Voices

That’s exactly the spirit that word should embody: someone who is loud, proud, and an advocate for themselves. Someone who stands out and is bold and beautiful for it. Someone who is unapologetically themselves.

I’m not broken by this therapy failure. Jane wasn't the person to help me at this point of my life. Someone else WILL be.

I know my more-than-average amount of stuff is related to my higher-than-average wealth, which makes me self-conscious — especially as someone who used to have to budget groceries to the dime. I can’t separate my privilege from my possessions, but I also know this isn’t just about that. It’s deeper than that.

I was drowning in stuff, and felt constantly tired — even though I’d made an art out of trading in my old clothes at secondhand stores, minimizing expenses, and sharing apartments with strangers. Something felt fiscally oppressive despite the fact that I’ve never owned a house, a car, or anything larger than my bed.

I used to be the kind of person whose every thought was fodder for Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr. No matter how mundane, morbid, ridiculous, or inconsequential, I shared it. You might even say that sharing it was part and parcel of experiencing it.

[CN: suicidality, hospitalization, rape culture, slut-shaming.] We all needed a place to recover, a place where our problems could be addressed and dealt with, a place where we could feel safe. However, the way the women in the ward were treated couldn’t possibly have made us feel safe or comfortable.

The role of overprotective father is not a new one, it is a tired concept that needs to just die, already. Don't threaten my son for dating your daughter!

[CN: intersex discrimination.] I don’t typically tell people in my life I’m intersex unless it’s a very close friend whom I feel I can confide in, or a family member. It’s not that I’m ashamed, but I’d rather not be treated differently due to my intersex identity.