Month: October 2024

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Maternal Demise

Mother are Dying. All across the world mother are dying. Black Mothers especially. The world is so cruel to black mothers and black women. Everyday black women endure the emotional labour of constantly having to “tone” themselves in order to not be perceived as aggressive or “loud and annoying” this is coupled with the fact that we are never taken serious no matter what we do, whether it be in the workplace, or a hospital we are never taken as serious as our white counterparts. Malcom X says “The most disrespected person in America is the Black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black woman.”. This quote rings true today, yesterday, and everyday due to the misogynoirist society we’ve cultivated. This weeks materials included the documentary aftershock which detailed the painful and traumatic loss that occurred due to the loss of the black maternal figure in those families. Seeing the documentary made me think about my mother and how much she’s worked in this how much physical and emotional labour she spent on providing for us while also being forced to conform to western society as an immigrant. I thought to myself if my mother were die tomorrow what would it all be for? She slaved a way for a system that has no plans of taking care of her. The documentary also made me think of my aunt who came to this country to receive medical care for her colon cancer but was met with negligence and disregard and ultimately lost in her fight against cancer as a result. Even I as a black women wonder why I do the things I do. Why am I self conscious of how loud I am or how my hair looks or whether or not the way I’m dressed can be precisely as “ratchet”. Why do I let such a unempathetic system dictate my actions and thoughts.

All of this to say I hope we as a society can learn to be kinder to black women and hopefully I can learn to be a more accurate representation of my true authentic self-no code switching.

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Getting sick is embarrassing.

It shouldn’t be, really, but it is. I’m reminded of it quite a bit recently. Being incapacitated is embarrassing. Having cooties is embarrassing. Getting cooties is embarrassing. Evidence you touched something unsanitary is embarrassing. Admitting to the urgent care doctor you don’t have a primary care physician is embarrassing. Staying home is embarrassing. Getting behind on obligations is embarrassing. What even is “embarrassing”?

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Smile for the customers

After learning what emotional labor is from Julie Beck It really made me think about all of the times I had to be at work with the heaviest heart from my personal problems but I had to show up and be happy for a person I have never met before.

Honestly I think the idea of emotional labor is a two way street it’s good but bad all at the same time. Because it puts so much strain on a worker’s mindset to show up for their job when they have a lot of things going on in their head and then don’t let there be a rude customer because it just makes it ten times worse.

This relates to my story very well recently with my server job. About three weeks ago I was going through something that really broke my mental down and everyone knows when your mental isn’t up to par you won’t be up to par. So I had this one guy who wanted more water so of course me doing my job I was going to refill his drink regardless but the man kept using his fingers in a come here motion every time he needed water and of course I let it slide when I first saw it because I just thought that maybe he’s doing it because he thought we didn’t notice his cup but after filling up the cup the man had the nerve to shoo me away and not say a word to me not even a thank you and that really annoyed me. It got to the point I had to stop serving him all together just because of it but I couldn’t do that all night because the requirements of a customer service type worker is to make sure the customer is happy and it is always said that we need to keep a smile on our face.

I guess the point of this blog is that if you need a break try to find a way to take that break because if not you just gonna blow up on a person that didn’t deserve it or maybe they did. Also employers should stop putting the customer is always right rule on their employees and should pay attention to how badly we can be treated just because the customer thinks they have the right.

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The Medical Cost of being Black

Racism in healthcare is not a new issue; it runs deep in this country. This problem is especially evident in women’s health, particularly in maternal care, which stems from a long history of exploitation and neglect. Goode and Rothman talk about how, during slavery, Black women’s bodies were often exploited for medical experiments without their consent. This history of racial inequality in healthcare hasn’t disappeared; it’s still seen today in the way women of color, especially Black women, are treated during pregnancy and childbirth. Studies show that women of color are statistically more likely to die during childbirth, a disparity better understood when we consider that medical providers are often more likely to perceive Black patients as more aggressive or negatively. From personal experience, as a woman of color, I’ve had many positive experiences in healthcare and received decent care. However, certain events have made me wonder if the color of my skin has impacted the treatment I received. As someone who has dealt with years of chronic pain, like many others, I’ve experienced frustrating doctor appointments where it felt like my concerns weren’t taken seriously. I have had doctors dismiss my concerns, often attributing my issues solely to anxiety and suggesting that what I was feeling was likely all in my head. This kind of dismissal, particularly for someone who has dealt with chronic pain, only adds to the frustration and makes me question whether my concerns would be taken more seriously if I didn’t have the skin color I do. 



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The Intersection of Gender and Race in Pregnancy and Birth: Who Holds the Power?

Pregnancy and childbirth are profound experiences, deeply influenced by the intersecting ideas of gender and race. These factors can shape how individuals navigate the healthcare system and how they are treated within it. Too often, the voices and experiences of marginalized groups are overlooked, leading to disparities in care and outcomes.When discussing who is “in charge” of the laboring body, we must consider the dynamics of power and autonomy within the healthcare setting. Ideally, the pregnant person should have control over their own body, making informed decisions supported by medical professionals. 

However, the reality is that systemic biases and power imbalances can undermine this autonomy.
From a young age, I experienced my own form of race based —————————————– experience in a hospital setting. Doctors assumed I had protein in my urine, leading to extensive and costly testing. Instead of taking the time to talk to me and understand my situation, they silenced my voice and provided false information. This not only drained me financially but also left me feeling disempowered. If they would’ve asked I would’ve told them that i’m on my last few days of my menstrual cycle, that could be the reason for the random particles of blood.

My story is just one of many. Women of color, in particular, face significant challenges in the healthcare system, including higher rates of maternal mortality and morbidity. These outcomes are not solely due to biological factors but are aggravated by biases and inequalities in medical care. Addressing these issues requires a fundamental shift in how we view and treat pregnant individuals, ensuring their voices are heard and respected.


So, who should be in charge of the laboring body? The answer is clear: the pregnant person. Medical professionals should act as allies, providing support and expertise without undermining the individual’s autonomy. By fostering an environment of respect and understanding, we can work towards a more equitable and compassionate healthcare system.

-Santana :/

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The World is a stage, my body a puppet

There’s something so dystopian about having a body in this world. As much as we claim to have autonomy we’ll never be free of the eternal shuck and jive. We all know Butler’s claim of gender performativity, but is every action we take not a performance? We’re all forced to act a certain way, stifle our truths, and perform. Take your pick of which puppet master is pulling the strings for the day (hint: it’s all of them). Whether it’s religion, white supremacy, the patriarchy, or capitalism we’re all told what to do, what to say, how to perform. Today my gripe is with capitalism (when is it not). 

There’s a blatant disregard for what these meat puppets can do. The body isn’t meant to work two jobs, go to school, and maintain an internship – sorry. Sorry, there are days when the thought of getting out of bed to work is too daunting to fathom. Sorry, I have a chronic illness. Sorry, my chronic illness flares up in times of stress. Sorry, I’m stressed all the time. Sorry for having a body. 

There’s so much more I want to say, but this puppet has worked all week and it’s tired.

(Ft. the movie that terrified me as a child about a puppet all strung up)

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Twintuition

Growing up with a twin brother taught me more than I would like to know about emotional labor. From my first memories of us growing up together, I knew that the expectations I was held to were quite different from those that my brother was held to. I was expected to be the picture of emotional maturity. Conflict resolution, good communication, and empathy was something that was supposed to be built in. My brother was merely expected to be a boy. The worst part about the expectation of performing emotional labor is that it goes largely unnoticed and unvalued.

When I was a child, maybe 7 or 8, my twin brother and I would fight relentlessly. I would come to hang out with him and his friends, and the argument would usually start of by him declaring that he did not want me there because I was a girl. I would defend myself and my ability to hang with the boys, and eventually he would give in. This was not the end of the emotional torment. Once it was decided that I was allowed to stay, my brother would do anything he could to belittle me, whether that was emotionally or physically, many times both. Sometimes I would ignore and play nice, and sometimes I would snap back. Snapping back never worked. The fight would escalate with my attempts to defend myself. It always came down to the fact that he was bigger than me or meaner than me.

When I had finally had enough and went to my parents for help, I got the same answer most of the time: “Don’t take it personally, boys will be boys. Either don’t hang out with them or suck it up and go back in.” Here is where the imbalance lied. I was always expected to do one of two things. My first option was to go back into the room and diffuse the situation, either by apologizing or by pretending like nothing happened. My second option was to stop hanging out with my brother and spend the rest of the day alone, thinking about what had just occurred. Either way, I was expected to perform emotional labor while no emotional labor was ever expected of my brother.

You would think that being expected to perform emotional labor since childhood would make one better at communicating in emotionally charged situations. For me at least, it did the opposite. I have spent so long prioritizing the diffusion of social situations that I seem to have forgotten how to advocate for myself. Instead of assertively communicating when someone has hurt me or I want something different than someone else, I freeze or avoid, which ultimately makes the situation worlds worse than if I just stood up for myself. Emotional labor is something that should be taught with equity and highly valued, not something that is expected of someone because of who they are. When emotional labor is expected rather than taught and respected, it can quickly become a source of massive trauma.

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I’m Tired

I am tired of working and having to deal with people. In the past, I’ve mainly worked in food service jobs but now I currently have one desk job on campus and another job where I work as a cashier. Both jobs require me to talk/deal with customers often which is of course fine. The only thing is I find it very draining having to deal with people sometimes especially since some customers can be rude at times. Of my two jobs, I very much prefer the campus job since it doesn’t require any physical labor and just has to deal with people for the most part. But when it comes to my cashier job I absolutely hate it with my whole heart, since it basically has a combination of both physical labor and emotional labor, with having to work 5-7 hours shifts, standing up the whole time, with having the expectations of giving a smile and happy attitude with each and every customer, while also having to deal with some customers complaining about something every 20-30 minutes. By the end of the shift, I’m always so drained and tired, my feet and back hurt and all I wanna do is just go to bed and sleep.

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Your Disability Is In Your Head

Trigger warnings: mental illness, SA

My disability, as I’ve been told by my parents during some of the hardest years of my life, is all in my head. The accumulated and compounded effects of strife in my life that eventually developed into a deep, dark depression- it’s not physically tangible, so how could it have been real?

I have a unique relationship with my disability. The one that I grapple with the most is one that is acquired, not inherited or born into. I have post-traumatic stress disorder, and I am not a war veteran. I am a sexual assault survivor. My disability was acquired through experiencing trauma and then experiencing the more deeply horrific experience of utter social isolation, lack of support, and lack of real mental health resources for someone of my age, specific trauma, and cultural background. I was diagnosed when I was 13, before I realized I have ADHD, depression, and GAD. Most of those are co-morbid.

My relationship with my disability was very much through the lens of the medical model- something is wrong with me, it is my problem to fix, and in the mean time, *some* institutions and people may be willing to accomodate my different needs despite the burden that it is (that I am), but ultimately the onus of responsibility for my disability, for my neurodivergence and its physiological consequences, is on me.

I realized much more recently that this may not be true. This semester, it was reiterated to me in the form of Tom Shakespeare’s reading about the social model of disability. // In our view, it is society which disables […] impaired people. Disability is something imposed on top of our impairments,
by the way we are unnecessarily isolated and excluded from full participation in society. (p. 215)//

I don’t agree with every aspect of this reading, such as how mental disabilities are not acknowledged by the founders/ creaters of the social model. But I do resonate with this new way of thinking- that the structures we live within are not inclusive to all people that live within them. This leads some people to struggle much more than others to get through their days.

I only started truly believing recently that I deserve the accomodations I have. Not because I didn’t believe that I was disabled, but because I saw them as a privilege. But I see it differently now. Not everyone has to deal with what I deal with every day. That doesn’t make them better than me or more normal than me, but it means that their phenomenological experience of this world is not the same. Nobody gets to tell me that my disability isn’t valid when they have never walked in my shoes. Nobody gets to tell me to suck it up and find a way to make it through when I see how so many people are able to do with ease, the things that I struggle and toil to do.

Also, yes, my disability is all in my head, in a literal sense. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.