Where 2019 Took Me

Here's the tea: the decade challenge is too dense for me because I'm in my late teens. Of course a lot has changed since 2009 because I went through (and survived) puberty.

Good meme, good meme.

As I close the door on my third semester at Luther and lounge alone in my couch until my parents get home from their adult jobs, I write this blog in attempt to not rewatch the last season of Schitt's Creek or eat all of the cookies left over from my mom's birthday party. Merry Christmas everyone.

I stay active on social media, but I close of many parts of my life to the world. It's not because I'm busy (although that doesn't help). Many aspects of my life are painful to talk about.

Yes, I know the old phrase "It's not about how many times you fall down, but how many times you get back up." But 2019 has been a slippery set of stairs. I've progressed beyond the points where I fell, but I still feel my bruises with every step.

I felt unreasonably insecure when the people around me had different experiences than I did. Either I was behind on something that happened at different times for everyone, or I was a worse person because of something I had no control over.

The ways I differ from many people in my environment are the following:

- religious upbringings
- decisions to continue religious practice or not
- romantic relationships/sexual experiences or lack thereof
- relationships with our parents
- relationships with our friends from high school
- use of alcohol or drugs
- medical needs
- view of how intelligent we are
- political views
- socioeconomic status
- gender and sexual orientation
- personality
- body image
(most importantly)
- combinations of how all of these shape our lives

When I started writing this post, I had been kicking myself for not "getting everything out of my college experience" because I hadn't partied as much as my friends in the year ahead of me or that I hadn't had a relationship since last May while my classmates are getting engaged. This semester will also be the first time I have gotten anything below – here it is – an A- since eighth grade.

All of these things that make me stumble continue to catapult my simple reflection into a fundamental attribution spiral. Maybe I'm not in a relationship because of the weight I've gained or how my hair hasn't achieved "maximum femininity." Maybe I don't talk to my classmates from high school because of how isolated I feel in terms of my sexual orientation and political views.

Now I want to tell you how I got out of it.

Over the last year, I've been talking to my friends for whom I originally had romantic interest (bear with me). What sucks is that I never really thought to ask why things didn't work out the way I thought they did or why they decided to continue a platonic relationship. Like anyone else, I was afraid of the answer. Whether I've asked or the conversation naturally progressed in this direction, the crazy thing is that I found a common denominator of why they wanted to be my friend. The conversations usually have these elements: "It's because I think you're cool."

"I'm COOL? *weird laughter* Well then I tricked you, because you are surely mistaken..."

"You seem so confident. You  own every (weird) thing about you. At the same time, you try to lift people up and help them see how they're cool."

"Because you are cool. You're a baller,"–I didn't say that because I'm a white choir kid, but that's how I thought to summarize my thoughts.

"You'll get to that person or those people that want that feeling all of the time, and they'll hold onto you."

I want to address my fellow college cohorts and prospective students: what makes you different does not make you wrong or right. It also doesn't make you better or worse. The people that you will encounter and will inevitably never see again after a certain point won't remember you in a positive or negative light solely because of how you vote, who you do or don't date, or how you look. They remember you for being the person that you are and how you become the person you were meant to be. That person is always going to be so uniquely you that it feels isolating. But people are going to like it. It took me a few years to understand, but great things are going to happen to you in your own time.

Why pronouns outside of he/she are so incredibly valid ❤️

PC: Charlie Langton

Matt Walsh, an influencer who credits himself as a voice for the young, religious right, posted a blog on the DailyWire with this title: "You Get Your Own Name. It Can Be Whatever You Want. But You Don’t Get Your Own Pronouns." His rationale can be summarized in these points.

1. The new pronouns such as "ze" are fabricated and make no coherent sense. Pronouns other than he/she are grammatically incorrect.
2. People don't use pronouns when they speak directly to a person, so the concept of using correct pronouns does not make sense anyway.
3. People genetically don't exist outside of male or female, so there is no reason to use these pronouns anyway.

He claims that the reason that he argues these points is, "Nobody can provide any proof for any of these claims or any coherent answers to any of the questions I have posed. We are supposed to just accept their assertions, however incoherent, and timidly cooperate as they mutilate our language and make nonsense out of everything." (https://www.dailywire.com/news/walsh-you-get-your-own-name-it-can-be-whatever-you-want-but-you-dont-get-your-own-pronouns/?fbclid=IwAR1HCp4ilYObwYvRndODtpfLMGYj3X33P2Py8ybmm4VZcs2P3HD__llVqmU)

Luckily, I have learned a lot from being in a community with non-binary and trans individuals (even one that studies linguistics). Hopefully, this does them justice:

Point 1: New pronouns exist because individuals argue against using "they/them" as a singular pronoun (although using the singular they is not actually grammatically and conventionally incorrect [https://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/singular-nonbinary-they]). The use of non-gendered words exists in many languages as much as gendered words exists outside of humans such as the word "el lapiz"–the pencil in Spanish. As one of my lovely trans friends says, "If Spanish-speaking people can correctly gender a pencil, anyone can correctly gender me." There is also historic use of finding gender neutral pronouns outside of they/them for the last century (https://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/third-person-gender-neutral-pronoun-thon). The main reason people are angry about it now is because of the so-called destruction of language. As long as the subject is written before the predicate, the English language is as complicated and beautiful as it was before.

Point 2: Walsh is correct in saying that someone doesn't refer to an individual in conversation by their pronouns (unless more than two people are gathered). Still, it is not self-absorbed to refer to an individual by their preferred name and pronouns. Cisgender individuals do not enjoy being called the incorrect pronouns, so people will automatically correct an individual if they do not correctly identify that specific individual. That should not be different for our trans siblings in the community.Learning manners such as "please" and "thank you" does not come across as excessive and implying an arrogance to another person. It's simply polite to call people by their names and not misinform others about who they are.

Point 3: Although convoluting the synonymity sex and gender is another discussion that should be had across gender identities, gender has expanded beyond male and female in other cultures. For example, the indigenous people of North America employ the concept of two-spirited people, a third gender within their tribes (https://www.ihs.gov/lgbt/health/twospirit/). Likewise, sex itself goes beyond binary with intersex people. These are people that are born with both male and female genetic characteristics such as chromosomes, hormones, and even genitalia (https://medlineplus.gov/ency/article/001669.htm). Unfortunately, much backlash and intervention have occurred from cultural and physical assignment of gender and sex for people without their consent. This is a complicated subject that needs further individual discussion about what is best for them.

Overall, the world is more diverse and inclusive than it ever has been. There is also a tangible anger among people who have the privilege to refuse to accept other people as they are. Hopefully, individuals are able to look past the initial email signature that signifies "she/her/hers" pronouns and join in the conversation.

Oh my. Where to start.

As I was turning the page of my "Inspiring Women" calendar for the weekend (wonderful stocking-stuffer, thanks Mom), this quote came up:

A few months ago, I probably would have chuckled at this. I love when women are able to respond to seemingly patriarchal comments. But not today. I'm bothered by this. I'm reminded of a conversation:

I was talking to two of my friends from first semester–one cis male and one trans female–and, per usual of this group of people, we start talking about social issues. When the male friend started making disagreeable claims about women's rights (not reproductive rights–women's rights), I responded to him out of frustration and recklessness: "Hey, no uterus, no opinion!" To which my female friend says without skipping a beat, "Excuse me, I don't believe whether or not I have a uterus affects my rights in this respect."

This was one of those "Oh shit," moments. The moment she started speaking I knew I screwed up and hurt her feelings. And those words weren't something I could ever take back.

Because I'm trying to know better, these were my problems with the calendar when I saw it:

Male same-sex couples, especially those that want to be parents, by far don't need a uterus in order to raise a child.

Single working fathers–widowers, divorcés, adoptive parents–have to use their brains and their hearts to overcome the challenges of parenting on their own. (This isn't reverse sexism: this is attributed to the fact that women are grossly expected to be the "mothering" people in this world.) The single fathers, cis or trans, don't need a uterus to raise a child.

Women who are unable to conceive or safely deliver a child, who have had struggles with losing a pregnancy are capable and wanting to be mothers. There's hope with processes such as surrogacy and adoption, but they need this reminder: your organs that have so tried to hold a child but couldn't has nothing to do with your ability to raise one.

Trans women wanting children, whether through conception and birth, surrogacy, adoption–they don't need a uterus to raise a child.

When I've walked alongside the heartbreak of infertility, lack of trans visibility and so-close-but-yet-so-far adoptions, I get how this sentiment of uterus=woman=parent hurts. Think before you speak, my friends.