall, and sometimes we will stand alone, and that’s totally ok by me. I’m more than up to the challenge and, more so, the privilege of being her mom.

Life Lessons, Parenting, Ranting, Uncategorized

The Great Bathroom Debate is Bullshit. Here’s Proof.

A few weeks ago, my non-gender conforming daughter (who is 8), and I were in a public restroom. As we were washing our hands, an older lady standing next to me looked at my daughter, (who was out of earshot at the hand dryer at the moment), then turned to me and said, “So, what’s the rule these days? When do parents allow their kids to go to the correct bathroom without a parent?”.

I fell silent for a second, completely confused as to what she was asking me. She took notice of my confusion and filled the silence with “You know what I mean. When will you allow him to go to the boy’s bathroom alone?”.

It took my brain a second to process that she was certain that my daughter was a boy and she was judging me, inferring he should be in his gender assigned bathroom.

“Oh, um. She’s a girl. She’s in the correct bathroom.”

The look on this lady’s face was somewhat indescribable. She could not have been more shocked, stammering and befuddled in that moment. I then saw the look of confusion take over her face, trying to make sense of my child’s gender and what I was saying.

She tried to backpedal and muddled something along the lines of, “Oh, well, well, I, um, just meant that she looks older and, um, I didn’t know…”.

My emotions were somewhere between annoyed, angry, and still confused by the whole conversation. The only thing I could choke out was, “Can’t judge a book by it’s cover, right?”, and she couldn’t manage any words.

First and foremost, stop judging parents, period, lady. Because that’s where she wanted to go with it, I’m certain. She wanted to get on her pedestal about how her generation allowed children to go to the bathroom alone at the age of 2 or whatever higher horse conversation she was encroaching on. I could hear it coming.

But secondly? This is exactly why the transgender bathroom debate makes no sense at all and is utter bullshit. Here it is. A prime example.

Here’s a person that assumed my child was a boy by mere esthetics. Boy clothes, plus boy hair, plus boy mannerisms must equal boy. She certainly could not see her genitalia. And because we were all in the bathroom to do what people do in the bathroom, take a piss, we were not bothering anyone. Why this woman felt the need to say anything at all is beyond me but by doing so, she proved a much larger point.

She proved that had my daughter been in the men’s bathroom, no one would have questioned her at all because she looks like a boy. If my daughter was/is trans, she’s visually acceptable and it would go without notice that she is in the stall next to another little boy. No one would know that she actually has a vagina.

The fact of the matter is, you have taken a squat in the very next stall to a trans person. You absolutely have. You just don’t know it. Because, as my daughter proved to this woman, looks can be very, very deceiving. Guys look like girls, girls look like guys, and trans people look like who they are. But more so- who cares?

Straight, gay, trans, bi- when we go into a bathroom, we all just need to go to the bathroom. That’s it. Pee, or take a shit, wash our hands, and move on. Why everyone is so goddamned concerned with our genitalia is bizarre. There are plenty of hard facts documenting that straight men are usually the perpetrators in any kind of bathroom assault or perversion so what’s with this preoccupation with transgender people or gender in general?

Since this whole bathroom debate began a couple of years ago, it caused me so much confusion about what it is everyone is so afraid of. I know the big bathroom debate is tired. I know it’s been written, it’s been discussed ad-nauseam. So, this is me half venting, half {hopefully} educating in a spill of emotion.

The truth seems to be, people just don’t want to be wrong about this marginalized community and this is why this is even still a topic of discussion. They don’t want to try to understand the biology and how it’s different from their own, or even if it’s different at all. They don’t want to realize that they’re just like everyone else.

Regardless of what your bible might tell you or what “morals and ethics” you hold true, or if you’re just one of those that believe those that challenge gender norms are “freaks”, try to put that all aside for one second. They’re people. Just living. That’s it. They’re just human beings. That’s it. Normal, breathing, thriving humans that need to go to the bathroom. If you don’t want to try to understand anything else about gender issues, fine. But just recognize the simple fact that they need to go to the fucking bathroom, just like you.

It hurts so many people when we move backwards, back towards exclusivity, opposed to inclusiveness. The us-versus-them mentality. The you’re-different-so-you-must-be-wrong mentality. And we are, indeed, slipping backward.

I hope we can do better as a whole with this entire topic. I’m not overly optimistic lately.

But also? Don’t give unsolicited parenting advice. Ever.

And, Stop judging books by their covers. Let my daughter pee and mind your own business.

 

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Life Lessons, Parenting, Ranting, Social Media, Uncategorized

Things I Miss.

I complain about social media a lot. And I complain about technology and all of the negative aspects of it.

I also spend approximately 80% of my day on my technology or social media.

It’s a complex, toxic, love/hate relationship, right?

But, seriously. I see how problematic it is and I see how beneficial it is.

It especially worries me for my child’s generation. I fear we’re creating a generation of zombies and dumbasses since these neat little gadgets have become our children’s babysitters (and I am guilty AF).

So, this got me thinking. My childhood was so much less complex and so much more boring.

I miss…

…the days of staying outside and playing until the fireflies told us to go home.

…the days when the terms “helicopter parent” and “social anxiety” weren’t widely known or acknowledged.

…the days of having a phone plugged into the wall and the cord would be all stretched out from trying to walk from room to room.

…the days of Super Mario Bros. being the only form of screen time.

…the days when MTV actually played music videos and The Real World had actual content of college kids making something of themselves, discussing real world issues, instead of just getting wasted drunk and fucking.

…the days of simple seated portraits being an acceptable form of photography, opposed to all of these fancy locations with the wind having to blow in the right direction.

…the days of cell phone minute packages so we actually had to care about how much time we spent on the phone. (I had an Erikson and then a Nokia, FYI.)

…the days of writing notes in class and folding them in the most creative ways possible.

…the days before texting was a thing and people actually had to speak so things weren’t lost in translation.

…the days of not knowing where someone was because they didn’t have a cell phone yet.

…the days of spelling things out with numbers on beepers.

…the days of spending summers reading Sweet Valley High, The Babysitters Club, and Ramona books.

…the days of flannels and grunge clothes that didn’t show ass cheeks.

…the days when The Kardashians weren’t societal icons and middle school kids weren’t so concerned with make-up and lip plumpers.

…the days when rock music actually existed.

…the days when people actually had to have talent to make a healthy living instead of just playing mindless games on YouTube.

…the days when infidelity was the biggest scandal in government.

…the days when bullies actually had to be a dick to your face instead of hiding behind a keyboard, both adults and children.

…the days when selfies weren’t called selfies. They were just pictures you took with your disposable camera and hoped for the best; had them printed and then shoved them in an album.

…the days of rewinding your favorite song in that yellow Sony Walkman.

…the days of actual humorous sitcoms. (Remember T.G.I.F.??)

…the days when the most violent video game was The Legends of Zelda.

…the days of not knowing everyone’s eating, drinking, pooping habits, their political affiliation, and what inspirational quote they’re living by for today via Facebook.

…the days when we all weren’t instantly gratified by every.single.thing. because every answer to everything is in our hand.

And that’s just to name a few.

I’m starting to feel every ounce of my 40 years of age, saying things like, “Well, back in my day, we had an ETCH-A-SCKETCH and that was it!!”. But it’s true. My generation was so much better off than recent generations, I do believe. We were forced to be creative. And we even had actual books and libraries and encyclopedias. Nothing was instanious. Everything required a little bit of work. Mind blowing, right?

We just had a simpler life. Period. They were simpler times. Or so it seemed.

All of this technology is supposed to be making our lives so much better, so much more convenient, and sure, in many ways it is. I love Google Maps, instead of paper maps, and I don’t miss having to find a pay phone. But it certainly has complicated our lives in so many ways.

The irony isn’t lost on me that you’re probably reading this on your smart-technolgy, linked off of a social media site. I get it. As I stare at my child sitting on the couch watching YouTube on our TV.

I get it.

I love it just as much as the next person. I’ve relented to it, allowed it to meld right into my life, for sure.

Perhaps every generation says this, and I know it’s all relative, but I sure do miss the good ole days. I have officially reached the age of saying so.

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Life Lessons, Parenting, Ranting, Social Media, Uncategorized

My 9 Reasons Why I’m Not Sure “13 Reasons Why” Should Be Glorified

(Warning: SPOILERS. Stop reading if you haven’t watched this series and intend to.)

Seriously.

Spoilers.

Lots of them.

13 Reasons Why.

Everyone had been buzzing about this show and I admit, I was immediately sucked in and finished the series in just three nights. At first, I praised the show, thinking I gained something from it as a mom, some understanding about how the teenage years work these days.

But the truth is, after I allowed the show to haunt me for two days after completing it, and after I’ve sat with it for over a week now, I now realize that I’m not particularly fond of some of it, and yet, some of it I feel is so necessary to discuss. I’m very torn which means it must be worth discussing. I don’t know that it’s at all helpful for parents or teens to watch… but it does bring up so many fantastic talking points that are so necessary to unpack.

And here are my 9 Reasons Why I think it might, or might not, be a bad idea to watch Hannah Baker’s version of suicide. Here’s what’s right and what’s wrong about it from a novice perspective:

1.) The theme of revenge.

Listen, I am not a suicide expert. I have never been suicidal, thankfully, but I have known a few people that had taken their lives at a very young age; I have been close to suicide professionally as well. And not one of them seemingly did it for revenge alone. They did it because there was so much darkness and hopelessness in their soul. They wanted their pain to end. They felt there was no place in this world for them. But. There was no specific, direct blame implicated.

Based on Hannah’s tapes left for her 13 reasons why she carried out her suicide, she was directly blaming specific incidents, and further more, the individuals behind the incidents, for taking her own life as opposed to the incidents adding to her darkness of depression. I believe those are two very different things. This idea that these 13 people (well, 12 since Justin had 2 tapes) were to blame does not make sense in the grand scheme of an actual act of suicide. It’s about being unable to bear the pain of life any longer for those that commit suicide. Their feelings surrounding certain life shattering events certainly may play into suicidal tendencies, I’m certain, but this message of blame feel dangerous in this series.

A dark, yet somehow cute, endearing way to get a message from beyond the grave using a cassette tape project seems somehow glorifying and intriguing (obviously, to get us to watch), not accurate or preventative. I do not believe a suicidal person would revengefully leave a message of blame, per se.

Suicide is about inner turmoil, it’s about mental health, not revenge alone.

2.) The darkness of depression.

Although I’ve never had suicidal thoughts, I have experienced depression. And it’s so very dark and hallow and isolated. Hannah’s feelings were constantly hurt by her peer interactions, which can certainly contribute to feelings of depression and anxiety, but the series seemed to lack that depth and complexity into her soul. It focused far too much on the behaviors of others.

I get it. They were trying to send a message of self-awareness and being kind, but if you want to talk about suicide, you have a responsibility to talk about the dark depression, isolation, and hopelessness that goes hand in hand. It lacked this content. I wanted to see deeper into her. It was left too surface, too shallow.

3.) The graphic nature.

It’s my belief that many suicidal teens watched this show and will now copycat Hannah’s death. The whole scene: the tapes, the razors, the bath…

Suicide does not own a ton of logic because the depression speaks and carries out the act, so suicidal kids might see this as a vehicle, and not exactly as a tool for learning compassion or as a preventative to their own suicide.

It’s my hope that some got the message to be more kind but my fear is that more will use this as a way to send a message within their own execution. Teens just work like that. They’re egocentric. Their mindset is on the now. They don’t see much past tomorrow. And they’re dramatic. I do not think, for one solid second, that it was necessary to see her carry out the act of slicing her wrists and bleeding out.

Why, Netflix, was this at all necessary? If this was to raise suicide awareness, couldn’t it have been assumed? The raw effect had very little bearing on the impact of the message.

4.) Rape culture.

This was a huge theme throughout the series and one of the most crucial talking points for kids and teens. 1 out of 6 women will be raped, or attempted to be raped, in their lifetime. We must talk about it. It’s not getting any better and we actually are getting more desensitized to it. It certainly starts in these tender teenage years.

I believe this series got it mostly right in this realm. I believe the graphic rape scenes were necessary. Rape looks different in many situations. I believe both date rapes in the series show how it’s not as easy as simply saying “no” or fighting back aggressively.

It’s not about the victim, it’s about the rapist. It’s about power. It’s about control. And I believe that was accurately portrayed. The way victims of rape are treated was also accurate. Society loves to immediately victim blame when it comes to rape and we all felt like Hannah lost so much of her soul being in that room during Jessica’s rape and then being raped herself.

I am certain that many that watched this said such things as, “Why did Hannah go to Bryce’s that night if she knew he was a rapist?”, “Why didn’t Hannah fight more during her rape?”, these are important talking points for our kids, important for the directed conversation to be on the rapist, not the victim.

For me, the series could have been based on this rape culture effect alone, without the suicide, and it would have been fabulous. We need to talk about it. We need to talk to our young men about it. We need to make changes, big changes, in this space.

5.) Glorification of the Jocks.

I could write an entire post on my qualms with organized sports, especially male sports, and the adverse effect that it has on our children. So many people praise the positives that come from being “coachable”, and yes, there are some wonderful things that stem from being a part of a team, but one hugely ignored disadvantage is how we glorify these athletes and send them the message from such a young age that if they’re good at this one specific thing, this sport, that their worth immediately increases exponentially. More so than academia, more so than any other activity known to man. They’re paid the most in the professional sector, they’re idolized the most. They can do no wrong, shy of actually being convicted of murder. And it becomes so desirable at such a young age.

Teachers and coaches tend to give athletes special privileges, which is where it begins, where these athletes then don’t have to be as accountable for their actions. Bad grade on a test? Ah, it’s because there was a big game last night. Let’s look past it. Skipped class? Oh, that’s because you have to do some extra batting practice, no worries. All excusable.

This isn’t new. This has been a thing probably since the beginning of time. But does our society see the danger? Do we recognize how it’s contributing to rape culture and violence? We give these boys power when they’re the star of the team, we’re defining their worth by this. When this is the only message they hear, when this is where the importance is focused, this power becomes confusing in a young mind. It becomes too much. That power then tends to be abused by so many. I felt the series did a pretty good job recognizing this but I’m not quite sure that many see this correlation and the danger here.

6.) Bullying.

Bullying is clearly such a hot topic, especially with the horrors of social media’s contribution. The online community has made it brutal to be a teen, more so than it already was. I do not envy our children growing up in a society where they’re constantly looking for a reward when they open their smart phone. How many likes? How many comments? How many followers? So.very.dangerous. to one’s psyche.

It was clear that this was the underlying message of the series. Bullying is bad and terrible and hurtful and damaging.

But I thought they could have done better.

Hannah was well liked, all in all. Even after unfortunate pictures would circulate, Hannah still managed to be in with the “popular” crowd, have boys fawning after her, and had friendships. Many of Hannah’s “reasons” revolved around her sexual reputation, her sexual interactions, her sexual encounters and relationships.

Those that committed suicide when I was young might have been liked by some…but they weren’t noticed by many. They were invisible. Hannah wasn’t invisible. She didn’t shrink down. She never went unnoticed.

Bullying is isolating. Bullying is usually relentless. And bullying doesn’t always have to do with sex. I had a hard time believing Hannah was bullied in the specific sense of the word. She was sexually assaulted and treated unkindly at times, but I don’t know that this series should claim to target bullying. I felt conflicted by the messages.

7.) Hannah.

Hannah’s lack of self awareness bothered me the entire time. She was a victim of a lot of unfortunate circumstances, yes, but she also failed to recognize how she could have owned some responsibility, even within her own suicide. The series gave the ideation that reputation supersedes everything for every single teen in high school. I don’t believe that to be true. And Hannah’s character wanted to fit in, yes, I see that, but she was unapologetic about also being who she was…which was confusing as to how it led her to suicide.

It isn’t lost on me that this might be the aspect of suicide that I just don’t understand, however, Hannah never once mentioned herself in her own demise. She did not seem to be self loathing and I believe that’s an important component of a suicidal person. She seemed to fall more into the stereotype that suicide is a selfish act and that’s definitely problematic if we’re talking about awareness.

8.) Peer pressure.

Peer pressure is still very alive and well, probably more so than ever. Social influences are pressing our kids to grow up much too fast and kids are feeling that pressure to keep up. It’s not just alcohol and drugs anymore. It’s looking a certain way with plump lips, a tiny waist and big boobs at a very young age. It’s having the latest technology and the right hairstyle. It’s so much more than the generation before.

I believe that bullying and peer pressure are easily confused at times and have to be differentiated. However, they are certainly also intertwined at times.

Alex shot himself at the end, which was a bit of a surprise to me and it left me to assume that it was the peer pressure that maxed him out and caused his stress and depression. I believe he was actually the character we should focus on. He was more of the silent bystander of sorts. He was the one that just wanted to fit in, all while being picked on and pressured. I believe he sent the more accurate message of awareness.

9.) Netflix.

I wish you would have done better, Netflix. At the end of the day, I know this was supposed to be entertainment and you had a lot of great components here worthy of some awesome discussions, but where you lacked was the appropriate content to actually bring awareness to suicide and suicide prevention. I think you missed the mark. You did a fabulous job of scaring parents, for sure, and for that, perhaps the goal was achieved. We are aware that teens are scarier than ever before, so thank you. But all in all, I think you failed our teens with an overall conflicting message.

***********

For a far, far better watch with your teens, check out Audrie and Daisy. Real life stories of sexual assault and suicide.

Educate yourself here on suicide statistics.

And for parents, I found this link helpful.

 

 

 

 

Ranting

Being Raised With Privilege. It’s Getting Obscene.

 

The Stanford Rapist.

I’m not done talking about this. I can’t not talk about this. So many emotions with this story. So many disjointed thoughts that I’m going to attempt to pull together.

I don’t need to rehash specifics. It’s been well publicized. A monster that raped an unconscious woman, with witnesses, was sentenced to only six months in jail. Six months. Six fucking months. I’m outraged and I’m not the only one but this is still the “justice” he was served. Because the judge said a larger sentence would have a “severe impact on him” and he “isn’t a danger to others”.

Not a danger to others, your “honor”? This woman he brutally raped and assaulted will live the remainder of her life with terror, no doubt. PTSD, stress, anxiety, most likely depression, will all be a part of her life because of his “20 minutes of action”, as his dad so eloquently described the brutal attack in a letter to the judge in his son’s defense. And a female friend of the rapists’, who also wrote a letter in his defense, decided to victim blame and say that he’s not to blame, drinking is to blame. As in, the victim’s decision to drink, as opposed to the rapists’ decision to rape. He doesn’t have to own that decision to rape. He holds little responsibility for his vulgar and disgusting actions. The justice system isn’t holding him accountable. As a matter of a fact, his mug shot even remained private until he had a nice suit and tie on, because, you know, privilege. Why wouldn’t he do this again? This was such an easy crime for him. And yes, I will even pull the “race card” here. If this Stanford Rapist was black, I’m going to go out on a limb and say his sentence would have substantial.

This situation is precisely why women don’t report rape or pursue justice when it comes to sexual assault: because justice doesn’t truly exist in this realm. Women are rarely ever perceived as honest when it comes to rape. Rapes that don’t have witnesses can hardly be prosecuted and even those that have witnesses, clearly, don’t hold weight. I could elaborate to no end on this end of the discussion…

But I also have to talk about this and how it relates to how we are raising our children.

I started writing a post last week about raising children in this day and age of privilege and this trending {disgusting} topic just gave me a much better platform to drive my point. I was in the midst of typing away about how I struggle with subscribing to modern day parenting, how everything today is forced into this “keeping up with the Joneses’ {or Kardashians}” mentality, how it’s truly harming our children. Easy is a way of life for so many kids, mine included, giving them this need for instant gratification, having no consequences for bad behavior, this owning no responsibility way of thinking. And then this piece of shit rapist comes along and basically becomes the poster child for privilege and all that is wrong with our society.

Privilege, specifically white privilege, is alive and well. And growing into a huge epidemic.

Humans are actually defending a convicted rapist and whether we, as a whole, want to admit this or not, our society is subscribing to this line of thinking every.single.day. We want everything to be easy. Easy for us as adults, easy for our children. Everything. Smart phones are an addiction of everyone I know, college degrees can be bought online with very little effort, very few know what it means to “pay dues”. Things are designed to be just so easy and accessible, especially to those with the money to buy the easy.

And, to touch on celebrating mediocrity. Although so many feel that it’s so innocent to give every child a medal at a flag football game or take away National Honor Society badges on high school graduation gowns because it will hurt others’ feelings if we didn’t do these things, it’s dangerous. We are teaching our kids that the can do the minimum for maximum results. Period. It’s not the right thing to do.

True story: I witnessed one of my seven year old daughter’s flag football teammates pushing others on the field, on his own team, bullying in it’s rarest form, and he got a medal at the end of the game, that specific game,…because it was his turn to receive a medal. Because everyone receives a medal. Why does everyone receive a medal these days?

What happened to responsibility? What happened to accountability? What happened to achievement? How is all of this easiness helping our kids and future generations? Where do we draw the line in the sand and say, “No, Brock Turner. You fucked up and you’re going to pay the consequence, no matter what your race or family financial status is”?

With all of this, the water is getting muddy and privilege is emerging like never before. I know I am drawing together some extremes here. I realize that not every privileged child will grow up to be a Stanford Rapist. But my fear is that we are raising more dangerous humans than not.

And I am right here in the thick of it all, raising my own privileged child, but trying like hell to teach her right from wrong with all of the confusing messages society is giving her. I can only hope that she will see true justice in her lifetime for heinous crimes such as rape. The outlook on that is quite bleak, though, and seems to be heading in the opposite direction. I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle, as I’m sure many others do, too.

Let’s rally to start raising responsible children to become responsible adults who own their actions. Let’s leave privilege to those who work for it and not to the Brock Turner’s of the world.

 

 

 

Life Lessons, Ranting, Uncategorized

My Bond With Ke$ha.

So, Ke$ha’s legal debacle. If you don’t even know who Ke$ha is, don’t be too hard on yourself. I didn’t really know much of her either until the recent media hype. I knew she sang horrible songs, mostly about getting drunk, that became party anthems worldwide, but I’ve never been a fan of hers. The fact that I’m even using a dollar symbol in her name makes me cringe.

Yet, I share a deep bond with her. Her story of sexual harassment/assault from her professional superior is something I am familiar with and I’m here to tell my story, not only in solidarity with her but of the millions of others that have experienced this in their workplace. I’ve been working on writing this for years and Kesha gave me more of a platform to do so. Her situation isn’t unique and I’m so angry about it.

I’ve been in medical supply sales for almost 12 years. I sell devices to orthopedic surgeons. It’s a male dominated field and it’s always been intimating for that reason.I’ve worked so hard to prove my worth in many professional situations. I’ve had physicians say the most inappropriate things to me, hit on me, suggest infidelity, the list goes on. I had one surgeon actually tell me that he masturbated to me. That is a true story. These situations mostly occurred in my first couple of years on the job and I assumed this was part of the deal. If I wanted to make a sale and keep the customer, it was part of the territory. It was a sick, twisted way of thinking but this was a career I wanted so desperately. I wasn’t proud of accepting this behavior but I was exceptional at rationalizing it.

A few years ago, I was a mid-level management employee of a company. My boss, to whom I directly reported, was an attractive guy with a cocky sense about him but likable and charismatic all the same. He was the national sales manager, the highest level management under the president, and someone who I had to spend a lot of time with when he traveled here and even more time on the phone with daily.

The first year remained professional enough between us. My boss and I had our disagreements and I did noticed his lack of decorum in certain situations. I noted his need for control and that he didn’t like to be second guessed. All points taken. He was my boss. I was just so proud to hold this management position that I was willing to endure a lot of questionable comments and conversations. As a female in my industry, or most industries, if you question or complain about almost anything, you’re viewed as the bitch and a trouble maker. So I trudged on.

Heading into my second year, this boss of mine contrived an entire business trip to sexually harass/assault me. After dinner one evening on said trip, in a city full of lights, bars, and drinking, he pulled me into an unmarked store, which happened to be a store full of porn and sex toys. He forcefully dragged me by my arm into the back of the store where they had private porn-viewing rooms, about the size of a dressing room at a retail store, and held me there against my will while I struggled and attempted to get away for approximately 2 minutes. It seemed like an hour, as he was holding me down with one arm and trying to find appropriate pornographic viewing material with his other.

I escaped quick enough from the situation but the next few days, weeks, months, and even years, I would struggle with a ton of fall-out.

It took me weeks to come forward to our company’s legal counsel, who happened to be a female that I trusted. “This was my boss. I had to have done something wrong to cause this. I had to have led him to this situation”, is what I told myself, amongst other things, but I logically knew that I could not see this man again face to face. I was physically ill over the entire situation, playing that evening in my head over and over. I knew I would potentially be helping other females if I spoke up, so I eventually came forward.

Our company clearly did not have appropriate protocol for these situations. I was required to fly out to our headquarters and verbally explain detail by detail what happened to legal counsel, and the president of the company, over breakfast. I had to tell this man, the president of our company, who was a personal friend of my boss, exactly what happened verbatim. This in it of itself was abusive.

That same evening that I flew to headquarters to have this conversation, I received a call that my boss resigned. He was not fired. He was given the option to resign. I later found out that several other women came forward with similar stories and despite that fact, he was allowed to simply resign.

And. It gets worse.

He was then given another position within the company as a contracted employee a few months later. That’s right. After 4 or 5 women came forward with their stories of sexual harassment and/or assault, he was welcomed back into our company’s DNA.

When I heard he was working for our company again, I was livid. I reached back out to legal counsel and at that point was then asked to speak to the CEO and tell him my story over the phone. Yet another man, who I barely knew, had to hear gory details of this disgusting, sexually explicit event. His response? “Everyone deserves a second chance”.

So there it is. A victory for the abuser and a “shut the fuck up” for the victims.

I share this because here’s the issue: like Kesha and many other women that go through this experience, we are automatically speculated upon when we make these accusations. We are either deemed as liars or viewed as women who encourage these sexual advances, we “ask for it”. We are trouble makers, we are whores, we are wanting notoriety. Kesha’s court ruling proves that point. Sony will not let this woman out of her contract after making these accusations of sexual abuse which tells me that the court doesn’t believe her.

Can’t we, once, as a society stop blaming the victim and realize that men in power sometimes use their power for evil? Can’t we speculate on these men that commit this crimes? Can’t we speculate that these stories might actually be true and give the victim the benefit of the doubt? Because the fact of the matter is, no one knows what truly happened to Kesha, or even to me that night in South Beach. It’s our words against these men that reign superior to us. But here’s a thought: we might be telling the truth, society, and you’re putting other women in harm’s way by assuming we aren’t. You are perpetuating the cycle of abuse by assuming we are a bunch of liars.

Could Kesha be lying? Of course. She could be to get out of her contract. Sure. But let’s assume for one second that she’s not. She is now working along side of her abuser, just like I had to, only her case is much more severe than mine. Can you just imagine what this would feel like? It’s like reliving a traumatic event every.single.day. When all that judge had to do, in Kesha’s case, is allow her out of her contract and go elsewhere to make music. Simple as that.

We have not come very far in this realm. Kesha’s situation, my situation, and many others, is a testament to that. Many women aren’t speaking out about this type of issue in the workplace because, really, what’s the point when the abuser has little to no consequence? It’s defeating. When all we want is a safe work place. It’s not too much to ask.

It’s going to require the men of our society to do some work on themselves before we can expect change. Stop assuming we are lying. Stop making us the troublemakers. Stop making us work in a hostile environment.

Solidarity, Kesha. Keep fighting the good fight for what’s right.