I am a white cis woman in my thirties.
though “cis privilege” for women doesnt really exist; they will always be the target of violence solely for the fact that they are women, unfortunately
Are you fucking joking right now please unfollow this blog oh my fucking god.
are you really going to sit here and tell me that women have privilege?????
Cis women have privilege over trans women. How is this rocket science?
Your statement that women are the target of violence solely for the fact that they are women is correct, but to get “cis privilege for women doesn’t really exist” out of that is bizarre.
Having privilege doesn’t mean that you have no problems. It means that you are treated as more valuable than another group of people, and given access to more resources.
Trans women face more violence than cis women, and are given less access to resources to protect them from violence.
So for you to try to use violence against women as a reason to ignore and erase cis privilege is ignorant and harmful.
You need to back up and check yourself.
I am feeling better. I am powerful, and sometimes graceful. I take pride in weathering these little voyages into the radioactive wasteland of horrified miserable shame and yet continuing to put myself out there, and speak and act with thoughtfulness and realness.
I think that interacting with people is always going to be a journey through that wasteland to some extent but the key is to equip yourself with a little radiation suit and a dune buggy and perhaps a lead-lined thermos of lemonade.
I love myself and I love my friendly followers. If any of you also struggle with this degree of perfectionism, I hope you will also realize that you are powerful and graceful.
I’m starting to see that one of the main ways I rob myself of my own power is by banishing myself to a hell of trembling, writhing, horrified misery whenever I do not meet my own expectations.
It is not easy to stop doing this. There is this little wasteland in my heart where I go and stomp around in the poison ivy and the briars, choking on the sulfur smog. I think this wasteland is the subtraction of the person I feel I ought to be minus the person I actually am,and if I were honest I would see that the latter is actually greater than the former because the former is a hollow fantasy, a perfect and therefore essentially vapid and unreal person. But instead the error I made, which the hollow fantasy person would not have, expands into this incredible apparation, monstrous in proportions yet weirdly resplendent in the minute detail of its grotesqueness. I orbit the error: I dive into it, I run forever through it, I jump and jump to try to jump over the moon of it.
Do I have the courage to try to start walking away from all of that? To realize that the extent to which I am putting myself out there and interacting with people and participating in world-making in my little corner of the world, is the extent to which I will always, over and over again, be brought face to face with my own realness?
I’m going to try.
Hyper. Hyper piper sniper viper. I slept poorly last night. I feel a million tongues of energy in my hair like Medusa, and random images are starting to appear as deep wells of meaning. It means I need to take the day very, very gently.