Voices

I didn't want to go through the experience of having an abortion. I didn't want to get pregnant in the first place. But I was grateful for the option. An option I had fought hard for to protect all women (including myself), marching on Washington, protesting at the Virginia state capital, raising money, collecting signatures. And now I had the chance to turn this unhappy experience into another piece of my own activism.

Where does my love for my body stop and my vanity pick up? If I’d spend $126 in a futile attempt to “resolve” the rosacea I didn’t even know I had, then why not $500 on laser treatment to effectively repair the damage of time? If I’d whiten my teeth, why wouldn’t I spend $4000 on braces? If I’d wear Spanx, would I have an abdominoplasty? A push-up bra or a breast lift? It Works wraps or liposuction?

Back when we decided to have a baby together, we had a plan. She was never, ever going to have to work full-time. She was going to work part-time, and I was going to work part-time, selling dog food at that cute little store I used to work at. We would have one day off a week in common, and we would be broke, but we would get by. We would be tired, but we would be happy.

When compared to other teen female sitcom counterparts of her time — like Clarissa Darling of Clarissa Explains It All or Blossom Russo of Blossom — DJ seems like a missed opportunity for the writers to create a dynamic, free-spirited personality.

Let me tell you something, ladies. There are a million people in this world ready to tear you down at any given moment, for reasons they know, and reasons they don’t know. They will all but sell the blood of their firstborn child to make sure you know that they think you ain’t shit.

Dating while trans is scary, especially when you’re starting to “pass.” What are his expectations for my body, if any, and what if I’m not what he had in mind and he rejects me outright?

But what I did write, and write constantly, were diaries and journals. I kept notebooks and three-ring binders filled with observations about my life that I thought were interesting. Sometimes I worried that these personal stories were too naval-gazing, but I still held on to them, hoping that someday someone would want them.

That’s part of the problem, I think. I keep waiting for my sexual partners to figure out how to bring me to orgasm.