An Honest Post (AKA "Dear Deer Park")

I haven't posted on my blog since Orlando. It's a few days past (or prior, depending on the day *insert eye-roll*) the latest and greatest of US police brutality against black families. For some reason, I don't have words. Even if the words are tiny and unimportant, I don't feel like saying them (and probably shouldn't). Because I'm a writer, I find that the words surface in my mind but get muddled by fear, rejection, and anger. Finally, though, I have something to type out:

I sat in a crowd full of dressed up graduates from Seattle U, scrolled through Twitter, and saw blood swept across rainbows on my phone's screen. On one of the best days of my life, the events in Orlando transformed my morning into depressive chaos. This wasn't the first time my heart had been ripped from my chest. I owe that first moment of pain to a boy named Michael Brown; but he didn't owe it to me. He didn't owe anything to anyone. Neither did the fifty odd other people who were gunned down in their "safe space." But here we all are, learning from marginalized communities, sharing photos on Facebook, and waiting for anything to change.

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One of my best friends learned that Elie Wiesel passed away recently. She lit a Shabbat candle and whispered a word of mourning. When I learned that 50 others died in Orlando, I couldn't surface enough candles for every flame put out by a useless weapon. So I lit one, set a rose and crystal next to it, and lightly cried on the floor of my apartment in the dark.

A day later, I opened Facebook again to see a number of people from Small Town, USA infuriated about their right to own a firearm possibly being amended. On one hand, my community is suffering from a loss against the isms. On the other, my community insists that they can protect me with the same weapons that threaten my existence. In that instant, I realized that my two communities were at odds, like they'd always been, but in a much more violent way.

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Growing up, I listened to the word "fag" dropped like it really was synonymous with "stupid," "evil," or "predatory." I can handle that--I did. I choked my sobs down in my throat whenever a macho farmer knocked down a theater kid for being "different" (not even confirmed gay, only stereotyped gay). I hushed political opinions to keep myself from the same end. And after awhile, I became convinced that this was how life would be for me--hushed truths, outspoken lies, and rampant hatred paired with violence.

Fuck that. I am not sorry to call out the people who are causing direct harm to me and my community, whether or not I love you. I can love you and think you're an idiot. But the difference between you and me is that I will leave you alone to be stupid. You seem to think it's still okay to threaten my life and the lives of others if it means you get to keep what you've paid for. 

Live From Lockdown

I'm not okay, in every sense of the phrase. I need help standing still on the moving earth. But I will not trust the hands I trusted growing up. I will not put my hands in the palms of those still holding guns. I'm tired of protecting the identities of fuckheads from Deer Park who still think it's okay to perpetuate racism, homophobia, and sexism. I'm done apologizing to my friends for your hateful comments on my posts. Y'all have access to a lot more than other folks but still play it off like "you never learned it." College doesn't teach you how to be a decent human being, you need to teach yourself that.

If you can't put down a weapon to join your fellow Americans in mourning the death of kin, you can't sit with us.

Femme Ain't Frail Playlist

On those days when people are out with each other, sitting in coffee shops and chatting about life, I like to take a stroll around the city. Capitol Hill comprises quirky restaurants with great food, small parks with the greenest vegetation, and street art to spark your interest on almost every corner. On days when I have obligations that force me to trek across the city, I can still appreciate the atmosphere.

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Usually, my travel opens my mind and allows me to sort through any anxieties about the day and what I need to accomplish. I don’t ever feel complete without my headphones jammed into my ears while I go. I guess you could say I like a soundtrack to keep me pumped about all the stress in my life.

I pick this particular playlist for when I’m active because it’s uplifting and reflective of my angry feminist angst.

Check out my playlist by clicking the link to my Youtube.

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“Female Energy” by Willow Smith


“Girls Like Girls” by Hayley Kiyoko


“Hold Me Down” by Halsey


“Bad Chick” by SoMo


“Why Don’t You Cry” by Willow Smith


“One Time” by Marian Hill


“Cheerleader” covered by Pentatonix


“Tropicana” by J. Lauryn


“Emperor’s New Clothes” by Panic! At the Disco


“Bad Intentions” by Niykee Heaton


“Brick by Boring Brick” by Paramore


“Turn It Around” by Lucius


“Army” by Ellie Goulding


"Don't Let Me Down" by The Chainsmokers ft. Daya

Rolling Stone

This is just a sampling of the music that I like to listen to. Take a listen when you're on a run or commuting. If you have any song suggestions, make sure to leave a comment or connect with me on social media!

4 Ways to be More Confident

I hear my close friends and acquaintances tell me the same thing about their perception of me--I exude confidence. I laugh because I’m the most self-deprecating, socially anxious, and depressed mess one hundred percent of the time. But I’m a hot mess.

Somewhere in my communication and body language, people interpret some false confidence. I perceive their interpretation as false, but maybe it’s not. After repeatedly being told that my confidence is inspirational, I reflected on what exactly they were picking up on.

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1. I take up space.

I learned that the science behind body language is transformative. When you stand like Superwoman, your body responds with confidence. Amy Cuddy conducted a study that concluded when a person takes a “power stance,” it produces neuroendocrine and behavioral responses that contribute to higher confidence.

In taking up this practice, I have more respect for my body and the messages I send in certain contexts. Usually, I will sit in a classroom setting and try to make myself as small as possible so that the professor won’t call on me when I don’t have the answer. When I’m confident about the topics of conversation, I open my body up to indicate to the people around me that I have something to say and it’s important. 

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2. I care about myself more than anyone else.

I grew up in a context that didn’t allow me the freedom to express my thoughts, opinions, needs, or desires. The community around me cared about vastly different perspectives than mine. After a long period of trying to squeeze myself into a box to fit the community, I smashed the hell out of that box and put myself before the community.

Maybe that contrasts something you know about me, which is that I love to help people. I love to liberate and create value around different experiences. I wasn’t able to reach this healthy value without separating myself from the dominant culture that harmed me and reflecting on my own experience. Equipped with the means to help myself, I can help others and reintegrate myself into a community that will help me, too. 

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3. I don’t give a fuck.

Yeah! Fuck you. Fuck that. Fuck this. I’m loud. I curse. I don’t perform how the patriarchy wants me to perform because I DON’T CARE TO. Fuck the man. I have a voice and I don’t give a rat’s ass if you don’t want to hear me.

Don’t get me wrong; I care about some things, like my passions. What I don’t care about is conforming. That often means I have to say “fuck you” to something that may be harming me, even if other people approve of it hurting me.

[To be clear, I am attempting to show the distinction between my expletives being directed at someone in order to harm them versus an external expression of what’s happening internally.]

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4. I’m unapologetic.

My being unapologetic is crucial to my confidence (and arguably a defense mechanism).

I’m conditioned to apologize for bumping into a lamp post. Most of us have had that moment where we laugh at ourselves for apologizing to an inanimate object. Why do we do this? Sure, I am sorry when I bump into someone, but I’m not really that sorry. I just apologize to make the other person feel better, or to escape the embarrassment of taking too much space, or even to keep up the appearances that I’m a kind person.

In order for me to hold onto my confidence, I try not to concern myself with what everyone else is thinking about me or how I measure up to someone else.

I won’t apologize for saying “fuck” all over my blog because this is my context. You’re in my home. If a child under the age of 8 happens to read my blog, I’m not going to apologize or censor myself because I feel that it invalidates my experience of nonconformity to normalized standards. I do try to moderate my behavior based on other contexts, but that moderation drowns my identity most of the time.

I am so used to being “moderate” with my behavior that my genuine emotions seem irrational. I'm often told that my emotions and expressions are, in fact, irrational and should be put under more control, even when I'm certain that my reactions are necessary and revealing. Don't excuse me for being human!

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7 Times I Feel More Cat than Human

For anyone who follows my social media accounts, you've already met the love of my life.

My life with Neville has been the sweetest love story. I met him at a shelter in Colville, Washington after he had been rescued from an accident. The accident infected his tail, which forced him to chew the tail off before the vets could rescue him. I met him under the name of "Chewy" and eventually changed it to Neville Shortbottom. I think it's a much more fitting name for him but just as hilarious.

Previous to adopting Neville, I had only lived two years of my entire life catless while in a college residence hall. I didn't realize until after I adopted him how badly I really needed his companionship. I believe this is because I'm really a cat and I needed another friend to hang out with me. Before you're skeptical, check out this list of reasons I felt more cat than human:

1. I nap excessively. 

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2. I think it's funny to be an asshole sometimes. 

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3. Cuddle time is my favorite time.

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4. I don't like to be touched unless it's cuddle time.

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5. I start screaming when my food is almost gone, too. 

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6. I like books a little too much.

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7. I also like licking other cats.

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Do you have a cat and also feel like it's your true best friend? Snap me a photo with you and your furry BFF! 

Make sure to keep up with me and Neville on Instagram for more wonderful snippets into our lives. 

3 Too-Real Things Feminists Understand

When I’m in a group with other feminists who share similar experiences, I find myself overly affirmative. Every fifth word that comes out of my mouth is “YAAAAAAS.”

These are my girls; they know what the fuck I’m talking about; and they’re into activism just as much as I am. I can’t help but feeling comfortable enough to open up about my struggles through oppression against my identity as a gay woman.

That being said, I also notice a lot of issues I have being a feminist.

1. My white feminist friends refuse to address race (or intersectionality).

Hi there, I’m white. I recognize that in almost every context, I have the power because of my skin color. I think it’s fucking ridiculous and that’s why I’m a feminist.

I am very aware of the discrepancies of access based on race. I am very aware that even as a white person talking about race, I can perpetuate white fragility or a white savior complex. I try my hardest not to. I’d like to see other feminists operating under the same standard of checking your privilege of every context you enter, especially in conversations about race.

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If you’re a white person reading this and thinking to yourself, “well, I’ve never had a problem with race as a feminist,” YOU ARE PART OF THE PROBLEM. How about shutting up for a second and listening to someone else’s experiences? Feel free to click on all of the above article links placed on key words to learn more about actual feminism.

Believe me, the problem is systematic and it will take hard work/dedication to revise it. But if you consider yourself a feminist, make race a priority so that we can change the way the world looks at us and other people. Complacency is still oppression.

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2. Dating is hard.

I rarely find someone who I can communicate with on an intellectual level that matches mine without risking a friendship. I have to prioritize whether I want/need a friendship or intimate relationship. Often, I need the friendship. 

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There are a lot of queer intersectional feminist womxn, but I have not found one in person who is worth my time and also a not already my friend/aqaintance. The reason I say this is because 1.) I want to intentionally make time for this person to be a part of my life because mine is so busy, 2.) girls have lied to me about their ideologies in order to get me to like them, and 3.) I have to reach pretty far to find someone new to add to the dating pool.

I want the person who I connect with to be on the same page as me so I can feel safe and heard.



3. We’re made fun of for being feminists.

I’m finding that as I write this, I’m getting angry and angrier. As feminists, we see a lot of injustices that others might not see around them. I had a conversation recently where a man was being stupidly racist. When I confronted him, I was ridiculed for it and not defended by the other feminists in the room.

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Why should that piss me off? He was a white, hetero, cisgender male who couldn’t even conceptualize why his racism was a problem. And because he couldn’t, he felt uncomfortable. Because he felt uncomfortable, he silenced me in order to feel comfortable, which makes me irate.

Navigating these types of conversations is almost impossible unless you’ve been trained in communication. I was forced to leave the room because I was representing more than just myself (the entire movement) and couldn't risk my anger endangering the message. I have a serious problem with that, especially considering the image feminists get in the media.

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