A good picture of my life can be found on my laptop desktop. Draft email to my friends about cancer, divorce spreadsheet, mother’s day brunch grocery list, scans from MD Anderson, consent forms, document on values, auto insurance card and leadership Oklahoma loyal application.
It’s weird to see how far I have come in such a short time. The unknowns at the beginning, the extreme denial in some ways – like this isn’t really happening or thinking it would be fun or just surreal. And all the waiting and needles and hard phone calls and keeping everyone in the loop and the healing. And the loss. I didn’t imagine the loss. I imagined the fight and the feeling of overcoming. I did not imagine what I would live with for all my days. It’s all bigger than I imagine most of the time. But sometimes when it all hits me. When I feel what it actually means, when I can see what is before me, when I am in the moment – it is an experience I cannot describe. The loss is incredible.
“We feminists already know this. Ahmed writes that “to inherit feminism can mean to inherit sadness. There is sadness in becoming conscious not only of gender as the restriction of possibility, but also of how this restriction is not necessary.” When we stare squarely and clear-eyed at structural inequality, we become angry, and rightly so. “Feminists do kill joy in a certain sense,” Ahmed argues. “They disturb the fantasy that happiness can be found in certain places.” The same is true for those who fight for equality in all forms. We are what Judith Butler calls “troublemakers”; we understand that unhappy voices are important ones.” Jennifer Tomscha
“If you want to identify me, ask me not where I live, or what I like to eat, or how I comb my hair, but ask me what I am living for, in detail, ask me what I think is keeping me from living fully for the thing I want to live for…”
“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”
are less like temples
and more like biographies
they carry all the
broken hearts, false hopes and cobwebs
neatly mapped in your veins and tendons,
a whole history
tucked away in the spaces in between
your ribs and collarbones.”