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.

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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.

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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…

Read more

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?

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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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I recently came across a note by one of my subscribers which said the following:

A couple of years ago I was listening to a podcast and an older man said something along the lines of, “I think sexism happens because women can do everything men can do plus one more thing, so men want to limit women to doing only that one thing and take everything else for themselves,” and it has stuck with me ever since.

The more I’ve watched the gender dynamics in our culture since then, the more I see his point. I’ve now read books written by great feminists about it. Patriarchy is all one giant cope for this existential anxiety.

Then, another woman commented underneath:

The reason sexism happens is because it can. All power ultimately stems from violent force, men have more violent force than women, and can both individually and collectively enforce their will onto women. The state as the supreme monopolist on violence suppresses this to an extent, but ultimately violent power sits with men, as the only defence against the threat of male violence is the threat of male violence.

Patriarchy is the result of women not having power, and it will remain around until women get power.

That is when I chimed in and asked:

So, how do women get power if we will never have more violent force than men due to our biology of being physically weaker?

She said that she did not have an answer to this. At first, I thought I didn’t, either.

But strangely enough, the more I thought about it…I did.

Nature has not designed us to be “equal” to each other. The Lion hunts the Gazelle; The Spider hunts the Mosquito. Nature is not always calm, soft, or kumbaya; it is dynamic, and it can be brutal.

Most of the violence throughout our ecosystem is for the purpose of survival, and it is done in a way which naturally sustains and balances the environment. Violence is not inherently wrong—it is about the intention behind it, and the holistic result.

The difference with human beings is that we use violence and power in ways which create holistic imbalance throughout the environment, including within ourselves. These systems of power have been created and enforced by men who historically seized power, and they are reinforced by those who live under their system.

The reasoning behind why male abuse of power remains such a uniquely pervasive force on our planet…is at the heart of the very answer as to how it can stop.

The reality is that women will never effectively seize power from men. Even as women have gained more access to the tools men have created—we are still enfolding ourselves into an infrastructure that was not designed to benefit us. The whole emphasis on “equality” is like a tiny bandaid on a large gaping wound.

Our empowerment will ultimately have to come from a much deeper place that is far more challenging to implement than any structural or legal change.

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As many of you know, I am creating an anthology that highlights the voices of African-American women who dissent from gender ideology.

The original working title of my book was: She Holds The Line: Black Women Speak on Gender Identity. During the planning stages of the book, I speculated as to whether the word “Identity” should be swapped out for “Ideology”.

Admittedly, I was afraid that using the phrase “Gender Ideology” would create more barriers in the publishing and distribution process.

“Gender Ideology” is a phrase which names the philosophy that supersedes gender identity over biological sex in language, law, and society.

It is most frequently used by people who critique the real, measurable harm that is caused by the implementation of this philosophy through transgenderism.

However, the term “Gender Ideology” is not widely used or understood by the general public. Not only do most people not know what “gender ideology” means—but once you google the term, A.I. automatically blasts you with the idea of it being used by “anti-LGBTQ” groups, as if it is a homophobic slur.

“Identity” was softer and more approachable. It’s still a fairly accurate description of the book’s contents, without being too controversial and in your face.

I knew that “Gender Identity” coupled with “Black Women” would be a surefire way for my book to gain automatic entry into the usual spaces where books like mine belong—such as libraries. It certainly worked for the grant I earned to publish this book. So, I decided to keep the word “identity” for the time being.

But then, something happened along the way that changed my mind.

I got cancelled—again.

It happened after my Call for Submissions received a wave of visibility and support from a few larger literary platforms on Substack.

People were sharing the Open Call and applying to be featured as an author without fully understanding my project—despite my best efforts to be upfront and crystal clear about the book’s subject matter in the post.

But once a few of these new people finally understood what the book was about—the backlash began, and it wasn’t pretty.

Although this phenomenon had very little to do with the actual title of my book, it shifted my mindset about how I should present it to the world.

I’d like to share the story of the events leading to up to that cancellation, how the large platforms who promoted my work received a mess of backlash that led them to withdraw their support just as swiftly as they gave it, and how being promoted on these platforms only led me to receive a bunch of misaligned opportunities.

I’d like to talk about why I’ve decided to change the book’s title—even if it means being misunderstood by some people, and risking admission into certain spaces and opportunities that I think the book truly deserves.

I discuss the power of language, and why it’s important to be clear and forward-thinking when it comes to sharing your views.

Finally, I share how I avoid getting the red carpet pulled out from underneath my feet in spaces where I’m superficially welcomed and supported for being a black, same-sex attracted woman and Artist.

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Last night, I attended a workshop for Artists who are navigating the business aspect of their work. Most of the advice given was about how your brand should be crafted with your intended audience in mind.

We were prompted to think of who we want to reach, and what those people want: what colors, messaging, and fonts would resonate. Think of how they would like to feel: Does your audience want to feel intelligent, or do they want to feel happy? Or perhaps, to feel comforted? What problem can your product can solve for them?

All the while, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell any of this has to do with Art.

I thought about Artists like Basquiat, or Lauryn Hill, or Maya Angelou, and how none of this shit has ever applied to the most impactful, successful Artists of our time.

Most importantly, I have never found this to be true for myself.

So when I got home, I published a note sharing my thoughts on the matter.

This is what I wrote:

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