Promoting self-care

Life has been busy lately, especially with work. Not only have my regular clients been sending lots of white papers my way, but I've been working on getting ready for the career shift taking place at the beginning of the year.

As a result, I've been sleeping less than I should, working more than I (probably) should, and running myself a bit ragged.

And neglecting self-care.

Unfortunately, I've been feeling the effects of the neglect, and have been having lots of high-pain days in the past few weeks. It's causing me to move slower, which in turn causes me to have to work harder to stay caught up with the workload. It's a vicious cycle.

It's going to stay like this through the end of the year, but I'll have some time off at Christmas and New Year's that I can use to slather myself with Icy Hot and hobble around with peppermint herbal tea until I feel better.

Hopefully, the upcoming time off will be what I need to recharge and provide some extra self-care, giving me the energy I need to jump into 2016 with a renewed energy and outlook.

Olive Kitteridge: a reflection on perceptions

I finally finished Elizabeth Strout's Olive Kitteridge yesterday while I was waiting for Puck in the after-school car line.

It took me much longer to finish it than I expected, but was by no means due to the story. Our autumn has been chaotic, and I wasn't able to make time to read as I expected I would be able to.

But I kept reading when I could, and as we settled into a better routine after the wedding, I was able to find much more time. Like in the after-school car line.

I'm really glad I did, too.

As I started Olive Kitteridge, I didn't really know what to expect. It was recommended to me by a writer because of how I described the coffee house book; they thought it would be helpful in writing and revising my draft. (It has been.) But once I really got into it, I was much more pleasantly surprised than I thought I would be.

The biggest surprise to me was in the revelations about the titular character through each chapter. As I read, I thought I knew who Olive was, and then, later, in one chapter, everything I thought I knew about her shifted, and I saw her in a completely different way. That revelation impacted my reading of the rest of the book, and left me in a very different mood than I expected I would be in by the end.

Sorry for the vagueness of this reflection. I really don't want to give anything away because you should read the book yourself. Truly.

Since I finished Olive Kitteridge, it's been sitting on my heart. I'm torn between wanting to keep my experience of reading it just where it is because of the surprise, and wanting to reread it in a few months to see how my reading changes now that I know what I know about Olive.

I had a wonderful literature professor tell me that "literature rewards rereading." I believe wholeheartedly that Strout's novel falls into that category. I believe that if I read it again in a few months, it will be like an entirely different book. I'll see things I didn't see before, and Olive will, indeed, be a different person. Maybe I will be, too. And maybe that's the point.

Making a shift, making a career

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Some time ago, I started taking steps toward a shift in my career. While I was excited about the possibilities and knew it would be beneficial, I was not able to move forward with it at that time.

Fortunately, things have changed, and now I can!

Over the next month or two, I'll be working on getting back into doing marketing content writing again. While I'll still be doing a lot of white papers, one-sheets, and other marketing assets, I will be restructuring the work I do in order to include bigger diversity in content marketing as well as moving into a niche.

I'm not going to get into details quite yet, since there's still a lot to do in order to finalize the plan and launch the business. (Yes, it will be an actual factual business, y'all!) But as we get closer to the launch, I'll definitely be sharing it here, and might do a little (not much) plugging, especially at the beginning.

One of the reasons I'm making this change is because I've been thinking about the longevity of my career. I like what I do right now. The content I write is fun and interesting, and serves me well. But if I stick with what I currently have, I'll be stuck where I currently am. In order to continue advancing my career, I have to take this next (kind of scary) step.

So I'm giving myself a promotion.

Essentially, moving in this direction is a way of branching out, making my work more relevant to the industry, and ensuring that I can continue doing what I love.

I don't know how it's going to go, but it's happening either way. 2016 is going to be an adventurous year.

Sometimes a blogging calendar is just a suggestion

I was going to post last week about Veterans' Day and what it means to me to be the daughter of a veteran. I was going to post this week about the wifey's birthday.

But very very early Tuesday morning last week, my dad called me to tell me my grandfather died, and that kind of derailed things. On top of it, I wasn't able to go up north for the funeral.

So I haven't been blogging the way I intended to last week and this week.

My grandpa was a good guy.

He was from an older generation with old ideals and values. He was born in Kentucky and, as an adult, was a member of a conservative, fundamental Baptist church (that kicked his son out for getting remarried after divorce). He had certain ideas about faith and life and people that made me decide not to come out to him.

Now that he's gone, I don't regret my decision. I wish we lived in a world where it wouldn't have mattered to him that I was gay. And maybe, had I come out to him, it wouldn't have mattered. But judging his reaction to his nephew's relationship with another man all those years ago*, he wouldn't have taken it well.

Now that he's gone, I'm letting myself think about the good memories. I have to, at least for now. So I remember the time I sneaked across the deck so I could dump a bucket of water on him during a water fight. I remember him telling us kids that if we could get his wedding ring off his finger, we could keep it. (My sister got it off once, too!) I remember helping him feed the beagles he bred as hunting dogs for his friends that he let hunt deer and rabbits on his property.

I remember my grandpa fondly. And I will say goodbye in my own way in my own time.

I miss you, Grampy. I carry your memory with me.



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*That's a blog post for another day.

If I had been a son....

When I came out to my dad (about three years ago), one of the things he said to me was that he would not have taken the news as well if it had come from one of my brothers.

I didn't say anything at the time, but since then I think about that statement from time to time.

My dad was raised in a highly patriarchal, conservative Christian family. And when I came out to him, he was raising his stepdaughters in the same environment. So, in giving him the benefit of the doubt, I can try and justify to myself that what he meant by that comment had to do with pride of sons and carrying on the family name and all that kind of thing.

But I know it's not true.

What really emerged in that comment from my father was a testament to this dramatic disparity in the perceptions of same-sex relationships in our society, most notably brought on by the gross glamorized sexualization of lesbians thanks to the porn industry.

Society has made lesbians sexy. Guys want to watch lesbians or "turn them" or join in or whatever, making lesbianism more acceptable than male homosexuality.

It was more okay for my dad that I cam out versus either of my brothers because lesbians are hot and gay guys are gross.

Straight, white, cis male privilege at its finest, ladies and gentlemen.

What it comes down to is that, in our society, straight cis males have determined the "norm" for what is sexually acceptable. Since these men are sexually aroused by women (and more so by women with other women), lesbians are hot. But because these men are not only not aroused but often disgusted by gay men, the result is that homosexual males are not acceptable in society. Gay guys are gross, according to the heteronormative perspective.

So in that one comment, which my dad really intended as a twisted way of showing his support for me coming out to him (read: "I'm not disowning you. But things would be different if you were a boy"), the whole of society was encapsulated.

I was more acceptable because I am a woman. Well, because I am a sexualized object.

It's infuriating, really, to know that the only basis for this acceptance is the sexualization of lesbians for the gratification of straight men. It has nothing to do with who I am as a lesbian, or the desire for equality in society. Instead, it's just that society says lesbians are hot. I, as a sexual object, am acceptable.

But the moment you focus on the humanity of lesbians, we're back to it being sinful and unacceptable. And since men can't objectify other men's bodies the way they do women's bodies, gay men are unacceptable under all circumstances.

And, unfortunately, as long as we live in a society in which women are continually sexualized and objectified, this won't change. It's not about the people who happen to be lesbians, it's about the bodies and what they do with other (female) bodies in their intimate relationships.

Because if I had been a son, I probably would have been disowned in that first conversation.

After a month of marriage....

Bo and I have been married for one month today. There's been a lot going on in our lives, and it has made the month seem to pass more quickly. So here we are, a month after the magical day, and I haven't even written about it.

A. Harris Photography

We held our ceremony at a beautiful outdoor location that is connected to a public golf course. The reception was held in the venue's banquet room.

A. Harris Photography

The weather was perfect: nice, but not hot, and not too bright that we needed sunglasses. And yes, I did wear blue suede t-strap heels with my dress.

A. Harris Photography

We wrote our own vows, and Bo's sister, who is a notary public, performed our ceremony. I'm glad it was someone we knew who could speak to our relationship instead of someone whose ceremony would have been far more generic.

A. Harris Photography

Afterward, we had a beautiful reception indoors. With all the food you could imagine, and our simply delicious cake. The top layer was Boston creme pie (mostly for the kids), and the bottom layer was pumpkin spice with cream cheese filling.

A. Harris Photography

Oh, yeah. We also had a s'more station. It was the kids' favorite. Kind of mine, too.

A. Harris Photography

It was a beautiful day, and I don't think it could have gone any better than it did. After all, what could be better than your very own princess at your wedding? We have memories to last a lifetime, and amazing pictures as evidence.

And now, one month later, we have settled into our routine, and life is good.

Happy, monthiversary, my Bo. I love you.

The things I don't say

When I started this blog in 2008 (I can hardly believe it's been that long!), it was my intention to have it be strictly a writing/reading blog.

Since then, the blog has changed quite a bit. For a while, I wrote about family, my (former) faith, then back to writing and professional topics.

Lately, there's been quite a bit of family on the blog, along with topics that are important to me, like LGBTQ issues, atheism, and living a compassionate, holistic lifestyle.

But there are other things I wish I could blog about that I can't. Don't. Can't. Some of these topics are off-limits because of who they involve. Other topics are off-limits because of what they involve.

But there are ways I can talk about some of things, and so I'm going to start incorporating some of those topics into my blog regularly. I know it will make me feel better to talk about them, and I hope others will read them and find comfort or connection or whatever they need.

Because some topics shouldn't have to be off-limits.

My story is true for me

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I have been called a liar.

I have shared my coming out story to people, and been told it can't possibly be true. That I must be leaving something out or skewing it to make myself look better.Or that I knew all along and was a liar because I married Monty anyway.

But whatever anyone says, my story is true for me.

And it is that truth that I tell.

Now, I'm not saying "my story is true for me" in a way that says I've deluded myself into thinking that the story I tell is true even though it's not. What I mean is that regardless of what people think, assumptions they make, or how they react to what I tell them, my story is true. And for me, that's enough. My story is true for me.

When I made the decision to come out and divorce Monty, there were people who claimed that I knew all along that I am gay. There were people who said I'd married Monty just to get kids, or to get money from him, or whatever else they thought about me. That I'd planned what happened for a long time before I made it happen. But that's not true.

This came up again recently when I was participating in a conversation on Facebook. I shared my story and a stranger decided, based on the limited story I told in the conversation thread, that I was a liar. This person didn't believe that I really had no idea that I was gay until I realized it and came out.

But I didn't.

Here's the thing. My dad is a Baptist. A fundamental independent Baptist. So, growing up, being gay just wasn't really an option. My mom was always more open-minded and progressive, but we never talked about it. And, being raised Baptist, the expectation was that I would grow up, marry a good, Baptist man, and have babies. That was it. It never occurred to me that I might be gay because it never occurred to anyone in my life that there was anything other than being straight for Christians.

Looking back, I can see now that I have always been a lesbian. There were things in my life that I now see as indications of my sexual orientation that I didn't recognize at the time. Some of the things were small. For example, I didn't have a favorite male actor; when friends would talk about male actors they thought were attractive, I'd let others answer before me and pick a name they said. But in those moments, I didn't see those signs for what they were.

Now, of course, I look back and admonish myself for my blindness. How could I have not known? But I didn't.

Eventually, my life changed and was not so restrictive. And it was in this context that the edges of my mind crept toward the center, and I realized that the reason I always felt "wrong" was because I was a lesbian who'd just had a second child with a man I was married to.

That was a hard conversation.

I can't imagine how Monty felt at the time. I know how he reacted, but that was just the inadequate expression of his feelings. Things were very bad between us for quite a while when I came out and told him I wanted a divorce.

Things are better now. We're friends. He even went to my wedding!

No matter how many times I tell this story and am judged for elements that are perceived to be invented, my story is true. This is really and truly how it happened. No matter what anyone else says, this is and always will be the truth. And regardless of what they say, my story is true for me.

The case for "they" as a singular pronoun

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Throughout my education, "they" was always a plural pronoun. My literature teacher seemed to relish pointing out subject-verb agreement in our homework and essays. In fact, she corrected us verbally, as well, over the course of class discussion.

Language was binary.

But life is not.

On Monday, I read an outstanding post from Casey over at Life with Roozle about coming out as genderqueer. She says:

I'm taking up space in this in between, in this neither and both and everything I've always been and everything I want to be. Even though it's terrifying. Even though it changes nothing. Even though it changes everything. That's how language works. It's just language. 

Language is everything. Language defines us even when we don't want it to.

Yes, Casey. Yes, it does. I can't imagine how hard it was for them to write that post, but I'm so, so glad they did.

The problem with language (right now) is that it is molded by people who can sometimes be closed-minded and traditional. They have a very specific perspective of what the world is, and they use language to perpetuate it. When that worldview is binary (particularly in gender constructs), language becomes binary, as well.

He.

She.

And they is relegated to a plural pronoun.

But humanity changes and evolves and develops. Language, by its very nature as an expression of humanity, must change, as well. If society is no longer strictly binary, why is language?

I wholeheartedly support the use of "they" as a gender-neutral singular pronoun. Casey, and others, already prefer they/them/their over gender-specific pronouns. So it makes sense that society accepts this reclamation of language to fit the needs of human expression.

I know that Puck and Tink will likely learn in school that "they" is a plural pronoun and should be used as such. Okay. But when they get home and tell me that, I will let them know that in our non-binary society, some people prefer to be referred to as "they" because not everyone identifies as strictly male or strictly female.

There are shades of purple in our pink-and-blue humanness.



What are your thoughts on "they" as a gender-neutral singular pronoun? Why?

Still here. Still queer. Getting used to it.

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Today is National Coming Out Day. And after almost four years, I'm still coming out.

Though now it's in much more subtle ways, and far less vocal on my part. It's a look of surprise or a double-take from a passing stranger when I'm out in public and take my wife's hand.

It's the I'm-being-polite "Oh. Okay." from friends I rarely talk to when they finally get in touch and hear that I'm in a relationship with a woman.

It's the reminders that happen occasionally from my wife that when people stare, it is she that draws the attention because she doesn't fit what so many people in society think women should be, and if she weren't at my side, people would assume I'm straight.

It used to bother me. As a newly-out lesbian, I wanted to be rid of the straight part of my old life. I am a lesbian, and I wanted people to know it. So I bought some shirts from HRC, cut my hair in a pixie cut, and changed my Facebook profile picture to one of me at a drag show with friends.

Since then, I've let my hair grow back out to chin-length. I still have a shirt from HRC that I wear sometimes. And my profile picture is a beautiful shot from my wedding with Bo. (I wore a dress.) So, if I'm not with my wife, most people probably assume I'm straight.

But it doesn't bother me anymore. I don't care what people I don't know think of me. The people I care about know who I really am, and that's good enough for me. My wife knows who I am, and that's all I need. The munchkins know they have two moms, and they're happy in their life with us.

I think there will eventually be a day in society in which it truly doesn't matter if you're gay, straight, queer, trans, or anything else. You will just be you. Kids won't need to come out to their parents; they'll just bring home someone for their parents to meet.

But until then, I'll keep coming out, and keep not caring that it surprises people.