I’ve been avoiding this space here. I’ve been avoiding the fact that the only way out is through. Escapism via daydreaming about RV and tiny homes and binge watching shows that aired a decade ago is a blast and a half but it’s fleeting and not going to solve my crisis of self. This only works when I am being blatantly and uncomfortably honest with myself. Yet, it just so happens that I’m REALLY good at bullshitting myself. Like to the point where I don’t even realize I’m doing it. It’s like I’m my own battered partner…I lie and deceive and tell myself all these sweet nothings that don’t hold any weight at the end of the day but sound and feel nice in the moment. But they. don’t. serve. me. They don’t direct me toward the life and lived experience I want and believe I deserve and am capable of. By being dishonest with myself, I keep myself trapped. Small. When I channel brutal authenticity in my internal narrative, the words that I share, and the actions that I engage in, I free myself from those lies. But in the spirit of honesty, it’s probably more like self truth is a bobby pin that I use to poke around inside of the shackle lock and just have to keep doing it, keep trying, until one day it hit just the right spot at just the right time and suddenly the cuffs release their hold. It takes persistence that immediate-gratification-seeking me doesn’t like. Doesn’t feel comfortable with. So, I tell myself that RVs and tiny homes are the answer. (FTR, they might be. They could be. But they can only be the answer when I’ve acknowledged, addressed, and am committed to a daily practice of overpowering the internalized cryptic and abusive and exploitative lies growing up in a capitalist bigot-built hellscape imposed upon me without me even realizing it. But that’s a convo for another day, and trust me, that day is coming fast. Yall see that debate????? Goddamn, we’re fucked. I digress!) 

I got myself here because I’ve been following the direction everyone has been pointing rather than the path that I actually see for myself. To do the same thing here, to keep listening to absorbed expectations and false wants will only keep me feeling lost and out of place. Failing to listen to my truest self will keep me on this loop trail of disappointment, denial, disassociation, and then depression. Lots of bad Ds out there apparently. Shocker. 

No one wants a life of bad D. Not the gals, gays, nor the theys. I suppose the lesson here being that in order to avoid a bad lay I have to honor the voice that comes from within. Not the voice that’s saying, “hey you should actually do and say this, bc that’d be cool and also no follow up questions are allowed so stay quiet even amidst your confusion and disorientation.” That will just leave me remaining lost and wanting. Simply engaging with the lies that swirl around and within us immediately engages an inherent vulnerability. The lies we hear are likely to be the lies we consciously or unconsciously welcome in, and once they’re inside they’re all too easy to take root and become our own limiting beliefs. So naturally where I’m going with this is: ghosts. Inauthenticity is like a demon; it mimics the sound of giggling children or crying babies in order to get you to let down your guard and engage with it and before you know it you’re possessed by a fuckin incubus that forces the bad D in your life. 

The problem with taking matters into my own hands (lol) is that there are so many people out there who tell me that I’m going the wrong way. Even if they politely and respectfully address me and say, “Hey, I noticed you’re out of bounds and you look lost. The path is that way over there. Follow me, I’ll show you,” I have to learn to force myself to resist. I’ve been taught to be polite, gratuitous, and conceding. I’ve grown up under the teaching that anything other than accepting an offer, a gift, even if I don’t want it – even if it’s harmful to me in the long run, is rude. I’m programmed to believe that by not conceding to their instruction I’m either exposing myself as a self-centered bitch or highlighting the fact that I’m a weirdo doing my own thing and my god isn’t that embarrassing.

But it’s neither of those things! That’s just lies the patriarchy told us to keep us where they want us. Which is lost and small and possessed by an abusive demon. Say it with me. FUUUUUUCK THE PATRIARCHY! Fuck the patriarchy. FuckThePatriarchy. FuckThePatriarchy.FuckThePatriarchy.

Ahh I suddenly feel a little better after that brief cathartic intermission. 

So what now? I live in a fucked up patriarchy. We all do. No matter the country, no matter the candidate or the one “in charge”. The strings at play that keep food on the shelves, movies in the theaters, taco bell in our tummies, and the climate crisis on the horizon all lead back to money, power, and men. There’s kind of no escaping it. So how do we liberate ourselves within the reality in which we exist?

Why are you looking at me? I don’t fucking know! I’m just over here tryna wake up and feel centered and content in the slice of the world that I’ve co-created around me. All I know is that I refuse to believe that we’re helpless in the situation. 

While it might not necessarily be the very first step, I do think a crucial step in self liberation in any toxic environment is awareness. Identifying the blatant and hidden systems that direct us (sometimes well before we are even born) onto this path that has been predetermined for us by others who benefit from keeping us there rather than elsewhere. I can only imagine the journey of awareness looks distinctly unique for everyone, and there’s no part of me that is trying to pretend I know wtf I’m doing myself, much less suggest what others “should” (there we go with that word again!) do. But maybe, just maybe, it’s as simple as saying fuck what I SHOULD do. What flavor of journey COULD I conjure up in my mind because it feels warm and right and fun and liberating and exciting and authentic TO ME. 

The only thing I can speak to with absolute certainty is my experience and personal journey. What I’ve found there is that once I realized areas in which I wasn’t living my truth I couldn’t unsee it. And once I couldn’t unsee it, it couldn’t sweep it away to be out of mind; a problem to be dealt with later. Instead, the knowledge of its presence eats away at my tolerance for accepting my status quo. Which is why I’m here. Why I’m writing. Why I’m trying to form a space where anyone who feels crippling discontent with the world they see around them can gather and collectively fight for a truth and lived experience that is not contingent on others’ expectations of “where you belong.” 

This is my personal revolution. This is where I can loudly scream and stand up to the bullshit that surrounds me. The bullshit is strong and pervasive (especially in an election year and ESPECIALLY in the trump-era. And no, you grammar police, I did not accidentally forget to capitalize the T. There’s nothing about “t” that is proper, so therefore any reference to the cancer of the modern US socio-political matrix does warrant nor justify use of “proper grammar”) but so are we, Zillennial Hippie. Remember, that it’s not about our age. It’s certainly not about where we live, our gender, our race, ethnicity, or even our zodiac. It’s about our collective power as individuals and as a united force. How we resist will inherently look different for us all, given our own respective access and/or limitation to various tools and resources. But this is a space of equity. Not everyone has to or expected to do the same thing, we just have to fight for our truest selves in whatever way is most meaningful to us. For me, it’s showing up. Here. Going through the tunnel so that hopefully one day hopefully I can see a light. It may not be an “end” or exit to a completely transformed world, but the light indicates life and where there’s life there’s potential for beauty and strength and resilience and transformation and compassion. That’s what I’m fighting for. 

I am here because I always dreamed of a space like this. I am here because I spent a decade not just deprioritizing but straight up disassociating from my truest self because I politely listened to and accepted the guidance of others. But now that I’m aware that the typical guidance is rooted in sexist and racist expectations of smallness, I’m not interested in accepting navigation instructions. I’m only interested in a journey that is purely mine because I have decided so. Mikki Kendall enlightened and educated me in so many ways in her book, Hood Feminism, but one line that feels especially pertinent to this thought journey is, “I like not living up to the expectations of people who don’t like me. I enjoy knowing that my choices won’t be acceptable to everyone.” I love the unapologetic satisfaction she prides in honoring and prioritizing her truth. 

Am I deeply intimidated by the inevitable likelihood of criticism and shame people are likely to throw my way if I stay on this path long enough? Honestly terrified (I’m a Cancer, the tears are unavoidable). Am I preemptively embarrassed and disappointed in myself for the possibility of saying something too fast without thinking hard enough about the impact of my words and consequently come off as tone-deaf or simply ignorant? Absofuckinglutely. But despite inevitable mishaps, I still must show up. Because this is my resistance. I am on the journey of learning to embrace and even celebrate that my choices won’t be acceptable to everyone. Another line I highlighted from Kendall’s Hood Feminism is, “We are part of the society that we are fighting to change and we cannot absolve ourselves of our role in it.” So it is my self-prescribed responsibility to make a regular practice of thinking, speaking, and acting by my values despite living under a racist patriarchy that is invested in my silence and smallness. 

I am doing the work. I’m no longer avoiding or deflecting by daydreaming sweet nothings. (I’ll still daydream about those things, but I’m scraping away the film of delusion that once I quit my job, or get an RV, or move into a tiny home that all my problems will vanish). I’m no longer tolerating an abusive relationship with myself. I’m no longer letting the demon of the patriarchy haunt me with its bad D. I’m choosing my path for myself– a path of authenticity by way of channeling my voice and values. I’m choosing to learn how to embrace the journey, with all the time and energy it requires. One step at a time and refusing to deny my power along the way I’m choosing to believe that one day I’ll see the light we long for. It’s time for this feminist ghostbuster to burn some sage and declare to the bitchass poor performing spirit that they are not welcome here. I am the only one who gets to dictate what I do and what I think. I deserve to live my truth, but I also owe it to myself to live my truth. In order to have it, I have to do it. 

So here I am. Doing it for myself. Doing myself. 

self truth:masturbation as inauthenticity:demonic patriarchy.