Monday, July 21, 2014

Like Eowyn: #FaithFeminisms

[TW: self-harm discussed.] 

They asked me to write down when I’m happiest. 

Asked that I be honest, real. 

I kind of think they’re not ready, unprepared, mush less wanting my brand of honesty. Exclude the factor that I speak abrasively and rub raw wounds more raw, I have stuff I would say no one particularly cares to hear. People want honesty as long as it isn’t shocking or disgusting to them. And my truth isn’t either but been told that it’s false and therefore ugly. Some bullshit about truth being beautiful and beauty being truthful. 

So, you want me to speak of my happiest, most at peace moments. You want me to speak of the times I feel most safe and home, then let me tell you how I feel most beautiful. Some people have vivid imaginations and I have an ability to visualize and that is where I go to feel beautiful and happy. So, here it goes. 

Don’t be afraid, darling, because this is the only shit I know about myself to be true.

Time I feel most safe and beautiful I see a woman, short blonde hair, wearing a black and white dress with tights and gladiator-esque shoes. I’m not sure if she’s got long blonde hair or a pixie cut. I see a woman with nice curves, slim but not skinny, and has a personality full of beauty. 

Not catching on yet? 

Let me make this simple as all get out: I would prefer. No, not strong enough. I wish to fucking God that I were a woman. I have no clue why that is but it is. I am what I am for no reason and without any seeming causation. Any chance of being male or identifying as such seems inane and false and dumb and terrifying and demanding— 

(I know I could die for identifying as a woman)—

(I’m aware of the attempted suicide stats because I am one)—

(And I know of the high murder rate)—

But—

But I can’t live a lie. 

I spent too many damn years cutting my own body and declaring a fucked up freedom to keep lying to myself. So, if that’s what makes me happy why can’t I be that? I’m scared of every single ideal or thing that tells me that I am not manly enough or that I was born a swear-to-God-on-high man. So, instead, I said I was gay. 

This was close to the truth. 

But I had more awareness of my unhinged womanhood before my bullshit gayness. Eventually I realized the simplest truth of my mortality. That, if I could die for transitioning, and I’ll probably not make it to thirty if I don’t transition in any way, where am I to go? What am I to do? 

I think I’m gonna be a statistic. I’m not sure thirty is likely. Especially when getting to thirty is my only life goal. But if I can’t be the woman I want to be will it even be worth it? Goddamn it. 

I quit.

I have no life goals. I was asked tonight what my goals are and I said, fully honest, I had none. Then I rephrased and said, To make it to thirty. Everyone thought it was funny and I laughed to hide the truth, the not so beautiful truth. But I have no goals, and that’s okay. I fight on. I live on. I continue to exist. I speak my truth because to be a woman in a man's world means shouting till lungs bleed to be heard. I will shout my story and my sisters stories, cisgender or transgender. I will shout of injustice and I will raise a fist and fight back because without fighting I will be silenced and if I am silenced all women will be silenced. 

Stand. Speak. Feminism, Jesus, God, whatever, gave these abilities to you. 

This is my anthem:

I refuse to cut my body anymore, until I need to again. Till I need to cope and function—

I refuse to succumb to bullshit in my own mind— 

I refuse your truth and your ideas and your bible’s—

I write into my soul: woman—

I write and write and write—

No promises made—

Except—

(only promise I can make)—

Like Eowyn, I shout: I am no man. 

--



Sunday, July 20, 2014

Feel: #FaithFeminisms

I remember when I first wore a dress. 
I felt liberated, real, true, even. 
But then I remembered that my feelings were to be viewed skeptically and through sin's omnipotent lens. Sin, I was told, pervades everything we do and that our feelings are particularly susceptible since, well, I actually never heard why this was just that it was. So, I turned rational and tried to think and be very platonic in how I functioned. I did this by reading apologetics, reading Aquinas and other super logical and rational and (seemingly) emotionally cold writers and thinkers. But none of it resonated. It turned into a preaching to the choir within my own head. 
I realized well before accepting my status as a trans woman that I was emotional, a feeler according to Myers-Briggs. I felt more than I thought and the two rage because both are important to me and not mutually incompatible. And then I realized, fuck, the Church is basically screwing women over simultaneously. Because in every discussion I have ever had with men about women's roles in the Church I've heard it said, "They're too emotional/susceptible to things in the wind," and other such nonsense along those lines. So, basically, the Church has told women: you all (always a dangerous statement) are feelers and feel emotion deeply but that's where sin attacks most and is most powerful. So, basically, to be blunt: women you're screwed and need to stay at home because sin over takes you too easily. More blunt: women, you're weak. Even more: women are incapable of rational, "cold" or "objective" thought. This is what the Church taught me. 
To be a woman, then, was to be less. And to be called any type of names associated with femininity, or behavior, was to be lesser and weak. 
I know this because my dad called me a baby and a girl if I cried and got upset and "too pouty". My dad and mom told me to be a man, to know how to be a man, basically that women are there to be sexed. 
And then I realized a truth latent within me: I am a woman. I am a feeler. The latter not because of the former and that I can think clearly too. So, on top of being a a trans woman in the Church and the whole Deuteronomy 23:1 mentality of the Church regarding girls like us, and on top of the murder rate, I was told: you can't be a feeler, you can never ever trust your deepest feelings. 
This is where feminism comes in. Feminism, in caricature and truth, has always been about being strong; being a woman, however the hell you do that. Feminism has always been about how women are human, too. We feel and breathe and think, too (shocker!). But, more importantly, feminism says it's okay to be mad and sad and annoyed. And feminism welcomes me, a trans woman excluded by word and deed from all other places, in. 
Look. I get it. Feminism has connotations which make everyone uncomfortable. But that's only because masculinity is king. And that transphobe Mary Daly was right, "If God is male then male is God." And Christian society is all too guilty of this. 
But there is light. 
There is hope. 
Like when my mentor is a DCE in the Lutheran Church Missouri-Synod and refuses to be a stay at home mom (for now) because she needs to be around people and minister. 
Like when people accept me for who I am and ask for correct pronouns. 
Like when women such as Jes Kast-Keat, Krista Dalton, Sarah Moon, and others are teaching me and redefining what women can do within the Church. Saying, it's okay to be super badass and femme and not so femme and queer and smart as all get out and be a woman, too! 
Like when women in the Church tell their stories unashamedly. 
Like when men step back and let women speak their truths. 
Like when Jesus cries and feels. 
There is hope. Because if Jesus, the embodied God-Man, cries and feels then feelings are not sin tainted and are good. If Jesus feels then we can feel. And I feel okay with that. 
So. Feel, follow your undeceived hearts, know yourself, be brave, be badass, and don't let the patriarchal bullshit get you down. 
#FaithFeminisms