Can We Allow People to Change?

I read this article today about the newly unearthed recording from 2015 of Michael Bloomberg vigorously supporting stop and frisk policies, and it gave me pause. Not because it changes my perspective on him as a candidate. I’m not for him, though I can’t say I’m against him either. That’s not the point. This post isn’t really about him. What caught my attention is how difficult we find it to accept that people can change, to allow room for imperfection.

Based on what I’ve read, and this is referenced in the article I mentioned, Bloomberg issued an apology for his past policies before he even entered the presidential race. We can question the depth and sincerity of this apology in light of his preparation to join the race to become president, and that could be a legitimate conversation. I am concerned though that we don’t allow space for these conversations, particularly within the progressive community. We seem to have great difficulty accepting and believing that people can change, and that they sometimes say and do things we don’t like, that may seem unenlightened or go against our values. And by denying that possibility, or seriously questioning it, we end up losing good leaders. We effectively hurt ourselves and our causes because we demand perfection of everyone who steps into leadership. And perfection is impossible. No individual, political candidate or otherwise, has an unblemished past. I fear that we sacrifice the good in our demand for the perfect.

I think of my own life. If I were judged by the life I lived prior to my public transition, I’m quite sure I would be excluded from many circles. I lived in the world as a conservative white evangelical Christian male and as such I supported things that now I would absolutely eschew. Am I to be judged by who I was, or by who I am? More accurately, by who I am becoming, because even now I am imperfect. I am flawed. I make mistakes. I say things without thinking them through. And I probably hold views that don’t meet someone’s litmus test of “wokeness.” Does that exclude me from contributing to positive change in this world?

I come, as mentioned, from a background in conservative evangelical American Christianity. That subculture has a great fondness for “Statements of Faith” – lists of what a particular group believes, to which one must express adherence in order to belong to that group. That world existed in black and white, and there was precious little room for grey. When I left that culture I didn’t expect to find myself back in a world that likes to paint everything in black and white. Yet I too often encounter this in the progressive circles I now run in. These circles have their own statements of faith, though they are often unwritten and the only way to know what they contain is when you violate one of the tenets, at which point you will be excoriated (called out) for your lack of awareness and shamed for your ignorance. I dare say I experienced more grace in those conservative evangelical circles than I have often seen demonstrated in progressive groups.

We live in a messy, imperfect world. Things are rarely black and white. Issues are rarely as simple as we like to portray them. People make mistakes. Sometimes they change. Our pasts alone do not dictate who we are. If we don’t allow room for imperfection and growth, we will lose too many good people. I’m not saying that we don’t hold people accountable for what they have said and done. I am saying that we have to recognize that people, and issues, are far too complex to reduce them to black and white, right or wrong, good or bad. I’m grateful that my friends have given me the chance to become someone different. I’m grateful that they allow me room to continue to grow and learn, to make mistakes and to be messy and imperfect. I cannot be anything but. Can we allow that of others?

An Inspiring Woman

I am grateful for the many women who inspire me. I am fortunate to know many of them, to be surrounded by them in fact. Today I think in particular of one of them: Fern Karsten, whom I always referred to as my Aunt Fernie. Today would have been her 96^th birthday. She wasn’t really my aunt. She was my maternal grandmother’s sister, so I guess that would have made her my Great Aunt. But I always knew her as Aunt Fernie and so she shall always remain in my memory. Strictly speaking she wasn’t even “related” to me by way of blood, since my mother was adopted. That never mattered to Fernie. My parents, siblings and I were always family to her, which is one of the things I cherish about her. She modeled what it means to be family. It’s not about blood. It’s about the heart.

Fernie and my youngest child, May 1999

Although I’m sure she was an active presence early in my life, my earliest memory of Fernie came when I was 6 years old. Our family flew to Oregon to visit her for summer vacation. She took us to the Oregon Coast and planted the seeds of my love for the Coast that remains to this day, even when it is now quite remote. She spoiled my siblings and I, at least mildly. I remember her buying me a little stuffed animal skunk (why I wanted a skunk, I do not remember) which I very creatively named Skunky. (Creative names were not my strength. I had a pink stuffed animal that was named – you guessed it – Pinky. In fact I still have Pinky.)

When I graduated from high school, Fernie was there. As an undergraduate I attended college in Seattle, and her apartment in Portland became my second home, the place I would retreat to on longer breaks because it wasn’t feasible to fly back to Denver every time. I would hop on the train in downtown Seattle and she would meet me at the station in Portland. Often she would have arranged for us to go out to the Coast for a day or two. Of course she attended the wedding as a member of the family. After I married and while we still lived in Seattle, my spouse and I would frequently visit her, always one of our favorite little getaways. Fernie always made me feel welcome and loved.

Family is not about blood.

It's about the heart.

From my birth until late in her life, Fernie lived in the same 2-bedroom apartment in the Hollywood district of Portland, with a view towards downtown and the hills behind the skyscrapers. She always referred to her apartment complex as the “rabbit hutches” because she thought that’s what they looked like from the street. When Portland built the MAX line, her apartment ended up located just a block away from the Hollywood station, making downtown and points beyond easily accessible. I expect her apartment would command a hefty rent these days, if it hasn’t been entirely redeveloped. Her home was simple, cozy, and always comfortable. Gemütlich, the Germans would say, which is appropriate because the Karstens were of German heritage.

As I reflect on Fernie and her life from the point I am at now, I think of her as a bold, strong woman. Born in 1923 as the youngest of 12 children, she grew up in a small town in rural Nebraska. She never married and, to my knowledge, never went to college. During World War II she moved to Washington D.C. and worked in some capacity in the war effort. When she returned to Nebraska she settled in a larger town and took my mom under her wing, providing a second home for her where my mom could be introduced to a somewhat larger world than was available to her in her smaller hometown. At some point in the Sixties Fernie moved west to Portland, where she would spend the rest of her life. I admire her for independence, especially at a time when being a single, strong, independent woman was not the norm. She didn’t strive to fulfill the expectations of her society. She set her own path. While she had the usual complaints about life, I never heard her voice disappointment with things that she didn’t have, such as a partner, a better job, or more money. That’s not to say she didn’t feel those things. I don’t know. That was not something she shared freely, even when I became an adult. But from her demeanor and her actions, I believe that she was happy and content. She created the life she wanted and she lived it to the fullest. In that she inspires me and sets an example I want to emulate.

My children had the opportunity to know Fernie, though not to the degree that I was able to. She adored them as much as she adored myself and my siblings. Because we lived overseas she didn’t get to see them often, especially after their earliest years. The last time they saw her, her health had declined and she had moved to an assisted living facility in Salem, Oregon. She still had enough health to recognize and enjoy them, but not the energy to actively engage with them as she had with me when I was young. That’s natural of course. By that time she was in her 80s. I’m so glad that they got to know her at least a little bit. I never really knew my great-grandmothers at all.

Fernie died in May 2008, just a short time before I would return from overseas for a year, so I missed her passing and her funeral. I regret that to this day. She hasn’t been present during the journey of self-understanding I’ve been on the past few years. I wish she were. There are so many things I’d like to ask her, so many lessons I think I could learn from her as a single woman in my 50s. I don’t know whether she would accept me. I choose to believe that she would, though she’d probably have to do some work to get to that point. I think her deep love for me and her warm, welcoming nature would overcome any biases she developed from the time and space she grew up in. Fernie had an expansive heart – another thing that I hope I emulate.

I never got to say good-bye to Fernie. Perhaps this post is my way of doing so. I love you Fernie. Thank you for setting such a powerful example. I hope that my life honors yours. Your legacy lives on.

Phoenix Rising

Tomorrow will be my 50^th birthday. Not surprisingly, this has me in a rather introspective mood. Half a century. That’s a few trips around the sun. Enough time to gain some wisdom and to realize how much more I still have to learn. Enough time to make a few mistakes and, hopefully, learn from them. Enough time to experience significant joy, along with deep grief. To begin to understand this circle of life, but by no means to fully comprehend it.

I don’t feel like I’m 50. I don’t really know what 50 is supposed to feel like. From the narrative my culture promotes I think I’m supposed to be well over the hill and heading into decline. I’m supposed to be going to sleep at 8 PM, staying home and watching reruns of Golden Girls, or something like that. That certainly doesn’t describe me, nor do I want it to (and if it does describe you, no judgment here). I feel more alive and energetic than at any time in my life. I feel like life has only begun. I am embracing life with a zest that I lacked for all the prior years. I might stay out till 2 AM on the dance floor. Or I might explore new expressions of spirituality. I might go on a new adventure. The world is open before me. I am finally myself and able to live in the world from that place of authenticity. It’s beautiful. Not always easy. In fact, it comes with a hell of a lot of tears. Still, it’s beautiful. I feel more whole than I ever have. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see a woman who is past her prime. I see a woman who is only coming into it.

As part of my celebration of life, I got my first tattoo last weekend. I’ve been thinking about doing so for some time and finally had the courage to act on that intention, spurred in part by the encouragement and support of a couple awesome ladies I know. This tattoo seems particularly appropriate as I enter the second half-century of my life. A person who knows me saw it and asked what the significance of it was. I was rather dumbfounded. While by no means a close personal friend, this man has been around me long enough that I would have thought the significance was totally clear. Maybe he’s not the only one. Allow me to clarify.

The phoenix reminds me of the journey I have been on the past several years. I have risen from the ashes of the person I once was and the life I once knew to create a new life, to claim my true identity, to radiate that life and energy to the world around me as I shine forth the divine feminine within me. It is a symbol of rebirth, of new life. And therefore central to my understanding of myself. I did not arrive at the place I am today, on the eve of turning 50, without sacrifice, grief, and loss. I have been through the flames. And I have come out re-formed, stronger, more confident, more wholehearted. Every time I see this image on my arm I am reminded of this truth and of the courage it has taken me to come this far. I can draw on that to summon the courage to keep going. This journey is far from over. I may be 50 by the count of tours around the sun, but my life has only just begun.  

#Phoenixrising#

Emotional Labor

I was recently invited to participate in a class at the University of Arizona College of Law. In the class, students would be learning to apply empathic listening to help them design systems solutions to difficult situations. The class was given a specific scenario to frame the exercise. The scenario involved the Campus Republicans and a campus Christian group inviting Mike Pence to deliver a keynote speech on the university campus. The campus LGBTQ community was not happy with this invitation and wanted the university to block the speech, promising protests if it was allowed. The campus climate was particularly tense in the scenario due to the recent murder of two transgender students. With this scenario in mind, the students were to divide into two groups and ask questions of an informant from one of the two communities in order to understand how they felt about the proposed speech and, more importantly, why. This involved trying to understand underlying and background values and concerns that shaped each informant’s perspective. Based on what they learned from that process, they were to brainstorm systemic solutions that could change the impending conflict into a more productive outcome. For the class activity, I would naturally be the informant concerning the LGBTQ community. The head of the College Republicans would be the informant concerning the other side of the issue.

I accepted the invitation freely and voluntarily, knowing the proposed scenario. When I learned who the other informant would be, I felt more anxious, because I pictured in my mind an image of a certain type of Republican, the type who would be a loudmouthed Trump supporter, probably a frat boy, white, aggressive, belligerent. I wasn’t eager to deal with that type of individual, even though the class structure wouldn’t require us to verbally interact. As the class drew near, I became increasingly anxious, recognizing that this class could prove to be quite triggering, and that at the very least it would require me to practice vulnerability and to perform emotional labor as I educated a group of law students on life as a transgender woman. I have done this type of work before, and I choose to do so willingly, because I see great value in educating and informing others. But I’m understanding better each time the emotional impact this has on me, and the need to take measures to care for myself before, during, and after the interaction.

On the evening of the class, I checked in with a couple friends before driving to campus. I arrived a few minutes early, mostly so I could find the classroom and to allow myself to be in the space for a few minutes before things got started. When I entered the room Matt, the head of the College Republicans, and the lead professor were already there. We chatted briefly and in the process I mentioned that I was no longer teaching German and Russian because my school had not found me to be an acceptable teacher after I came out. Matt responded in a way that clearly indicated that he found that to be wrong, and that he accepted me for who I am, as I am. That helped significantly lower my internal anxiety concerning the evening ahead. Matt did not fit my stereotype of a College Republican in most aspects. He was white and, as far as I am aware, cisgender and heterosexual, but he was thoughtful, open-minded, and willing to engage in respectful dialog. He was young, and perhaps offers hope for what the future of that party might be like. I could see myself sitting down to coffee with him to discuss issues, even knowing that we might disagree strongly on key issues.

The class turned out to be quite small, just 8 students and one community member, because apparently the class is open to the community as well. The 4 students who worked with me turned out to be very thoughtful, sensitive, and if any of them held any objections to who I am, they refrained from allowing that to come out in any way. We ended up having a very open, candid conversation and they gained some understanding and perspective on why, in this specific scenario, a transgender woman like myself would not welcome a speech by Mike Pence. At the end of class, as both sides reviewed and discussed their ideas and suggestions, Matt and I were invited to share our feelings concerning the proposals, now that we had heard and seen what the “other side” had identified. We were pleased to find that we had some similar thoughts and ideas, and there was a willingness on the side of the conservative community as embodied in Matt to engage proactively and constructively with the LGBTQ community, even to the point of considering a different speaker. That surprised me.

The class ended up being a much more positive experience than I had anticipated. I appreciated the two professors who led the class that night: Mary and Stacy. They cultivated an environment of open, healthy, engaged, and respectful conversation. I did not feel in anyway demeaned, dismissed, or tokenized. Nonetheless, it was still an act of emotional labor and I left feeling drained. Thankfully I was able to talk with a couple of friends after returning home and process the experience with them. I am grateful for the several friends who offered their time when I shared with them that I would be participating in this experience. They are my family, the ones I know have my back when I need support.

The only aspect of the evening that felt uncomfortable in the end was the presence of the community member. He hovered on the edge of my group part of the evening and his mannerisms and general aura left me feeling uneasy. It wasn’t a concern that he would cause me direct physical harm. It was more a sense that he was looking for material to use against me and my community. He bore a namebadge identifying him as being with a group called Liberty Watch. Later I looked them up online and found a pretty wacky conservative/libertarian group. I’d like to say harmless, but I’m not at all convinced of that. In interacting with another professor afterwards I heard that this individual was actually pretty unlikely to hold my identity against me, that his issues were with other things. Still, his presence did impinge on my feeling of emotional safety in the classroom. He only really spoke one time, at the very end of the class, to make a ridiculous statement about the best solution to the issue being to have Mike Pence and a member of the trans community resolve the conflict in the boxing ring, thereby allowing free market forces and the natural inclination toward conflict to come into play. He and I would have some deep philosophical differences in that regard.

I believe strongly in the value of situations like this classroom experience. I believe in creating dialog and forming relationships as the best way to reduce the barriers that separate and divide us. But I recognize that this is inherently risky, vulnerable, and laborious for those of us in minority communities. I don’t demand or expect that every minority person engage in this type of work. I choose to do so myself because I feel like I can do it. It does drain me, but I won’t let that stop me. I am learning how to better care for myself around these types of engagements. I am also affirming to myself that I don’t have to accept every opportunity like this. It is not my duty or responsibility to inform and educate. When I am willing and able though, it is a tremendous chance to change the narrative of our society in regards specifically to the transgender community, as well as in larger ways. This is a key part of my chosen work and an important way in which I use my voice.

Uncomfortable?

Last week I wrote about my experience dealing with Tempest du Jour, a popular local drag queen. I also questioned the allyship of those organizations and individuals who choose to stick with her despite the message this sends to the transgender community. I have challenged cisgender white gay male privilege. And I’ve felt pushback because of this. I’ve had people contact me to say that this is not the Tempest they know. I’ve seen posts in which people have spoken that their character speaks for itself. Which doesn’t really surprise me. We have seen this line of argument before in some very high-profile incidents in the last year or two. People denounce those pointing out problematic behaviors (or worse) on the basis that “so-and-so would NEVER do that. I know them.” In this way the harmed individual becomes the one to blame for raising the accusation and has their voice silenced and marginalized. The initial trauma is magnified and multiplied.

It is possible for someone to have problematic behaviors that are not visible to everyone, especially to those who are not affected by it. To point to a very high-profile situation, many people came to the character defense of Brett Kavanaugh, despite the bold testimony of Christine Blasey Ford. When you choose to believe what you “know” about a person in the light of testimony to the contrary, you silence the voices of those that most need to be heard. Which happens most often to those more marginalized than the accused individual or group. There is a huge power imbalance at play in these situations. It certainly influenced the decision by the Tucson Interfaith HIV/AIDS Network (TIHAN) to retain Tempest as their hostess because she brings in a lot of their fundraising, which is clearly far more important than hearing, believing, and standing in solidarity with the transgender community. After all, what does the trans community offer TIHAN?

I have also heard from others who attest to seriously problematic behaviors by Tempest over an extended period of time. These individuals are afraid to speak out, because they have been bullied for so long by Tempest and her supporters that they are traumatized. I can’t blame them. Challenging those in positions of prominence and power is always risky, difficult, and further traumatizing. I know now that the behavior I have seen from Tempest in and following the comedy show is not entirely an outlier. This doesn’t mean that Tempest cannot also do good things. It just means that there are problematic issues that must be addressed rather than ignoring them for the sake of the “good” she can do for the community. When that good comes at the expense of marginalized people, then we must question whether it is worth it.

I don’t know Tempest personally, but I do know Scott Blades, Executive Director of TIHAN. I will attest that he is a man of integrity. He’s also a man who can be wrong. He is a man who can be blind to his own privileges. I recognize that gay men have fought and continue to fight their own marginalization. I do not discount that history at all. But that history does not exempt them from owning their own issues. One’s own marginalization does not give one a pass on marginalizing others less powerful than oneself. It doesn’t give a pass on misogyny. It doesn’t excuse transphobic words and actions. It doesn’t excuse racism. Yet I see this attitude being expressed. It can happen within any marginalized group. Our challenge within the LGBTQ community is to critically examine our own behaviors, words, and choices. We must be willing to hear difficult feedback and rumble with it. We can’t just retreat into self-righteously defending our impeccable characters. That will not transform and dismantle the oppressive power structures that enslave us all. If we are willing to give a pass on problematic behaviors simply because somehow it benefits the “greater good,” how are we any better than those we take issue with in the larger society?

I try to own my own shortcomings, although I most certainly don’t like to. I want to resist, deny, retreat into self-justification. I’ve been called out for words and actions on my part, and it was quite uncomfortable and painful. And walking through that discomfort, acknowledging the harm and hurt I caused were essential to creating opportunity for resolution, healing, and growth. This entire situation could have been resolved months ago had Tempest du Jour been willing to humbly acknowledge her error and offer a sincere apology to those she harmed – the transgender and gender non-conforming community. She still has not done that, so the harm continues to multiply. TIHAN pointed to an apology she offered on her personal (not performance persona) profile. Except those of us offended by her words do not hear a true apology in what she wrote. Only the community harmed has the right to determine whether a sincere apology has been extended. Until I hear that apology, I will continue to speak out on behalf of myself and my community. If being challenged on your behavior makes you uncomfortable, then I invite you to sit in that discomfort and reflect on it. Then resolve to change.

This is Not Allyship

In February of this year I did my first ever stand up comedy set, and it was an amazing experience. I didn’t write about it at the time because, unfortunately, the event ended on a quite negative note whose effects continued to intrude into my life for weeks to come. Eventually the ripples calmed and the internal tension I felt as a result subsided. Until recently, when new provocations awakened them once again.

I have refrained from writing about what happened because I prefer to address things on a personal, direct level whenever possible, as I tried to do in this situation. However, I feel like my efforts to respond in this way have reached a stand still. No, worse, I feel that my voice as a woman, and in particular as a transgender woman, have been disregarded by those involved, who have preferred to stand with someone who can boost their status and profile and bring money and recognition to their organization. And I call bullsh*t on that.

The problem began with the final act of the show in February. The show, called the Estrogen Hour, highlights female comics and raises money for the Leukemia society. In that particular February show, the closer was a high profile local drag queen name Tempest Du Jour. Part way into her set, which included jokes about mental health and body size as well, she launched into a series of “jokes” about trans people. I couldn’t believe my ears. The jokes were inappropriate in any context, especially from someone who bills herself as a leader in the LGBTQ community. That they came after two openly transgender/non-binary comedians, including myself, had already performed, made them particularly tasteless. My friend and I got up and walked out in protest. Afterwards the organizer of the show came up to me in the lobby and asked if I was okay. I told her that I was most definitely not okay, that Tempest’s jokes were deeply offensive. She responded that she was sorry but that she couldn’t control what the comedians in the show chose to say. Later she posted a picture of herself and Tempest with a glowing caption.

I do not know Tempest, or the individual who plays that role, personally. I shared what had happened with other members of the trans community who did have personal contact with her. Through private messages we communicated the deep offense she had caused to our community. The response we received was rude, dismissive, and entirely unapologetic. She issued pseudo-apologies about being sorry “if someone was offended” and told us to get thicker skins. She chose to play the role of victim. She pointed to her status as a “leader” in the LGBTQ community. She claimed she couldn’t be anti-trans because, after all, she once had a trans boyfriend. Rather than respond with a willingness to listen, apologize, and learn, she chose to blame the trans community for attacking her.

When it became clear that no sincere apology was coming, members of the community along with key cisgender allies started communicating our concerns with local organizations who had relationships with Tempest. She was slated to host a high profile LGBTQ fundraising event the following week. When the problematic nature of having a host who had offended the trans community and refused to acknowledge the problem was brought to the attention of the event organizers, they chose to remove her from the event and replace her on extremely short notice. In the coming weeks, other organizations similarly removed her, standing in solidarity with the trans community at the potential expense of their fundraising efforts. This is allyship. Tempest responded with further statements of victimhood, but still no acknowledgement of the underlying problem.

The issue then quieted down for a time, until in June when I noticed a post on social media by the leader of another local organization that works with those with HIV. This post praised Tempest as a leader in the LGBTQ community. I reached out privately to the organization’s leader and shared what had happened, letting him know the deeply problematic nature of Tempest’s response, which at this point is more significant than the original jokes. This individual thought about it, then asked me if I would meet personally with Tempest. I declined, because doing so would be to retraumatize myself, and I did not feel like the goal of the meeting was true reconciliation. Rather, it was viewed as an attempt to bring equally aggrieved parties together. But without an apology, there can be no attempt at reconciliation. This is not a situation where both sides are in an equal situation.

Then, just two weeks ago, I heard again from the leader of the organization, informing me that he and his organization were going to have Tempest host their major fundraising event again this year and that he hoped I would understand the reasons for doing so. I initially responded that in this case there was no way I would be attending the event. After reflecting further on it overnight, I wrote further that I felt like I was being gaslighted, that my word as a woman concerning what had transpired earlier in the year was not being believed. It did not have the same credibility as the word of a cisgender gay male, the person behind the persona of Tempest. They preferred to support Tempest because they valued the relationship with her and the money she could bring to their organization more than their allyship with the trans community. The director of the organization took offense at my calling out this gaslighting and marginalizing of my voice as a trans woman. His response reflected the response received from Tempest when she was initially confronted with the problematic nature of her jokes.

A conversation occurred between SAGA and the organization. The board of the organization followed this meeting with an email that was remarkable in its tone-deafness to the deeper issues. They expressed that they felt it was only “fair” to invite Tempest to share her perspective with the board, but that regrettably there was not adequate time to do that before the event (even though I had made the director aware of the issue two months prior.) Nor was I or others directly involved invited to speak directly to their board (It was assumed I would come as a member of the SAGA delegation.) The burden is being placed on me and the trans community to peacefully resolve the issue, rather than on the one who perpetrated the offense in the first place.

The board email also leaned strongly on the financial impact of Tempest’s presence at the event, indicating that the organization cared more about the potential loss of funding than the statement her presence makes to the transgender community. They tried to balance this with statements about how they serve everyone under the LGBTQ tent. I have no doubt that they would not discriminate in their services to trans people with HIV. But their response, and a similar response directly from the director to an individual who wrote expressing their concerns about Tempest’s presence, indicate that the organization and its leadership remain blind to their bias and privileges, and place greater value on the voices of those they perceive to be more powerful and influential.

I have been deeply involved in this conversation from the very beginning. I have sought to raise and resolve issues privately, but it has reached the point for me where I feel like my voice is not being respected in this conversation. I was at the original event. I have seen the emails. I have seen the “apologies” posted by Tempest. I have not sought to hide my identity in this issue. Tempest has blocked me from her social media, and the person behind her persona has not acknowledged me directly in any way. I have been accused to seeking to destroy her career. I am not attempting to destroy anyone’s career. I am, however, stating that you cannot claim to be an ally of the LGBTQ community if you are willing to throw the T part of that community under the bus for the sake of your career or your fundraising. That is not allyship. What I have seen so far is an exercise in white cisgender gay male privilege that refuses to acknowledge its own biases and privilege. And I will no longer let that pass unchallenged. For us to be a strong, united, LGBTQ community, we need to be able to have the hard conversations. We need to be able to sit in the discomfort of being called in for our words and behaviors that offend others. This applies to me as well. When I’m invited to that kind of conversation, I’m willing to join. Until then, don’t ask me to sit at a table of reconciliation that isn’t about acknowledging the harm done by one’s insensitivities.

Peace out.

My Home

I like a good meme, one that captures some aspect of human existence or expresses a truth that resonates (or a good humorous one!). I return to this one somewhat regularly.

If we think of our lives as a series of interconnected stories that form one large narrative, we can see various chapters that help define it. Like any good novel, parts of the plot will carry over from one chapter to another, but there come points when there is a clear and significant change in the setting, the action, the characters, or some combination of these. As the creators of our own narratives, sometimes we resist the urge to bring a particular chapter to a close, even when we sense that the time has come to do so. Letting go may feel too difficult, or the outline of the next chapter too uncertain. But as the meme reminds us, until we stop re-reading, or dragging out the previous chapter, we cannot move on to a new one.

I wrote earlier this year about letting go of various things in my life. One of those was the nest I had lived in for the past 3 years. I was very fortunate when I divorced and came out publicly that my brother graciously allowed me to rent a townhome he owned here for rate I could afford at the time. It allowed me to get on my feet and establish myself financially and socially, at a time when things were pretty rough for me. I don’t know how I would have made it through that time without that. My youngest child continued to live with me there, after a very brief period of living with their aunt and uncle. While happy to provide a nest for them to transition from high school into adulthood, their presence in the living space impacted my ability to create the home environment I desired for myself. Last summer my oldest child also moved in with me. I was delighted to welcome her home after several years of living apart, but adding her to the mixture shifted the environment still further from what I wanted and needed for myself. As time progressed, I recognized that I needed to change this situation, for my sake as well as theirs.

But I hesitated. The townhome was a good living space in many aspects. It was comfortable and convenient. It felt safe. At the same time, the energy within that space drained me, inducing a sort of low level stress at most times that robbed me of peace. I sat in this tension for quite some time. Inertia was easier than making the decision to disrupt the status quo for myself and my children, even if that status quo was not what I really wanted for myself. I kept rereading the previous chapter, not willing to step out boldly and start the next one.

Until this spring, when I finally took that step. Encouraged and supported by my closest friends and in conversation with my therapist, I acted on the intention I had in mind for a long time. I told my children that they would be needing to find new living arrangements for themselves and proceeded to find a place of my own. I located a comfortable little apartment, signed a lease, and moved in at the end of June. It’s in the same complex where one of my closest friends and her mom live, so I have chosen family as part of my community.

I’m delighted to have this space, to create the environment and atmosphere I want for myself, to enjoy a home that I want to be in and where I want to welcome my friends. Yet it has not been easy starting this new chapter. This is the first time I have lived on my own in my entire life. I married while still in college and spent my entire adult life living with family. This is a big adjustment for me, especially as someone who is highly social. Frankly, it feels scary at times. When I got my keys the first day, I walked through my new home and felt the weight of its emptiness and the grand adventure I was embarking on. And I cried in the face of it. Thankfully the friend who was with me wrapped me in a warm embrace, welcomed the tears and breathed confidence and peace into myself and my new home.

Now that I have moved my things in and begun to get settled, the initial anxiety is subsiding and the positive energy of starting a new chapter is becoming more pronounced. This is the beginning of a new chapter for me, with new possibilities and opportunities. It’s a blank page, waiting to be written, as one of my favorite songs says. I don’t know yet what this chapter holds, but I am excited to write it and am grateful for this new space that will form a key part of it. For the first time in my life, this is MY home and I look forward to shaping it into the space I want it to be.