This is an narrated excerpt from the Introduction of my latest book, “She Holds The Line: Black Women Speak on Gender Ideology,” a groundbreaking anthology of personal essays and poetry exploring the adverse impact of the transgender movement on the lives of black women. You can find a full book synopsis here.

She Holds The Line is now available for purchase. If you enjoy the anthology, please leave a review, share the book with your networks, and recommend it to your library.

Next week, I look forward to sharing our amazing video discussion with two of our co-authors about the topics presented in this book. Stay tuned!

Thanks so much for your support! 🌺

She Holds The Line: An Introduction

This anthology has been a long time coming. Ever since I started researching and writing about gender ideology in 2022, I have always envisioned black women’s voices uniting as a collective force. This book is a manifestation of that vision.

From day one, I have been intentional about creating greater visibility for black women so that we can know we’re not alone, and carving out a space for us within this social and political discourse so that the rest of the world can learn from our wisdom and our lives.

Black Women’s Studies has been a passion of mine from a young age. In 2013, I published my first feature-length documentary film, Reflections Unheard: Black Women in Civil Rights. Reflections Unheard focuses on black women’s contributions and political marginalization between the Black Power and Feminist movements of the 1960s and 70s.

In many ways, this book carries the same spirit as Reflections Unheard. I am bringing forth illuminating stories and powerful, highly impactful voices that don’t get as much shine as others, due to marginalization and silencing.

But before I get into the nitty-gritty about the ethos behind this black women-focused anthology, let’s ground in a few basic terms for those who may be new to the concepts of “gender ideology,” which we will be discussing in this book.

* * *

Gender ideology is a philosophy in which gender identity supersedes biological sex. In practice, this happens by privileging transgender identities in law, medicine, social life, and many other facets of society.

For example, if a man believes that womanhood is based on looking or behaving a certain way, he may also believe that he is a woman because he aspires to have those qualities. If he lives in a society that enforces gender ideology, the law then allows him the right to demand that others treat him in alignment with his self-perception.

Notice that I am using the words concept, philosophy, and transgender-ism. It’s important to note that “Trans” is, by definition, rooted in self-perception and chosen identity that is often influenced by a learned set of beliefs about gender stereotypes.

Unlike race or biological sex, transgenderism is not rooted in anything material. It is also not a medical status, sexual orientation, aesthetic, personality trait, or innate quality.

Trans is just an identity.

Of course, different people may have their own convictions about how they define transgenderism—and that is exactly my point. When you read the dictionary and legal definitions of Transgender, it is defined by one’s personal identity. And when you compare that to a variety of trans perspectives, including people who have “detransitioned”…you find that trans identities are based on fluid concepts that anyone can mould to their liking, and opt into or out of as they see fit.

In modern times, the Western world has codified gender ideology into law and society. So, for example, if a male chooses to adopt a female gender identity, the law will treat him as a woman.

Because males have obvious physical strength over women, and because men are women’s primary predators, transgender laws have placed women in an even more vulnerable position, as it is now legal for males to infiltrate female-only spaces which were originally designed for our privacy, protection, and holistic wellbeing.

This is not just a hypothetical problem; it is a very real issue that impacts women at all levels of society. The everyday woman who relies on female spaces for professional opportunity, gatherings, healing, or even just to use the public restroom, is impacted.

But the most vulnerable women amongst us are impacted even more severely. Women who are under the stewardship of the state by way of incarceration, domestic violence survivorship, and homelessness are now forcibly housed with abusive males who identify as women. And because it’s legal, their cries for help are often ignored.

More women are being raped, bullied, and impregnated in captivity as a direct result of transgender self-ID laws. As black women comprise 30% of the prison population and over 40% of the homeless population, despite us being just 13% of the U.S. female population, we are disproportionately represented in these vulnerable groups.

Women’s safety is only one slice of the problematic pie. There are many physical and psychological harms being done to children, LGB people, and trauma survivors who genuinely aspire to be perceived as something they can never become through false identities and experimental cosmetic surgeries. Additionally, those who rely on controlling other people’s language and natural sensibilities to validate their own self-esteem will inevitably find themselves frustrated and deeply unwell.

This is one of the biggest factors that pushed me to begin speaking out: Policing and Control.

The amount of policing towards women to stay unquestioningly silent became increasingly impossible to ignore.

But here, we don’t get in line; we hold the line.

* * *

Gender Ideology came into my purview early on, through my personal relationships and my involvement in various “LGBT” communities. Initially, I embraced Transgenderism because I misunderstood it to be a natural part of the gay and lesbian spectrum. It was only after transgenderism entered mainstream consciousness and corporate affairs, when I found myself being pressured under the weight of a rapidly changing language and culture that erased, shamed, and neglected women under the guise of progression.

But when I finally began to research the topic to further clarify my thoughts on the issue, I noticed that all the speakers were white. The most visible speakers were, of course, conservative men and women. However, the talking points which most resonated with me were those of liberal women’s rights advocates and detransitioners who questioned the progressive status quo—the “gender-criticals”…yet they too, were overwhelmingly white.

Ironically, the whiteness of gender critical discourse tends to backfire on itself. Gender-criticals are ignorantly pegged as “racist white supremacists” by leftists—the main group that they’re trying to educate...and I do feel that optics play a large role in that.

Aside from whiteness, Gender-critical people are further stereotyped as conservative, homophobic, religious zealots, or just plain ignorant and hateful due to lack of contact with the transgender community.

This anthology pushes back against all of those stereotypes; not necessarily through our writing, but because of who we are.

I think that in any movement, it’s incredibly important that everyone who is impacted has a voice and proportionate visibility, because it creates balance and depth of understanding around the root issue.

Of course, I always knew that the most visible voices weren’t representative of the full picture. I felt like the whitewashing of gender-critical discourse was a byproduct of white people simply defaulting to whiteness—even when other groups are equally or more heavily impacted by the issues at hand.

This is a common issue in many different spheres. It’s not so much that black voices are intentionally excluded, but moreso that we’re not thought of. Or if we are, we are only thought of marginally; not in any way that suggests our perspectives are integral. This, of course, leads to a situation where our perspectives are not actively sought out. The result is that most established platforms end up being very homogeneous.

Meanwhile, I deeply care to hear from black women. For me, our perspectives are not marginal or “niche”—they are a must. I was always scouring the Earth to find us, and here we are.

On a personal level, I felt very alone in my consciousness for a long time. I knew that these issues impacted us in unique ways that were not heard of, and that in general—a record of our dissent needed to be created. This book fills that gap.

* * *

What I love most is the incredible diversity of this book. Yes, we are all black women—but we come from different backgrounds and lived experiences. We have women in age ranges from Gen-Z to Boomers; lesbian, bisexual, and straight women; women who have previously identified as transgender (or loved someone who has); mothers and childfree women; currently and formerly incarcerated; and of course, we hail from various careers and passions in life.

There is also incredible religious and spiritual diversity amongst our authors. Some women are Christian, some are Jewish (or exploring Judaism), some were born and raised Muslim (although they are no longer practicing). And some, like me, are Spiritual, and may practice indigenous African or Pagan traditions, but are otherwise non-religious.

I think this is important to note, because our spiritual diversity represents the black community. Most black people are spiritual in some way, but that does not necessarily make us religious zealots. Many of us have also had the privilege to heal our religious trauma. Not only does this make us sensitive to the religious nature of gender ideology, but we are also highly empathetic towards people who have shared similar backgrounds, no matter how they may identify.

The result is that this anthology is quaintly sized, but incredibly rich and powerful. Each piece carries its own unique wisdom and magic. Together, we all pack a punch!

If you’d like to support this anthology or learn about the authors, you can find more information at the end of the book.

I invite you to read this book with an open heart and mind, keep it on your bookshelf as a companion to this cultural discourse, and allow it to widen your perspective.

Thank you.

Greetings Everyone!

I am very proud and happy to share that my latest anthology, She Holds The Line: Black Women Speak on Gender Ideology is now published!

Book Summary

She Holds The Line is a groundbreaking anthology of personal essays and poetry exploring the adverse impact of the transgender movement on the lives of black women.

This powerful collection features 13 African-American women who courageously share their narratives of how the modern trans movement reinforces oppression and erasure within their own lives, and the world at large.

Through vulnerable stories and sharp analysis, these women critique the political rhetoric of queer culture and share their vision of what true liberation and healing can look like for all of us.

The women featured in this book hail from all walks of life. We hear from detrans, lesbian, and bisexual women, women who are currently and formerly incarcerated, as well as artists, academics, mothers, and veterans.

Many of the authors have been subjected to cancel culture in their personal and professional lives for questioning or rejecting gender dogma, while others have experienced more severe abuses as a direct result of modern transgender self-ID laws, which allow men more liberal access to female spaces.

The powerful stories contained within this book shatter common stereotypes of who holds dissenting views on this subject, and why.

Readers are invited to open their minds and hearts along with this book, allowing it to expand their worldview.

Featured Authors include: Venus Angela, Krysta Elora, Dawn Jackson, Tomiekia Johnson, Tiffanie Victoria Jones, A’Ja Lyons, Sia Mensah, Khadijah La Musa, N3VLYNNN, A. Shanté, Sibyl Shaw, Shawn Walker, and Kristin Zebrowski.

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Where to Buy The Book & How To Support

She Holds The Line is now available for pre-order on Amazon, with an official release date of May 30th for both print and ebook versions. I also have a limited number of signed print copies available on my Artist website.

You can preview the book and find all purchasing links here.

If you enjoy the book, I highly encourage you to leave a review on the platform where you purchased it, and recommend it within your social networks and public library.

Amazon sales and reviews really help to boost the book’s overall visibility.

So, if you know that you would like to leave a review, I highly recommend purchasing the book through Amazon to support its initial launch.

EDIT: Wow, A few hours after this announcement, all of the signed copies in my Artist website shop are sold out! Thank you so much for your support. I have updated my website with a 2nd indie option to purchase the book apart from Amazon.

Bookbaby offers authors higher royalties than any other platform, and they are the ones who printed my book. You are still welcome to leave a review on their platform!

The book is available on a few other platforms too-I am just recommending the stores that are most impactful to the success of the book right now. Whichever way you choose to support this project will be much appreciated!

This month, I will be sharing a voiceover excerpt of the book’s official Introduction, and I will also be sharing a video discussion with the authors, so stay tuned!

Thanks for your support 🌺

I have received mixed responses on my essay that questions whether trans apologists can be true friends with gender-critical women. I know I initially posed it as a question, but the truth is not so murky. So let me be clear:

Over the years, loads of women have told me that they have friends who disagree with them on the trans issue. But there is one thing they all have in common:

They end up silencing themselves to some degree about this subject in their relationship, because their deeply-held convictions make the other person uncomfortable. There is a point they reach where depth of connection remains inaccessible due to the other person’s cognitive dissonance, willful ignorance, or straight up brainwash.

And that is exactly my point: going along to get along, self-silencing, and “tolerance” is not my idea of true friendship. This does not only apply to my own relationships; it represents how I look at friendship as a whole.

But I will speak for myself:

I am willing to hold my tongue amongst strangers, if it is the wiser choice in the moment. I may even be a bit reserved with a new acquaintance, until I know their character.

But I will not cage myself within an inner-circle that requires this behavior of me to maintain a comfortable stance within it. And I will not structure my entire life around making myself palatable to others.

My idea of friendship includes space to rest, fully express, support, and grow together. I should feel comfortable getting emotionally naked with a friend about anything, including this subject. Chosen relationships are a space of deep alignment.

Friendships are not something that I take lightly. The path I walk has eroded the luxury I once felt I had, to take friendships lightly. Illusions have fallen away.

This is why I have walked in solitude for long stretches of time, including a willingness to estrange from my family, and shed friendships that die a natural death:

It’s because I am unwilling to live a lie.

Despite being very open-hearted and loving towards people…if someone is not (or is no longer) aligned with me…they will not be close to me anymore. Period.

This is not coldness; it is clarity. Intimacy is earned through true connection, and connection cannot be forged. It is shown through the substance and health of your relationship, not through its utility or mere presence.

For me, being as outspoken as I am, taking the risks that I do—I have had to unveil people’s character very quickly. The deeper I have gone into my journey as an Artist who pushes boundaries, the more I have had to open my eyes to the truth around me, even when it is hard, heartbreaking, and inconvenient.

Even amongst the more “open-minded” liberals...some can walk a little bit with you on this subject but they will most definitely leave you high and dry when push comes to shove.

I am living that push-to-shove all the time. So I see past the niceties, I see past the surface, and I am no longer thirsty for basic agreeance with my views. At this point, I require solidarity.

But you can’t show solidarity when you are busy walking in the opposite direction.

And that is my point...

When someone adopts gender ideology, they are not choosing their own path, they are choosing a path that has been manufactured for them.

It is a socially engineered conveyer belt, paved along a pretty yellow brick road.

But when you look at the end point of that path, you’ll see that there is no way that you can reject gender ideology, and still be equally yoked with someone who is happily skipping down that road, or simply standing still while it moves beneath their feet. Because ironically, their path is not “inclusive” of people like you.

Sooner or later, you have to get off the road and find people who are walking with you into the light. Otherwise, you’ll just be shuffling around in purgatory, rejecting truth, and rejecting yourself.

It is nothing personal. It’s not about being a good or bad person. It is what it is.

What ends up happening is that many people don’t want to look at the end of the road, or they don’t know how to, or they are not aware that that pretty little road leads them to a very sharp fork that demands strict compliance, where they can no longer hide behind shades of grey.

And that fork usually shows up sooner than expected, because it’s always moving and mutating, designed to catch you off guard, like a random strip search.

And if they arrive at that fork and make the “wrong” choice, they will most certainly be dropped off and left in the dust—whether emotionally, economically, or literally.

I have to look at the end of these roads all the time for my own safety and wellbeing. I have to study the map from all angles and get ahead of the curb. I navigate these roads like a video game.

I can easily discern whether someone is equipped to walk with me. I can see where someone is going, because they show me, and the proof is in the pudding of their life.

But hey, it’s cool if we don’t walk together at the same time! Some people will never get it, while others will catch up later…and that’s OK!

But I am right here, right now. And I am not going to turn around and abandon my own path to close my eyes, play dumb, and hightail my ass down a Yellow Brick road, or allow someone else to weigh me down with their own well-meaning confusion...just because they happen to show up for life in a different place.

Most importantly…

I will not derail myself to hold someone else’s hand, when they don’t even know how to hold mine.

It’s better that we respect ourselves and part ways right here. Because I know what I deserve, even if it’s not standing in front of me right now.

I understand that this is an inconvenient truth, but it is the truth nonetheless.

Don’t shoot the messenger. ✌🏾

Yesterday, I received an email from my father.

I know most of my family estrangement writings have focused on my Mother, but that’s mostly because I’ve been estranged from my Father for much longer, and the wounds I have from my Dad are not as fresh.

I have also had a more distanced relationship with my Dad throughout my entire life. While my father has made a huge impact on my life, his parenting has mostly happened at arm’s length. Therefore, my relationship with my Father has carried less emotional complexity than that with my Mom.

Being that I hadn’t spoken with my Dad in a few years, and I thought he had given up on contacting me, I was surprised to see a message from him in my inbox—and a sweet-talking one, at that. I’d like to share what memories, thoughts and feelings his message brought up for me, and how I’d like to move forward.

Read more

I often hear gender-critical women talk about how open they are to having friends who don’t think like them.

But it’s interesting because these friends who “don’t think like them” are never red pill bros, white power skinheads, “minor attracted persons” or other blatantly loathsome individuals who just happen to think “differently”. No.

They are always exclusively referring to people who follow trans ideology.

Because the truth is, most people who have swallowed the gender kool aid are not the snot-nosed, entitled, blue-haired college kids.

They’re everyday people who latently function as plain-clothes officers of white liberal neocolonialism.

Many times, these people may be pleasant to spend time with, and you may actually have a lot in common with them—but they fundamentally disagree with your deeply-held convictions around how transgenderism is destructive to women, LGB, and children’s rights.

What’s most telling is that the amount of grace we offer to gender ideologues is always a one-way street.

The amount of understanding, compassion, and tolerance you have for that person’s viewpoint (and humanity) will never be reciprocated back to you.

And that’s because the one-way street you’re walking on with that person has in fact, been socially engineered.

People who have adopted gender ideology are not just believing in an abstract theory; they are also adopting a social doctrine. In order for them to maintain good standing in their belief, they also must also adhere to a specific set of rules and behaviors.

So whenever I hear that a gender-critical woman has friends or comrades who disagree with her, my question is:

Is that your real friend?

…

And whenever I hear people talk about the “importance” of having friends who don’t think like them…my question is:

Why?

Now, I can understand the importance of listening to people with different viewpoints, and potentially engaging in a respectful discourse with them.

But Why is it so important to pour into building relationships with people who are not like-minded?

Even on the most primal level...does that make sense?

Is this something we’ve told ourselves we should do because we think it makes us a better person, or is it because we feel desperate?

Let me tell you a story of someone I recently became acquainted with that put these things into sharp focus all over again; reminding me that friendships with people who don’t share your values, or who blatantly oppose or misjudge them—are not “expansive”; they are actually incredibly limiting, isolating, and imbalanced.

I’ve come to recognize that if you’re invested in whitewashing yourself to meet someone where they’re at, you’ll inevitably miss out on the people who are truly available to connect with you on a holistic level.

Read more

Greetings Everyone,

I am proudly delighted to share some exciting news!

This morning, I sent my anthology, She Holds The Line: Black Women Speak on Gender Ideology, to the printing press.

This means that the book will be available for purchase within the next few weeks! I will be publishing an announcement, as well as an official introduction of the book in my upcoming posts, so please keep an eye out.

Also…

I am one of the grand prize winners of an Artist grant from ! 🎉

FAIR’s support will be funding an author talk and book launch for She Holds the Line. My intention is to offer space for a Q&A so that readers will have an opportunity to join our discussion about the topics and stories presented in the book.

I will be sharing more information about that in the coming weeks as well.

Thanks so much for your support! 🌺

I recently attended a screening and discussion of the Watermelon Woman, a 90’s black lesbian film written and directed by Cheryl Dunye.

Having already seen the Watermelon Woman a couple of times, I didn’t really care to watch the film again. I purely attended this event for the community vibes. I was hoping to meet new people and enjoy an interesting discussion about a lesbian film that is refreshingly void of gender ideology.

The audience was a diverse crowd of mostly Gen-Zers, and the panel discussion featured two millenial black female archivists.

Given the youthful demographic alone, I had a feeling that queer confusion would be introduced into the discussion, and I was right.

The panelists brought their expertise on excavating black history through archival materials, and most of the audience’s questions were related to identity—of course, affirming the validity of transgenderism.

And ironically, at some point—the panelists brought up Pauli Murray.

One panelist said that she doesn’t know which pronouns to use when speaking about Pauli Murray. “Was Murray transgender, or nonbinary?” The idea of Murray being a woman was not included in her array of possibilities. Either way, she didn’t know. So, when it came to pronouns, she used none.

But even that choice to use no pronouns was criticized by the Pauli Murray Institute (the cite of Murray’s childhood home)—because they insist on posthumously framing Murray as a nonbinary trans person.

“Language is imperfect” one of the archivists shrugged.

And this is the thing…people, especially women—are always acting like this is a complicated issue when it’s not.

Erasing a historical figure’s pronouns while saying that language is imperfect and limited—is a way of taking yourself out of the hotseat to have to think and engage critically with the work you’re already doing, and the communities you’re serving.

And there is something about that which is not only intellectually disagreeable to me—but misaligned on some deeply personal levels.

This event really drove home the fact that our generation is really stuck in a box in terms of their social and political framework.

Like...I knew that already.

But leaving my house and entering real spaces where I am exposed to people who ask genuine questions through a lens that already blindly accepts these spoonfed ideas as truth…while acting like they’re free-thinkers…without even being conscious that they are staunchly following a very specific organized religion...

Meanwhile, I sit there knowing that there’s no “safe space” for anyone to push back…

Knowing that their fragile beliefs are abundantly cushioned by social police officers and fierce overlords with real institutional power, who intimidate dissenters into silence…

I was reminded of why I feel so alienated from these spaces to begin with.

Because it’s not just that I disagree with the politics of gender ideology.

It’s deeper than politics. It’s an energy.

It’s a way of being that I don’t resonate with.

Spinelessness, conformity, and blind followership is corny as fuck. It’s not cool.

Even when it’s done within a subculture.

It is a low vibrational frequency.

And trying to pass it off as something more elevated than that—is even cornier.

I see right through it, and it turns me off.

While I understand this mentality from top to bottom, I can’t relate to it.

And being around it drains my energy really quick.

Because I’ve spent years expanding into my own inner-sovereignty. I’ve walked through fire, experienced the pain of isolation, and rebuilt again—just to protect and preserve my ability to think and create freely, and be loved for exactly who I am.

Socializing in spaces that carry this mentality, asks me to stuff all of my expanded state down into a tight little box, slap on a label on it that doesn’t reflect reality, and mute all of my vivid colors. Even if it’s just for a couple of hours.

Being in a space where I am looking at people on stage with similar qualifications as I…and knowing that I will never have the privilege to be on that very stage and share my own authentic gifts…is draining.

These are not spaces that support my self-actualization, and they are spaces where I will always, at best, only be appreciated on a surface level.

And there is grief there.

Read more

This weekend, I opened my inbox and saw an email that bedazzled me:

New Founding Paid Member to N3VLYNNN!

✨Wau! Amazing.✨

The Founding Member subscription is the highest paid tier with a suggested option of $240 year. A new patron has generously expressed how much they value my writing.

I excitedly opened it, only to feel all the joy evacuate my body when I read my mother’s email address.

Read more

A couple of weeks ago, I watched a Youtube video on Them called “Will 8 Masc Lesbians Disagree With Each Other?

Surprisingly, the entire cast was entirely comprised of masculine-presenting lesbians, and there was no funny business with including men who identify as butch lesbians. So, I watched the whole thing.

The premise of the video was simple: each cast member shares a “controversial take”, and the cast members will stand on the side of the room that represents their personal level of agreeability with it.

There were all sorts of silly “controversial” takes that were not the least bit controversial, such as: “I enjoy dating bisexuals” or “Monogamy is embarrassing”, etc.

But the one take that caught my attention was:

“Masculine lesbians can be just as feminine as feminine lesbians.”

Suddenly, all the lesbians under 40 rolled to one side of the room to agree with the take, leaving the elderly black butch lesbian to disagree all by herself.

One of the younger cast members said to Pat (the elderly butch), “If we’re doing it based on clothes, I’m over here with you…but inside, I’m still a woman.”

Pat clarified, “I am a woman. I am not a man. But I think differently from my feminine counterparts, and it is not the same.”

Then, then some other cast members started explaining that they are “all female” and “girly-girl” on the inside, despite their masculine appearance.

A thick wave of annoyance washed over me.

If you are just as feminine as any other feminine woman, then how exactly are you masculine?

What does the word “masculine” actually mean if you are defining it through women who are the polar opposite of masculine?

And, you see, this is what irked me.

Because this is what queer culture does. It mish-mashes clear language into meaningless slop, and demands everyone to soften their spine for the sake of inclusion, so that those who don’t authentically belong to a particular group can identify their way into it, as they wish.

I knew that the younger women were trying to be “progressive” and make it so that butch women would not be placed into a box.

But unfortunately, it’s not giving liberation. It is giving confusion.

It’s giving: anyone can be a “masc” lesbian.

All it does is erase what it means to be a butch lesbian, through erasing the meaning of masculinity, and conflating womanhood with femininity.

As someone who is attracted to masculine lesbians, this is the sort of phony-baloney nonsense that has discouraged me from dating.

Over the years, I have found some common themes around the effort to water down the masculine lesbian identity in the name of “inclusion” and “freedom”.

One of the most prominent themes is the complaint that femmes treat masculine women like men, and expect them to take on a “male role” in the partnership.

Now. I am not going to deny that many women, no matter how they identify, can bring patriarchal baggage into their lesbian relationships. Expecting a masculine woman to “act like a man” is one manifestation of that.

However…what exactly does that mean?

Because most of the time, when I see “masculine women” complain about being “treated like a man” she always follows it up with statements about wanting “princess treatment” from their girlfriend.

In other words, she wants to be a feminine counterpart to her feminine partner, at least part-time.

And that is all well and good!

But my question remains: If you want to be treated like Cinderella at the Royal ball, what exactly makes you masculine?!

Here is my shortlist of what it actually means to treat a woman like a man:

• Expecting her to physically challenge a man to defend a woman.

• Expecting her to lift heavy items that even a physically fit woman would have trouble lifting on her own.

• Expecting her to fully provide for her female partner, financially.

This is right about where the “man treatment” begins and ends in my book.

Because to me, expecting a woman to behave like a man is strictly limited to expecting her to do things that are only fair to expect of a man, due to his unique male biology.

And I must add—there is nothing wrong with a butch woman financially providing for her female partner. Some women are very much capable of doing so.

I only added finances to my shortlist because I am of the belief that a man should be able and willing to financially provide for his female partner because he is capable of impregnating her and thus, reducing her capacity to provide for herself.

This is part of why women look for men with resources as part of natural selection; it provides security for the unique risks she takes in sharing her body with him.

And once again, it boils down to biology.

In lesbian relationships, this is more of an option rather than a need. Personally, I think that taking care of bills is a masculine quality, and it’s OK to want a partner who likes to pay for things.

But ultimately, how much money each woman contributes to courtship or shared bills is based on what is fair and/or mutually desired for the unique relationship dynamic, rather than a necessary gender role.

Anyway, I digress—if a woman prefers women who are more dominant…it does not mean she is treating her girlfriend like a man.

It means she enjoys masculinity.

In reality, femmes are being shamed for being attracted to women who “present” masculine and also desiring the inside to match the outside.

We are shamed for not rolling with the punches when we unwrap the irresistible box of butch goodies only to be met with a “fluid” limp-wristed Queen.

Here is my actual theory on this huge “Queer” resentment against butch-loving-femmes such as myself:

Read more

Yesterday, a reader of mine recently expressed “concern for my mental health” under a note where I shared my experience and assessment of sexual harassment.

She did not explain why. But, I had a strong sense that I was being pathologized for the way I perceive and articulate predatory male behavior.

I can discern between judgment and genuine care, and this was definitely the former.

Upon reviewing the story I wrote, I realize how easy it is for people to blow off my experience as paranoid delusion.

A man was staring at me from a distance, I got frustrated and traveled for 1 hour to visit to another part of town, and the moment I sat down—it happened again.

SO unbelievable!

Because what a coinki-dink that not one but two scary men are preying on me?

Sounds like the premise of a horror movie that only a psycho would conjure as reality.

I must have imagined the whole thing!

It must be a coincidence that so many horror games and entertainment are based on the simple reality of being a single woman going about her life, minding her business.

I just want to make myself abundantly clear:

Sexual harassment is an extremely pervasive aspect of my public life, particularly in major cities and urban centers, where I have lived for most of my life.

It is not only possible, but very common for me to be harassed by men multiple times throughout any given day.

Let me share this story with a little more detail:

Yesterday was a beautiful day. I sat down on a local park bench and noticed a man was standing and staring at me from a few yards away. His whole body was turned towards me, and his eyes were fixated only on me. I tried to ignore him. I gave him an uncomfortable look. He didn’t let up.

I got up and tried to to sit in a different spot in the park, but nowhere was as comfortable as that bench. I sacked the whole idea of visiting my favorite park to read a book, and left to visit another part of town, traveling for an hour via public transportation.

After visiting my favorite store, my feet were hurting so I sat down on the bench outside.

As soon as I sat down, I noticed a man staring at me from 2 benches over. He was positioned towards me in the way someone would if they were having a full blown conversation with me. He remained silent with a slight smirk on his face as his eyes remained fixated on me. I got angry, frustrated, and walked away.

This is not an outlandish story. It is a blow-by-blow record of a completely normal day (actually one of the better ones), and stuff like this happens ALL THE TIME.

Yes, I know I recently published a post about how I’ve been struggling with insomnia for a little while, feeling sad/like crap some days—and someone has weaponized that against me to conclude that I am now imagining men staring at me all over town.

NEWSFLASH: This has been happening on the regular since I was 13 years old.

If you don’t see that this is not isolated to my perceivably “broken” mind, you are living with your head in the sand.

Why should I even have to make my story digestible to people who would rather question my sanity than give me the benefit of the doubt?

What hurts so much is not being believed, having to have so much burden of proof to get any support—and now, having to prove that I am sane.

And I get it: not every woman shares the same experiences with male harassment. Some women experience much less of it due to their environment or their appearance.

Aside from that, many women also dissociate and numb themselves to the pain caused by men in their sphere. Culturally, we are taught to laugh it off and think it’s normal. Men are given grace, while the burden of proof and adjustment is on women.

I know a lot of women are desensitized to sexual harassment. I am not.

I know there are plenty of people who do not view intrusive staring as sexual harassment, who generally have an extremely narrow idea of what constitutes sexual abuse, and who only validate women who fit this exact model of a “perfect victim”.

I am not one of those people. I will never allow myself to normalize dysfunction, just because that is how other people choose to live.

And I am not going to internalize other people’s judgments that something is fundamentally wrong with me for noticing and speaking up.

It is hard to receive so much “energy”, fully understand what it is, and not be desensitized to it. But my internal world is more peaceful and aligned because of that same discernment and sensitivity,

Regardless if y’all think I’ve lost my mind!!!

The real insanity comes through gaslighting, and you’re not going to lead me down that road.

My mind is my best asset and you’re not going to convince me that it’s “unhealthy” or defective because I’m spitting truth.

I’d rather you think I’m crazy, than for me to think I’m crazy.

Given that my interactions with men greatly shape my quality of public life, I will continue to share my experiences as I see fit.

Especially with warmer weather coming—yes, you may see some notes of me venting about my public experiences with men from time to time—just like I did last summer.

If you don’t like it, or if it makes you doubt my sanity, “mental health” and credibility, then I suggest you unfollow me and subscribe to people who align with the worldview that matches the reality you wish to see. ✌🏾

Hi Everyone,

I know I’ve been quieter for the past few weeks, and that is because I am quite honestly exhausted. I started out this year by making a publishing schedule, and I had some great ideas planned for Women’s History month.

Then a few weeks ago, I wrote a note about how I need a break from in-depth Substack posts because I am bogged down by insomnia, and my “writing” plate is full with the anthology, and another large creative project.

But I realize, it’s more than that.

Between:

• Insomnia that leads me to wake up at 5am sharp with my internal battery at a consistent average of 55% and bonus: wondering if lack of sleep is slowly manifesting a painful terminal illness where I will have to spend long stretches in the hospital alone with no visitors and/or endure said terminal illness alone in my apartment without any aid.

• Loneliness, Isolation, and lack of community (because we as a culture have insisted that all the social events must die in the winter along with the plants, except for the few events where everyone shows up with their established friends and family group, leaving community-seekers to die in the cold)

• Tons of little (invisible and old) dance injuries that have reared their ugly head to dampen my exciting athletic goals for this winter like getting my splits back.

• Gray skies. Yes, I feel OPPRESSED by the frequency of gray skies we have.

• Dirty piles of snow everywhere

• Continuous Work commitments

• No cats

Exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks in February—perhaps as a cumulative effect—and I am very sad, tired, and over it.

Despite my best efforts to stay afloat, I feel like absolute shit. I don’t feel like shit every day, but enough days of the week that it matters. I do not even want to look closely in the mirror most days, because I don’t want to notice my eyes. I haven’t cried about it yet but maybe it’s coming.

The wins I’ve made recently (which there have been many) have felt nice—and I will be sharing them soon—but I think I have been too underwater by the combination of these aforementioned things to celebrate them as fully as I’d like.

Instead I spend most of my time just trying to drag myself around to do self-care, tend to responsibilities, and plan for my future.

It does help. And I have come so, so far. And I give thanks for everything I have.

But I am tired. Not just physically, but emotionally.

Deep down I believe things will lighten up, but I am so heartbroken that I find myself jaded by the thought of summer.

I crave sustainable wellness, not just another season.

So I just want to be honest about my capacity—I have had to pull away from Substack because I am working on other big things—the fruits of which I will be sharing soon—and also because-every other day, despite my efforts, I wake up feeling like a partially charged battery in a life that requires my full power.

The only thing that has been bringing me comfort, ironically, are (of course, cat videos) and AI-animated African folktales. It might sound crazy, but I’ve been really into those folktales, despite turning my nose up at first.

I wrote a whole post about it, but I haven’t published it because it felt too awkward and left-field. However, in light of sharing this post, perhaps I will go out on a limb and publish a post on my favorite comfort videos.

P.S. thank you to my paid subscribers who continue to support me! I intentionally avoid looking at my metrics because it’s emotionally distracting, but I accidentally opened my dashboard today and noticed that I haven’t had the mass-unsubscribe that I had been imagining 🥲

Thanks for your support. 🌺

Happy March! I hope everyone is excited for Spring. 🌺

Since we are on the cusp of Black and Women’s History Month, I’d like to share a roundup of my best essays and podcasts I’ve published on Black Women’s history.

Through the stories of 3 different women, my essays explore the intersection between 20th century black lesbian life and the American transgender movement, from past to present.

You can find a brief summary of each topic and links to their essays below.

Pauli Murray

“How The Trans Movement Is Erasing Black Women From History: Setting The Record Straight About Pauli Murray” is a deep dive into the life and legacy of Pauli Murray, exploring how her intimate yet well-documented struggle with gender and sexuality during her youth has led major modern institutions to posthumously rewrite her as a transgender man.

The full essay is available for free as a 45 min. read. If you prefer to listen to the essay, paid subscribers can access a downloadable audiobook version with curated music. You can alternatively purchase an ebook version of the essay here.

As a follow-up to this essay, I also published a separate article which transcribes the letter Pauli Murray received from her friend in 1941, discouraging her from going on testosterone. An audio version is included in the post.

Gladys Bentley

My essay on Gladys Bentley is unique from Pauli Murray’s in that Bentley attempted to use estrogen to perform conversion therapy on herself in the 1950s.

I find it fascinating yet sad that both women were seeking to “straighten out” their butch sexuality through medical intervention, but in opposite ways.

This essay is a deep-dive into Bentley’s life journey and personal challenges, her career a famous American singer, and the unfolding of her path towards what she saw as “real womanhood”. The full article and downloadable podcast (with curated selections of Gladys’s music!) are available to paid subscribers.

Annie Lee “Jim” Grant

Annie Lee Grant is a lesser-known figure who became a media sensation after being discovered as a male-passing butch lesbian in the 1950s.

Much like Pauli Murray, Annie Lee has been posthumously re-written by modern scholars as a transgender man, when that was not the case.

This essay unravels the hilarious story of Annie Lee Grant, and clarifies the difference between her intentional “passing” lifestyle vs. transgenderism.

I also share my critique on “A League Of Her Own”, a modern television show which features a historical character who lived a similar life as Annie Lee Grant, and who was also sneakily written as trans.

Just like my essay on Murray, I visited an archive to do my research, so I have included plenty of original prints, photos, and news clippings.

I learned so much when researching for these essays, and I hope you find them as enlightening and enjoyable as I did!

Thanks for your support. 💜

Late February has hit me like a soldier who suddenly ran out of adrenaline in a war she’s finally won.

As winter roars on its last leg, I must confess: I iz tired.

I went into winter season thinking: “I got this”.

I thought to myself, “Yeah...it’s gonna suck. Winter is always challenging. After all—it’s winter. But I’ll make it through”. And I did.

I have learned how to take care of myself through winter. Light and movement are my medicine to keep seasonal depression at bay, and I make sure to get regular doses of each daily: once at sunrise, once in the afternoon.

I eat healthfully year-round and integrate a variety of herbs into my diet, which staves off cold and sickness.

These practices have helped me thrive through winter, and I’m extremely grateful that I’ve learned to implement them.

But today, staring out my window into the eyes of yet another empty grey sky, I found myself thinking, “Never again.”

Because no matter how well I care for myself, there is something else that comes with winter that I no longer want to subject myself to. Something has shifted within me, and I am reorienting and leaning into that shift.

I know it is very popular to demonize winter, but I know better than that.

As a child, every season came with its own gifts, and I loved each season equally.

Springtime came with Easter egg hunts, rain-boots, and flowers.

Summertime with outdoor games, sunshine, and super soakers.

Fall with crunchy colorful piles of leaves to prepare and jump into like a cushy bed.

And winter…Winter came with snowball fights, sledding, ice skating, hot chocolate, and the magic of Christmas, for starters...

There was no such thing as a bad, depressing, or hard season.

Winter is part of nature, and nature is beautiful.

But my enjoyment of winter as a child didn’t happen by accident.

It happened within the containment of family and companionship. It happened through access and resources.

The things that absolutely thrilled me about winter: Sledding, Ice Skating, Snowball fights, Snow Angels, the joy of seeing my school announced on local news for closures due to weather…all of those things happened in community.

My present adult life is lived almost entirely in solitude.

And while I do enjoy my own company, I also recognize that many joys of winter are those which I would most enjoy sharing with a companion.

I cannot have a snowball fight with myself. It’s no fun doing a risky activity like sledding or ice skating all alone—and it’s painfully lonely when everyone around you is paired up with their partners and families.

I’ve made attempts to replicate the delightfulness of my early childhood in the 90’s…

This year, I looked into ice skating lessons so that I could enjoy a winter sport in community with others, but I was turned off by the fact that you have to commit to an expensive multi-week class package before knowing what you’re getting yourself into.

So there is little left to uniquely enjoy about winter.

It is just cold, dark, and heavy with no rhyme or reason.

And I can’t live like that.

My awakening happened this year, for reasons I didn’t expect…

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Within the past few years, I’ve noticed a lot of gender-critical feminists have used the term “womanface” to describe the behavior of transwomen: males who dress up and perform femininity as a caricature of women.

“Womanface” is intentionally used to liken transwomen’s behavior to the racist history of Blackface: a theatrical practice in which white actors paint their faces black as a precursor to act out damaging stereotypes of Afro-descended people for the entertainment of white audiences.

Although I intuitively understand the comparison, I have serious issues with the usage of “Womanface” in this context, which I will elaborate on here.

A Brief History of Blackface

Minstrel shows featuring Blackface were the first uniquely American form of theater. Minstrelsy initially gained popularity in the mid-19th century, and climaxed in its cultural prominence during the post-Civil War era, furthering racial divides after the abolition of slavery. Many scholars note that minstrel shows were used to justify violence and anti-black sentiment during Jim Crow segregation.

Blackface is most commonly associated with the U.S., but it also has some roots in European history, as seen in 19th century Netherlands with the emergence of Zwarte Piete, the Moorish companion of Saint Nicholas.

Although traditional minstrel theater has significantly declined in popularity, it has arguably revived itself in other forms, and Blackface still remains a key element in some European cultural performances, such as Spain’s Three King’s Parade.

As we can see, Blackface is a theatrical practice by people of European descent. Regardless if it takes place on stage, in a parade, in a movie, or as a Halloween costume—there is always some performative element that is intended to be recognized as a form of entertainment for its onlookers.

This lays the foundation for the false comparison between Transwomen and Blackface.

Trans Identity vs. Theatrical Performance

While you can reasonably say that transwomen are performing femininity, the main distinction is that transwomen have adopted this performance as a lifestyle.

And for many transwomen, it’s not just about what they wear—some have also sought cosmetic changes to their voice, body, name, and overall appearance in a genuine effort to realistically look female—not just to look like a caricature of a woman.

Although most transwomen do not “pass” as female regardless of their efforts—some do, at least to the average person—and as such, they move throughout their everyday lives superficially appearing as women until someone finds out, or until they reveal their male status.

The other thing is that some transwomen don’t care to look like women at all. They make zero effort to feminize their appearance, and their transgenderism is entirely identity based. Expressions of “transness” are highly individualized.

This is important to note, because stripped to its core—trans is not a set of behaviors, fashion choices, makeup colors, surgical procedures, or personality traits.

It is just an identity.

So, the split between Trans Identity vs. Blackface as a theatrical performance is vast.

Think of it this way:

Trans identity can include males who perform damaging female stereotypes purely for entertainment purposes—but it is not exclusive to that group in the way it is for Blackface. So it is not accurate to draw that comparison.

False Comparisons Never Age Well.

On a personal level, the main issue I have with “Womanface” is the fact that it is, yet again, another example of white people using black pain to add legitimacy and weight to their argument, even where it’s totally ill-fitting and inappropriate.

Writer Karen Zebrowski speaks about this in her recent essay, Black People Are Not Your Metaphor, where she mentions white folks who like to say that “cis” is a slur equivalent to the word “nigger”.

I would say that the “cis/nigger” comparison is far more heinous than “Womanface,” but they are both rooted in the same idea of various groups instrumentalizing the black struggle for their own political gain.

As much as I speak about trans activists employing this tactic to legitimize transgenderism, the reality is that white people from any side of the political spectrum will often do the same thing, whether they are conscious of it or not.

The black struggle is low-hanging fruit to add weight behind a political argument because for one, the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade was particularly brutal, longstanding, and pervasive in its impact, but most importantly…we’re not that far away from it, even though folks love to selectively pretend that we are.

I mean, you can go on youtube and listen to audio recordings of former African-American slaves, for Christ sakes! The fact that we had such advanced technology to record these interviews, says everything. As a young filmmaker, I have also interviewed several activists who fought for civil rights during the Jim Crow era. These women are still alive and well to this day.

As much as people love to frame racist brutality as ancient history, it’s not…not even the indisputably painful eras that many people try to sweep under the rug as the past.

I will add that I believe there is a much stronger comparison between “Womanface” and Drag (men caricaturing women in performance). Many Drag Queens are men whose performance of womanhood is entirely relegated to the stage.

But even drag is somewhat questionable as a worthy comparison. When drag originated in the 1920s, it was (and still is) largely relegated to underground, adult-themed bars and gay culture—hence the recent outrage over bringing drag performers into children’s spaces.

Drag didn’t have the same cultural influence as Blackface because it wasn’t mainstream. For decades, Blackface was the most dominant form of entertainment for white audiences of all backgrounds in the United States, and it influenced our culture accordingly. The same cannot be said about drag.

The most accurate comparison of Transgenderism is still Transracialism, which is slowly becoming normalized through identity politics.

Honestly, I think reaching for emotionally-charged, yet false (and potentially offensive) comparisons through the black freedom struggle is really ineffective as a political strategy—especially in the long run.

The harm that trans-identifying males are doing to women doesn’t need to be punctuated with Blackface in order to make a statement.

It really should be able to speak for itself.

This includes the audio versions of “Family Estrangement is Not an Epidemic; Child Abuse Is” and “Why I Estranged From My Parents Even Though I Still Love and Appreciate Them”.

This podcast is available for download on your device of choice, and you’re welcome to read along too! I hope my sharings on Family Estrangement are illuminating for those of you who can relate to my story, or those who just want to understand the topic more deeply.

Enjoy!

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A couple of weeks ago, I published an essay about the stigma attached to adults who estrange from their families, and the judgments we often receive from our choice to go No-Contact with parents.

One of the most common misconceptions about estranged adult children is that we do not love our parents, nor do we recognize and appreciate the good things they’ve done.

Now, granted—some people don’t appreciate their parents. I’ve seen everything under the sun, where people refer to their parents as mere incubators for sperm and egg. Some people don’t even feel sad when their parents die.

And honestly? I don’t blame them.

Because 99% of the time, those parents have fully earned their child’s extreme resentment. It takes a lot to bring your baby to that level of disgust. Many parents have been relentlessly wicked or neglectful, no matter which face they show the world.

For this reason, I will never judge someone who rejects their parents so harshly, because I know that their strong language and/or detachment will never accurately measure up to the level of betrayal they experienced as children.

However, I do not feel that way about my parents. While the abuse I experienced was pretty bad—I did not experience the most extreme forms of abuse. In fact, the first 7 years of my life are mostly filled with beautiful memories.

My parents did lots of things right, and I am grateful for my upbringing.

And I still estranged from my parents, for very good reasons.

I’d like to share a window into my early childhood, the root and nuance behind my decision to estrange from my family, and why I still feel like I did the right thing, after all these years.

I grew up in the golden era of the 90’s, when life was sweet. I come from an upper middle-class home in a small liberal town where my parents worked as Engineers. Our little nuclear family consisted of me, my elder brother (Baba), my Dad, Mom, and our cat, Syntax.

On the outside, we were the picture-perfect black family: one that had undoubtedly achieved the American dream. As a child, I had a spacious home, abundant access to nature, plenty of toys and games, neighborhood friends, and just the right balance between analog and technology. Memories of my early childhood are bright, sunny, cozy, and enriching—no matter the season.

To this day, I still endeavor to model my lifestyle after my early childhood in the 90’s. But the truth is—I can never fully replicate it because I was living under very different conditions, and so much of the enrichment I experienced came from a semblance of a family that has since fallen apart.

When I was a toddler, my Mother quit her job to be a full-time homemaker, pouring ample time and attention into her home and children, while my Father soared the ranks in his Professorship.

Mom made our home so warm and beautiful, inside and out. She would spend hours landscaping our yard, planting rows of flowers, spreading mulch, crystals, and white stones-and thoughtfully placing benches, swings, and Buddha statues in the garden.

Mom taught me how to read, and nurtured my literary gifts from a young age. I had a natural hunger for literature, and I would always try to read her Engineering books when I was just two years old.

She would sit with me on the floor, helping me pronounce my words—and then we would visit Media Play so that I could read books that were more entertaining.

My literacy skyrocketed very quickly, such that I had a 5^th grade reading level when I was in Kindergarten. After school, I would visit my brother’s classroom to hang out with him and his friends, and they would make a show out of my skills.

The kids would give me one of their books, and I’d sit at an empty desk to read aloud with my brother and his classmates standing around, as they oohh and ahhh’d at my flawless reading.

I wrote my first book in Kindergarten. It was a little pamphlet, probably with my signature drawing of our cat on the front—but my Mom took it seriously, and looked into having it published.

That was Mom. She was very involved in our enrichment in the early days, she played a huge role in my early intellectual development. She believed in me, and I felt loved. In the wake of her emotionally abusive relationship with Dad, I guess motherhood was her only outlet.

The only bad memory I have of my Mom during my early childhood was her occasional punishments.

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I recently published a note about the stress I’m experiencing while taking action against the man who is harassing me. However, I’ve turned off notifications because someone decided to use it as an opportunity to patronize me with very ill-fitting, unsolicited advice, while also putting me down for the way I am handling it so far.

This person (and I am assuming it’s a man) pointed out that the sexual harassment I’m experiencing is not about me being a single woman walking alone, and has more to do with “how I carry myself” and how visibly “intimidated” I appear, even though he has no knowledge of how I actually carry myself in public.

I was also advised to arm myself with a gun to “gain confidence” and so that I can “look like I’m the type to use it when necessary” and also, to get an aggressive dog. He finished off his armchair statement by telling me that I’m not making any progress with this matter, and that I shouldn’t let my fears get the best of me.

Being patronized is one of my biggest pet peeves, and as I mentioned before, both men and women love to project and patronize whenever I open my mouth about sexual harassment.

Suddenly, everyone else is the expert and I’m just a Little Bo Peep attracting wolves into my life because I’m too weak, not knowledgeable, strong, or smart enough to have disinvited the sort of humdrum abuse that most women experience.

Most notably, I must not have considered all of my options, so I need to be notified of them. I’m not doing what they think I should do based on the little information they have about me—so I must not be doing it right.

There’s a way people speak to me about sexual harassment that suggests I’m new, rather than a veteran who has managed to survive thus far in a world where I am routinely preyed upon.

There is no balance between me having a genuine need for support, and respecting the natural wisdom, self-expression, intelligence, and survival skills I carry.

The harm women experience as a result of a culture that dishonors our bodies, is not handled with care. Women are always asked to carry the burden for how we’re perceived by men, while being actively abused by them.

When it comes to finding solutions, we are asked to clean up the mess they made in our lives through a male-centered lens that doesn’t account for the reality of our experiences, and which doesn’t actually support us.

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There is a major cultural backlash against adults who are estranged from their parents.

As someone who made the difficult decision to go no-contact with my family within the past several years, I have noticed an uprising of angry parents comforting themselves by labelling familial estrangement as a “social contagion”.

If we don’t receive the guilting and shaming from people in our midst who sympathize with our abusers, we will surely find it in media.

TV shows like Oprah have capitalized off the stories of estranged adult children—claiming to listen to “both sides” all while harping on the “good old days”, where we simply brushed our problems off at dinner…no matter what said “problems” were.

But from my perspective, the backlash against estranged adult children is inextricably linked to the status of children in our society.

After all, before you estrange from your family—you first had to experience how they treated you as a child.

Children are an incredibly vulnerable class. They don’t have the same rights as adults, and they’re completely dependent on the goodwill of the adults in their midst for their care.

Throughout U.S. and European history, children were legally recognized as chattel, along with slaves and other property. More specifically,—children were the property of their fathers, just like women.

Although modern laws have provided more legal protections and “personhood” for children, it all boils down to the same thing: kids are always at the behest of any adult who can legally claim them.

Now let’s just pause and reflect for a moment. Have you noticed that mental illness, abuse, and emotional immaturity is rampant in our society? It’s almost as if you have to swim upstream to achieve holistic health.

For this reason, I estimate that most children are growing up in dysfunctional environments. Not necessarily extreme conditions—but more children than we admit are living on the higher end of the spectrum of damage and dysfunction, even if it isn’t obvious in public.

And, the events that a person experiences during the most vulnerable and formative era of their life—lays the foundation for everything that happens in adulthood, including estrangement.

Many people choose to accept and live with familial abuse, even when it ruins their life. However, if someone truly wishes to heal from harmful patterns that originated within their family, they will have to confront those patterns and leave them behind.

The thing is, when an adult child chooses to confront the dysfunction that originated within their familial relationships, there is no guarantee that this will include healing and restoration of the existing family unit.

Because unfortunately, there are some damages that are too deep to be restored.

When you total a car, you can’t just take the broken pieces to a mechanic and ask them to bend the car back into place.

When you burn down a house, you can’t construct a new one using the ashes.

Sometimes, when an adult child recognizes a sliver of a chance at healing—they simply try to repair, or build a new house with new tools, and new materials.

But that takes investment; one that some people don’t have, or are not willing to give.

Thus, they are often met with resistance and denial:

“That never happened; You’re too sensitive; I don’t remember that!”

“I’m a wonderful parent; I’ve done nothing wrong; Accept my flaws!”

There is no foundation of accountability upon which the relationship can be healed, and so, the adult child is left with the option of either embracing these familial relationships that continue to harm them, or setting boundaries so that they can finally have a chance at finding peace.

For many people, this simply means walking away.

…

I want to emphasize that it’s incredibly unnatural and undesirable to separate from your family.

Human beings are social animals. We rely on strong community ties for our survival, and our families are usually our primary source.

The only reason why someone would ever separate from people who they have strongly bonded with and/or relied on their entire lives for their own survival—is if they have come to recognize such people as a threat to their survival.

So it’s very interesting that adult estranged children are often depicted as unfeeling gremlins who are essentially disconnected from their own human nature.

It’s sounds a little…dehumanizing, doesn’t it?

….

People who blanketly criticize adult estranged children for being selfish, cruel, or “brainwashed by therapists”—come off to me as being angry that “The Child” has finally stood up for herself.

Yes, the little child—the one who once had no choice but to soldier up and cope with your bullshit no matter how much it hurt…has now found the courage, power, and resources—to walk away.

They feel threatened that “the child” is now to able to exercise full autonomy over their lives, and that their autonomy can exclude them; that it may not benefit them in the ways they wish. How dare they?!

After all, they are supposed to be our children.

People who criticize estranged adult children sound uncannily similar to men who hate women for seeking independence.

Like, yes! Of course, more women are choosing to be unmarried, childfree, and financially independent from men, not necessarily because that is most women’s dream lifestyle, but because traditional marriages were never designed to benefit us in the first place, and because cultural attitudes towards women are in the toilet.

Given the state of affairs, more women are choosing safety and wellbeing over abuse and exploitation.

Women are setting higher standards for what they accept into their lives from men, because they have the options, and because they know better.

And some men are very angry about that, because they feel entitled to women.

Entitlement is at the very core of the complaints about estranged adult children.

Many parents feel entitled to a relationship with their adult child.

They have trouble adjusting to the increased autonomy their daughter or son has when they finally grow into adults, because they took so much advantage of their vulnerability when they were young.

They are uncomfortable with the fact that their adult child is now empowered to set new terms, boundaries, and standards for the type of relationships they accept into their lives…because they never developed the capacity to have a healthy relationship with their child in the first place.

Instead of opting to heal themselves, so that they can cultivate a relationship based off mutuality and respect, they shame the adult child for not expressing “unconditional love” towards the parent.

These parents shame their adult child for not imprisoning themselves within a warped, unhealthy view of love.

They rely on the idea of being owed, rather than deserving.

And this is how we get full-on pity parties from parents whose children have walked away from them.

This is how we get people covering up the realities of abuse survivors, by judging estrangement as a “social contagion”.

Now, I am not saying that every instance of parental estrangement is necessarily the parent’s fault.

But most of the time, it is.

The power dynamic inherent in parent-child relationships, and the natural inclination for children to bond with their parents—sets the stage for the parent to be a worthy suspect of severance.

And even for those adult children who ran away from their parents because of a real social contagion, such as if the parents don’t accept their trans identity…

I am still going to question what family dynamics may have led to the estrangement.

Because two things can be true at the same time:

You can have a perfectly reasonable stance on one aspect of your child’s behavior, and you can also still have a history of abusing your child that causes a wound in your relationship.

In fact, many individuals identify as transgender as a reaction to child abuse.

This is not for anyone on the outside to judge and point fingers. It’s for each person to look in the mirror and be honest with themselves.

But unfortunately, the type of parents who have terrible relationships with their kids are not usually very self-aware.

And because our culture is so hellbent on uplifting adults at the expense of children, there are many systems geared towards coddling parents in the aftermath of losing their estranged child, without ever holding them accountable.

The truth is, when it comes to estrangement—or any abuse for that matter—it is rarely a cut and dry situation where the parent is an all-around bad person.

But that still doesn’t mean that the adult child was wrong for walking away.

In my next essay, I’d like to illustrate what this complexity has looked like for me, as an adult estranged child of parents who did many things right, and many things deeply wrong.

For now, I leave you with these questions:

Why have we as a society, become conditioned to care more about a parent’s grief after they have been “abandoned” by their adult child—than we do about the emotional and/or physical abandonment that the child may have had to endure for their entire lives?

Why is it that so many parents are desperately trying to frame their loss so that they receive the benefit of the doubt, over their own children?

What type of person would do such a thing?

This essay is a vulnerable account of the near-daily sexual harassment I have been dealing with for the past 6 months from a particular man in my neighborhood, my thoughts on police intervention within the black community for the purpose of female safety, and my musings on spiritual protection as well as male protection.

I recently had another enraging encounter with the man on my block who has been sexually harassing me almost every day for the past 6 months.

Now, I have posted about this guy a few times on my blog and in notes, and I have shared other stories of street harassment over the years.

I have also read posts written on public forums by other women who are seeking support in dealing with the same issue. And I have to say…

I’m really annoyed by all the advice people give to women who are sexually harassed on the street.

If you dare open your mouth to share your bleeding heart story of a man who disrespected or scared you in public—you’re aggressively met with a barrage of unsolicited advice that dissects your every move.

Even if one eyeball is out of place, you’re now responsible for having escalated the situation by giving the harasser too much eye contact.

And none of it works!

Now, there are obviously some blatantly unwise things you could do to worsen street harassment…but most women aren’t doing those things. Even if we did—it’s not as if it stopped the damage from being done in the first place.

Yet still, we’re treated as if we don’t have any common sense, and tasked with a laundry list of rules on where to avert our eyes, what to say or not say, proper body language, and which weapons to carry. We’re made to feel like we need to endlessly fix, adjust, and contort ourselves in order to be worthy of common decency.

The subtext is that if harassment actually occurred, it’s because we were simply neither prepared nor smart enough to have avoided the abuse.

Truth is, there is no real way to protect yourself against random men on the street and their unpredictable, abusive behavior.

The ONLY thing that works…is walking with another man.

And I’ve thought deeply about this prospect of walking with another man.

Yes. On days like today, when loser-assholes like the guy on my block grate my fucking nerves—I am reminded that the only reason why he consistently finds the courage to twist his mouth and speak to me with such confidence, is because he knows I lack male protection.

That is the ONLY reason why…and it adds so much insult to injury.

So as I am washing dishes, I think to myself—how can I get a man to walk with me?

How might I go about obtaining the protection of that glorious 3-thug mob who will press this man against the cold brick wall, and serve him a slick warning through gritted teeth about “Trying it again” with me?

Read more

I decided to try a little something different! 😸 This is my note of gratitude for those who have supported me this year and beyond, an update on my anthology book project, and me sharing how I am using the holidays as a space for intention setting.

I also brought my special friend on camera to say Hi for some extra cozy vibes. 🤎

Wishing you all a peaceful holiday! 🌟 Thank you for your support. 🌺

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