I’ve decided that I’m not going to try to hold myself to a regular posting schedule. I’m still going to try to get at least one post up each week, but maybe I post it Monday or Friday or whenever.
Hopefully, this will help ease some of the “deadline stress” that I have going on sometimes when committee reports are due and whatnot. It also allows me to give myself permission as it were to not hang onto posts for days and feel like I can’t write about something since the internet moves so fast and something that happened on Sunday, no one wants to read yet another piece about it on Thursday.
Thanks for all your support by stopping by here and reading and even engaging directly with me on what I’ve written.
Most mature people understand that blame is rarely productive. Anyone remotely away of feminist activism around sexual assault has probably heard the term “victim blaming”. Victim blaming generally defined as “when the victim of a crime or any wrongful act is held entirely or partially responsible for the harm that befell them”. It can happen in all sorts ways.
This is a direct continuation of the subjects of my previous two posts. If you need a content warning for sexual abuse of various kinds, this is it.
So let’s continue on with where I left off in my last post:
There’s a strange sort of sick logic to this line of reasoning. But even knowing that the thinking is flawed doesn’t always stop the cyclical nature of the thinking that leads into “I must have deserved this, because I am unworthy of love”.
As I mentioned in my post yesterday, part of what triggered my most recent weeks-long depressive episode was the realization that I had been lying to myself about experiencing another sexual assault. I am going to talk about some of the fallout from that, in terms of my mental health and how that actually ties into my politics and my identification as a feminist. Which in turn, ties into the process of how I came to identify as a woman. Funny how component parts of our identities are still so interrelated. Almost as if we are complete and complex beings.
Obviously, for those of you who feel you need a content warning for in-depth discussions and analysis of emotional and mental trauma as a result of sexual abuse in various forms, this is it.
Sorry for the lack of posts for the past few weeks, dear Readers. I have actually heard from some of you telling me how much they have been missed, which is pretty appreciated. Because I am not a blogger who has a super-specific theme to my posts and because I believe the adage that “the personal is political”, I am going to talk about why I haven’t managed to post.
On Monday, I celebrated six years of recovery. The 12 step fellowship I attend defines “being clean” as abstinence from all mind or mood altering substances, so when I talk about being clean it means from street drugs, alcohol, abuse of OTC/prescription drugs, etc. Six years may sound like a short amount of time to someone who has never dealt with addiction, but when I decided that drugs were destroying my life I was in very different circumstances than currently. While this post can (and will) go hand in hand with a post about mental illness, I also felt the need to express that this is a particular part of my identity which I consider slightly different from other mental illness.
As is tradition around a milestone like this, I am going to share the bit of my story that I tell when speaking at detoxes and treatment centers.
Sorry for the lack of post last weekend. I was preparing for an out of town, weekend-long business meeting and it completely slipped my mind until I was in the car on Friday afternoon!
Since I know you are intelligent people, you likely gathered several things from the title of this post: (1) I have sisters; (2) they have/will have children; (3) I have asked them not to call me “Auntie” or encourage their children to do so; and (4) I have reasons for this that I believe in strongly enough to take the time to explain publicly.
A while ago, I had a brief conversation with an old man who was annoyed at the sidewalks near the medical complex where my psychiatrist practices. He mentioned that the curbs used to be rounded, and that the straight edged sidewalks were a “pain in the butt” to step up/down. Now, I had just stepped up onto the sidewalk and hadn’t thought anything of it. That, my friends, is the very definition of able-bodied privilege.
This isn’t the first time that I have acknowledged that privilege. I have friends who are less physically capable than I, but most of my admonitions for lack of consideration have to do with the pace I walk.
Over the long weekend, I spent what was possibly a shameful amount of time on my couch with my laptop playing escape games. Quite frequently I go through spurts of near obsession with various types of games, music, activities, art projects, or whatever.
I love escape style casual point-and-click games. Because I am a hardcore gamer or whatever, I have spent probably as many hours in the genre as I have spent playing NES games during my childhood. Some games, like the Crimson Room (purported to be the first escape the room game; released in 2004), don’t even particularly bother with any sort of plot. The premise is supremely simple: you are locked in a room and must escape.
Sorry about the lack of post last week! Though I thought I scheduled one, it was brought to my attention on Saturday (by two separate people, you guys are awesome!) that it hadn’t posted. All I can do is promise you, dear readers, that I will double and triple check when I go to schedule a post and hope this doesn’t happen again. Thanks for your patience, and on to today’s regularly scheduled post!
There’s a fairly noticeable divide in my makeup kit as to which products I spend more on than opting for the drug store options: stuff I use daily and stuff I wear when I feel like doing a bit more. Some people do this the other way around and spend more money on their daily items and less on what they wear less frequently, but that strategy hits the pocket book harder because the expensive items are being replaced quicker. Since I don’t use eye shadow daily, I can indulge in that coveted $66 palette, knowing that it is going to last me until I cannot reasonably use it anymore. Harder though, is to justify buying that Kat Von D eyeliner (but oh, how I love that damn eyeliner) for $32 when I basically don’t leave my house without eyeliner.
Our legal justice system has a habit of failing to protect the people most in need of justice.
As mixed as I feel about the fundamental philosophies of countries and patriotism, I also (perhaps hypocritically) love Canada and feel lucky to have been born here. I really want to have faith in the political process and the judicial system that upholds the laws created by our (theoretically fairly) elected representatives. However, just as a downside to democracy is tyranny of the majority, so to a failure of the judicial system is potential tyranny of a certain group of “elite”.