A Body, Divided

 

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The first time I met a transgender person, I wanted to take her home. I wanted to teach her how to walk in high-heeled boots, and I wanted to tell her that young women do not wear tank tops in Virginia winter.

I don’t remember this classmate’s name, but I do recall how others looked at her. I can only imagine how often she wished she were invisible. And yet, she persisted – with her hormone drugs, with her disheveled attempt at feminine beauty, and with her confidence.

In many ways, I envied the guts it took to live her life. But I always wondered, where was her safe place?

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A Holiday Fast

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This year for Thanksgiving, I felt compelled to undertake a 3-day social media cleanse. It was an experiment of sorts to understand how the impacts of Facebook, news media, and even this blog shape my relationships and overall emotional state. Earlier this fall, I confronted my own addiction and was hopeful that a Thanksgiving fast would prepare my heart for the holiday season. In truth, I originally sought for my information purge to last an entire week, but I am a scholar rooted in reality – I actually wanted to meet my goal.

What changed?

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Deep Waters

Waters

It all began with a phone call. The climax, that is.

Unsurprisingly, my husband and I had forgotten to re-enroll ourselves in a health insurance plan for the upcoming year. It was approximately 4:48 p.m. this past Friday when my husband desperately took action to beat the deadline. He called me with an urgent tone to obtain our daughter’s social security number in order to complete the process.

For the average person, such a request seems minor; to the mother on the verge of an emotional breakdown, however, this is enough to wage a war.

Where is her card? Oh, no, I can’t find her card…

[Cue wailing newborn and insert curious, no-personal-space toddler here]

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Untold Stories

Story

“What’s that?”

“What you doin’, Mommy, what you doin’?”

“I like it!”

My son is so full of questions and statements that my newborn-fog brain is finding it difficult to keep pace. Every day with my inquisitive toddler produces a new adventure to be experienced and a new story to be told.

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Take Off Your Mask and Follow Me*

Statesboro

I live in a small Southern community and every day is a masquerade. When my husband and I moved here a little over two years ago, we were greeted with some very personal questions: “When do you think you’ll leave?” and “Wait, you bought a house?” Additionally, we received some unsettling advice: “You will never fit in here” and “Don’t raise your children here”.

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