Okay, so I don't normally post on cosmetics. But this is a lifestyle blog, and it's the holidays, and maybe something light is in order.
So here it goes: this year, I finally figured my skin out. Well, just the skin on my face, since I'm still working on the skin on other parts of me.
For years, I kind of told myself that having acne was a character-building exercise, part of life, part of being a woman, a way to prevent vanity. My acne, though, wasn't just unsightly. It was downright uncomfortable.
I tried all kinds of creams and cleansers, salicylic acid, Proactiv, clindamycin, etc. I bought into the idea that I had oily skin and I just had to live with it.
Then last winter I tried adapalene cream from a dermatologist, combined with City Girls Soap lotion and Juice Beauty Oil Free Moisturizer. Since I had to moisturize to get the adapalene to work, I started doing it regularly.
Turns out that maybe I don't have oily skin. Maybe it was actually dry and overcompensating. Turns out that better quality lotion produces better quality skin. Turns out that loving my skin and treating it gently, instead of punishing it with harsh acne treatments, was what I needed to get glowy skin.
Not only do I not have uncomfortable acne anymore, I have the glow I thought could never be mine, and along with it, the self-confidence to try a lot of other makeup trends. I'm down to just moisturizer morning and night (I like LUSH USA products, City Girls, and Juice Beauty), adapalene maybe once a week, and a tinted/highlighting moisturizer. Occasionally, I'll throw on a mask from LUSH USA as well if I think I need it. I dust on a coral bronzer and maybe a little eyeshadow.
No promises that it will work for anyone else, but I never would have believed that it would work for me. It's more convenient and comfortable than anything I've ever tried. I didn't think that getting my skin in shape would make me feel happier or more confident, but the integumentary system (AKA the skin) is an important part of the immune system, and it makes me feel good to know that I'm giving it what it needs.
Have you tried this or something similar? What do you think?
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Christmas Post: Joseph Chose Love
The sermon at our church on Sunday was about Joseph, and I watched The Nativity Story last weekend. Both have me in a state of mind to consider the narrative behind Jesus' birth and the people involved - not as saints in a story that's been retold over and over, but as real people in a narrative that at the time didn't seem to have a happy ending.
Joseph chose love. He didn't understand; of course, the logical interpretation of Mary's pregnancy was that she had cheated. He could have publicly denounced her, clearing his own name of any perceived wrongdoing, and had her stoned to death.
This action would have killed the mother of our Savior; I'm unclear whether they would have waited until after she gave birth (I'm guessing they would have based on some Old Testament law). This could have drastically changed the narrative of grace and salvation, and it would have been a decision based on distrust of the assertions of his intended.
Instead of choosing punishment, his response was to divorce her quietly - to spare her life - and continue to listen to God. When he heard God speak, he didn't dismiss the message. He acted in love and grace in accordance with God's direction, even though I would posit that he did not feel his bewilderment completely lifted.
He chose grace and obedience to God. He chose to believe that Mary had kept her vow, been chosen by God for a great work, and that he had judged her correctly when Joseph chose her (likely for the same virtue for which God chose her) to be his wife. Joseph chose to raise Jesus, the savior of the world, as his own, and in so doing, take a more powerful place in history than he ever could have imagined.
I will not claim to be carrying the Christ child. In fact, it is difficult, given the Sunday school version of the Christmas story I'd been inculcated with, to see any parallels between Mary and my life. However, I have been accused of sexual wrongdoing, and some would argue that I should be publicly disgraced. In some parts of the world, I could be imprisoned or killed. And yet, although I no longer claim to have any idea what God has planned for me, other than to live a life of love and service, I know without a doubt that Rebecca is my helpmate in it. I know that the privilege that God has conferred upon me - the admittedly unmerited favor of intelligence, education, health, home, beauty, and so on - is for something.
I hope that some with the instinct to accuse me without understanding will recognize that I am still the woman of virtue they knew before I came out. I hope that they will consider that they may not know the full story. That what appears to them to be sin, based on custom and a shallow reading, may actual be a higher calling than anything I could have imagined. I hope that they will choose love and grace over punishment and disgrace, as Joseph did. Part of me wonders if some people always looked sideways at Mary and Jesus. I know that some people will probably always look sideways at me, even if my marriage is formalized nationwide, even if I'm an upstanding citizen, even if my hypothetical children grow up to be upstanding citizens too.
But I hope my legacy will be more than sideways glances or worrying what people think of me. I hope it will be one of obedience to the commandment to love God and love others, to sacrifice myself for my friends, to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly. I hope I choose love.
Joseph chose love. He didn't understand; of course, the logical interpretation of Mary's pregnancy was that she had cheated. He could have publicly denounced her, clearing his own name of any perceived wrongdoing, and had her stoned to death.
This action would have killed the mother of our Savior; I'm unclear whether they would have waited until after she gave birth (I'm guessing they would have based on some Old Testament law). This could have drastically changed the narrative of grace and salvation, and it would have been a decision based on distrust of the assertions of his intended.
Instead of choosing punishment, his response was to divorce her quietly - to spare her life - and continue to listen to God. When he heard God speak, he didn't dismiss the message. He acted in love and grace in accordance with God's direction, even though I would posit that he did not feel his bewilderment completely lifted.
He chose grace and obedience to God. He chose to believe that Mary had kept her vow, been chosen by God for a great work, and that he had judged her correctly when Joseph chose her (likely for the same virtue for which God chose her) to be his wife. Joseph chose to raise Jesus, the savior of the world, as his own, and in so doing, take a more powerful place in history than he ever could have imagined.
I will not claim to be carrying the Christ child. In fact, it is difficult, given the Sunday school version of the Christmas story I'd been inculcated with, to see any parallels between Mary and my life. However, I have been accused of sexual wrongdoing, and some would argue that I should be publicly disgraced. In some parts of the world, I could be imprisoned or killed. And yet, although I no longer claim to have any idea what God has planned for me, other than to live a life of love and service, I know without a doubt that Rebecca is my helpmate in it. I know that the privilege that God has conferred upon me - the admittedly unmerited favor of intelligence, education, health, home, beauty, and so on - is for something.
I hope that some with the instinct to accuse me without understanding will recognize that I am still the woman of virtue they knew before I came out. I hope that they will consider that they may not know the full story. That what appears to them to be sin, based on custom and a shallow reading, may actual be a higher calling than anything I could have imagined. I hope that they will choose love and grace over punishment and disgrace, as Joseph did. Part of me wonders if some people always looked sideways at Mary and Jesus. I know that some people will probably always look sideways at me, even if my marriage is formalized nationwide, even if I'm an upstanding citizen, even if my hypothetical children grow up to be upstanding citizens too.
But I hope my legacy will be more than sideways glances or worrying what people think of me. I hope it will be one of obedience to the commandment to love God and love others, to sacrifice myself for my friends, to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly. I hope I choose love.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Guest Post: Lesbian Engagement FAQ
Note: this is a guest post from my friend Kate Scheuber. As with my own posts, she is sharing her experience in an attempt to shed light on a complicated situation. Her comments ring true for me too in many ways. I hope my readers will show her lots of love and support.
"When you get engaged, you expect people to be excited for you. After all, it means you finally found the person who has captured your heart so entirely that you can’t imagine your life without them. Some people have been. My brother and his wife immediately took us out to dinner to celebrate. My fiance’s mother comes over all the time with wedding magazines she picks out specifically because there is a featured lesbian wedding in it. My cousin who I almost never talk to messaged me to tell me how happy he was for us and that he knew my mom was looking down on me, smiling. My dad even went dress shopping with me.
Other reactions have not been quite as pleasant. Some people mean well. But even that comes with its own baggage. My least favorite part is the questions. I answer each one diplomatically. It is incredibly difficult to do so.
When people ask me, “Did she get a ring, too?”, I answer, “Yes, she did.” In my head, I am thinking, “No, we flipped a coin to see who wins the ring. Because obviously there can only be one diamond ring in a relationship.”
When people ask, “Which one of you is wearing a suit?”, I answer, “We both are wearing dresses.” In my head I am wanting to respond, “Not every lesbian couple is Ellen and Portia!”
When people say, “You do realize it is still illegal in Michigan for you two to get married, right?” I want to scream. I answer “Yes, I do, but we are hoping that is changed before 2016.” I hold my tongue and do not tell them that do not need to remind me that in the state I love, I am being denied the right to marry the person that I love. I do not tell them that I feel they are accusing me of simply wanting a party and presents.
We are choosing to get married in Michigan because that is where the majority of our friends and family reside. We are choosing to get married in Michigan because we want to share it with them.
Because that is what is happening on May 21, 2016. I will be getting married to the love of my life. Regardless of what some judge somewhere says. I may not have the paper to prove it, but I will be married.""
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Food Idea: Swiss Chard Curtido
Almost a year ago, I fell in love with curtido. It's sort of a pickled cabbage/cole slaw/salad dish, originally from El Salvador, used to top things like pupusas (a corn dough stuffed with cheese, meat, or other things and then fried kind of like a pancake). This seems to be El Salvador's answer to kimchi, sauerkraut, cole slaw, etc.
This summer, after receiving cabbage in my CSA share from Faith Farm in Detroit, I decided to try my own hand at it. I found this recipe for pupusas and curtido and pulled out my food processor. I followed it pretty carefully the first time, with great results. I took it to a picnic/potluck with a sign that said something like: Curtido (gluten free, vegan). People teased me for having labeled it, but it went over well.
I've toyed with it a little. Instead of the sugar, I run an apple through the food processor and toss it with everything else. If I don't have apple cider vinegar, I've used white balsamic with delicious results. It's pretty flexible as long as you keep the sweet/salty/sour/spicy balance going.
This week, our plan was to make fish tacos. I often make some kind of slaw for this using whatever I can find. This week, we already had Swiss chard (which, along with kale, is high in nutrients and affordable/available this time of year) in the fridge from a lentil soup last week, so I decided to see if I could lightly pickle it. Normally, I think of chard as for cooking, because it can be tough and a little bitter, so I got this going maybe an hour before I had to serve it so that the acid could break it down a little.
I grabbed a couple handfuls of chard (this turned out not to be nearly enough, since we ran out at dinner and I would have eaten this with a spoon for lunch tomorrow) and chopped them up pretty finely, then threw them in a bowl. In a separate bowl, I mixed one part oil to two parts pickled jalape~o juice (but you can use regular pickle juice, olive juice, white balsalmic, or lime juice) and two parts apple cider vinegar. I threw in a pinch of oregano and a fair amount of freshly ground black pepper. At this point, taste it and see what you think. You can adjust it if you need. When you like it, toss it with the chard. I also microplane grated two cloves of garlic and an apple (great this time of year because they're still a good price and available) and finely chopped two green onion stems. Toss everything and let it sit. I served it tonight over grilled salmon, and the brightness of the dressing and earthiness of the chard balanced the fattiness of the fish (and the smokiness from grilling) perfectly.
I think this basic strategy would also work with kale, although I'd probably let that sit a little longer first.
Enjoy!
This summer, after receiving cabbage in my CSA share from Faith Farm in Detroit, I decided to try my own hand at it. I found this recipe for pupusas and curtido and pulled out my food processor. I followed it pretty carefully the first time, with great results. I took it to a picnic/potluck with a sign that said something like: Curtido (gluten free, vegan). People teased me for having labeled it, but it went over well.
I've toyed with it a little. Instead of the sugar, I run an apple through the food processor and toss it with everything else. If I don't have apple cider vinegar, I've used white balsamic with delicious results. It's pretty flexible as long as you keep the sweet/salty/sour/spicy balance going.
This week, our plan was to make fish tacos. I often make some kind of slaw for this using whatever I can find. This week, we already had Swiss chard (which, along with kale, is high in nutrients and affordable/available this time of year) in the fridge from a lentil soup last week, so I decided to see if I could lightly pickle it. Normally, I think of chard as for cooking, because it can be tough and a little bitter, so I got this going maybe an hour before I had to serve it so that the acid could break it down a little.
I grabbed a couple handfuls of chard (this turned out not to be nearly enough, since we ran out at dinner and I would have eaten this with a spoon for lunch tomorrow) and chopped them up pretty finely, then threw them in a bowl. In a separate bowl, I mixed one part oil to two parts pickled jalape~o juice (but you can use regular pickle juice, olive juice, white balsalmic, or lime juice) and two parts apple cider vinegar. I threw in a pinch of oregano and a fair amount of freshly ground black pepper. At this point, taste it and see what you think. You can adjust it if you need. When you like it, toss it with the chard. I also microplane grated two cloves of garlic and an apple (great this time of year because they're still a good price and available) and finely chopped two green onion stems. Toss everything and let it sit. I served it tonight over grilled salmon, and the brightness of the dressing and earthiness of the chard balanced the fattiness of the fish (and the smokiness from grilling) perfectly.
I think this basic strategy would also work with kale, although I'd probably let that sit a little longer first.
Enjoy!
Monday, December 1, 2014
Acknowledging Privilege: We Don't Pull the Ladder Up
Lately, there's been a lot in the news about White privilege, which has sparked discussions about other types of privilege and intersectionality (the idea that most of us have areas of privilege and non-privilege in our lives that come together to shape our opportunities and perceptions).
Regular readers of my blog are aware of the ways that my lack of straight privilege have produced challenges. I hope that you also realize from reading that I have many areas of privilege and am thankful for those advantages.
For instance, I went to a school system where our buildings were always clean and safe. I didn't fear physical violence or illness as a result of attending school. Some of my students cannot say that. In addition, I had certified teachers and was able to get classes I needed not only to graduate, but to get into a major research university with a great scholarship. I'm not saying I didn't work hard. I did. I was incredibly studious, read all the time, and joined many extracurricular activities. I worked part-time to save money.
But I didn't work part-time to pay for necessities. I didn't have to babysit younger siblings. I had parents to take me to the library, grandparents to buy magazine subscriptions, enough money to have instruments, uniforms, calculators, etc. I could have gone to a fancier, more prestigious district, perhaps. I have friends who did, and some have had better opportunities. Overall, though, I would argue that I was reasonably privileged economically and academically.
Someone once told me, "We don't pull the ladder up." I've thought about that often. He meant that when we reach our goals, have some advantages, get closer to the top, we continue to extend that opportunity to those behind us. I would expand that to mean that we try to work the ladder into a staircase when possible. Or a ramp. Or whatever the people behind us need to get equal opportunities.
Rebecca will say basically the same thing about med school. She had many of the same privileges I did, but compared to her med school peers, she was relatively underprivileged. Many more of them came from upper middle or upper class backgrounds, few were rural, few were LGBT. She's immensely grateful to the people who helped her get shadowing experiences, given that she has no family members that are medical professionals to book her to stand in for surgeries or consultations or the like. She's incredibly grateful to faculty members from her undergrad who not only gave her academic opportunities, but mentored and encouraged her to be a strong woman who prioritized loving people while using her gifts.
We have a friend now who is just amazing. She's a beautiful soul. I wish you could all meet her. She's applying to med school now, and comes from a relatively less advantaged background. We're working with her to get her applications in, to get her through the MCAT, to write her essays. We're not the most privileged, but we know people, and we know things now. I wouldn't do this if I didn't think she's qualified. But I don't want to pull the ladder up. I want to level the playing field.
Regular readers of my blog are aware of the ways that my lack of straight privilege have produced challenges. I hope that you also realize from reading that I have many areas of privilege and am thankful for those advantages.
For instance, I went to a school system where our buildings were always clean and safe. I didn't fear physical violence or illness as a result of attending school. Some of my students cannot say that. In addition, I had certified teachers and was able to get classes I needed not only to graduate, but to get into a major research university with a great scholarship. I'm not saying I didn't work hard. I did. I was incredibly studious, read all the time, and joined many extracurricular activities. I worked part-time to save money.
But I didn't work part-time to pay for necessities. I didn't have to babysit younger siblings. I had parents to take me to the library, grandparents to buy magazine subscriptions, enough money to have instruments, uniforms, calculators, etc. I could have gone to a fancier, more prestigious district, perhaps. I have friends who did, and some have had better opportunities. Overall, though, I would argue that I was reasonably privileged economically and academically.
Someone once told me, "We don't pull the ladder up." I've thought about that often. He meant that when we reach our goals, have some advantages, get closer to the top, we continue to extend that opportunity to those behind us. I would expand that to mean that we try to work the ladder into a staircase when possible. Or a ramp. Or whatever the people behind us need to get equal opportunities.
Rebecca will say basically the same thing about med school. She had many of the same privileges I did, but compared to her med school peers, she was relatively underprivileged. Many more of them came from upper middle or upper class backgrounds, few were rural, few were LGBT. She's immensely grateful to the people who helped her get shadowing experiences, given that she has no family members that are medical professionals to book her to stand in for surgeries or consultations or the like. She's incredibly grateful to faculty members from her undergrad who not only gave her academic opportunities, but mentored and encouraged her to be a strong woman who prioritized loving people while using her gifts.
We have a friend now who is just amazing. She's a beautiful soul. I wish you could all meet her. She's applying to med school now, and comes from a relatively less advantaged background. We're working with her to get her applications in, to get her through the MCAT, to write her essays. We're not the most privileged, but we know people, and we know things now. I wouldn't do this if I didn't think she's qualified. But I don't want to pull the ladder up. I want to level the playing field.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
An Open Letter to Josh
For those of you not up on this situation, check out His Absence, My Absence, A Letter to a Grieving Mother, Self-Advocacy and Mental Illness, and An Open Letter to a Grieving Student.
Dear Josh,
Your birthday is Tuesday. You would have been 25. I'm pretty sure you would have been excited for your car insurance rates to go down, given how financially savvy you were.
I'm not sure exactly how to commemorate this birthday. I'm sure I never will be. I'll be going to work - working in Madison Heights brings up some things that weren't so much an issue in Lansing, and that combined with some other things has made this time of year difficult. I guess I thought now that we're three years out, I'm an old pro at grieving and being brotherless and navigating the holidays without you and generally being a member of the Club To Whom the Imaginable is Now Imaginable.
I'm sure you would want me to go to work, even though my employer would understand if I didn't. I love the kids I work with and want to be there as much as I can. I don't want to have to tell them why I'm not there (not because I'm ashamed, but because people's reactions are interesting, and when I sound too matter of fact, they're shocked, but it's not appropriate for me to not sound too matter of fact), and as I outlined in my open letter to a student who asked if I'm married, I don't want to appear to be keeping too many things from them. You would make fun of me for how nerdy I am, but you would have loved them too. I'm sure you would have found a way to work in unicycling.
I'm not going to wear makeup Tuesday, for two reasons. The first is practical - if my emotions do get the best of my face, it's easier to hide. The second is that you always believed that women were most beautiful without makeup on. And you would say so. Pretty much every time I asked if you thought my makeup looked good. I guess we can call it the Little Brother's Campaign for Real Beauty.
I'm also going to wear something soft. I have a sweater picked out, but if I can figure out how to style a fleece-lined zipper hoodie to look work appropriate-ish (for a day when United Way partners may be coming for a surprise check in), I'll go for it. You loved soft things, something maybe not many people knew about you. Soft stuffed animals, soft blankets, and later, when you felt it wasn't manly to share, soft hoodies. I'll need some kind of stimulation I can use to keep myself mindful, to distract myself, to tell myself I'm channeling my pain into something manageable. Rubbing the edge of a sleeve might do the trick.
And I'll be dosed with lavender oil on my chest for calm. Probably also Lush USA Karma for energy and joy. There'll be green tea with chamomile for the same reason.
I also looked at the initial inspiration to choose love, a snippet of a facebook message from you more than three years ago after I came out to you and asked if you'd come to my commitment ceremony:
"While I don't exactly approve of your decision, it's not as big of a deal to me as it is to [other family members]. It is my intention to attend the ceremony. You are still my sister and it would be a shame if nobody from our family was in attendance."
By your definition, buddy, it was a shame. You were missed. You still are. I wish you could have been 100% supportive, but it didn't matter. You chose love. You chose to love me the best you could. I'm trying to pay that forward, although I fail a lot of days. Sara Bareilles sings that "how you love is who you are." You weren't perfect, but you loved people the way they were, and they knew it. You were easy to love because of that. I'm not. I never have been. You teased, and sometimes complained, but I knew you loved me anyway.
I'm just rambling now. I never was succinct. I tell my students that "concise" was always the hardest thing for me on the ACT. You teased me for how much I talked. I'm trying to listen better. I should have listened better to you. You became wise beyond your years in college.
Anyway, happy quarter century, bugaboo. You're deeply missed.
Much love,
Erin
Dear Josh,
Your birthday is Tuesday. You would have been 25. I'm pretty sure you would have been excited for your car insurance rates to go down, given how financially savvy you were.
I'm not sure exactly how to commemorate this birthday. I'm sure I never will be. I'll be going to work - working in Madison Heights brings up some things that weren't so much an issue in Lansing, and that combined with some other things has made this time of year difficult. I guess I thought now that we're three years out, I'm an old pro at grieving and being brotherless and navigating the holidays without you and generally being a member of the Club To Whom the Imaginable is Now Imaginable.
I'm sure you would want me to go to work, even though my employer would understand if I didn't. I love the kids I work with and want to be there as much as I can. I don't want to have to tell them why I'm not there (not because I'm ashamed, but because people's reactions are interesting, and when I sound too matter of fact, they're shocked, but it's not appropriate for me to not sound too matter of fact), and as I outlined in my open letter to a student who asked if I'm married, I don't want to appear to be keeping too many things from them. You would make fun of me for how nerdy I am, but you would have loved them too. I'm sure you would have found a way to work in unicycling.
I'm not going to wear makeup Tuesday, for two reasons. The first is practical - if my emotions do get the best of my face, it's easier to hide. The second is that you always believed that women were most beautiful without makeup on. And you would say so. Pretty much every time I asked if you thought my makeup looked good. I guess we can call it the Little Brother's Campaign for Real Beauty.
I'm also going to wear something soft. I have a sweater picked out, but if I can figure out how to style a fleece-lined zipper hoodie to look work appropriate-ish (for a day when United Way partners may be coming for a surprise check in), I'll go for it. You loved soft things, something maybe not many people knew about you. Soft stuffed animals, soft blankets, and later, when you felt it wasn't manly to share, soft hoodies. I'll need some kind of stimulation I can use to keep myself mindful, to distract myself, to tell myself I'm channeling my pain into something manageable. Rubbing the edge of a sleeve might do the trick.
And I'll be dosed with lavender oil on my chest for calm. Probably also Lush USA Karma for energy and joy. There'll be green tea with chamomile for the same reason.
I also looked at the initial inspiration to choose love, a snippet of a facebook message from you more than three years ago after I came out to you and asked if you'd come to my commitment ceremony:
"While I don't exactly approve of your decision, it's not as big of a deal to me as it is to [other family members]. It is my intention to attend the ceremony. You are still my sister and it would be a shame if nobody from our family was in attendance."
By your definition, buddy, it was a shame. You were missed. You still are. I wish you could have been 100% supportive, but it didn't matter. You chose love. You chose to love me the best you could. I'm trying to pay that forward, although I fail a lot of days. Sara Bareilles sings that "how you love is who you are." You weren't perfect, but you loved people the way they were, and they knew it. You were easy to love because of that. I'm not. I never have been. You teased, and sometimes complained, but I knew you loved me anyway.
I'm just rambling now. I never was succinct. I tell my students that "concise" was always the hardest thing for me on the ACT. You teased me for how much I talked. I'm trying to listen better. I should have listened better to you. You became wise beyond your years in college.
Anyway, happy quarter century, bugaboo. You're deeply missed.
Much love,
Erin
Thursday, November 27, 2014
What Are Your Plans for Thanksgiving?
This is a common question. It's generally a good way to start a conversation around the holidays. I've used it for sure.
But I can't help but think that it's more of a land mine than many people realize, for diverse groups, but perhaps more than usual for the LGBT community.
Some may find themselves without a place to go because their family refuses to see them. Even if others take them in, having your family refuse to include you and/or your significant other is difficult.
I am not suggesting that every family is like this. I have many friends in the LGBT community whose families are very accepting. But this is not really a binary. Some families are only accepting if the LGBT person pretends to be straight for the day, or doesn't bring the partner, or will tell certain members of the family that the partner is a friend or roommate. This seems inclusive to some people, but it can also be taxing, and without a doubt it pushes heteronormativity.
For people in a complicated holiday situation, it can be difficult to answer questions about their plans. They may want to be honest, but they also don't want to be "downers" or go into detail. The holidays are a time of stress for most people already.
What can you do if you realize that you've put someone on the spot? Hard to say, but if you know the person really has no place to go, and you mean it, invite them over. Don't bash their family too much unless they do. Even if they do. Don't defend their family either. Although their family may be making hurtful choices, they're still family, and feelings can be complicated. If you need to say something, I recommend, "That must be hard for you." And then resolve to include any of your family members that might be ostracized. Create a chosen family. If you are a member of a religious institution, push for inclusive policies that encourage members to invite their gay family members to Thanksgiving with their partners.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
An Open Letter to the Student Who Asked, "Are you married?"
Dear student,
The first day, I wasn't sure what to think of you. You were sassy and resistant to my instruction because you reject the premise of standardized testing. I think you had also given up on yourself a little. I too rejected the idea that standardized testing is a good measure of you, and as I got to know you, you've proven me right.
I showed you how to improve, and you did. I think you've bought in. I think you know that I believe in you and care about you and fiercely want to see you fulfill your dreams. I don't know if you like me now. I hope so, but you're not obligated to.
So when you asked me if I'm married, I'm sorry that I brushed it off. We did have a lot to get done, and I did suspect that you were trying to get me off track, but maybe you really did want to know. You've seen me wearing my wedding ring. It's generally a fair question.
And normally it's a binary. Yes or no. Moving on. In a heteronormative society, that's how it works. So why wouldn't I share?
Because the answer to your question is yes, federally and in something like 35 states, but no in the one in which I live. Because the Elliott Larsen Freeman Act hasn't been updated. Because it wouldn't be a quick moving on from that. Because that kind of revelation could have lost me control of my classroom on a day when chaos was barely contained.
But also because I'm afraid.
Having come out before, I know that the answer to that question can hurt me. I am incredibly blessed to work for a company with a nondiscrimination policy based in a city that requires it. I think United Way also has a policy like this. I am also so fortunate to know that the office would fight for me if anything happened. They would tell people who complained that I'm doing a great job. That it doesn't matter. That they don't want to replace me halfway through.
So maybe I am safe. But one student or parent complaint could make my life hard. It could start a flurry of phone calls, derail me, increase my paperwork load. I'm not in a place where I can handle that. You did not think of this. Many straight people don't, especially if they are allies.
So I brushed you off. I offered you the most truth I could. I tried not to embarrass you. A colleague defended me, as did some other students. You claimed that I was withholding, which I was, and I'm sorry. I have tried to offer you all I have, but me being removed from the classroom would not serve you.
I look forward to seeing you, all of you, every week. Tuesday is my favorite day. I have much to offer you, but you offer me much in return. You offer me joy, success, challenge, meaning. I will do what I can to defend those things.
So I cannot tell you in class that I'm married, even if I want to. Your generation may see this differently. But I'm guessing you didn't see this coming either way.
I've been passing for straight. I'm sure, after yesterday, because you asked if I'm dating the male colleague who works in your classroom with me. My reaction was emphatically no - perhaps too much so (sorry, male colleague, there's nothing inherently wrong with you), but leaving that door open could also create a lot of issues for me. So you think I'm straight. My fishtail braids, eye makeup, jewelry, etc have convinced you that I follow norms for a straight woman.
And I was relieved. I was relieved that even as it was awkward that you suggested I'm dating someone that really makes no sense, he is male, and you think I'm straight, and my sexual orientation isn't going to blow up in my face.
And then I was sad, because being relieved means that I've internalized some heteronormativity. It means that I know that my life would be easier if I were straight. It means that I'm not as proud of and comfortable with my sexual orientation as I thought. It also means that I am gaming gender norms.
As I said, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It's not personal at all. Someday, I hope no one has to think about these things, and the answer to the question, "Are you married?" can be less complicated. If you had asked me during a prep hour or lunch, things might have been different. Or maybe you will find this blog, although current traffic patterns tell me that it is unlikely that you will Google me to find it.
Best wishes for a beautiful Thanksgiving, sweetie,
Erin
And I was relieved. I was relieved that even as it was awkward that you suggested I'm dating someone that really makes no sense, he is male, and you think I'm straight, and my sexual orientation isn't going to blow up in my face.
And then I was sad, because being relieved means that I've internalized some heteronormativity. It means that I know that my life would be easier if I were straight. It means that I'm not as proud of and comfortable with my sexual orientation as I thought. It also means that I am gaming gender norms.
As I said, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It's not personal at all. Someday, I hope no one has to think about these things, and the answer to the question, "Are you married?" can be less complicated. If you had asked me during a prep hour or lunch, things might have been different. Or maybe you will find this blog, although current traffic patterns tell me that it is unlikely that you will Google me to find it.
Best wishes for a beautiful Thanksgiving, sweetie,
Erin
Friday, November 21, 2014
This Beautiful Heart, Or Why I Love Rebecca
People, including me, thought I was straight for a long time. I dated only men before Rebecca. Some have asked me when I knew, or how this happened, or even why I like her. These first two questions are hard to answer, exactly. I can't say that I woke up one day and knew that I'm a lesbian. As for how this happened - how does it ever happen when people fall in love?
But telling you why I love her is not a hard thing. Telling you why we belong together isn't either. Depending on your point of view, maybe this will help you understand that members of same sex couples feel the same way about their spouses that you do about yours. Maybe it will convince you that our stories are not so different. I hope that it will convince you, most of all, that love is about more than sex and what genitalia the other person has.
Rebecca and I met the first week of freshman orientation at Michigan State. We lived on the same floor that year. I can't say that it was love at first sight, or even that we immediately became fast friends. Later in the year, we both needed friends who were accepting and drama free, and we found each other. She moved off campus sophomore year; I stayed in the same dorm. Near the end of the year, I started praying for a new roommate; my current one was moving off campus.
Just about the last day to change housing assignments, Rebecca contacted me. Her housing plans had fallen through; did I have a roommate yet?
And thus, we ended up roomies. And then best friends. I remember the day I first realized that I loved her, not in a couple's sense, but as a friend. She was sick. I was behind on my reading, which for me as a star student was a big deal, but I decided to make her soup instead of finishing my assignment.
Before I left for Ecuador, we signed a lease off campus. Our goodbye was tearful.
The next summer, I came back to East Lansing; she interned for a pharmaceutical company in Chicago. We didn't see much of each other. One evening, she called me in tears to tell me that she had had a crisis of conscience and quit. She couldn't handle how unethical she felt her project assignment was. She didn't want to work in big pharma. She wanted to be a doctor and actually help people.
Living off campus with her was a great experience. We started to share friend groups - hers from back home and mine from Bible study. Her crisis of conscience continued to influence her. She had some health issues, and the process of applying to med school was stressful. At this point, we both had boyfriends. We had deep conversations. We hosted a lot of casual social events. I started learning what it would be like to own a home where all were welcome anytime. We brainstormed about a goat farm in Detroit. She supported me when my boyfriend left. I dreamed of living close to her, platonically, and having our kids back and forth between houses.
Here was this woman who was funny, smart, and ambitious - my equal - yet somehow chill and able to ground me. Her dreams were big, but I had every faith that they were worthwhile and she would attain them. Her values - for honesty, compassion, equity, and equality- were lived visibly. Beyond that, she dreamed with me. I felt synergy. I was willing to compromise and sacrifice because I trusted that she was a partner in ministry.
I had grown disillusioned with the church as I knew it. It was never going to accept me for the woman I was. I wasn't going to fulfill the purposes I was designed for living according to a legalistic system rooted in tradition that disadvantaged women.
It was a choice that was hard and easy at the same time. I had joined my heart, life, and plans with Rebecca. There wasn't room left for anyone else. I knew everything would change. I couldn't have known how much. If we knew all of our future pain, I believe most of us would be bowled over by despair. But I was ready to face it with her.
When she came out to me and asked me to go with her to medical school, I said yes, knowing that it would make my grad school applications much more difficult. And then, when she asked if she could kiss me for the first time, I said yes.
The last five years have validated that decision. She is a doctor, and an osteopath at that, because of her commitment to their principles, and she is a member of the National Health Services Corps. She dreams of working in academic med to bring underserved students into medicine and strong students into family practice. She supports me in pursuing my goals. We have started a tiny nest egg toward a down payment for the house where all are welcome. We routinely have dinner guests.
It's not perfect. Nothing is this side of heaven. But people who see us together, really see us, know that we aren't just a couple, we're a team. She is my helpmate and I am hers.
I will leave you with the greatest commandment: to love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Fighting the Fight or Flight Response
Given how much stress I've been under lately, between some difficult family and church situations as well as transitions going on with my role within the company for which I work, it's not shocking that I've spent a lot of time with my nervous system in fight or flight mode. One theory for why racial minorities suffer worse health across all economic profiles is that they operate in this mode almost constantly because of the number of microaggressions they experience throughout the day. As an LGBT woman, I can sympathize with that.
The problem is that I'm not very strong or fast, so fight or flight is never going to do any good. I suppose I could translate that into an argument with someone and attempt to fight verbally, but when I'm that angry/frustrated, I can't say that I'm at my most cogent.
I also read somewhere that they way we respond to stress or anger trains our brain and body for the appropriate way to respond the next time. I can't say that I've always responded well. I've resorted to stress eating, or perseverating on things that upset me, or sometimes even ideation of self harm. None of these responses are going to help me long term, so I've been trying to retrain myself (in not such a different method that I've been trying to retrain my tastebuds to live with less sugar).
So what am I trying to do when I'm upset? Basically, the nervous system response I'm trying to cultivate is often called tend and befriend. I'm trying to make relationship and nurturing the basis of my stress response - essentially, to choose love as an automatic reaction to stressful situations.
That means calling friends to talk when I'm upset to get new perspectives or to find out what others have done in similar situations. That means snuggling my cats. That means cooking to feed people. That means checking in with students, encouraging them, and offering high expectations for them, as well as remembering that no matter how difficult things might be, I do this for them. It means relaxing into other people's care for me. It sometimes means forgiving myself or others in the name of relationships. Last year, I planted tulips so that I would have something to look forward to - and checking the shoots in the spring every day was a great opportunity to congratulate myself for making a good choice.
I'm not there yet. I haven't arrived. But I think I'm moving toward reaching out. I'm taking positive steps. I hope that you will take them with me.
The problem is that I'm not very strong or fast, so fight or flight is never going to do any good. I suppose I could translate that into an argument with someone and attempt to fight verbally, but when I'm that angry/frustrated, I can't say that I'm at my most cogent.
I also read somewhere that they way we respond to stress or anger trains our brain and body for the appropriate way to respond the next time. I can't say that I've always responded well. I've resorted to stress eating, or perseverating on things that upset me, or sometimes even ideation of self harm. None of these responses are going to help me long term, so I've been trying to retrain myself (in not such a different method that I've been trying to retrain my tastebuds to live with less sugar).
So what am I trying to do when I'm upset? Basically, the nervous system response I'm trying to cultivate is often called tend and befriend. I'm trying to make relationship and nurturing the basis of my stress response - essentially, to choose love as an automatic reaction to stressful situations.
That means calling friends to talk when I'm upset to get new perspectives or to find out what others have done in similar situations. That means snuggling my cats. That means cooking to feed people. That means checking in with students, encouraging them, and offering high expectations for them, as well as remembering that no matter how difficult things might be, I do this for them. It means relaxing into other people's care for me. It sometimes means forgiving myself or others in the name of relationships. Last year, I planted tulips so that I would have something to look forward to - and checking the shoots in the spring every day was a great opportunity to congratulate myself for making a good choice.
I'm not there yet. I haven't arrived. But I think I'm moving toward reaching out. I'm taking positive steps. I hope that you will take them with me.
Monday, November 10, 2014
I Eat Everything; I Support that You Don't
Some of you who are friends with me on Facebook may have noticed some of the hashtags I use:
#vegan #veganoption #glutenfree #vegetarian #dairyfree
These are pretty self explanatory.
And sometimes: #nofoodinmyfood
This is generally a reference to something that removes two or more food allergens - it's a little playful, but all in fun.
The last one I use pretty often is:
#thisfoodcontainsfood
This sometimes means that my food contains a lot of allergens, but it also means that it isn't processed. It's from scratch, from wholesome ingredients, and made with love. I eat everything, so this is fine for me.
But many of you have noticed that I post a lot of dishes that omit allergens anyway. Those of you who have come for dinner know that I will always ask you if you can't eat certain things. This can be a little inconvenient sometimes, but if I'm only omitting one or two things, I enjoy the challenge. It makes cooking into a little bit of a game.
That's not why I do it, though.
I do it for the look on a person's face when they thought they couldn't eat something, and they can. I make it because my loved ones feel extra loved. I make it because strangers and acquaintances are surprised and warmed by having good, thoughtful food that's nutritious and accessible. For me, food is love.
#vegan #veganoption #glutenfree #vegetarian #dairyfree
These are pretty self explanatory.
And sometimes: #nofoodinmyfood
This is generally a reference to something that removes two or more food allergens - it's a little playful, but all in fun.
The last one I use pretty often is:
#thisfoodcontainsfood
This sometimes means that my food contains a lot of allergens, but it also means that it isn't processed. It's from scratch, from wholesome ingredients, and made with love. I eat everything, so this is fine for me.
But many of you have noticed that I post a lot of dishes that omit allergens anyway. Those of you who have come for dinner know that I will always ask you if you can't eat certain things. This can be a little inconvenient sometimes, but if I'm only omitting one or two things, I enjoy the challenge. It makes cooking into a little bit of a game.
That's not why I do it, though.
I do it for the look on a person's face when they thought they couldn't eat something, and they can. I make it because my loved ones feel extra loved. I make it because strangers and acquaintances are surprised and warmed by having good, thoughtful food that's nutritious and accessible. For me, food is love.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
A (Now) Open Letter to a Church
This was written months ago during a series called Stuff Christians Say at the church Rebecca and I currently attend. One week specifically addressed Stuff Christians Say about Sex, and this was my plea to the speaker.
Dear Church Community,
I'm not sure what your plan is for Sunday, but I'm intrigued. As an openly gay woman, I've had interesting experiences with this. Definitely the stereotype many Christians have is that a gay lifestyle (and there is just one) involves lots of clubs, hookups, casual relationships, etc. Many also imply that people in same sex relationships cannot really be Christians or that they are intentionally ignoring passages of the Bible that "definitively prove" that being gay or having gay sex is a sin, probably the worst one. This attitude hypersexualizes and demeans gay people and their relationships, particularly by deciding, often without getting to know them, to judge gay marriages solely on sex, not on love, commitment, grace, encouragement, and being a helpmate as God designed us to be. This attitude pushes many people away from the church. For me, I have made a conscious decision to stay in the church, but even at churches that are relatively accepting, I find myself distracted from spiritual growth and the beauty of the Gospel by feeling that I have to either inwardly or outwardly defend my marriage.
I have never had intercourse with anyone but my wife, although we weren't married at the time, partially because of the legislation in Michigan. By continuing to support marriage inequality or remaining silent, the church is preventing people from having a sexual relationship that fulfills God's (and conservative society's) ideals.
In terms of lifestyle, I think that many straight Christian couples would be surprised how alike our day to day lives are. Currently, our daily lives are more influenced by Rebecca's residency and our lack of money than they are by being lesbians.
I don't know if this is helpful in any way. I also sent another church leader a list of stuff Christians say about LGBT issues (love the sinner, hate the sin; it's not a worse sin than addiction, murder, adultery; and it's not our place to judge). He said he was considering whether to include one of those.
Blessings,
Erin
Dear Church Community,
I'm not sure what your plan is for Sunday, but I'm intrigued. As an openly gay woman, I've had interesting experiences with this. Definitely the stereotype many Christians have is that a gay lifestyle (and there is just one) involves lots of clubs, hookups, casual relationships, etc. Many also imply that people in same sex relationships cannot really be Christians or that they are intentionally ignoring passages of the Bible that "definitively prove" that being gay or having gay sex is a sin, probably the worst one. This attitude hypersexualizes and demeans gay people and their relationships, particularly by deciding, often without getting to know them, to judge gay marriages solely on sex, not on love, commitment, grace, encouragement, and being a helpmate as God designed us to be. This attitude pushes many people away from the church. For me, I have made a conscious decision to stay in the church, but even at churches that are relatively accepting, I find myself distracted from spiritual growth and the beauty of the Gospel by feeling that I have to either inwardly or outwardly defend my marriage.
I have never had intercourse with anyone but my wife, although we weren't married at the time, partially because of the legislation in Michigan. By continuing to support marriage inequality or remaining silent, the church is preventing people from having a sexual relationship that fulfills God's (and conservative society's) ideals.
In terms of lifestyle, I think that many straight Christian couples would be surprised how alike our day to day lives are. Currently, our daily lives are more influenced by Rebecca's residency and our lack of money than they are by being lesbians.
I don't know if this is helpful in any way. I also sent another church leader a list of stuff Christians say about LGBT issues (love the sinner, hate the sin; it's not a worse sin than addiction, murder, adultery; and it's not our place to judge). He said he was considering whether to include one of those.
Blessings,
Erin
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Love and Risk: Choosing Love when it Hurts
I should be doing lesson prep right now, but this post has been weighing on me for a while now, and I have to share it.
I recently returned to teaching - especially high school teaching in a public school context. I had missed it desperately during my year as a Ph.D. student working in an administrative position. I didn't realize how much I loved teaching - circulating, guiding, discussing, bonding - until I wasn't doing it. At all. I realized that sitting in front of a computer, doing paperwork, and attending administrative meetings was never going to bring me joy. I am deeply grateful for the many people who do these things and do them well. They allow so many other people to do their jobs.
What I didn't remember about teaching after a break, particularly a break from in-school work (I'd been teaching retail classes and tutoring sessions for a for-profit test prep company), was the amount of risk it was. In my case, it's been a financial risk - the market in Michigan is variable, and the company I work for doesn't guarantee salaries, hours, benefits, etc.
That's not really the risk I mean, though. When I returned to classrooms full of 25 juniors, in at least one case with many from lower income backgrounds, I offered them everything I can. I offered them my classroom management skills. I offered them my test prep expertise. I offered them my content training from undergrad and grad school. In some cases, I have offered knowledge, though small, of their first languages. I even offered my knowledge of motivation theory.
I have also offered them my heart. I have tried to get to know as many students as I can, although I am only there one day per week. I have tried to understand their situations. I have tried to learn and share their dreams. With at least a few, I must be succeeding. One asked me to come to a Powderpuff game. Another wants me to see him in the marching band. One disclosed that her good friend had committed suicide. A few have been excited to tell me about presentations they've seen from college representatives.
I have found great joy in this, amongst all the challenges. Classroom work, for me, is incredibly stimulating - one of the hardest jobs I've ever had. So much can go wrong. But when it goes right, it's magic.
The risk is the pain that can come with that joy. When we choose love, it doesn't make everything okay. It doesn't mean people will love us back. It doesn't mean that we can protect them from everything bad that could happen to them. When I was in administration, there wasn't as much love for me to choose, but there also wasn't the risk of so much pain. I left teaching for a time because I wasn't in a place to handle that kind of pain. I couldn't handle calling CPS so often. I couldn't handle the child with an ashy face and braids from eight weeks ago falling out late to school and stressed because he hadn't gotten breakfast and maybe hadn't had dinner either. I couldn't handle not having custodial services, the children being served moldy grapes for lunch, and blatant safety/fire code violations.
I hope that now I am able to understand what is and isn't mine to handle. I hope that I can offer my students everything I have, but recognize when I have no more. I hope that I can continue to fight to practice self-care. But mostly, I hope that I will remember to choose to love. Fiercely. Always. And I hope my students see that. I hope the whole world sees it.
I recently returned to teaching - especially high school teaching in a public school context. I had missed it desperately during my year as a Ph.D. student working in an administrative position. I didn't realize how much I loved teaching - circulating, guiding, discussing, bonding - until I wasn't doing it. At all. I realized that sitting in front of a computer, doing paperwork, and attending administrative meetings was never going to bring me joy. I am deeply grateful for the many people who do these things and do them well. They allow so many other people to do their jobs.
What I didn't remember about teaching after a break, particularly a break from in-school work (I'd been teaching retail classes and tutoring sessions for a for-profit test prep company), was the amount of risk it was. In my case, it's been a financial risk - the market in Michigan is variable, and the company I work for doesn't guarantee salaries, hours, benefits, etc.
That's not really the risk I mean, though. When I returned to classrooms full of 25 juniors, in at least one case with many from lower income backgrounds, I offered them everything I can. I offered them my classroom management skills. I offered them my test prep expertise. I offered them my content training from undergrad and grad school. In some cases, I have offered knowledge, though small, of their first languages. I even offered my knowledge of motivation theory.
I have also offered them my heart. I have tried to get to know as many students as I can, although I am only there one day per week. I have tried to understand their situations. I have tried to learn and share their dreams. With at least a few, I must be succeeding. One asked me to come to a Powderpuff game. Another wants me to see him in the marching band. One disclosed that her good friend had committed suicide. A few have been excited to tell me about presentations they've seen from college representatives.
I have found great joy in this, amongst all the challenges. Classroom work, for me, is incredibly stimulating - one of the hardest jobs I've ever had. So much can go wrong. But when it goes right, it's magic.
The risk is the pain that can come with that joy. When we choose love, it doesn't make everything okay. It doesn't mean people will love us back. It doesn't mean that we can protect them from everything bad that could happen to them. When I was in administration, there wasn't as much love for me to choose, but there also wasn't the risk of so much pain. I left teaching for a time because I wasn't in a place to handle that kind of pain. I couldn't handle calling CPS so often. I couldn't handle the child with an ashy face and braids from eight weeks ago falling out late to school and stressed because he hadn't gotten breakfast and maybe hadn't had dinner either. I couldn't handle not having custodial services, the children being served moldy grapes for lunch, and blatant safety/fire code violations.
I hope that now I am able to understand what is and isn't mine to handle. I hope that I can offer my students everything I have, but recognize when I have no more. I hope that I can continue to fight to practice self-care. But mostly, I hope that I will remember to choose to love. Fiercely. Always. And I hope my students see that. I hope the whole world sees it.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
AP Mobile, the Sixth Circuit, and Marriage Equality: Be Still My Heart
As Gru from Despicable Me once said, "I have pins and needles that I'm sitting on." Since the 6th Circuit heard Michigan's (and several other states') case for marriage equality, we've been awaiting a ruling. It should have come well before now - if I'd delayed a major term paper this long, I probably would have gotten a failing grade on this assignment. An employee in anything other than government probably would have been fired for this much of a delay. But the courts apparently do what they want, despite the impact on those around them.
For those of you who are confused about what is happening, that is understandable. Some of you may believe that a judge already struck down Michigan's ban on marriage equality. This is true - that happened in March. Since then, the state has been unconstitutionally denying same sex couples their rights via a stay on the ruling until the appeal is complete. Republicans have delayed everything as much as possible because they know that the stay/delay combination maintains the status quo. The 6th Circuit heard the appeal during the summer but hadn't decided anything, so the stay is in place.
So I've been on edge every time an AP Mobile alert comes through, hoping that the 6th Circuit would finally do its job and decide. My preference would have been for them to keep up with the trends from other circuit courts, but even a negative decision would have forced the case to the Supreme Court and some form of resolution. That alert hadn't come. And hadn't come. I had started a list of other ways we could get marriage equality, but then Michigan re-elected Rick Snyder and Bill Schuette, both of whom have either pushed or not resisted the homophobic agenda of Michigan Republicans.
I was sitting in a quiet classroom proctoring when today's alert came, and I glimpsed something about a federal appeals court. All it said was that the 6th had upheld these states' right to discriminate, with no linked full-length story. A web search brought up this Think Progress story that gives a little more detail about what is likely to happen next.
But I didn't really need to read that to know that we're headed up to the Supreme Court. I am disappointed that the stay will not be lifted shortly. I continue to be concerned about what will happen come tax time and to worry about whether my family is sufficiently defended.
I am encouraged, though, that at least we are moving. I believe that justice delayed is justice denied, so forward movement here likely means that we will have equality soon. I believe that work, injustice, and discussion expand to fill the allotted time as long as the well-meaning will let them. At least the 6th Circuit has ended its discussion so that someone else can take it up.
For those of you who are confused about what is happening, that is understandable. Some of you may believe that a judge already struck down Michigan's ban on marriage equality. This is true - that happened in March. Since then, the state has been unconstitutionally denying same sex couples their rights via a stay on the ruling until the appeal is complete. Republicans have delayed everything as much as possible because they know that the stay/delay combination maintains the status quo. The 6th Circuit heard the appeal during the summer but hadn't decided anything, so the stay is in place.
So I've been on edge every time an AP Mobile alert comes through, hoping that the 6th Circuit would finally do its job and decide. My preference would have been for them to keep up with the trends from other circuit courts, but even a negative decision would have forced the case to the Supreme Court and some form of resolution. That alert hadn't come. And hadn't come. I had started a list of other ways we could get marriage equality, but then Michigan re-elected Rick Snyder and Bill Schuette, both of whom have either pushed or not resisted the homophobic agenda of Michigan Republicans.
I was sitting in a quiet classroom proctoring when today's alert came, and I glimpsed something about a federal appeals court. All it said was that the 6th had upheld these states' right to discriminate, with no linked full-length story. A web search brought up this Think Progress story that gives a little more detail about what is likely to happen next.
But I didn't really need to read that to know that we're headed up to the Supreme Court. I am disappointed that the stay will not be lifted shortly. I continue to be concerned about what will happen come tax time and to worry about whether my family is sufficiently defended.
I am encouraged, though, that at least we are moving. I believe that justice delayed is justice denied, so forward movement here likely means that we will have equality soon. I believe that work, injustice, and discussion expand to fill the allotted time as long as the well-meaning will let them. At least the 6th Circuit has ended its discussion so that someone else can take it up.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Beautiful Brussels Sprouts
It's been quite a while since I posted anything about food. I've had a lot of other things on my mind, and the LGBT civil rights/personal narrative posts have gotten more readership. However, I know some of you find the way I cook interesting and don't want to neglect y'all.
I grew up thinking I didn't like Brussels sprouts, like much of the American public. It is true that I don't like them steamed or from frozen - they end up bland and often lose the lovely texture I enjoy.
How do I prepare them? This isn't a recipe (for a recipe similar to this one, check this out); it's more of a guide or strategy. There are no exact quantities because I don't really measure much.
Step one: Heat some flavorful form of fat in a large skillet (I use a wok-style pan, but anything will work). I'll use butter or render the fat out of a few pieces of bacon, but I've heard of using rendered duck fat, and a good regional or infused olive oil will work for my vegan friends. If you want the smoky flavor of a bacon without exploiting an animal, sprinkle smoked paprika over the onions in the next step.
Step two: When the fat is warm - not too hot, especially if you're using butter, but enough that a drop of water will sizzle - add sliced or diced onions to taste and a few cloves of minced garlic if you like. Lightly salt and pepper these. You can also add a sliced apple or other fall fruit - pears, perhaps - at this point, and fresh/frozen/dried cranberries (if you want these to remain crisp, hold off and add them with the Brussels sprouts).
Step three: While these cook, strip the Brussels sprouts off the stem (if you want to skip this, buy a bag of fresh ones shortly before you prep these, but they keep better on the stem). Cut off the ends and slice them in halves or quarters so that they're bite size.
Step four: When the onions are crisp tender, add the Brussels sprouts. Drizzle them with something acidic - lemon juice, a flavorful balsamic vinegar, or whatever else you like. If the onions have absorbed too much of the fat you used to start, add a little more here. The Brussels sprouts will absorb more and sort of caramelize in it, and this will temper some of the bitterness that most people dislike. If you haven't added your cranberries (or raisins, or chopped dates, or whatever dried fruit you like), add them now.
Step five: When the Brussels sprouts are browning on the cut sides, and the leaves look softened and a little translucent as though they've soaked up the vinegar and fat, turn the burner off.
Prepping to serve: At this point, if you are not a vegan, you can sprinkle some kind of cheese over top. I really like the bitterness and creaminess of a freshly crumbled Gorgonzola, but Bulgarian or Greek feta or freshly grated Parmesan will also work. If you are a vegan, I've never tried it, but you could use a slightly firm avocado that you've salted and tossed with something acidic here perhaps. You can throw a warmly flavored nut over top - I like pecans or slivered almonds, but toasted pine nuts or pistachios should work. If you are nut free, consider using toasted sunflower seeds.
If you used the cheese, wait a few minutes for it to melt slightly and toss gently. Serve out of the skillet, transfer to a pretty serving dish, or plate up. If you've used the cheese and nuts, that combined with the protein in the Brussels sprouts should probably give you enough protein to make this a one dish meal, but if not or if you like extra protein, serve with chicken or pork.
I grew up thinking I didn't like Brussels sprouts, like much of the American public. It is true that I don't like them steamed or from frozen - they end up bland and often lose the lovely texture I enjoy.
How do I prepare them? This isn't a recipe (for a recipe similar to this one, check this out); it's more of a guide or strategy. There are no exact quantities because I don't really measure much.
Step one: Heat some flavorful form of fat in a large skillet (I use a wok-style pan, but anything will work). I'll use butter or render the fat out of a few pieces of bacon, but I've heard of using rendered duck fat, and a good regional or infused olive oil will work for my vegan friends. If you want the smoky flavor of a bacon without exploiting an animal, sprinkle smoked paprika over the onions in the next step.
Step two: When the fat is warm - not too hot, especially if you're using butter, but enough that a drop of water will sizzle - add sliced or diced onions to taste and a few cloves of minced garlic if you like. Lightly salt and pepper these. You can also add a sliced apple or other fall fruit - pears, perhaps - at this point, and fresh/frozen/dried cranberries (if you want these to remain crisp, hold off and add them with the Brussels sprouts).
Step three: While these cook, strip the Brussels sprouts off the stem (if you want to skip this, buy a bag of fresh ones shortly before you prep these, but they keep better on the stem). Cut off the ends and slice them in halves or quarters so that they're bite size.
Step four: When the onions are crisp tender, add the Brussels sprouts. Drizzle them with something acidic - lemon juice, a flavorful balsamic vinegar, or whatever else you like. If the onions have absorbed too much of the fat you used to start, add a little more here. The Brussels sprouts will absorb more and sort of caramelize in it, and this will temper some of the bitterness that most people dislike. If you haven't added your cranberries (or raisins, or chopped dates, or whatever dried fruit you like), add them now.
Step five: When the Brussels sprouts are browning on the cut sides, and the leaves look softened and a little translucent as though they've soaked up the vinegar and fat, turn the burner off.
Prepping to serve: At this point, if you are not a vegan, you can sprinkle some kind of cheese over top. I really like the bitterness and creaminess of a freshly crumbled Gorgonzola, but Bulgarian or Greek feta or freshly grated Parmesan will also work. If you are a vegan, I've never tried it, but you could use a slightly firm avocado that you've salted and tossed with something acidic here perhaps. You can throw a warmly flavored nut over top - I like pecans or slivered almonds, but toasted pine nuts or pistachios should work. If you are nut free, consider using toasted sunflower seeds.
If you used the cheese, wait a few minutes for it to melt slightly and toss gently. Serve out of the skillet, transfer to a pretty serving dish, or plate up. If you've used the cheese and nuts, that combined with the protein in the Brussels sprouts should probably give you enough protein to make this a one dish meal, but if not or if you like extra protein, serve with chicken or pork.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Speaking the Truth in Love
As many of you know, I have tried to choose the loving path. I have tried to see other points of view and acknowledge that for many, it is a journey to become gay affirming. I have extended as much grace as I can muster for those in that situation, partially because I used to be there.
Here's the thing, though. When I was in apologetics training (a fancy term for learning how to convert people to Christianity), they told us that while living a good life and building authentic relationships were very important, no one would come to Christ if we didn't actually articulate the truth of the Gospel - that we are all sinners in need of the grace that Jesus brought when he came to Earth, died for us, and rose again. The way that I have that conversation has changed significantly in the last fifteen years, but that statement remains true.
And I have been trying to be respectable and wholesome. I have tried loving others, feeding them, offering them support and comfort, being flexible and understanding. None of those are bad things to do. In fact, I assert that I will never regret making the loving choice. However, if I want people's beliefs and choices to remain the same, I also need to tell them the truth.
So here is the truth. Many people have been telling me that they are not homophobes or bigots. This often stems from a mistaken definition of homophobia and a deep belief that it's not possible for "nice" people to be bigoted. I am not saying that it is impossible for relatively nice people to discriminate, or be prejudiced, or be homophobic, or be bigoted. I constantly notice and have to check myself for subtle reactions of racism - I don't want to believe that I'm racist. I am working to dedicate my life to breaking social reproduction cycles. I have attempted to put myself in integrated contexts. Hence, I have tried to steamroll the fact that some of my thoughts may be prejudiced. Does it make me a terrible person that I have these thoughts or feelings sometimes? I don't believe so. What would make me a terrible person were if I dwelled on them, or tried to support them with data that isn't there, or tried to teach them to others or enforce discriminatory policies based on them. It would make me a terrible person if I chose not to pursue the truth.
The following list is not exhaustive, but these are examples of things that people have said to me in the last few years that are actually indicative of homophobia/bigotry.
1. "I don't have a problem with 'these ladies' being married, but it upsets me that the pastor thinks that's okay."
This is possibly the most hurtful thing anyone has ever said directly about me in a church context. The elderly woman espousing this view clearly knew that what she was about to say sounded bigoted, so she tried to cover it up by purporting to approve of my marriage. She didn't know me at all - it wasn't that she approved of my marriage as an exception. She just didn't want to sound offensive at a public hearing when there were gay people in the room.
Lesson: If you do not believe that the pastor at your church should perform my marriage, you do have a problem with my marriage. And you have a problem with gay people. That is your right, given that freedom of speech and religion exist in the U.S., but don't try to tell me that you are not a homophobe or a bigot.
2. "Gay people all use drugs and sleep around. You're wholesome/respectable, but you're an exception, and we can't grant rights just to exceptions."
Any time you are choosing to extend a blanket statement to a group of people, particularly a negative one, you are treading on very thin ice. I don't make blanket statements about straight people. Some sleep around. Some use drugs. Some are bigots. Some are allies.
Lesson: If you think that all gay people are alike, you haven't bothered to get to know very many of us. You are choosing to "other" us so that you don't have to consider that we might be just like you. And if you feel that granting rights is based on people earning them through behavior you believe is respectable, we need to have a serious talk about the terms "rights" and also "grace."
3. "Gays/homosexuals are trying to push their agenda and change everything. We've voted to keep things the way they are. Why won't they just accept that?"
Because we've been "othered" for so long, it's been easy for people to attribute to us a complex agenda (that may or may not exist - if you would like a humorous take on this, click the "MI gay day" label at the top of this page), just as it is often easy for people from White backgrounds to believe that only minorities have cultures. However, the agenda that you're pushing - and trust me, you're pushing one - is to maintain the status quo. Unfortunately for your argument, just because something is the status quo doesn't make it the most just, the most loving, the most appropriate, or the most correct anything. It just means that it's what is right now. Unfortunately for me, the fact that you are the majority and hold a position of power means that whether or not you get your way ultimately, prolonging this debate gives you what you want - for me not to have rights.
Lesson: If you believe that discriminating against people based on their presence in any minority group is okay, particularly if you believe that solely because you cannot imagine the world otherwise, you are a bigot.
The Takeaway
If you have said/meant/thought these things, you are guilty of homophobia/bigotry. That doesn't mean you are a terrible person. You are not damned. I am not saying that I no longer love you. But the honest thing to do here is for you to acknowledge that your position is prejudiced. The honest reaction is that you prefer to be prejudiced and accept the label of bigot/homophobe because your values dictate that you must. I find it much easier to tolerate people who will be honest about their views - whether or not they are trying to change them - than to continue having discussions with those who insist that their view is not doing me active harm, that they are not holding a position of privilege, or that I am being unreasonable in calling out this smoke screen or asking for equality.
"You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free." ~ Jesus
Here's the thing, though. When I was in apologetics training (a fancy term for learning how to convert people to Christianity), they told us that while living a good life and building authentic relationships were very important, no one would come to Christ if we didn't actually articulate the truth of the Gospel - that we are all sinners in need of the grace that Jesus brought when he came to Earth, died for us, and rose again. The way that I have that conversation has changed significantly in the last fifteen years, but that statement remains true.
And I have been trying to be respectable and wholesome. I have tried loving others, feeding them, offering them support and comfort, being flexible and understanding. None of those are bad things to do. In fact, I assert that I will never regret making the loving choice. However, if I want people's beliefs and choices to remain the same, I also need to tell them the truth.
So here is the truth. Many people have been telling me that they are not homophobes or bigots. This often stems from a mistaken definition of homophobia and a deep belief that it's not possible for "nice" people to be bigoted. I am not saying that it is impossible for relatively nice people to discriminate, or be prejudiced, or be homophobic, or be bigoted. I constantly notice and have to check myself for subtle reactions of racism - I don't want to believe that I'm racist. I am working to dedicate my life to breaking social reproduction cycles. I have attempted to put myself in integrated contexts. Hence, I have tried to steamroll the fact that some of my thoughts may be prejudiced. Does it make me a terrible person that I have these thoughts or feelings sometimes? I don't believe so. What would make me a terrible person were if I dwelled on them, or tried to support them with data that isn't there, or tried to teach them to others or enforce discriminatory policies based on them. It would make me a terrible person if I chose not to pursue the truth.
The following list is not exhaustive, but these are examples of things that people have said to me in the last few years that are actually indicative of homophobia/bigotry.
1. "I don't have a problem with 'these ladies' being married, but it upsets me that the pastor thinks that's okay."
This is possibly the most hurtful thing anyone has ever said directly about me in a church context. The elderly woman espousing this view clearly knew that what she was about to say sounded bigoted, so she tried to cover it up by purporting to approve of my marriage. She didn't know me at all - it wasn't that she approved of my marriage as an exception. She just didn't want to sound offensive at a public hearing when there were gay people in the room.
Lesson: If you do not believe that the pastor at your church should perform my marriage, you do have a problem with my marriage. And you have a problem with gay people. That is your right, given that freedom of speech and religion exist in the U.S., but don't try to tell me that you are not a homophobe or a bigot.
2. "Gay people all use drugs and sleep around. You're wholesome/respectable, but you're an exception, and we can't grant rights just to exceptions."
Any time you are choosing to extend a blanket statement to a group of people, particularly a negative one, you are treading on very thin ice. I don't make blanket statements about straight people. Some sleep around. Some use drugs. Some are bigots. Some are allies.
Lesson: If you think that all gay people are alike, you haven't bothered to get to know very many of us. You are choosing to "other" us so that you don't have to consider that we might be just like you. And if you feel that granting rights is based on people earning them through behavior you believe is respectable, we need to have a serious talk about the terms "rights" and also "grace."
3. "Gays/homosexuals are trying to push their agenda and change everything. We've voted to keep things the way they are. Why won't they just accept that?"
Because we've been "othered" for so long, it's been easy for people to attribute to us a complex agenda (that may or may not exist - if you would like a humorous take on this, click the "MI gay day" label at the top of this page), just as it is often easy for people from White backgrounds to believe that only minorities have cultures. However, the agenda that you're pushing - and trust me, you're pushing one - is to maintain the status quo. Unfortunately for your argument, just because something is the status quo doesn't make it the most just, the most loving, the most appropriate, or the most correct anything. It just means that it's what is right now. Unfortunately for me, the fact that you are the majority and hold a position of power means that whether or not you get your way ultimately, prolonging this debate gives you what you want - for me not to have rights.
Lesson: If you believe that discriminating against people based on their presence in any minority group is okay, particularly if you believe that solely because you cannot imagine the world otherwise, you are a bigot.
The Takeaway
If you have said/meant/thought these things, you are guilty of homophobia/bigotry. That doesn't mean you are a terrible person. You are not damned. I am not saying that I no longer love you. But the honest thing to do here is for you to acknowledge that your position is prejudiced. The honest reaction is that you prefer to be prejudiced and accept the label of bigot/homophobe because your values dictate that you must. I find it much easier to tolerate people who will be honest about their views - whether or not they are trying to change them - than to continue having discussions with those who insist that their view is not doing me active harm, that they are not holding a position of privilege, or that I am being unreasonable in calling out this smoke screen or asking for equality.
"You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free." ~ Jesus
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Discomfort
As with many of my entries, I have been letting this one steep for a while. I suppose I've been thinking of it for years, but the theme became much more salient when I visited ArtPrize in Grand Rapids a few weeks ago.
The theme at the Grand Rapids Art Museum was discomfort. From that, I'm sure you will not be surprised to hear that much of the art displayed was modern. One installation consisted entirely of hot glue applied to the windows to make them look broken. Another consisted of masks that represented the different faces presented to the world, entitled I Am Not Who You Think I Am. Some of these resonated with me automatically. In the Intersections room, which ended up winning ArtPrize, I wanted to snuggle up on the floor and meditate on the lines and shadows. Others, though, I rushed past. Often, the people I was with expressed dislike or lack of understanding for a piece, sometimes with the implication that it wasn't really art. At one point, one of them took a picture of a mask with its tongue sticking out because it was "cute" - except that if I recall correctly, the caption said that it reflected the artist's feelings about the hegemony of English in the US.
So I rushed past at the time. But I still think about those experiences. To me, this is art. Some art is beautiful. Some is not. But art is intended to make us reflect, and sometimes that requires discomfort.
I will not argue that all discomfort is good. That was a lesson I learned when I started yoga. My instructors would offer me blankets or bolsters when I thought I didn't need them. One would even say, "Let me spoil you." I think I had mostly viewed self care as a luxury or burden before that, not as a necessity. I had decided that routine discomfort was something to be lived with. I no longer believe that. For those reading who suffer from chronic pain or daily illness, my heart goes out to you.
But I do believe that often we grow through discomfort. The last five years have involved a lot of pain. Even recently, I went through a period where I had daily extreme nausea that doctors couldn't really explain or treat. The first day that I didn't have it, I appreciated eating and nutrition and what my body could do for me in a whole new perspective.
So I hope that perhaps what I write will be beautiful for you sometimes, but that my pain, my discomfort will come through. I hope that you may grow and stretch as you read as I have when I wrote.
MI Gay Monday
So I wrote this a couple years ago, near the tail end of my MA program, but I found it languishing as a draft today, and it made me chuckle. I should really do more of these. I would love to compile a few more of these from LGBT friends.
9:00 am
Wake up. Greet my gay houseguest. (She really is gay, but that is not why we are friends. We met while taking a Spanish class during our undergrad.) Chat with her a while.
10:00 am
Take a gay shower and wash my gay hair.
10:15 am
Put on gay clothes and say good morning to my lesbian, homosexual, female partner. The clothes are not gay, although they did come from Target, where Salvation Army bellringers are forbidden to chime. Perhaps Target knows that Salvation Army is very anti-gay rights.
10:30 am
Eat gay pie for gay breakfast. As in a previous post, I will admit that this is a very subversive choice. For those of you who are concerned about my gay nutritional needs, I will defend my choice by saying that each slice of pie contains a whole apple. I have a gay piece of MSU Dairy Store cheddar cheese as a protein supplement. The Dairy Store is not gay, just delicious.
10:45
Commence my gay workday of staring at my gay computer. My work is not gay, just me. The computer is not gay, although it would not shock me to learn that Macs are the preferred technology for the LGBT population. I read some gay articles, create a gay reading guide, and spend time using the gay library search sites. The articles, reading guide, and library site are not gay, just me.
11:45
My lesbian, homosexual, female partner leaves for a meeting about residency match. These are just the sorts of things that prevent her from being a properly subversive LGBT woman.
2:00
Have a gay lunch of gay leftover pizza. The pizza really is gay, since I made it myself by hand. (Gay money is very tight right now, so ordering pizza is too expensive.)
2:30
Return to my gay work.
4:00
My lesbian, homosexual, female partner and I take a gay dessert break from our gay work. These sorts of breaks are important. Without them, we might become weary of our exhausting, subversive lifestyle.
4:30
Return to my gay work.
5:30
Leave for my other gay work in the gay ESL Help Room. The room is not gay, just me.
8:00
Return home to make gay dinner. It is not remarkable - just spaghetti and garlic bread.
9:00 am
Wake up. Greet my gay houseguest. (She really is gay, but that is not why we are friends. We met while taking a Spanish class during our undergrad.) Chat with her a while.
10:00 am
Take a gay shower and wash my gay hair.
10:15 am
Put on gay clothes and say good morning to my lesbian, homosexual, female partner. The clothes are not gay, although they did come from Target, where Salvation Army bellringers are forbidden to chime. Perhaps Target knows that Salvation Army is very anti-gay rights.
10:30 am
Eat gay pie for gay breakfast. As in a previous post, I will admit that this is a very subversive choice. For those of you who are concerned about my gay nutritional needs, I will defend my choice by saying that each slice of pie contains a whole apple. I have a gay piece of MSU Dairy Store cheddar cheese as a protein supplement. The Dairy Store is not gay, just delicious.
10:45
Commence my gay workday of staring at my gay computer. My work is not gay, just me. The computer is not gay, although it would not shock me to learn that Macs are the preferred technology for the LGBT population. I read some gay articles, create a gay reading guide, and spend time using the gay library search sites. The articles, reading guide, and library site are not gay, just me.
11:45
My lesbian, homosexual, female partner leaves for a meeting about residency match. These are just the sorts of things that prevent her from being a properly subversive LGBT woman.
2:00
Have a gay lunch of gay leftover pizza. The pizza really is gay, since I made it myself by hand. (Gay money is very tight right now, so ordering pizza is too expensive.)
2:30
Return to my gay work.
4:00
My lesbian, homosexual, female partner and I take a gay dessert break from our gay work. These sorts of breaks are important. Without them, we might become weary of our exhausting, subversive lifestyle.
4:30
Return to my gay work.
5:30
Leave for my other gay work in the gay ESL Help Room. The room is not gay, just me.
8:00
Return home to make gay dinner. It is not remarkable - just spaghetti and garlic bread.
Demolition
Lately, things have happened to make me feel livid. And frustrated. And sad. Things have happened to make me feel so much of these things that for a few moments in time, I wanted to give up on choosing love unconditionally, choosing more love, and falling apart without taking others down. I was tired of being a model minority, tired of writing the wholesome, respectable, ladylike narrative, tired of checking every box except "straight" and still experiencing discrimination.
As one friend said, I wanted to "blow **** up." It was true at that moment and became even truer the next day when another issue piled on.
I found myself repeating "I will not blow things up" as a mantra. I found myself reviewing respectable methods of responding. I considered how I could handle my anger responsibly. I reflected on the work I would destroy if I lit the fuse at that moment.
In short, two things happened.
The first was that I tried to find ways to choose love while protecting myself, as much as reasonable, from future hurt.
The second was that I remembered a quote that my high school librarian had shared: "Well-behaved women seldom make history."
So I will choose love. And I will not light fuses without reflection. If I demolish things, I will plan for the asbestos cloud, place my explosives strategically, and prepare for the new building I will leave in their place. I will try to clear people out when I can first. I will attack structures and laws, not individual persons.
I will not blow **** up. I will choose love.
As one friend said, I wanted to "blow **** up." It was true at that moment and became even truer the next day when another issue piled on.
I found myself repeating "I will not blow things up" as a mantra. I found myself reviewing respectable methods of responding. I considered how I could handle my anger responsibly. I reflected on the work I would destroy if I lit the fuse at that moment.
In short, two things happened.
The first was that I tried to find ways to choose love while protecting myself, as much as reasonable, from future hurt.
The second was that I remembered a quote that my high school librarian had shared: "Well-behaved women seldom make history."
So I will choose love. And I will not light fuses without reflection. If I demolish things, I will plan for the asbestos cloud, place my explosives strategically, and prepare for the new building I will leave in their place. I will try to clear people out when I can first. I will attack structures and laws, not individual persons.
I will not blow **** up. I will choose love.
An Open Letter to a Grieving Student
Dear Student,
The timing of all this seems unfortunate. It feels like it has been no time at all since I posted about Self Advocacy and Mental Illness, but a minute since I published A Message to a Grieving Mother, and not so long since I shared His Absence, My Absence. I fear that I am becoming an expert, not academically, but emotionally, on the grief that stems from suicide, particularly the suicide of the young. This is not a specialty I would wish on anyone.
I hope that you have never experienced this grief before, and I hope you will not again. Having lost one of your best friends, you now belong to the club of people To Whom the Unimaginable is Now Imaginable. You told me that you didn't even know that she was sad, that you wish you could have helped her more. We often do not know that people are sad. I'm sure that you helped her more than you know. I'm sure, knowing you, that you loved her the best you could. Perhaps for you, she lasted one more day. Perhaps because of you, her load of pain was lightened, if even slightly.
I struggled when you told me this to know what to do. I always do. I always will. Even having been through it, I can't claim to know what you want or need. You probably don't know. I didn't want to offer you cheap platitudes or meaningless cliches. I wanted you to feel heard, to feel cared for, to know that you're not responsible, to understand that however you feel right now is okay. I only see you once a week, but from the fact that you come see me during lunch, I'm guessing that we have connected, and so my guess is that my reaction to this matters.
So what did I say? What did I do?
1. I hugged you.
It was a little awkward, but you seemed okay with hugging. In reality, all I had to offer you was my presence, and a hug is a tangible gift of that.
2. I asked you if you wanted to tell me about her.
Not everyone does, but a lot of people do. People who do not belong to the club of Unimaginableness might feel uncomfortable doing this - it can seem morbid or tense, or they worry that it will make you sadder. I know that nothing will make you sadder. I don't know if telling me about her helped, but even years after my brother's death, I find myself wanting to talk about him with strangers who don't know what to say or who are shocked that I can speak of him calmly.
3. I offered you a tissue.
Again, I have little to give you, but the dignity of wiping your eyes and blowing your nose is a small grace.
4. I stood next to you and was quiet.
This felt awkward to me. It feels awkward to most people. But in light of the fact that I knew I had nothing constructive to say, I offered you my presence.
5. I told you to drink hot beverages.
Sheldon Cooper would approve. Everyone grieves in their own way, and some people eat ice cream, or chocolate, or drink tea. I'm not sure that hot beverages actually helped after my brother died, but I was doing something, fighting to survive and not collapse so much that I never got out of the black hole I felt might swallow me up. Making tea, or coffee, or hot cocoa was a ritual I could perform as part of self-care. Self-care. You may be tempted to ignore your own feelings and try to take care of others you know whom you feel are suffering more than you. You may be tempted to try to carry on like this didn't happen. I hope you don't. But find your kind of self-care and pursue it relentlessly. Falling apart is okay. Collapsing into a sinkhole permanently isn't.
6. I talked about ways I help myself remember and feel close to my brother.
In my case, I listen to music he liked, post on his facebook wall, and eat his favorite chocolates around his birthday. I know that he will always be in my heart, and I think about him every day. You will too. Sometimes having a way to express that more tangibly - whatever that way is for you - helps.
I will not see you for two weeks because of Election Day. I hope when I see you again, you will have found ways of processing your grief. I hope that in the end, this strengthens your beautiful spirit and encourages you to love more sweetly and fiercely. These things don't happen for that. I'm not telling you that everything happens for a reason. But I hope that you will choose to love coming out of this, and not to withdraw.
You will be on my heart and in my prayers, sweetie.
The timing of all this seems unfortunate. It feels like it has been no time at all since I posted about Self Advocacy and Mental Illness, but a minute since I published A Message to a Grieving Mother, and not so long since I shared His Absence, My Absence. I fear that I am becoming an expert, not academically, but emotionally, on the grief that stems from suicide, particularly the suicide of the young. This is not a specialty I would wish on anyone.
I hope that you have never experienced this grief before, and I hope you will not again. Having lost one of your best friends, you now belong to the club of people To Whom the Unimaginable is Now Imaginable. You told me that you didn't even know that she was sad, that you wish you could have helped her more. We often do not know that people are sad. I'm sure that you helped her more than you know. I'm sure, knowing you, that you loved her the best you could. Perhaps for you, she lasted one more day. Perhaps because of you, her load of pain was lightened, if even slightly.
I struggled when you told me this to know what to do. I always do. I always will. Even having been through it, I can't claim to know what you want or need. You probably don't know. I didn't want to offer you cheap platitudes or meaningless cliches. I wanted you to feel heard, to feel cared for, to know that you're not responsible, to understand that however you feel right now is okay. I only see you once a week, but from the fact that you come see me during lunch, I'm guessing that we have connected, and so my guess is that my reaction to this matters.
So what did I say? What did I do?
1. I hugged you.
It was a little awkward, but you seemed okay with hugging. In reality, all I had to offer you was my presence, and a hug is a tangible gift of that.
2. I asked you if you wanted to tell me about her.
Not everyone does, but a lot of people do. People who do not belong to the club of Unimaginableness might feel uncomfortable doing this - it can seem morbid or tense, or they worry that it will make you sadder. I know that nothing will make you sadder. I don't know if telling me about her helped, but even years after my brother's death, I find myself wanting to talk about him with strangers who don't know what to say or who are shocked that I can speak of him calmly.
3. I offered you a tissue.
Again, I have little to give you, but the dignity of wiping your eyes and blowing your nose is a small grace.
4. I stood next to you and was quiet.
This felt awkward to me. It feels awkward to most people. But in light of the fact that I knew I had nothing constructive to say, I offered you my presence.
5. I told you to drink hot beverages.
Sheldon Cooper would approve. Everyone grieves in their own way, and some people eat ice cream, or chocolate, or drink tea. I'm not sure that hot beverages actually helped after my brother died, but I was doing something, fighting to survive and not collapse so much that I never got out of the black hole I felt might swallow me up. Making tea, or coffee, or hot cocoa was a ritual I could perform as part of self-care. Self-care. You may be tempted to ignore your own feelings and try to take care of others you know whom you feel are suffering more than you. You may be tempted to try to carry on like this didn't happen. I hope you don't. But find your kind of self-care and pursue it relentlessly. Falling apart is okay. Collapsing into a sinkhole permanently isn't.
6. I talked about ways I help myself remember and feel close to my brother.
In my case, I listen to music he liked, post on his facebook wall, and eat his favorite chocolates around his birthday. I know that he will always be in my heart, and I think about him every day. You will too. Sometimes having a way to express that more tangibly - whatever that way is for you - helps.
I will not see you for two weeks because of Election Day. I hope when I see you again, you will have found ways of processing your grief. I hope that in the end, this strengthens your beautiful spirit and encourages you to love more sweetly and fiercely. These things don't happen for that. I'm not telling you that everything happens for a reason. But I hope that you will choose to love coming out of this, and not to withdraw.
You will be on my heart and in my prayers, sweetie.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Self Advocacy and Mental Illness
The title for this post has been languishing for months in the pile of things I wasn't sure I wanted to share. I've finally come to a point where I think I can no longer stay silent.
Mental illness is all around us. My family has certainly been impacted heavily - see my post about my brother's death almost three years ago from depression complications. I will avoid posting names or specifics of anything else because of the unfortunate stigma that mental illness still carries, and I will refrain from posting statistics because if you care you can look them up yourself. Recently, a student died of similar causes, and I wrote again about that. I have written little about my own experiences for fear of repercussions in work or social situations, but for those of you who know me personally or have been reading for a while, I'm sure you are unsurprised.
I avoid ranting. I will do my best here to avoid ranting. But after what I have seen, this is a serious issue and merits address.
The way that our healthcare system is set up is broken, in many areas, but particularly in the area of mental health. Mentally ill people are already suffering intensely, often with intellectual and emotional difficulties, some of which move into physical pain. Their ability to eat and sleep can be affected. It is unsurprising, then, that many consider suicide. Suicide is the outcome of an untreated mental illness in the same way that death is the outcome of most untreated cancer, heart disease, diabetes, etc.
Often, the solution for mental illness appears to be self advocacy. We say that people should have called someone, or made an appointment with a healthcare professional, or found some strength inside themselves, or, or, or . . . This ignores reality. Mentally ill people are at their lowest capacity to advocate for themselves. I am not suggesting that they should be involuntarily committed (I wrote a whole post about psych holds and the conditions in psychiatric facilities), but expecting them to make appointments with strangers or call someone or argue with an insurance company or navigate a government bureaucracy to get community mental health or Medicaid or whatever is unreasonable. Or, if they have already done this but changed jobs, moved, changed insurance carriers, etc, expecting them to find a new provider and go through the whole process again is unreasonable. Expecting them to feel badly or reach out only on weekdays from 9-5 is unreasonable. Expecting them to continue seeking help after they are told that there is nothing wrong or are misdiagnosed is unreasonable.
Once people do get help, usually the first interventions are medications and talk therapy. Psychiatric medications are no joke - even widely used, generally safe ones like SSRIs can have pretty serious side effects, especially if the diagnosis is wrong. Many cause drowsiness or lack of cognitive function, which can for some people feel as debilitating as the original illness. These drugs can be extremely expensive, even with insurance, and will often be cocktailed in ways that make it difficult to understand how they are working and which ones are causing side effects. There really is not much research going on to develop completely new drugs that avoid these issues, given how much large pharmaceutical companies are already making off these drugs.
The other first line treatment is usually some form of psychotherapy. For this to work, the patient really needs to find a good fit, but referrals can take quite some time (in my case, I've been looking for a new one since late June and am having my first appointment tomorrow), and there is no guarantee of a good match the first time. With every new therapist, it is expected that the patient will run through a life story that often by that point contains a great deal of pain, reliving terrible experiences in the narration. This can become highly traumatic, again, for patients who have changed insurance coverage and can no longer afford to see a provider they liked. I seriously doubt whether describing everything bad that has ever happened over and over is a valid path to healing.
Treatments such as diet, exercise, lifestyle changes, sleep hygiene, osteopathic manipulation, lightbox therapy, and so forth are not taken seriously in terms of treating mental illness. Most insurance companies do not cover these treatments, perhaps because big pharma has convinced them not to, perhaps because there is little funding for this research, perhaps because compliance with them is lower. Whatever the reason, many patients will never be told that the vast majority of serotonin is produced in the gut and that dietary changes may help significantly. Many will never experience the body/mind release of pain and acceptance of care from a proper osteopathic balance ligamentous treatment. The objection is that these treatments are usually too expensive, but some psychiatric meds - an individual med, not the whole cocktail of two or three or four - can cost upwards of $600 a month and end up preventing people from working due to side effects. Noncompliance is also a serious issue with psych meds, often because of the cost or side effects.
I don't often make sweeping policy recommendations, but I will here.
1. Abolish insurance network restrictions, at least in the case of mental illness, so that once patients find providers that work for them, they can keep them. (While we're at it, let's have universal healthcare coverage that is not employer-based. This would address mental healthcare disparities in populations of color and the LGBT community.)
2. Require coverage of alternative mental illness treatment, not after everything else has failed, but to initially complement or even avoid pharmaceutical therapy.
3. Train healthcare professionals, educators, religious groups, etc to recognize signs of mental illness and take a systematic approach in concert with the medical establishment to support those suffering.
4. Require reasonable accommodation of those with mental illness and training for employers to understand what an individual illness might actually mean. Many mentally ill people avoid seeking help because they fear (often correctly) that if people find out they are ill, they will be perceived to be unstable, dangerous, or incompetent.
5. Fund research into alternative management of mental illness, using the therapies listed above and others. Currently, I cannot identify any clinical trials that use no pharmaceuticals (if you know of one, let me know), but I have actually found the best management to be in alternative therapies.
6. Allow homecare or hospice for patients experiencing significant suicidal ideation. Homecare allows for caregiver relief but keeps patients in their homes, where they will be most comfortable and theoretically have access to their best support system (family, friends, pets, soothing activities, religious communities, normal food) - things that are generally not accessible in an institution. If people are suffering enough that they could kill themselves at any time, this is not significantly different from a terminal cancer diagnosis, and they should be allowed dignified treatment.
7. Create teams of healthcare providers with different specialties. Psychiatrists, family practitioners, dietitians, social workers, and others should be working together closely. Cancer patients often have collaborative relationships with multiple doctors who will meet together to discuss therapies. Given the wide range of symptoms and side effects experienced by mentally ill people, it doesn't make sense for a psychiatrist to prescribe something but then refuse to be involved in managing its side effects.
I am sure that I am missing some recommendations. I am sure that most of these recommendations will never be implemented, and that even if they were, mental illness would not completely disappear. I am also sure that if I remain silent, I will not be part of the solution. So I am advocating, on behalf of myself and my brother and my student. Maybe if you join me, we can do something.
Mental illness is all around us. My family has certainly been impacted heavily - see my post about my brother's death almost three years ago from depression complications. I will avoid posting names or specifics of anything else because of the unfortunate stigma that mental illness still carries, and I will refrain from posting statistics because if you care you can look them up yourself. Recently, a student died of similar causes, and I wrote again about that. I have written little about my own experiences for fear of repercussions in work or social situations, but for those of you who know me personally or have been reading for a while, I'm sure you are unsurprised.
I avoid ranting. I will do my best here to avoid ranting. But after what I have seen, this is a serious issue and merits address.
The way that our healthcare system is set up is broken, in many areas, but particularly in the area of mental health. Mentally ill people are already suffering intensely, often with intellectual and emotional difficulties, some of which move into physical pain. Their ability to eat and sleep can be affected. It is unsurprising, then, that many consider suicide. Suicide is the outcome of an untreated mental illness in the same way that death is the outcome of most untreated cancer, heart disease, diabetes, etc.
Often, the solution for mental illness appears to be self advocacy. We say that people should have called someone, or made an appointment with a healthcare professional, or found some strength inside themselves, or, or, or . . . This ignores reality. Mentally ill people are at their lowest capacity to advocate for themselves. I am not suggesting that they should be involuntarily committed (I wrote a whole post about psych holds and the conditions in psychiatric facilities), but expecting them to make appointments with strangers or call someone or argue with an insurance company or navigate a government bureaucracy to get community mental health or Medicaid or whatever is unreasonable. Or, if they have already done this but changed jobs, moved, changed insurance carriers, etc, expecting them to find a new provider and go through the whole process again is unreasonable. Expecting them to feel badly or reach out only on weekdays from 9-5 is unreasonable. Expecting them to continue seeking help after they are told that there is nothing wrong or are misdiagnosed is unreasonable.
Once people do get help, usually the first interventions are medications and talk therapy. Psychiatric medications are no joke - even widely used, generally safe ones like SSRIs can have pretty serious side effects, especially if the diagnosis is wrong. Many cause drowsiness or lack of cognitive function, which can for some people feel as debilitating as the original illness. These drugs can be extremely expensive, even with insurance, and will often be cocktailed in ways that make it difficult to understand how they are working and which ones are causing side effects. There really is not much research going on to develop completely new drugs that avoid these issues, given how much large pharmaceutical companies are already making off these drugs.
The other first line treatment is usually some form of psychotherapy. For this to work, the patient really needs to find a good fit, but referrals can take quite some time (in my case, I've been looking for a new one since late June and am having my first appointment tomorrow), and there is no guarantee of a good match the first time. With every new therapist, it is expected that the patient will run through a life story that often by that point contains a great deal of pain, reliving terrible experiences in the narration. This can become highly traumatic, again, for patients who have changed insurance coverage and can no longer afford to see a provider they liked. I seriously doubt whether describing everything bad that has ever happened over and over is a valid path to healing.
Treatments such as diet, exercise, lifestyle changes, sleep hygiene, osteopathic manipulation, lightbox therapy, and so forth are not taken seriously in terms of treating mental illness. Most insurance companies do not cover these treatments, perhaps because big pharma has convinced them not to, perhaps because there is little funding for this research, perhaps because compliance with them is lower. Whatever the reason, many patients will never be told that the vast majority of serotonin is produced in the gut and that dietary changes may help significantly. Many will never experience the body/mind release of pain and acceptance of care from a proper osteopathic balance ligamentous treatment. The objection is that these treatments are usually too expensive, but some psychiatric meds - an individual med, not the whole cocktail of two or three or four - can cost upwards of $600 a month and end up preventing people from working due to side effects. Noncompliance is also a serious issue with psych meds, often because of the cost or side effects.
I don't often make sweeping policy recommendations, but I will here.
1. Abolish insurance network restrictions, at least in the case of mental illness, so that once patients find providers that work for them, they can keep them. (While we're at it, let's have universal healthcare coverage that is not employer-based. This would address mental healthcare disparities in populations of color and the LGBT community.)
2. Require coverage of alternative mental illness treatment, not after everything else has failed, but to initially complement or even avoid pharmaceutical therapy.
3. Train healthcare professionals, educators, religious groups, etc to recognize signs of mental illness and take a systematic approach in concert with the medical establishment to support those suffering.
4. Require reasonable accommodation of those with mental illness and training for employers to understand what an individual illness might actually mean. Many mentally ill people avoid seeking help because they fear (often correctly) that if people find out they are ill, they will be perceived to be unstable, dangerous, or incompetent.
5. Fund research into alternative management of mental illness, using the therapies listed above and others. Currently, I cannot identify any clinical trials that use no pharmaceuticals (if you know of one, let me know), but I have actually found the best management to be in alternative therapies.
6. Allow homecare or hospice for patients experiencing significant suicidal ideation. Homecare allows for caregiver relief but keeps patients in their homes, where they will be most comfortable and theoretically have access to their best support system (family, friends, pets, soothing activities, religious communities, normal food) - things that are generally not accessible in an institution. If people are suffering enough that they could kill themselves at any time, this is not significantly different from a terminal cancer diagnosis, and they should be allowed dignified treatment.
7. Create teams of healthcare providers with different specialties. Psychiatrists, family practitioners, dietitians, social workers, and others should be working together closely. Cancer patients often have collaborative relationships with multiple doctors who will meet together to discuss therapies. Given the wide range of symptoms and side effects experienced by mentally ill people, it doesn't make sense for a psychiatrist to prescribe something but then refuse to be involved in managing its side effects.
I am sure that I am missing some recommendations. I am sure that most of these recommendations will never be implemented, and that even if they were, mental illness would not completely disappear. I am also sure that if I remain silent, I will not be part of the solution. So I am advocating, on behalf of myself and my brother and my student. Maybe if you join me, we can do something.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
My Response to "All About that Bass"
A catchy new song claiming to be "body positive " has hit the airwaves. "All About that Bass" features lines about not wanting to be a silicon Barbie doll and not worrying about your size. And yet, I find it problematic.
I will not claim that skinny shaming is the same as fat shaming. It's not. But implying that skinny women are bitches just for that or that they are actually undesirable to men does nothing to encourage women to be comfortable in their own skin.
When I hear this, I wonder if I am considered a skinny bitch. I have certainly never been overweight medically, but I am not a size zero. I like the lines of my body now and feel good in my favorite clothes, so I guess it doesn't matter. And it's not really my concern if men like "a little more booty to hold at night." I think my booty is fabulous, whether or not men want me. Whether or not women want me.
Is it possible that we could have a song about how beautiful a woman's laugh is or her sense of humor? Let me hear a song about how she supports her friends or rocks out or can present an awesome marketing pitch. I am so much more than my body, and I am not for you.
As I Fall Apart
I can't even tell you how many people have privately messaged me to thank me for posting the last entry on Sunday mornings. In fact, that post has already, in just a few days, received half as many views as the most popular post ever.
Some have commented on facebook. Some comments were helpful, and others continued to complicate the matter or feel a little like victim-blaming.
I will not use names to delineate these comments. I don't use names. I've talked with multiple people about why I obscure identities on this blog when I don't have to. I could call people out. I could try to shame them or make them look ignorant. I could do it. It might even feel good for a hot minute to try to hurt people the way that I have been hurt (by zombies - yep, that's passive voice there, to avoid assigning blame/agency). But I'm not really into flambeing things. I use a lot of gentle simmer - softly stirring, slowly heating, watching lazy bubbles of understanding rise up and trying to reduce this whole thing into something worthwhile, much as I did for a batch of ricotta earlier. Maybe it comes from being a teacher - after all, it's not possible to ever stop teaching once one truly starts. And it's not really about what anyone specific said - it's about the sentiment behind it and whether it came from the best place, or from a place of ignorance, or from some other place I want far away from me.
Many of you believe that I am strong. I don't know about that. I don't see it. Much as you thank me for my honesty, so many times I'm posting to keep from falling apart, or while falling apart. And I have kept things from you, readers, because I have had to. Someday, perhaps, when the context is different or my career is different, I will tell you things. I will post the entries that languish as drafts. I will be strong enough to be completely honest about things that I am not proud of, and things that could continue to hurt me. If you would like true honesty, if you want to ask real questions, I will reiterate that you should plan to come for dinner or hot beverages.
Some would say that setting this all on fire, dumping the haters, laying out complete honesty, would be a sign of strength and power. I have heard that I am defending people that don't merit defense. I have heard that if people are willing to say/write things, they should be willing to have them shared. Here's the thing: there is great power in having the ability to do those things. Once they are done, though, the power leaves too. The reality of blowing things up is that after a chemical change, short of alchemy, they don't go back to the way they were. And once that bomb drops, I'd be out of ammunition after starting a potential war.
So I will tell you this: I am falling apart right now. For a lot of reasons, some of which those of you who know me already know. Some of which you might not. In some cases, I may have brought this on myself - some would say that I have brought this all on myself. I don't know.
I read this quote on a blog sent by a friend recently:
"I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being." ~ Hafiz
I have been lonely and in darkness sometimes lately, as we all sometimes are. I am writing hoping that there will be a flicker here that will reach out to others who are lonely or crave illumination.
Some have commented on facebook. Some comments were helpful, and others continued to complicate the matter or feel a little like victim-blaming.
I will not use names to delineate these comments. I don't use names. I've talked with multiple people about why I obscure identities on this blog when I don't have to. I could call people out. I could try to shame them or make them look ignorant. I could do it. It might even feel good for a hot minute to try to hurt people the way that I have been hurt (by zombies - yep, that's passive voice there, to avoid assigning blame/agency). But I'm not really into flambeing things. I use a lot of gentle simmer - softly stirring, slowly heating, watching lazy bubbles of understanding rise up and trying to reduce this whole thing into something worthwhile, much as I did for a batch of ricotta earlier. Maybe it comes from being a teacher - after all, it's not possible to ever stop teaching once one truly starts. And it's not really about what anyone specific said - it's about the sentiment behind it and whether it came from the best place, or from a place of ignorance, or from some other place I want far away from me.
Many of you believe that I am strong. I don't know about that. I don't see it. Much as you thank me for my honesty, so many times I'm posting to keep from falling apart, or while falling apart. And I have kept things from you, readers, because I have had to. Someday, perhaps, when the context is different or my career is different, I will tell you things. I will post the entries that languish as drafts. I will be strong enough to be completely honest about things that I am not proud of, and things that could continue to hurt me. If you would like true honesty, if you want to ask real questions, I will reiterate that you should plan to come for dinner or hot beverages.
Some would say that setting this all on fire, dumping the haters, laying out complete honesty, would be a sign of strength and power. I have heard that I am defending people that don't merit defense. I have heard that if people are willing to say/write things, they should be willing to have them shared. Here's the thing: there is great power in having the ability to do those things. Once they are done, though, the power leaves too. The reality of blowing things up is that after a chemical change, short of alchemy, they don't go back to the way they were. And once that bomb drops, I'd be out of ammunition after starting a potential war.
So I will tell you this: I am falling apart right now. For a lot of reasons, some of which those of you who know me already know. Some of which you might not. In some cases, I may have brought this on myself - some would say that I have brought this all on myself. I don't know.
I read this quote on a blog sent by a friend recently:
"I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being." ~ Hafiz
I have been lonely and in darkness sometimes lately, as we all sometimes are. I am writing hoping that there will be a flicker here that will reach out to others who are lonely or crave illumination.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Uneasy Like Sunday Morning
Sunday mornings are supposed to be easy, at least according to Motown. Easy has been popping up in my shuffle quite a bit lately, and I've been reflecting on some of the lyrics.
Easy
The Commodores
Know it sounds funny
But I just can't stand the pain
Girl I'm leaving you tomorrow
Seems to me girl
You know I've done all I can
You see I begged, stole
And I borrowed
Chorus:
But I just can't stand the pain
Girl I'm leaving you tomorrow
Seems to me girl
You know I've done all I can
You see I begged, stole
And I borrowed
Chorus:
Ooh, that's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
Why in the world
Would anyboddy put chains on me?
I've paid my dues to make it
Everbody wants me to be
What they want me to be
I'm not happy when I try to fake it!
No!
Chorus
I wanna be high, so high
I wanna be free to know
The things I do are right
I wanna be free
Just me, babe!
Chorus
I'm easy like Sunday morning
That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
Why in the world
Would anyboddy put chains on me?
I've paid my dues to make it
Everbody wants me to be
What they want me to be
I'm not happy when I try to fake it!
No!
Chorus
I wanna be high, so high
I wanna be free to know
The things I do are right
I wanna be free
Just me, babe!
Chorus
Except as a member of the LGBT community attending a reasonably conservative church, Sunday morning is not easy. Every time I meet someone new, every time I introduce Rebecca as my wife, I worry. I worry that the person to whom I speak will judge me and/or the church I attend solely by this fact. I worry that I cannot be open about my shortcomings because I am already maxed out on the allowable number of failings.
Being a unicorn is exhausting. Defending my marriage all the time, being a representative of the LGBT community as a full-time job is exhausting. Defending the church to nonbelievers or other members of the LGBT community is exhausting. I've done all I can, and yet the last two churches I've attended regularly have still not been willing to affirm my marriage or even truly defend me against members who felt that they should get an opinion on my marital status without even getting to know me.
Perhaps I should go church hunting again. Except I've done that. I'm tired. I wonder now if I was deceiving myself to ever believe that there was room for me - a woman, an intellectual, a lesbian, an activist, a writer, and a tender heart - in the church. Perhaps many will comment that I should not give up, that I should try one more church. I don't know if I can handle the pain. Recommending a church based on the fact that they are gay affirming reduces me to only one element of my identity, and, for that matter, hypersexualizes my marriage. Maybe I will reach a point where I am not too exhausted to continue fighting. But church should not be a fight. Worship is not supposed to be a battle. Fellowship should not be fraught with pitfalls and worries.
So no, I'm not easy like Sunday morning.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Why Becoming Gay Affirming is not a Panacea for the Evangelical Church
Recently, I read an article, probably on Think Progress, about a group that is pushing for evangelical churches to become gay affirming, or at least Third Way (basically agreeing to disagree and putting love first). Both of these things are good things, and I do hope more churches will do them.
However, there was an implication in the article that this would fix all that is wrong with the evangelical church. I contend that it will not cause millenials to come pouring back in, convince everyone to behave in line with every moral teaching of the church, or otherwise heal the gaping wound in US society. Neither will glossy flyers, snappy logos, slick slogans, or flashy PowerPoint.
Why?
The answers are complicated, but I will do my best to explain succinctly.
The ways gays are treated is symptomatic of a larger problem. On the continuum of mercy and justice (or grace and punishment), the church has swung very far in favor of justice in many cases. In the case of same sex marriage, this has led to a dogmatic insistence that gays cannot be married by their ministers. Many people refuse to even consider the situation or truly learn about the relationship before passing judgment.
But this is not the case only for gays. I have heard similar reactions for people getting divorced. For that matter, the attitude about sex outside of marriage generally seems to be an all or nothing proposition. Either people (especially girls) wait until marriage, or they are shamed and judged, told that they are dirty and ruined.
Let me be clear. I am not saying that it is the church's job to look the other way or condone all sin. But, as Relient K once so aptly said, the beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair. Or if you want even more authority, look to Jesus' instruction that he who is perfect should cast the first stone. This is followed - followed - by an admonition to the woman to go and sin no more. No shame. Just love, and direction to move forward in grace humbly striving to be more like him the next time.
I could list many more factors that I've seen in churches, but I think issues of honesty and authentic community stem from having a balance of mercy and justice. When people know that others will try to understand and support better choices, they open up. They feel that they belong. When we follow the greatest commandment (to love the Lord and to love our neighbors), we tolerate different viewpoints (particularly those on tertiary doctrine) and are willing to examine what our religious text and church history actually mean, rather than repeating interpretations that haven't changed significantly since childhood Sunday school, because we value others and want to grow.
I have had to examine my beliefs and consider whether the way I was treating the gay community was consistent with the life of Jesus. When I found that it was not, I also realized that there were a bunch of other people I wasn't loving very well either (as discussed in previous posts, I will never claim to be perfect now).
What happened when I moved away from justice toward mercy? People opened up to me. I believe that this is because many of them want someone who will not throw stones, but who believes that there is grace to go and sin no more.
Monday, October 13, 2014
The Q Word
A friend and I were recently discussing slurs. I mentioned something about feeling that the word queer feels like the N-word to me. His response paraphrased a comedy sketch about midgets: the difference between queer and the N word is that I'm willing to say queer.
I don't identify as queer. In fact, I will use the much longer "LGBT spectrum" to describe myself. As I've said before, if you want a more specific, nuanced view of how I identify, private message me or better yet, tell me when you want to come for dinner.
Why don't I identify as queer, when the LGBT movement has worked hard to reclaim the term? One reason is that as a child, a homophobic family member used it (another also implied more recently that even the word gay is almost a swear word) to refer to gay people.
The other is that to me, it still implies othering. The opposite of queer is perhaps straight or heterosexual, but on a deeper connotative level, the opposite is also normal. As I've said before, I don't consider my relationship abnormal. Unless I am hyper sexualized so that only what happens in the bedroom occasionally matters (and even then, I'm not sure othering is appropriate), my marriage is as normal as any marriage ever is.
I am not disparaging those who do identify as queer. I understand the reasons for wanting an umbrella term. I'm just not at a point where I'm comfortable with that (and I hope to get up a post about discomfort soon). For straight people who use this term, I encourage you to educate yourselves about the history of the term and what it currently means before applying it to someone.
Friday, October 3, 2014
MI Love: Fabiano's
Located right next to the Soup Spoon on Michigan Ave in Lansing, Fabiano's is an absolute gem of a candy shop. At Christmastime, they still make handmade candy canes in dozens of flavors. Their selection of truffles and other chocolates is varied and scrumptious, and the prices are the most reasonable I've ever seen.
Fabiano's holds a special place in my heart for another reason, though. The last time I saw my brother was shortly after his birthday and at his graduation. He was a beanpole- always has been. I had Fabiano's fill up two half pound boxes (one for birthday and one for graduation) of what I hoped were his favorite flavors, based on childhood memories. Buttercream and praline and maple made strong appearances - these were not my favorites, but it didn't matter what I wanted. He asked if there was a "map," and I responded with a Forrest Gump quote I knew he loved: "Life's like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get."
He died a few days later. I must have done okay, because he had made a significant dent in them.
A ritual I have undertaken the last two years around the day of his death is to go wait in the long holiday lines at Fabiano's, inhaling the aroma and strategizing. I try to pick flavors he would have liked, as before, but I eat them myself. If, as David Phelps says, "life is a church and these are the sacraments," this is a way I share communion with him. I have been surprised, sometimes, at how much I enjoy flavors I never would have picked for myself. (If you haven't tried a dark chocolate praline cream yet, a visit to Fabiano's is definitely in order.) And maybe that's a lesson for me. I hope I am learning to be more empathetic and to try new things. Even if they are seemingly insignificant. After all, life is like a box of chocolates.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Choosing Love Now: Loving Unconditionally
Like many women, I have entered into past romantic relationships with the notion that if I could just fix a few things about my significant other, everything would be perfect. I believed that I could essentially choose to love the future version of that person I had crafted. I think part of me thought that loving that future person would somehow make everything okay. Not surprisingly, some of those relationships blew up in my face. I have asked myself since if I truly loved those people. The only honest answers I can give are that I definitely thought that I did at the time and that perhaps I had no idea what love really meant. (If you are one of those people, and you are reading this, I sincerely apologize for not loving you better.) I often see relationships like this now, both in my own life and in relationships around me.
I am not claiming that now my views on love are perfect or that I always love perfectly. That would be far, far from the truth. I enter into this post with as much humility as I can muster, in the hopes that sharing these observations may refine my perspective and perhaps offer clarity to others.
I have noticed a great deal of conditional love of the LGBT community. In the movie Milk (a very worthwhile film, if you haven't seen it), a character asserts that she loves gay people enough to tell them the truth about their sinful lives. I find this to be overly patronizing, particularly in this context, because often people who say this (and I have heard more than a few) have never gotten to know a gay person before judging them. And in the case that people do know the LGBT person they are judging and claim to love, I often find that the (often unintended or unexamined) implication is that if the gay person were just straight/cis, he/she/ze would be loved more or better.
This cuts the opposite way, too. I believed for a long time, and others have suggested the thought also, that my family would "come around" to my marriage, accept Rebecca, realize that they are wrong, etc. Some of them have known for years now, long enough for things to change. A few people have perhaps grown in some way, but not nearly to the extent I have hoped. Loving them unconditionally does not mean loving the future accepting/affirming version of them that may or may not ever exist. It does not mean that I cannot protect my marriage or make decisions that disagree with their beliefs. It does not mean that I would allow them to share these beliefs with my future children. But if I believe that they should stop trying to "fix" me, or that churches should in general give up reparative therapy, then I also must choose to love people who have not arrived to the same views as I have.
I will leave you with a question: Whom do you love unconditionally? How do you know?
I am not claiming that now my views on love are perfect or that I always love perfectly. That would be far, far from the truth. I enter into this post with as much humility as I can muster, in the hopes that sharing these observations may refine my perspective and perhaps offer clarity to others.
I have noticed a great deal of conditional love of the LGBT community. In the movie Milk (a very worthwhile film, if you haven't seen it), a character asserts that she loves gay people enough to tell them the truth about their sinful lives. I find this to be overly patronizing, particularly in this context, because often people who say this (and I have heard more than a few) have never gotten to know a gay person before judging them. And in the case that people do know the LGBT person they are judging and claim to love, I often find that the (often unintended or unexamined) implication is that if the gay person were just straight/cis, he/she/ze would be loved more or better.
This cuts the opposite way, too. I believed for a long time, and others have suggested the thought also, that my family would "come around" to my marriage, accept Rebecca, realize that they are wrong, etc. Some of them have known for years now, long enough for things to change. A few people have perhaps grown in some way, but not nearly to the extent I have hoped. Loving them unconditionally does not mean loving the future accepting/affirming version of them that may or may not ever exist. It does not mean that I cannot protect my marriage or make decisions that disagree with their beliefs. It does not mean that I would allow them to share these beliefs with my future children. But if I believe that they should stop trying to "fix" me, or that churches should in general give up reparative therapy, then I also must choose to love people who have not arrived to the same views as I have.
I will leave you with a question: Whom do you love unconditionally? How do you know?
Monday, September 29, 2014
Choosing Love: The Sequel
A couple months ago, I wrote an exceedingly popular post about choosing love, even when it was hard and I didn't feel like it. My conclusion was that when we choose love, we are blessed, even if our situation doesn't change externally.
I haven't posted about this before, because I was still processing, but it's time to say something. My paternal grandmother is dying. Not like we're all dying, where of course it's coming. She's now on hospice care, and we probably have a week or two left. She has been sick for a long time, and it has gotten increasingly difficult for her to breathe. She is not anxious about dying, really. She looks forward to going to Heaven to be with Jesus and the family members that are already there. I, in some ways, welcome her peace and healing, and I believe that we will see her again someday. Please don't ask if I'm okay. This post will tell you everything you need to know about how I'm doing. (For more on my perspective on grieving, this post is for you.)
But we will miss her. I can't say that I agree with everything she's said or done, but she is a woman of deep, active conviction. She taught Sunday school and VBS for years. She volunteered at a crisis pregnancy center after she retired. Even when it got difficult to get out, she opened her home. For any of you who have been to dinner at my house and liked my entertaining style, know that I learned it from her. She's an amazing storyteller. The best whistler I know. To hear her talk about a Vernor's Boston Cooler with Sander's ice cream, you would think she was telling you about the finest French pastry.
So about choosing love. My family is a family, so by definition it's dysfunctional. I get that, but these are the moments when everyone should rally together. Yet there is a great deal of discord, some of which I fear will not be surmounted in time. I am still frustrated with what happened last December. And I said that I would not attend events that Rebecca is not invited to. But refusing to see my grandmother at this point isn't going to change what happened. That rule is for my protection and benefit as I make difficult choices about where to spend the holidays, not to punish my family. And I know that I will never regret sitting with Grandma, or bringing her ice cubes, or rubbing her back, or discussing the proper way to make a Boston Cooler. I cannot see a way that I will regret making her dinner. I also won't regret being there to provide even a small amount of relief for the family members caring for her. I'm sure I won't regret validating their decisions to grieve the way they need to or to do self-care.
My family may regret boycotting my wedding. They may not. I don't know. But I know that I will not regret choosing love or choosing to extend the small graces that I have available to me in this present moment, even though I am concerned that Rebecca may not be invited to the memorial service when I really will need her with me for support.
The pastor shared this passage from 1 John 4 yesterday, and I found it incredibly convicting:
7 Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. 8 Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. 9 This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. 10 This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. 11 Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. 19 We love because he first loved us. 20 Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar.
I hope that all readers will choose love with me today.
My family may regret boycotting my wedding. They may not. I don't know. But I know that I will not regret choosing love or choosing to extend the small graces that I have available to me in this present moment, even though I am concerned that Rebecca may not be invited to the memorial service when I really will need her with me for support.
The pastor shared this passage from 1 John 4 yesterday, and I found it incredibly convicting:
7 Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. 8 Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. 9 This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. 10 This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. 11 Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. 19 We love because he first loved us. 20 Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar.
I hope that all readers will choose love with me today.
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