Anyone not wishing to know me most intimately, you have been warned. I came here to introduce myself and tell you my name. If you do not wish to know my truest form then from before to here you have been warned.
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As part of every job in education I have ever held, there is a requirement of staff, faculty, and selected student leaders to go through some sort of sexual harassment, sexual assault and Title IX training. So the alert that my mandatory attendance at the training for my new institution came as no surprise to me. What was surprising was my reaction to it. The statistics of women who report versus those that don't sent me right back into my living room curled up on the couch as two police officers asked me the intimate details of my own story.
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I recently had a major life epiphany: I was twisting myself into knots trying to prove points to people who didn't matter. Even worse, I was doing so at the severe and often dire detriment of my own health and well-being. I was becoming someone who allowed fear to guide my decisions. I had rushed into choice after choice without taking a moment to ask myself with true consideration of what I actually wanted.
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I am terrified to write this piece. When I write my blogs, they come from a place of trance. Unless otherwise stated, my blogs are unedited streams of consciousness as my capital S self works around my ego in an attempt to awaken me to something. Never has that been more true than in this moment. I can feel what is arrive and it scares me because it is so tender.
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I'm gonna write you something, okay?
Its kinda public but also just between us. No one ever could read between the lines like we could.
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The reception to my article by my academic community made me think of two things. One, was a conversation I had with a friend during my Masters program. I told her that I wanted to be an advocate for LGBTQIA+ youth who were struggling to reconcile parts of their own identities and she said "Shine your light in the darkness and those who are in need will find you."
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Last year was the first year I had to disclose my diagnoses to a supervisor who didn't know my story. Previously, my department chair was witness to the "before" me and the "after" me, she knew more about the situation. But this time I was the one to put it out there. Hesitant at first because I didn't want to be seen as less capable or weak or seem like a risk or a bad hire; eventually my secrets would tell themselves.
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I claimed it before I knew what it was. I wanted to live a love-based life when I made the internal proclamation, all I knew was how many things I'd denied myself due to fear. How many opportunities I'd let pass me by, or how comfortably I slipped into sloth-like apathy because I was too intimidated by failure to just try. I did not like the person I was when I bowed, regretfully, to fear.
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No one prepares you for the post-PhD PTSD. I'd said it with a hint of laughter behind my voice, but remembering the months of pervasive and palpable sadness that followed the completion of my doctoral degree, it really wasn't funny at all.
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Lately, I have been experiencing old things as if for the first time. Checking in with myself to note whether they are just as delicious as I remember, or if the thrill of it all had gone. My first major instance of this was Christmas.
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I've kept a blog consistently since May 2008. In my blogs, I have written about boyfriends, girl(space)friends, a girlfriend, trauma, healing, health, and everything in between. One consequence of my candor is people would often talk to me as though we were picking up where we left off. Mid-sentence or mid-thought because to them, they had been speaking to me as they read my stories.
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It's nearly 5am, my favorite hour. Clause, my favorite hour provided it's not the last hour before I have to be productive. I am a morning thinker, I am not a morning doer.
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...unless we are addressing it intersectionally. Yes, I'll admit that was a bit of click bait. It was also a genuine feeling, though, after I sat through (yet another) conversation about sexuality and gender identity.
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When I was struggling to find my way through to my dissertation research I went and sat on Zachary's front porch. He allowed me to face the ocean, sitting on my left and despite both the presence of my mentor and my favorite place in the world, I had to close my eyes to see.
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I will admit, the title Black Privilege, may be off putting to some. In Charlemagne The God's (CtheGod) attempt to be provocative he might miss out on some audience members who judge a book by the title. Something tells me that he wouldn't give a fuck, but here's 3 reasons why you should get over the title and read this book.
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