Pecan Pie

Social Anxiety from the South

Posts Tagged ‘abortion

The Queerification of Me: Coming Out in the Wake of Pulse

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The first time I fell in love with another woman, she held my hair as I vomited violently into the toilet and then she held my secret while I came to terms with being pregnant at 17 years old.

And then she kept my secret for 10 more years after I had my first abortion.

She loved me unconditionally when my first husband demanded I sever ties with her.

A demand that came only after determining that we were too intimate and therefore too powerful to be allowed a relationship.

Women who love each other are dangerous, y’all.

She is my first love..

However you think I mean that I can pretty well guarantee has no relationship with reality.

She still loves me unconditionally. And it was never our time and maybe it never will be, but my assumption has always been the porch in a rocking chair with sweet tea and bourbon while we laugh at the tricks gravity has played on our once lithe bodies after our husbands die and our children go on with their lives.

I’ve never “come out” to anyone. I have used passing as a way to hide away from hard conversations. I have used passing as a way to advance my own privilege. I have used passing as a way to self-denial.

Not today, Satan.

I’m a queer, pansexual, cis-gendered white woman married to a cis-gendered white male…*

And I think I’m just about tired enough of participating in my own erasure.

My marriage looks straight to you, but it’s not, so let me say that again for those in the back–MY MARRIAGE AND NON-MONOGAMOUS RELATIONSHIPS ARE NOT STRAIGHT.

The love of women, genderqueer and non-conforming, and trans personalities and bodies and minds and souls will always be part of my relationships…if I’m fortunate enough to find those people who wish that with me.

Until someone threatened to out me at my job I let passing be enough…and then and ONLY then did I accept that I got to decide if I’m queer.

My family, my heart, my people and those families and hearts and peoples from communities I wish to ally and align myself with have been brutalized.

And I am broken.

But y’all, they done fucked around one too many times, though.

It’s always one too many times.

So, I’m broken, yes. I’m devastated and I don’t know moment to moment how I’m going to look the world in the eyes and say,  “Today I can.”

But I will.
Because I am tired and I am angry.

 

I’m here.

I’m queer.

 

You can get used to it, or we can burn it down.

 

 

This was my “coming out” statement on Facebook following the Pulse Nightclub shootings. I was on my way home from attending the NNAF abortion funds conference as a board member of the Magnolia Fund (please give them money). A radical, feminist, women of color centered space where I could #shoutyourabortion (well, should MY abortion) through the We Testify initiative. I could love on women and say #menaretrash and feel myself in all my feminist, loud, queer, awkward intelligence.

And then I got on the plane to go home and I saw.

And we sobbed silently on that plane all the way back to Atlanta from Houston.

I wrote about solidarity, but I also needed to be in solidarity with myself. With who I am.

As I prepare to go through relationship changes and personal changes and school and career changes, I acknowledge that I have a right to take up space in the queer community and in the world as a whole as a queer person.

Queer

 

*I realized after the fact that this might be read as thinking my cis-gender or race were being erased and that is absolutely not the case so while I leave this writing in its original form, the only parts of my identity I felt were being oppressed were those related to being a queer, non-monogamous woman.

Written by thelittlepecan

May 8, 2017 at 10:13 am

H.R.3 – No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act

I’ve been debating this post off and on for several days now.  I keep telling myself that it’s necessary, it will be met with support and that I am strong enough to accept the circumstances should they be different than what I expect.  There’s a lot of rhetoric flying around about the Stupak on Steroids bill, H.R. 3, and now I sort of feel obligated.

It’s no secret I’m pro-choice, but that’s not my point today.  My issue is with this legislation and the right wing attempt to redefine rape.  The bill references something called “forcible rape.” Now, I don’t know about you, but my understanding (and the legal understanding as well) is that rape is a criminal offense defined in most states as forcible sexual relations with a person against that person’s will.

Force is hard to pin-down. Heh.  L

I’ve been the recipient of sexual assault at least three times.  They were all by people I knew, one was by my best friend, one by a guy I was acquainted with and another by my boyfriend who repeated the offense on multiple occasions.  I’m not sure any of my instances would qualify under the definition of force this legislation is getting at.

It took me a long time to accept that I’d been date raped.  Rape.  That is like the scariest word ever, you know?  It comes with a whole lot of repercussions and consequences.  I always felt like using that word meant I was shirking responsibility for putting myself in dangerous situations.  I refused to use it when describing how my ex-boyfriend would have sex with me when I was sleeping because I loved him.  It wasn’t okay with me, but calling him a rapist wasn’t okay with me either.

The first time I ever took a street drug was at the International Ballroom in Atlanta.  Richard Humpty Vission was spinning.  The House Connection vol. 1 is still my favorite dance album.  My copy was a dubbed cassette.  My very best friend, one of my only friends at Shorter College (now Shorter University) bought me an ecstasy pill.  He wouldn’t be taking any, you see, because he had a prior drug habit.  I never recalled seeing evidence of this habit, but obviously I supported his sobriety, so it was like, bottoms up.  I remember being nervous.  I had zero experience with drugs.  I’d only smoked pot twice and I wasn’t crazy about it.  I knew he had a big crush on me and we were affectionate, but I had no interest in him romantically.  Of course, that’s sort of the point of MDMA, to give you the touchy-feelies.  We had sex, well; I guess he had sex with me.  I let him hit me in the face.  I think I may have even asked for it.  I really can’t remember all that well.

The next day I was ashamed.  I didn’t tell anyone.  I chalked it up to next day anxiety; you know, like when you drink too much and get too loud and fall down?   I had a lot of people tell me he was disingenuous, that he was a poseur, but he was my friend.  It wasn’t until he left the school that we drifted apart.

I guess I could tell you the full story of the others, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that.  My mentor told me a few weeks ago that it wasn’t my fault.  I’m still not sure I believe her.

If Congress can’t decide what is “forcible” and women already doubt what rape is and what it is not, how are we to solve the pressing and often subtle violence that still assaults women?

This bill makes me sad.  Hiding behind an act of self-righteous indulgence in the name of pro-life priorities, I can’t think of too much legislation that disturbs me more.  Maybe the Patriot Act.

Be gentle.  Thanks.

 

Written by thelittlepecan

February 1, 2011 at 11:30 pm

Posted in atheism

Tagged with , , ,