I found the dates in my calendar.
I am haunted by a terribly pedestrian phrase.
Sometimes you have to learn to let go.
It has become customary on the internet to use the term ‘triggered’ as a joke. I have come to believe that those using the word in this sense have never experienced a panic attack.
A long piece on transgender rights, in which I admit that I do have opinions on what social and political considerations a person such as myself deserves. The central claim is that transgender rights can be justified on their own terms, pragmatically, without requiring any recourse to strong metaphysical claims about the nature of gender identity.
The story of my preparations for my first rape trauma counselling session, told mostly in fits and starts. There are a lot of unpleasant memories jumbled in here, and they don’t necessarily map onto the people or events one might think they do.
I don’t quite know where this story begins. I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember, so much so that they feel like an inalienable part of who I am.
This is not a post I want to write. It is not a story I want to tell. It is not a story I want you to read. I am ashamed to put words to it, scared to say “me too”.
For the longest time one of my favourite lines in feminist history came from the famous speech by Sojourner Truth. I learned recently that my understanding of the speech was mistaken, and have been pondering what lessons I should take from that.
A short, disjointed essay on the strangeness of being a trans woman in academia.