Closet Confessional

In an effort to be more authentic in my life, I am being more open with people about my struggles. My life journey has been fraught with many traumas and problems, in addition to some happy times. I was physically, verbally, psychologically, and emotionally abused as a child. My parents weren't horrible people. They were the product of their generation and their culture. My mother's family were not as demonstrative in affection. They tended to assume one knew of the love that was felt. And they would bottle up issues, and not talk about them with the source. Also, her family culture was to shame each other into doing something. My father was passed through orphanages, foster homes, relatives until landing into his abusive and neglectful biological mother's home. He enlisted in the Army for the Vietnam War because he was kicked out of his home at 18, and he returned with PTSD, which he didn't deal with until his own children were adults. There was a level of instability in my childhood home that made it unsafe for healthy emotional and psychological development. Suffice it to say, I was in fight or flight mode for most of my life.

Physical abuse and emotional abuse were common in my childhood home. Being spanked, slapped sometimes, pushed, the occasional light slam, and of course the psychological stuff. That would include being told I'm a slob/lazy/making excuses, gaslighting, threats of leaving the family from my mother, and the passive aggression/manipulation. There was no "safe haven" to escape to and center me. It was a very lonely time. Being told that I couldn't trust anyone outside the family, that no one would love/like me as much as the family, all while being abused at home. It really messed with my head. To whit, I sucked my thumb until I was 11 years old. Self-soothing with soft stuffed animals and sucking my thumb was my only outlet for release. And school wasn't a safe place either.

My earliest school memory is from kindergarten. I was being sexually assaulted by one classmate whilst another classmate held me down. I told a teacher, who stopped it from happening. But nothing ever came of it. There was no comforting by my parents. There was no therapy. Nothing. Instead, it was left to me to sort out and come to terms with being violated at school. I learned from that experience that most teachers are untrustworthy, that school is not a safe place, and that my parents didn't care enough to protect me. Throughout my entire primary and secondary education, there are maybe a handful of teachers that I felt I could trust. Every other teacher, while I'm sure they were good people, exhibited characteristics to people who had betrayed or hurt me in previous years. One of my middle school teachers happened upon my depression journal. It was a book where I wrote of my despair and longing for the release of death. She asked me about it, to which I obviously lied in response. And then she let it go. She never reported to the administrator, school guidance counselor or even my parents. Instead, it was ignored and the status remained quo. School years were lonely and scary for me. I didn't have the vocabulary, or the ability, to vocalize the twisted labyrinth that was my lived experience. The depression journal was my only tangible cry for help. I did some sports, but every time a coach yelled instructions or to motivate I would cringe and shut down a little bit more. I was eager to please but afraid of what failure would mean.

I was a member of a religious community that was small-ish. I didn't really have friends there either. There were people who knew me, but nobody that I would share confidences with. I didn't have anyone that I would get together with, make plans with... I wasn't one of the "cool" kids. I was too smart, knew all of the answers. I was too stuck up, though, in reality, I was afraid of most of the people I saw at church. I didn't think they were trustworthy because I saw their daily deceptions easily. And they had rejected me every time I made overtures of friendship in their general direction. I had thought that I could trust my adult leaders but was mistaken in that as well.

I attempted to die by suicide in spring of 1996. Years of bottling up my feelings, abuse, and major depression finally caught up, and I tried to die. I obviously was stopped. I was admitted to a teen psychological unit in a nearby hospital for treatment. While I was there, my church youth leader came to visit me. She stayed to talk with me for a while, and I believed that she was offering comfort to me. I later learned that she went back to church and gossipped about my mental health issues. She violated me. My trust was betrayed by someone who was supposed to protect me. She took from me the choice to disclose, all in the effort to be the person who knew salacious details of my problems. The worst part is that she didn't see that she had done anything wrong. A few months after her violating me, she and her husband moved back to Utah... They moved closer to her grandchildren, and her life continued as though nothing happened. The wreckage of my life was a blip on the radar. But I learned a valuable thing from Darla Fotheringham. I couldn't trust any of my ecclesiastical leaders with anything of value or an intimate nature to my life. My confidence would be betrayed, and the person who perpetuates the violation would face no consequences for the damage they did to me.

As a result of my traumatic experiences, I was my parents' least stable offspring. I barely finished my required coursework for high school. It wasn't because I lacked the intelligence. It was because I kept having flashbacks, panic attacks, and bipolar mood swings. Producing homework, taking tests, even being mentally present in classes was very difficult. I was diagnosed with a learning disability in middle school. ADHD, mixed with mental illness, made learning to learn an impossible task. I was miserable, unable to label WHY I was suffering so much. I spent so much energy pretending that everything was okay, perfecting the mask that I presented to everyone. I was exhausted at the end of the day. And nightmares made me afraid to sleep. I still didn't have the vocabulary to label my experiences. But in the future, I would.

I finally went to university when I was 31 years old. While I was there, I was sexually assaulted. Because I was attending a conservative religious school, in an extremely conservative town, I didn't press charges or even report being raped. I had known too many women who had reported sexual assault and their educations' put into jeopardy because they were blamed for being assaulted and the assailant seemed sorry anyway. I had waited too long for an education, so there was no way I would start over in a different university system. So instead, I kept it to myself again.

Flash forward to the present day. I am married to a military officer and want to get treatment for my mental health disorders. My psychiatrist didn't want to treat my ADHD without a current diagnosis. So I scheduled a testing session with my psychologist. As we went over the results, she was straight forward and didn't ease me into her diagnoses. I have ADHD, Bipolar Disorder, and PTSD. Actually, she was surprised that I hadn't been diagnosed with PTSD earlier. Apparently, multiple car wrecks, being sexually assaulted, physical/mental/verbal abuse, and ecclesiastical abuse DO result in psychological damage. And now I can better identify why I have had some of the reactions to different stimuli.

I am learning how to learn to trust people. I am learning how to identify a panic attack, versus it being a heart attack. My counselor made the suggestion of getting a service dog. Little did I know how expensive that would be. I created a gofundme campaign to crowdfund the cost of obtaining a service dog. I'm hoping that people will help me to feel safety.

I know that I may have given the impression of someone who has her life together. But that couldn't be further from the truth. I am a work in progress. Some days, everything seems to come together and there is stability. And some days, my goal is to remember to eat meals. Mental illness is a hidden disability. People with mental illnesses don't wear their disability in a visible manner like those who cannot walk or see. They are most often harassed for not having a tangible disability. The problem is, mental illness affects physical health, and sometimes the ability to be in public spaces. I have hope in the future. It is all that I can claim.



The weather is cloudy, with a chance of rain. There are small peekings of sunlight between clouds. Fog has rolled in but may burn off in the afternoon. All in all, this forecast is up for any interpretation.


The Tallgurrl

Love, and the Memory of Days Past

Today is the three year anniversary of my engagement. My husband officially proposed via Skype, since he was still working on his doctorate in Illinois and I was living in New Hampshire. It took a lot of heartache and unrequited infatuations.

The song "I Can't Make You Love Me" just played on the radio. It reminded me of playlists of the past. I would create playlists for every mood and activity. I had several exercise playlists. Relaxation songs for meditation, yoga, and sleep. I had a playlist for studying, and one for dancing it out. I had a playlist for every time I developed an infatuation. And I had a melancholy playlist for when my heart got bruised and broken.

Looking back, it has been interesting to see how I have developed and evolved in my emotions. I used to become angry and feel entitled to the affection or circumstance that I desired. And my playlists would reflect the frustration and pain from feeling overlooked and forgotten. There was a level of immaturity to my choices in music.

Then, the middle time period's playlists started to be created. They still reflected pain, but there started to be an air of hopeful healing to the music. I was beginning to understand and accept the relationship concept of "he's just not that into you." I was focusing more on being engaged in personal development, activities, hobbies. Interest in dating was still present, but it wasn't my primary focus. The biological clock was still ticking, but I didn't want it to determine my actions.

This middle time period was very important. I experienced some life altering things. I was attending a university and graduated. I had a level of physical fitness that I hadn't experienced since doing sports in high school. I was sexually assaulted. I made some important single serving friends. And I experienced heartbreak over someone who was so completely not my type that to this day I am bewildered that I had convinced myself to have feelings for him.

After that middle time came a much more confident period, musically and relationship-wise. I was much more discerning in relationship perceptions. I was open to love, but not actively seeking it. My music choices were still varied by genre and artist, but now they showed a greater maturity. They were less about making other people comfortable, and more about what I enjoyed.

And all of that leads up to meeting my husband and becoming engaged 6 months later. When we got married, we decided to create an ongoing procurement playlist. We call it the "us" playlist. We put songs that make us think of each other, songs reflecting our love experiences, songs about our relationship, songs that make our hearts melt. It is a very happy playlist, and it is one that is my favorite. I hope everyone makes a list that brings them as much joy as this one brings me.


The weather is sunny and warm. Spring has beautiful colors and sweet smells. The growth and new beginnings are inspirational.


The Tallgurrl

Women's March

On Friday, the USA inaugurated their 45th president into office. He is not someone I ever wanted to see in that position. He ran his campaign on a platform of division, bigotry, misogyny, bullying, and playing on the fear that so many Americans are feeling right now... Fears of people that are different from themselves, fears of losing employment, fears for the future. By stoking those fears, people were distracted from the important questions that he never answered. He never showed the integrity and compassion that are needed to lead so many people. He never shared his tax returns. He did show that he cannot handle having negative things said about himself. He showed that his compassion only extends to those who support him. He showed us that despite not liking being the butt of a joke, he has no problem with openly mocking other people. This man is not my president.

In an effort to protest his inauguration, and to show the world that we want change, women arranged marching demonstrations in the major cities and US capitol. All told, more than a million women marched in the US alone. There were demonstrations and marches in other nations as well, and their solidarity was moving. 

My sister marched in Washington, DC. My aunt marched in New York City. I had planned to march in Las Vegas. Unfortunately, my bunged up foot makes walking a serious problem for me. I was in too much pain to more than hug my couch for the day. But I was still there in spirit.

I was going to march for many reasons. I have pre-existing conditions, and with the repealing of the Affordable Care Act, I am ineligible for insurance. And I have no desire to go into bankruptcy while seeking medical care. I am bisexual. I will not tolerate having basic human rights denied to members of the LGBT community, under the guise of religious freedom or protecting children. I am a sexual assault survivor. And I don't want to go backwards in the work of protecting survivors and prosecuting the perpetrators. I am a woman. And I refuse to allow myself to be identified based on how fuckable some man finds me. I am not a number on an attractiveness scale. I am a human being. And it is unacceptable to vilify anyone based on gender, religion, sex, sexuality, language, skin color, or nation of origin. I am an American. And though this nation was founded on genocide and slavery, I will not allow us to slide back into the old patterns. That is not the atmosphere I want to live in.

I have several acquaintances who took it upon themselves to post something so tone-deaf that I am not sure I want to continue the connection. 

"I am NOT a "disgrace to women" because I DO NOT support the women's march. I do not feel I am a "second class citizen" because I am a woman. I do not feel my voice is "not heard" because I am a woman. I do not feel I am not provided opportunities in this life or in America because I am a woman. I do not feel that I "don't have control of my body or choices" because I am a woman. I do not feel like I am " not respected or undermined" because I am a woman. 

I AM a woman.
I can make my own choices.
I can speak and be heard.
I can VOTE.
I can work if I want.
I can defend myself.
I can defend my family.
There is nothing stopping me to do anything in this world but MYSELF.
I do not blame my circumstances or problems on anything other than my own choices or even that sometimes in life, we don't always get what we want. I take responsibility for myself.
I am a mother, a daughter, a wife, a sister, a friend. I am not held back in life but only by the walls I choose to not go over which is a personal choice.
Quit blaming.
Take responsibility.
If you want to speak, do so. But do not expect for me, a woman, to take you seriously wearing a pink va-jay-jay hat on your head and screaming profanities and bashing men.
If you have beliefs, and speak to me in a kind matter, I will listen. But do not expect for me to change my beliefs to suit yours. Respect goes both ways.
If you want to impress me, especially in regards to women, then speak on the real injustices and tragedies that affect women in foreign countries that do not get the opportunity or means to have their voices heard.
Saudi Arabia, women can't drive, no rights and must always be covered.
China and India, infantcide of baby girls.
Afghanistan, unequal education rights.
Democratic Republic of Congo, where rapes are brutal and women are left to die, or HIV infected and left to care for children alone.
Mali, where women can not escape the torture of genital mutilation.
Pakistan, in tribal areas where women are gang raped to pay for men's crime.
Guatemala, the impoverished female underclass of Guatemala faces domestic violence, rape and the second-highest rate of HIV/AIDS after sub-Saharan Africa. An epidemic of gruesome unsolved murders has left hundreds of women dead, some of their bodies left with hate messages.
And that's just a few examples.
So when women get together in AMERICA and whine they don't have equal rights and march in their clean clothes, after eating a hearty breakfast, and it's like a vacation away that they have paid for to get there...
This WOMAN DOES NOT support it."

It is so tone-deaf, because it shows such an ignorance and a lack of compassion for the real problems many women are facing HERE in this country. There are women in this country that receive third-world healthcare, because that is all that is available to them... Or else that is all that they can afford. There are women in this country that are getting a substandard education, because they live in poor neighborhoods. There are women in this country that are sexually assaulted, and the first thing that the police ask them is what they were wearing. Followed closely by asking what they were drinking. There are millions of untested rape kits sitting in warehouses, or being destroyed. There was an epidemic rise in HIV cases in Indiana after Vice President Pence defunded and closed down women's health care clinics. This is AMERICA. We are supposedly meant to be setting some kind of standard for how well we take care of our people. But instead, people are distracted by political power plays and the blame game. For a First World nation, the government is failing for about half of the population. And the leaders would have us focusing on effluvia, rather than realizing that we can evoke change here ourselves.

Martin Luther King Jr Day recently passed. I have been reading his words and believing in his message. Here are a few of his words that mean much to me.

"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."

"I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality... I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word."

"Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity."

"Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable... Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals."

"Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality."

"He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it."

"An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity."

Though it is raining, the air is clean and growth potential hangs on every breath. I think this is going to be a good day.

The Tallgurrl

New Years and New Experiences

It is 2017, and there have been some interesting changes in my life. My husband, Seamus, joined the US Air Force, to be a captain pharmacist. We moved from our home of almost 2 years (Mesa, AZ) to the Las Vegas area. After struggling for 1.5 years to get pregnant, we tried IVF. I left my job as a phlebotomist, and am considering another career shift. So, here's a dive into the current world of the Tallgurrl.

I've been married to Seamus for 2 years. It has been an interesting time. We rented our first home, did the budgeting thing, adulted. I came out as bisexual to him. (I realize that many people may see that as something that should have been mentioned earlier, but other than him knowing my STI status, it really wasn't his business. I chose not to give him specifics about past sexual partners because he didn't want to know. He only cared so far as he could potentially develop something. But I came out to him in our first month of marriage because he should know.) My coming out didn't really change anything. We both comment on the attractiveness of people in films or on tv. Otherwise, since we practice radical honesty and monogamy, it is a non-issue. {About radical honesty, we call that sharing the honesty, and if we weren't ready to talk about something that means saying "I'm not ready to talk about but we'll discuss it later." This kind of honesty means that we knew what we got when we picked up each other.}

Through the 2 years, Seamus has been dissatisfied with his job as a commercial pharmacist. They were very unclear about expectations, shifted him around a lot, and lied to him, all while holding him accountable for ALL mistakes that he made from not being kept abreast of his company's current standards. I have a family history of being in the military, and so I encouraged him to apply to join. I figured that they'd help with his student loans, he'd get cross-trained to work in every potential PharmD job, and he actually would have upward mobility in his career. With that in mind, he joined the Air Force and his first duty station is near Las Vegas. Our move was largely uneventful, but has me nostalgic for our former landlord. We live in a one story house, 3 bedrooms/2bathrooms, 2 car garage. It is in a quiet neighborhood and close to all of the important shopping. He drives in to work, and gets that quiet time to have his deep thoughts.

Basically from day one, we have been trying to have children. After a year of failure, we decided to see a specialist. After extensive testing and 6 months of failed attempts with Clomid, we did IVF. That means that I had eggs extracted from me, and they were fertilized with Seamus' sperm in a petri dish. Those fertilized eggs were watched for several days, and then one embryo was put into my uterus, with the hope that it would implant and grow to a baby. We also opted to genetically test the remaining embryos, to check for any anomalies that could prevent implantation. The first attempt failed. And of the 9 embryos: 1 was weird and so discarded; 1 failed implantation; 4 were genetically unholy; and 3 are frozen female kid-sicles to be used at a later date. Since we've moved to Vegas, I will need to find a rock star fertility specialist to work with my kid-sicles and get our spawning on.

When we decided to do the IVF, I decided to quit my job. The process of IVF entails a plethora of doctor's appointments, ultrasounds, procedures. Add to that the needed ZERO stress relax time after procedures and you're taking more time off from work. There are few employers that would give the time off that is required to go through all of that. So I quit. I was going to do it eventually. I had no desire to continue working in Arizona while my husband was serving in the military somewhere else. With the downtime that came with both the failed IVF and my husband undergoing his Air Force officer's training, I had a lot of space to think about my next step. I wasn't sure that I wanted to continue working as a phlebotomist. 12 years is a long time for a career that was supposed to be a stop-gap. I have an Associate's degree in Russian. I could go back to school for a Bachelor's degree in ... something. I could go into sales or real estate. I could finally write the book I've always meant to get done. I'm still not sure what I want to do, but the book option is still knocking around my mind. In the meantime, continuing this blog sounds like a good start. I've been lax for a long time, but this year I'm fixing to get some words out at least once a week. I'm pretty sure that the 3 readers who used to follow me have since left me. Who knows? Maybe someone else will start being interested.


The weather is cool and cloudy. Though it is winter, the potential and hope for growth are heavy in the air, like a mist.


Thank you for reading. May 2017 be a year of hope, new beginnings, and love.


The Tallgurrl

Feminist Friday: Reasons Why I'm a Feminist

I've been remiss in posting for over a year. In an effort to begin to remedy this oversight, here's what I hope to be the start of a tradition: Feminist Friday's!!! I was required to take a Women's Health course for my degree. After completing the course, I lamented that BYU-Idaho does not have a Women's Studies degree program. My eyes were opened to circumstances that I had earlier dismissed as commonplace and the status quo. I pondered my opinions of many things and came to the conclusion that I am a Femisist...

Definition:
Feminist: a person who supports the political, economical and social equality of sexes, with an emphasis on women's rights. 

I haven't stopped my Christian religion, though a later post will talk about that. I haven't begun to hate men. (I even married one!) I have merely come to label the source of many of my frustrations, and the cause of much heartache. Here's just a few of the reasons why I am a feminist...

I'm a feminist because gender roles and stereotypes are harmful. Being a person who accepts and celebrates the "masculine" and "feminine" traits that I possess makes it difficult to exist in a place where gender roles are rigid and too specific.

I'm a feminist because my father only took my brothers deep sea fishing... Women couldn't handle catching fish.

I'm a feminist because a friend mocked my decision to not shave my legs for the winter as growing "man hair for manly legs" and they "match my furry boots." Because apparently women can't/don't grow hair on their bodies.

I'm a feminist because gendered toys are harmful and limiting to any child's imagination.

I'm a feminist because when a classmate molested me in kindergarten the teacher brushed it off as "boys being boys" and she never reported it to either my parents or any other authority figure.

I'm a feminist because in health class I was taught that losing virginity hurt, and that I would also lose a part of myself. Fortunately, I chose to educate myself about sexuality and learned that she was wrong!

I'm a feminist because my church has few women in positions of authority, and ecclesiastical abuse happens more than anyone cares to admit.

I'm a feminist because there is a group of people shaming women based on what they are wearing. They focus so much on the length of a hemline and the amount of shoulder showing, and completely miss the beauty of her heart.

I'm a feminist because when I was raped at my church university I was afraid to report it because I knew several women who had been kicked out after reporting their sexual assaults, and the men who hurt them had zero repercussions for the assault. Victim blaming at its finest.

I'm a feminist because most slang insults are about being too feminine, and they are usually about a woman's genitalia.

I'm a feminist because Female Genital Mutilation, labiaplasty, vaginal rejuvenation, circumcision... are a thing.

I'm a feminist because women are not supposed to age... They are supposed to fight the effects of aging with creams, makeup, plastic surgery... retaining the youthful appearance of their 20s whilst being in their 40s+. Men just get more attractive, distinguished, etc. (Look at the red carpet if you doubt it.)

I'm a feminist because the first thing someone asks a sexual assault victim is "what were you wearing?" followed closely by "what did you do[to provoke it]?"

I'm a feminist because in the USA I am guaranteed the right to keep my job for maternity leave, but it is only for 6 weeks and is unpaid. (The US is one of 4 developed countries that does not have paid maternity leave... And is the ONLY one that is a high paid country to refuse that benefit/right.)

I'm a feminist because sexual trafficking is still rampant in the world, and the biggest consumers of human trafficking are from/in the USA.

I'm a feminist because my husband sharing his emotions with me is perceived as weak.

I'm a feminist because though white women make more than women of color, they both still make less than their male counterparts.

I'm a feminist because I didn't find my feminist voice/feminism in time to pursue several of the careers that always interested me, but was discouraged from pursuing because female.

I'm a feminist because people who are sexually assaulted in the military still don't have a voice, and usually end up leaving their military jobs for safety reasons... And because military sexual assault survivors get less support than those with combat PTSD, even though the survivors are expected to trust their assailants to have their backs in combat zones, etc.

I'm a feminist because when I suggested that my father help with the dishes after dinner, I was given a look of incredulity and told that his stressful job exempted him from household stuff.

I'm a feminist because being a Stay At Home Mother and being a Working Mother are personal choices that deserve nonjudgement.

I'm a feminist because "being a mother is the culmination and purpose of womanhood." Thereby exempting all women who have fertility issues, or just don't get the chance, or don't have the desire to have children. I guess they are genderless, or something.

I'm a feminist because trans people lack representation, support, acceptance. The trans of our world deserve to feel safe and loved no matter where they are.

I'm a feminist because LGBTQSA is just a label for sexuality and attraction, and no reason to treat someone differently.

I'm a feminist because I want marriage equality. Love is love. Maybe the same gendered couples can master what so many opposite gendered couples have failed at. Either way, it should be a choice available to everyone.

I'm a feminist because women are objectified to sell everything from burgers to cars to makeup to clothes. And it is seen as normal and acceptable.

I'm a feminist because being athletic is considered masculine, unless it is a "feminine" sport like figure-skating, swimming, or gymnastics.

I'm a feminist because being a male fashion designer/interior designer/ballet dancer does not mean gay. And in a like mind, being a bodybuilder/construction worker/cowboy... does not mean heterosexual.

I'm a feminist because my husband is the person who business people default to addressing at our meetings.

I'm a feminist because when I don't use powerless speech mannerisms I am called a bitch, aggressive, and rude.


These are just 30 reasons for my feminist leanings. There are more than can easily be counted. This isn't an angry rant. I still love men and women equally. It is just an expression of my feelings on the topic. It isn't easy to be a woman in this world. But I hope men and women can be on equal ground, someday.



The weather is cool and crisp. The air is dry and breezy. Change is in the air.

Please share, comment, read this posting. I really want to know what my readers think about my postings. Does anything strike a chord?

Thank you,

The Tallgurrl

An Answer to "18 Things White People Seem to Not Understand (Because of White Privilege)"

I woke up this morning and saw this posted on a friend's facebook wall. I can appreciate that there is some validity to what the author writes about. Life is difficult when your community feels oppressed. Here is the thing, life sucks for everyone. And then it doesn't. I couldn't read that and not voice my answer to many of these points. Some have merit, and I definitely see where this person is coming from. Others are heavily clouded by the author's personal experience and don't take into consideration the converse side of her statements. And so, here is my response to the posting, and expansion of her words.

1. White Privilege is being able to move into a new neighborhood and being fairly sure that your neighbors will be pleasant to you and treat you with respect. Unless the neighborhood is primarily filled with people who aren't jerks, then they don't care about your skin color and just show courtesy to their new neighbor.

2. White Privilege is being able to watch a movie, read a book and open the front page of a newspaper and see yourself and your race widely represented and spoken for. She has a point here. People of color never have any accomplishments. They are not star athletes, or musicians, or president of the USA. They never make scientific discoveries, or do good for humanity. All they ever do is commit crimes and hide in the background. In reality, there is a serious under representation of people of color in the newspaper, at least in the good way. Also, this depends on the region. I imagine that people of color feature very heavily in China, India, any African country... I think you get my drift.

3. White Privilege is being able to seek legal, financial and medical help without having your race work against you. For certain things medical, your race will work against you. No amount of shouting from the rooftops will change the outcome of your particular genetic lottery. You may have medical conditions that are specific to your heritage. Ps, white people who have a smattering of "your" genetic material are subject to the same biological laws, and vice versa.

4. White Privilege is living in a world where you are taught that people with your skin tone hold the standard for beauty. It is a shame that the author has been taught to find her skin tone ugly. It is also a shame when thick women are told that they are ugly. It is a shame when tall women are told they are ugly. It is a shame when ANY person is told that they are ugly. People come in different shapes, sizes, colors, flavors... Each option comes with beautiful aspects.

5. White Privilege is never being told to, “get over slavery”. This is a very touchy subject for people who have ancestors who were slaves. Frankly, I find it a touchy subject as someone who has ancestors who NEVER had slaves. I find it touchy as someone who has ancestors who were practically serfs. I find it touchy that because of my skin color I am expected to apologize for something that I did not do. The fact is, every ethnic group in the USA, including so-called white people, has experienced discrimination. Some were slaves. Slavery is still rampant, and interestingly enough, many white people are slaves. Sex trafficking is nothing to joke about. 

6. White Privilege is having the prevalence and importance of the English language and finding amusement in ridiculing people of colour/immigrants for their accents and their difficulty in speaking a language that is not their native tongue. This author has mistaken "White Privilege" with Anglo Privilege. It is Anglo privilege that has made English the international language of business. (PS There are so many color of native English speaking people in the UK.) The language of business has nothing to do with color, and everything to do with political power. It was French at one time. In Asia, Chinese was the business/political language for generations. As for mocking people with accents, that is just some people being jerks. And jerks exist in every color, so don't even be playing the skin-tone card on this one. I've been ridiculed by many a brown skinned person for my particular colloquialisms. 

7. White Privilege is arrogantly believing that reverse racism actually exists. Human privilege is acknowledging there is NO SUCH THING as reverse racism!!! It is racism: plain, ugly truth. This author's whole rant is actually very racist, against anyone who is white. Racism has nothing to do specifically with being brown skinned. It is about one person/racial group targeting a different racial group for censure/mockery/jokes/comments.

8. White Privilege is being able to stay ignorant to the fact that racial slurs are part of a systematic dehumanization of entire groups of people who are and have historically been subjugated and hated just for being alive. Don't be telling me that she's NEVER used any of these words. Slurs are used when one person feels the need to make another person feel like less, in order to feel good about him/herself. 

9. White Privilege is not having your name turned into an easier-to-say Anglo-Saxon name. Ignorant Privilege is to forget all of the people who went through Ellis Island and had the lazy clerks change spellings, and sometimes whole names, because the names were too ethnic/difficult to spell/etc. Why do you think there are so many Smiths, Jones, Johnson, and Adams families in the USA?

10. White Privilege is being able to fight racism one day, then ignore it the next. This has a lot of validity. I don't have to think about how the whole world is putting me to censure for being white. I don't have to worry about racism... Because no one is ever racist towards white people. I can fight racism, and then let it go... But that is not White Privilege. That is anyone's privilege. It is an active choice to call out injustices, and try to make life fair.

11. White privilege is having your words and actions attributed to you as an individual, rather than have them reflect members of your race. Excuse me? There is an entire collection of local slang/colloquialisms that are not allowed to cross my lips, specifically because I have white skin. I'm not allowed to make comments about race, because I am white. It is too offensive, for me to notice pretty brown skin, or any other feature that is specific to a genetic subgroup. Forget the fact that most Americans are a genetic hodgepodge of many races, and that many of the white people just don't present the darker skin of their progenitors.

12. White Privilege is being able to talk about racism without appearing self-serving. NO! White privilege is to talk about racism, using special lingo, and stepping gingerly, lest the white person sound racist.

13. White Privilege is being able to be articulate and well-spoken without people being surprised. That is true, most of the time. Depending where the white person is from, it might be very surprising to hear s/he is so well spoken. (It is unexpected for a hillbilly redneck from Appalachia to be well spoken.)

14. White Privilege is being pulled over or taken aside and knowing that you are not being singled out because of your race/colour. That is very true, and so wrong that it happens. There is a systematic disconnect where people are racially profiled by law enforcement. It needs to be changed. 

15. White Privilege is not having to teach your children to be aware of systematic racism for their own protection. This, too, is so wrong that it happens. It is also knowing that if you travel alone in certain countries, you may be kidnapped for sex trafficking.

16. White Privilege is not having to acknowledge the fact that we live in a system that treat people of colour unfairly politically, socially and economically and choosing, instead, to believe that people of colour are inherently less capable. President Barack Obama. James Earl Jones. Lupita Nyong'o.... I could keep on listing off many people of color who are HIGHLY capable. It may not be about color, but socioeconomic standing. It may be a prejudice against the poor.

17. White Privilege is not having your people and their culture appropriated, romanticized or eroticized for the gain and pleasure of other white people. Obviously, this woman has never seen Dr Zhivago, or War and Peace, or Onegin. Everyone is not Russian, but when those films, (two of which have been remade multiple times), were made there was a mad rush for Russian things, using a fake Russian accent, etc. I respect that she doesn't like how brown people have been made in films written/directed by some white people,  to be sexual playthings. They historically have been exploited. That has been changing, slowly and surely. And by the way, films made in the English speaking world are not the only films being made. She may want to try the cinema of Asia or South/Central America, which don't exploit those people.

18. White Privilege is being able to ignore the consequences of race. That is true, to an extent. Though I might not have worded this statement in that manner. There is no consequence of being born one ethnic group or another. The consequence is what one does with it, and how one works to evoke change in the world. Social justice is not an easy thing to achieve. But it is worth it.

Edit:
This post has some embarrassing and very privileged statements in it. Over the past year and a half, I have been learning about the white privilege I possess and take for granted. I am very ashamed of many of the statements I wrote here. I will not excuse my ignorant and rude words. And I will leave this post up, as a testament to where I started and where I am now. (June 30, 2016 The Tallgurrl)

Update on the Foot

The top of my foot. You can see 3 of the 4 incisions.

So everyone already knows about my foot from my previous post. This fall semester I came to campus with some foot discomfort, and swelling. But, all of my walking around exacerbated my discomfort, making it extremely painful to put weight on it. Using much wisdom, I went to my podiatrist, who was also the surgeon. He ordered a CT scan, which showed that my original surgery did not work for healing my injury. There were only two options for treatment: 2 weeks of bone stimulation therapy, or surgery. The bone stimulation was a 50-50 chance of success, whereas the surgery would be a 90% chance of healing. After deliberation, I decided for the surgery. The decision was made on a Monday, the surgery happened on a Friday. I was blessed that my school has such a great disability services department, who worked hard to make sure my academics wouldn't suffer too greatly for my injury/surgery/recovery.

Side view. Looks so much grosser than it is... But lots of bruising.

When I shared this news with my friends in the East, they asked for pictures, because apparently if there are no pictures, it didn't happen. I don't know about that. I have the surgical scars to prove that I definitely had the surgery. What was supposed to take 2 hours, wound up taking over 5 hours. The doctor reported, though, that all of the questionable tissue was removed, the plate was fixed in securely, the old screws are gone, and bone graft in place. The x-rays show a complete fusion. Which means, I'm technically healed.

I was ordered to take 4 weeks of no weight baring on my post-op foot, and then 2 weeks using a walking cast/boot. Then I may need physical therapy. Personally, I'm hoping not, because I really dislike having to play the insurance game. But, whatever the doctor orders, I will comply.

The pictures are just before my stitches were removed, and just after the doctor affixed steri-strips over the scars. This is the 2 week mark, after the surgery. I have been healing very rapidly, which the doc attributes to being a compliant patient. I hope that means I won't have many issues when I walk again. I really miss walking.

Sole incision. Its the big one, almost on the ball.

Some of the details of the surgery: The doctor couldn't simply unscrew the screws that were in my foot. In order to remove them, he had to make an incision below the ball of my foot and push them out. It sounds gruesome, but I was under a general anesthetic. As far as I was concerned, he could have been giving me a foot massage, and I still wouldn't have known. Another thing, there was some tissue that he had to remove, which took a little bit of time. The pathologist report showed that it wasn't anything to worry about, just some dead tissue.

Steri-strips, keeper of incisions and wounds

The doctor did an incision between my second and third toe, to put a clamp in and secure the bones that he was putting the plate into. He also cut where the screws came out. The last incision, and by far the biggest, was where he put in the plate. The benefits of this particular method of healing my injury is that he didn't need to move so many of my nerves around. Meaning, there was significantly less inflammation to the nerves on the top of my foot, and it hurts a lot less. I'm also taking a lot stronger pain killers. My doctor advised me that it may hurt a lot more to have this surgery, because he had to take out the screws. I agree, initially it hurt a lot more. But at this point, it hurts a lot less. Because of that, I'm not deferring my semester, and instead will tough my way through it. This was one of those moments that I have a medical background, and am leaning towards that for future career. I really understood what was going on, and was able to ask the right questions.

I kind of resemble a mummy.

I'm most concerned that this one will just come off with a sock.

Tonight's weather is, thankfully, clear skies. I'm praying that the snow will hold off until I'm on my feet again.

Please comment and share this post, should you feel inclined.

Thank you,

The Tallgurrl