identity

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The Real Cost of Microaggressions

Constant microaggressions is something that really is a shared experience. My introduction to phenomenology was not that microaggressions takes a large toll. Microaggressions are comments that can be so subtle even I shake it off and disregard it with expression and then internalize it. Whenever I read something in this class, I always find myself reflecting on experiences and realizing how quickly I will “simply” internalize it and not express the discomfort. I put the term simply in quotes because how simple can it be to internalize the feeling of being put in a majority when you are not the same as every person in that majority? For me, the word “simply” in that context is the repeated, chronic discrimination is something that I have had to deal with my entire life. There is never a time when I think about what would be the outcome of this everyday internalized discrimination against myself.

“Perceptual practices can be organized, like bodily movements used to perform various operations, into integrated units that become habitual.”

Alcoff, Linda Martin. “Towards a phenomenology of racial embodiment.”

Alcoff’s article made me critically think about my own and shared experiences with discrimination. In her article, I took away a new perception about microaggressions. I think this shift is because of that “simple” term I mentioned before. Someone in a constant routine usually will start to be able to do those things with so much ease that it becomes automatic. So automatic I never thought about these costs. An emotional performance is put on when faced with microaggressions. An example is suppressing anger. Something you are constantly emotionally performing for is something that takes on the body. That constant suppression can lead to a breakdown and an overwhelming feeling that makes you feel exhausted. Some days there will just be all those performances that take a toll on self-efficacy.

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His little world

I wanted to talk about my family friend’s son named Shaun. I’ve known Shaun for a while, he was really young when I met him, I was still young however, in my middle school years I was still learning things. Shaun, along with his brother Stefon were autistic. Whenever it came to the family parties I would be the one to watch over them and keep them company since I was still young and couldn’t be a part of the adult or even the teenage conversations. Shaun was an interesting kid, although he didn’t communicate verbally with words, I felt like I could still understand him and what he needed. I felt like I could understand his emotions.

Shaun would always get in trouble for breaking things, but I knew it was him just stimming because that was one of his habits. I remember during a Christmas party he grabbed one of the ornaments from the tree and smashed one to the ground, and then another, several times until he was stopped by his mother. Shaun got in trouble with his mother. I felt bad for him, I knew he wasn’t doing it to make anyone mad, yet his mom did get mad at him for doing it anyway since it wasn’t his house. She looked defeated, like she didn’t know how else to help him whenever his behavior would get worse. She looked tired too, like she was doing everything she can to just enjoy her time at the party and also watching her boys making sure they didn’t break anything or do something dangerous. My parents loved Shaun and his brother, my dad always made an effort to let Shaun be seen, playing with him, making jokes and funny faces. Whenever Shaun was with me, I tried my best to entertain him, to make him feel heard. He always had a fascination with my hair (back then I used to have hair that would reach the floor I had to keep it in a braid since it was so long, I’m not kidding haha) so every time we sat in a room to calm him down he would touch it and slowly begin to settle. The way he felt my hair and stared at it gave me a sense of comfort knowing that I was there with him making sure he was okay. He would hum the majority of the time, whenever he wanted something he would hum in a pattern and point at the object that he wanted. Shaun never had good focus either, after touching one object he would go onto the next and then the next. Shaun’s mom works with other children who are autistic, whenever she would come to these parties, she would bring books for them to read, I would read the books to Shaun and his brother. Shaun was always mesmerized by the images in the books, he would hum and point at the characters. He always made me feel like whatever I was doing was helping him and that gave me a deep sense of reassurance.

Sean was very excited about noises but more specifically with car keys. Whenever it came to these parties or Mass services because we do services in different people’s homes, Shaun would actually find people’s keys and take them and play with them because he loved the sound of the jingling. My dad didn’t care, he would give Shaun his keys so he could be happy and play with them. Of course he didn’t know any better because he didn’t understand the ownership of somebody’s property. I always felt like the adults who would get their keys taken away wouldn’t truly understand how happy it made him. They would just get a little frustrated because of the fact that their property was taken away from them. I definitely think being in middle school and being exposed to that environment where somebody has a disability made me confused at first because back then I didn’t know the true meaning of autism and the levels and how there’s a spectrum. I only got to see the behaviors and patterns of somebody with it during that time, but now being an adult and learning more about autism and neurodivergence I slowly start to understand Shaun and his behavior. He just wanted to be understood because of his different way of thinking. Unfortunately due to family issues in the past I haven’t seen Shaun in a while but I hope right now since he is older that he’s getting the proper care and going through a more suitable way of teaching for him to understand. I really do think Shaun is a good kid.

I just feel like people are always afraid to try to communicate with people who have this disability because they don’t understand the way autism works and the levels of the spectrum. Every time I see a child with autism, or introduced to someone, I am never afraid to interact or learn from them, because with Shaun, all I ever did was make him feel heard and safe, and I want to do that for every other boy or girl who has autism. Society likes to put this negative connotation and label of people with disabilities which to me is just undermining their true potential and power, I learned a lot from Shaun and my other experiences after that, and seeing how their minds think and interact made me open my eyes to a whole different concept of learning and understanding. I learned more patience, I learned to really slow down my “normal” thinking and try and fit their perspective into my life. Doing that type of thinking really does open up your mind to a lot of ideas and thoughts. I am thankful for Shaun and the way I made him feel comforted and cared for, that’s something I won’t ever forget. I do know his parents were really good when it came to teaching him, but just like Shaun and other kids who have it I hope the world is able to see that there is nothing wrong with them they just have a different perspective which isn’t and shouldn’t be seen as a negative thing.

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The Safe Space

In class, we were learning about experience, about phenomenology. I understood that with our experiences we add in our senses (taste, touch, sight, hearing). I was honestly stumped on what I could talk about. I know that I have many different experience as a woman. But then I started to think about a specific place that made me feel safe…

As a woman, I feel the constant stress of my body. But I’m not just any woman, I am a brown woman. The pressures of having to keep my grades up or being the perfect brown daughter who lives up to her parent’s expectations. Where would I go to decompress my feelings of doubt and anxiety? Where could I go to make the world go slow for a moment of peace and quiet? The Women’s Center. A home away from home. I can imagine the structure of the room as my safe space. You enter a room filled with posters of colorful affirmations, handouts of mental health awareness. Seeing the names and faces of those who work in the center makes it all that encompassing. I am always greeted with a welcoming smile by the wonderful staff who are ready to care for you. I see a prayer room for those who have no place to go, another for mothers to feed their children. I look to my right and see the many forms of aid. Did you get your period? Take a tampon or pad. As many as you need because your body, your UTERUS, is cared for in this center. Are you sexually active? Go ahead and take some condoms for protection because no one wants any STDs. Coziness is an understatement as you walk further into their center. The round table, to sit and do work or to relax while playing with a fidget toy from the fidget bowl. The hugging of many bookshelves enriched with stories of colored women, LGBTQ+ personas finding themselves, and in those books, a voice that comforts you. A “You are not alone” “You are accepted for who you are” here and there is what you’ll find. Towards the back of the room, soft couches for you to sit down and relax your aching womanly body. My curvy body type just melting away into the cushion, holding me and letting me rest. Are you hungry? Take a bag of chips from the food shelves. No one’s going to judge how you eat or how much. You won’t be judged for being a skinny to thick body type. Every woman is welcome here at the center. I was always scared to enter this environment not knowing that it was so peaceful.

 Why didn’t I take the risk of pushing that door open my freshman year? Maybe it was the fear of other women judging me because they felt it was their own space. Was it was the unknown territory that frightened me to my core? Or my shyness because of the people who worked there could see me grabbing feminine products. But now, it has become my home, my safe place for the rest of my college experience. Of course there are other places I consider my home, sometimes it’s not even places. It’s people. My boyfriend is my home, my comfort. He makes me feel imperfectly perfect. But then I begin to wonder, What about men? Where are their safe places? Do they not have a safe space because it’s uncommon? I wonder these things when I walk into the center. Of course men are welcome inside the center, but maybe men are intimidated by the space. I feel like they are intimated by those bold lettered words above the entrance of the door. Maybe they feel like they would be judged for walking in and taking their own time to decompress. I started to think about the people I met in the center, the conversations I’ve had. There was one girl, I’ll call her M, she had Nigerian parents, we had a 20 minute conversation about the freedoms being a woman in college. We talked about relationships, how her parents wanted her to date her own ethnicity. She wished her parents allowed her to do anything. But just because she was a girl, she wasn’t able to go out, even past her driveway. I honestly am happy that I had parents who trusted me even though I was young developing woman in a very dangerous world. She too had came to the center to clear her head. That was the first time in a while that I had been confident enough to start a conversation with a stranger. But being in that environment helped me bring out my extroverted side. I also think it was just the fact that I am able to talk so comfortably to women. I would encourage any woman to go there for any needs they desire. Whether it be to get a tampon or pad, or a place to relax. I hope that anyone who reads this knows that there are places to go when you are feeling down to no energy. So don’t be shy, don’t be afraid to step into that center, you won’t regret it 🙂

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A monstrous matryoshka

As I had read Susan Stryker’s article on trans rage and the comparison of Victor Frankenstein’s unfortunate monster, I found myself following each word closely. I had so rarely seen anyone talk so openly about the pains and sorrows that are hidden about transgender identity. The discussion in class presented an extremely important point on who is allowed to show and vocalize strong negative emotions like rage and pain. As a person of color, as a queer and transgender individual, my permission of showing these emotions has been quite small, but looking further inward I know that there are other reasons I am not one to show these emotions. For my last post I call upon Stryker’s voice of these negative emotions and a monstrous identity, but not for my transgender identity, but one I am coming to terms with existing within me. I open up the physical patchwork body of mine to see inwards, within the darkness I see a cage chained to the ground. Moving closer I can hear the rattling of anger, I peer inside the cage to see a gnarled and patched up figure, teeth unnaturally pointed and sharp objects partially embedded in its body. I instinctively know these objects were brandished weapons with the purpose of subduing and killing this figure, but they have failed. This figure was human once and I can’t help the sadness I feel seeing what has become of them.

“What happened to you?” I ask cautiously.

The pause feels deafening.

“I’d think you’d recognize us, not many come back from the war of trauma unscathed.”

It’s said that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but no one should be forced to be this strong to the point of being caged in fear.

As an echo to the original article, my comparison of monstrous identity in regards to trauma is not one to be used against all who have trauma. This is my sole reclamation of my past and should never be used against individuals who do not wish to do the same. This post will include raw calls to mental health happenings in response to traumatic experiences. Though there will be no details of happenings, there are insinuations of abuse on varying levels.

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What’s in a Name?

Image description: A white sheet of paper with the words "Sign here" followed by a dotted line. A tip of a pen hovers over the line.

Names, everyone has one (or several), and a name is used in everyday occurrences. You see your friend walking down the hall, you excitedly yell their name and embarrass or startle them, you see your pet eating something they shouldn’t, you shout their name and chase after them, you get the idea. A lot of people never really think much about their name, it’s their name, their parents gave it to them, case closed, but the issue of names comes up when one’s gender identity is brought to the forefront of their thoughts. As I try to untangle my own understanding of my gender identity, my name becomes an issue.

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Queer Brokenness: Intersection with Mental Illness

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Image Source: http://trauma.blog.yorku.ca/2015/12/south-asian-queer-community-lacks-visibility/  (Artist – Jinesh Patel)

(Content and Trigger Warning: Self Harm, Suicide, Substance Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Intimate Partner Violence, Bullying)

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I often find that mental illness and queerness aren’t addressed properly or constructively when talked about together. So often the public at large would have us believe that queerness is a result of mental illness or that mental illness is the result of queerness exclusively. With this in mind, the queer community will often push back on society’s behavior by talking about the two exclusively from each other, frequently ignoring all the ways mental illness intersect. That’s does not go to say that queerness is the result of mental illness or vice versa at all, but rather it shouldn’t be ignored that many people in the queer community go through both because of the way society has constructed and reacted towards queerness. For example, queerness has often been perceived as a deviant thing, it has historically been punished and worked against in a variety of ways. Continue reading →

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Queer Identity Discovery: The Domino Effect and Queer Time

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Image Source: http://www.avclub.com/article/theres-mash-rainbow-road-themes-all-8-mario-karts-206528

I’ll focus on my own experience here but I know there are going to be things about my experience that many other queer people can relate to in this regard.

My experience with queerness has never been linear, it has indeed been very queered. It has consistently involved not knowing about a way of being queer and then being introduced to the concept, a moment of reflection and then realizing “oh shit that’s me.” But I’ve also consistently struggled with coming to terms with these new labels and seeing how they fit me.

From the age of 12 to about a month away from turning 21 I had been on a journey of denial, internalization, grief over myself changing and growing, complete secrecy, exploration, etc. etc. about me being bi. I had come out after years of being afraid of myself, but in that time I also developed a yearning for community. When I came back to UMBC after two years of community college I knew that I’d want to seek out my community. Since then my reality as a queer person has shifted so greatly. I feel so liberated. Yet I grieve. I grieve for the ways I have been, not knowing if they are different than who I am now. My sense of self has been questioned. I don’t know if my new state of existing is just blurrier, or if things have just been just out of my sight this entire time and it constantly feels like both. I don’t know how consistent this person who is me is. Continue reading →

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The Most Common Augmentation

While attempting to define what a cyborg is in class, I was struck with inspiration for a discussion topic on the blog. Fast forward two weeks and I had completely forgotten it, racking my brain for what I wanted to write on. I knew I wanted to write on cyborgs and how people don’t realize how common they are, but I couldn’t remember the specifi-It was memory!


http://www.putlearningfirst.com/br/grape/cyborg1.jpg 

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“I Liked Your Hair Better Straight”

tumblr_n7r6vgKPpR1t6dcj7o1_500.jpgI’m getting tired of hearing that….

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