American Culture is For Everybody (Not Just the Straights!)

I’ll admit it, I’m a bit of a hillbilly. My family migrated from the hollers of Kentucky to work in the factories in Michigan, and they brought with them a culture I still really love. I grew up with Sunday family dinners complete with food cooked in literal tubs of lard. (I know because my grandma would keep her empty lard tubs in the garage when I was growing up.) My uncle was a racecar driver, and I have fond memories of going to the local speedway to watch him along with the bus races every September. Trust me, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen ten school buses going full speed in a figure 8. I listened to exclusively country music until I was about seven and discovered Bon Jovi. I remember going muddin’ with my neighbor and fishin’ with my dad as a kid. My wife’s from the bougie suburbs north of Detroit, so when I tell her about these things, she looks at me like I’m speaking Greek. But that culture was a huge part of my childhood.

Fish love me, women fear me, or something like that.

As I write this, I’m getting ready to take aforementioned wife to a racetrack for the first time in her life. It’s for the Fourth of July; they’re going to be lighting off fireworks at the end of the night. It should be a fun night, and I’m excited to show her part of what made my childhood special. But I can’t shake the feeling that we’ll be surrounded by MAGA hats and people who would want us dead if they knew we were together. It’s an unfair assumption to make, especially since racecar driving has been historically very “woke” and NASCAR is actually a pretty vocal ally to this day. Still, I’m not oblivious. I know the kinds of people these events attract, and…

They look like me. They look like my family.

Sometimes I feel like I’m being forced to choose between the culture I grew up in and living as a queer woman. I’m sure I’m not the first person to feel this way, but it’s jarring for sure, especially when you’ve been in straight-passing relationships for most of your life. Suddenly, your very existence is political, and it’s weird and uncomfortable. People who don’t care about you are making laws about you and you have to actually start caring about who gets voted into office. I’m very blessed that my family tends to lean progressive politically, but I still feel like I can’t engage in parts of my family’s culture without feeling “othered.”

I wish we could enjoy these little pieces of American culture without that weird feeling. After all, we’re all Americans, even the people the right-wing media say are not. Remember all the “This is my pride flag!” posts last month flaunting the American flag, as if the two can’t co-exist?

Shared by a “friend” of mine. Need I say more?

Hillbilly culture, and American culture as a whole, shouldn’t be restricted to only straight, cisgender folks. This land is my land, too, and we’re just as American as the flag-flaunting MAGA hat-wearers. (I’d argue we’re more American, as we didn’t try to, ya know, overthrow the government.) Don’t let stupid memes and conservative media convince you otherwise. My culture is mine. My heritage is mine. My country is mine. And I’m done letting people take that from me.

My Strange Addiction: Watching People Suck

Oh hey, a prompt.

How do you waste the most time every day?

I have a confession: I’m fascinated by the worst people. It’s probably detrimental to my mental health, but I often find myself looking in the comments section of absolute cesspools on the internet for hours on end.

In my more naive years, I’d often debate people like this. I’d craft some well-written argument about how yes, trans folks are valid, gay folks should have a right to be with who they please, and black folks should, ya know, exist. This is usually followed by guys with profile pictures that look like a frostbitten toe laugh reacting the post to hell. I’ve since stopped because it’s no use arguing with people who look like this:

Apologies to this man for using him as an example but like, do better bro.

I consider it a matter of knowing my enemy. I want to know what these asshats’ talking points are so I can watch for signs of that shit in everyday conversation. The second someone brings up TERF rhetoric or starts talking about how we need a “straight white pride” month, I know to run in the opposite direction as fast as humanly possible. But also, it’s just kind of fascinating to me. Like, what leads a person to that level of hate? What makes one devolve into posting bullshit like this?

Ahh yes, the worst thing a woman can be, the mother to a biracial child.

It costs zero dollars to not suck. Imagine if people just minded their own business and didn’t brigade random people’s posts because they shared a picture of a queer person having fun? The other day, I had to put one of my own posts on private because it kept getting shared to hate groups. Like, why though? What are people getting out of this? I wasn’t even that mad — haters make me famous and all that — but the notifications were annoying as hell, and I was tired of seeing Greg’s thumb-looking ass popping up on my feed every few minutes.

I guess to me, it’s a reminder of what I fight for everyday. I use my platform on here to humanize the queer experience. I realize a lot of these folks have probably never met someone who isn’t exactly like them. I was similar when I first went off to university. I repeated the whole “Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve” BS because my high school friends would say it — God knows I’d never admit to being bisexual in front of them. But a funny thing happened when I moved to my college town. I met other queer folks and even came to terms with my own queerness, and I changed. But these people have never left their hometowns. They’re in a white, cishet circle-jerk forever, and it’s actually pretty sad. There’s a lot of beauty in human diversity and the way we connect with one another. We’re just people, and we want to live and love too.

Imagine seeing something this precious and being like “wow, I hope they all die.”

I should probably cut back on my “patrolling” these ugly spaces though. Even reporting doesn’t do any good — the comments never get taken down (thanks, Zucc!). Maybe I should look more toward the beautiful things in life and focus my energies there instead. Even the Bible says so:

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

-Philippians 4:8

Hmm, maybe the Good Book is onto something.

Oh, the Humanity! (Or Why Our Society Needs to Break Up With Toxic Individualism)

We have a humanity crisis.

Not a humanitarian crisis, although there are plenty of those happening in the world too.

You see, maybe I’m friends with the wrong people on Facebook, but it seems like almost daily I’m inundated with memes like this one:

Or this one:

None of those good enough for ya? How about one that’s both transphobic and threatens physical violence?

Double the assholery, double the fun, or whatever that gum commercial said.

The funny thing is, most of the people who share these memes will turn around and share DO YOU LOVE JESUS?! TYPE AMEN! types of posts in practically the same click. It would almost be funny if these same people didn’t have so much power. But as we learned with the overturning of Roe v. Wade, these folks can and will take away fundamental freedoms from us. Freedoms. You know, the very thing the right loves to brag about preserving.

I don’t know at what point in history “helping others” and “being a decent fucking human” became a partisan issue, but for some reason, it is. And I blame toxic individualism.

A certain amount of individualism isn’t bad. It’s what enables us to stand out and create new things. Nothing great would be accomplished without someone pushing against the grain. It’s when individualism evolves into “I got mine, so screw you” that it becomes toxic.

It’s why people turn against each other so easily these days. Remember when people didn’t give a shit about being transgender? No one was boycotting Pokémon back in the 90s for having Meowth be voiced by a trans woman. But somehow trans people having more rights takes away rights from cisgender people, and right wing pundits utilized that fearmongering to make trans folks public enemy number one. All because people are afraid of losing their rights to a group that is honestly much worse off than them.

Why are we as a people so dead-set on fucking over other folks? Why do we as a society pit groups of people against each other?

Ayn Rand may be the culprit:

“It’s the same string of arrogant assumptions that spawned the master race theories of Herr Hitler: ego deification, social Darwinism, arbitrary stratification of human types,” this article ponders. “Adapted for capitalism, it becomes the divine right to plunder, a license for those who own nearly everything to take the rest, because they wish to, because they can. Because the weak don’t matter. Let the big dogs feed.”

“Success coaches” like Andrew Tate espouse the same kind of individualistic BS — life’s about making your own money, popping out your own babies, and bowing to that primal urge to get yours before someone else takes it from you. But is that a way to truly be human?

Anthropologist Margaret Mead famously said the earliest sign of human civilization was a healed bone. In the animal kingdom, should a creature break a bone, that would almost certainly spell death for the poor thing. A stronger animal will easily overpower it and claim it as a snack. But someone protected and cared for another person long enough for their injury to heal. The thing that makes us different from animals is our ability to care for one another for unselfish reasons. This is our humanity. This is the very thing these “survival of the fittest” types want to erase.

Call me a bleeding heart librul, but I’d rather pay a little extra in taxes so some kid can get a free lunch or someone’s grandpa can get the cancer treatment he needs. I can learn a few Spanish phrases to make immigrants’ lives a little easier. I’d make small sacrifices like getting used to a friend’s new name or pronouns if it means welcoming in marginalized folks. It honestly isn’t that much of a sacrifice — we honor newlywed women’s name change requests all the time. American right wing politics make no logical sense to me. At some point, it just seems like people are going out of their way to be dicks to folks they don’t even know.

I’m not saying voting blue will change everything overnight. Everyone knows even left-leaning politicians are bought off by companies and individuals with less than wholesome intentions. A revolution isn’t going to magically happen anytime soon. But maybe we can start by not actively being jerks to other people. Maybe we can start by embracing our humanity.

A concept, am I right?

Engaged and Poly: What It All Means

If you haven’t heard the news yet, I proposed to my long-term, long-distance partner Olivia last night at a house show, the two year anniversary of the show we met at.

I had it all meticulously planned out — I bought her a rose gold opal ring and played the song I wrote for her during the show and did the whole “down on one knee” thing. She cried. I cried. I think some random strangers cried. It was beautiful.

Now begins even more planning, venues and dresses and cakes and all that. We’re going to go through all the motions and do a spiritually binding ceremony of sorts. But here’s the thing — we can’t legally marry. I’m legally married to my wife, Crass. No, I’m not leaving her for Olivia. They know about each other and like each other a lot. In fact, we all plan to live together as a family.

That’s the joy — and pain — of polyamory.

It hurts that I can’t ever legally make Olivia my wife, but for all intents and purposes, she will be my wife. I plan to do everything in my power to treat her as an equal to Crass, from adding her to my will to making her legal guardian of my future kids (whom she will have a hand in making as the sperm donor). We’re fighting an uphill battle against a monogamy-centered world that doesn’t understand, but it’s worth it. She’s worth it.

As a queer woman, I’m reminded of all the LGBTQ+ couples throughout history who never got to have their love validated by the government. I’m a romantic at heart, as much as I want to deny it at times. I don’t need a formal piece of paper saying we’re a couple. The greatest love stories of all time were never “sanctioned” by the government, all the queer and otherwise forbidden romances between folks of different races or socioeconomic backgrounds during a time when those relationships weren’t allowed. The Romeos and Juliets and the Jacks and Roses.

There’s a Bon Jovi song (of course) that reminds me of these relationships.

I was afraid to listen to it as a church-going kid because it mentioned sin and sin is supposed to be bad, right? But the message of the song is so much more beautiful than my child-mind could have comprehended. It’s about not needing the government or the rest of the world to validate your love. The young couple in the song maintains that it’s not legal marriage that makes a love, but the love itself.

Or is it right to hold you
And kiss your lips goodnight
They say the promise is forever
If you sign it on the dotted line
Bon Jovi, “Living in Sin”

Listening to this song as an adult through a queer lens, and especially as someone in a “scandalous” polyamorous relationship, it takes on a new, deeper meaning. I don’t know where we fit, the three of us, but I know I belong with my partners. I belong with Crass, and I belong with Olivia, and nothing can ever take that from me.

True love is a rare, special thing, and I was lucky enough to find it not once, but twice. That’s not something to take for granted.

In Defense of Taylor Swift: A Music Therapy Perspective

Taylor, Taylor, Taylor — I don’t even have to say her last name, and we all know who I’m writing about. Leave it to Ms. Swift to take one of the most common English-language names and claim it as her own.

Full disclosure: I am a Swiftie, though I’m not one of the crazy stans. I won’t say every single song she’s ever written is a masterpiece. I won’t even deny that she has some problematic elements (although in her defense, she has apologized for some of these transgressions, even retroactively changing the lyrics of one of her songs). She definitely had a leg up getting started as the daughter of a wealthy businessman. Still, even if she hadn’t been born into her charmed life, her talents as a songwriter and performer would have certainly been noticed by the industry one way or another. There’s no denying her talent for crafting catchy, relatable music.

And that’s what I’m here to talk about.

I have probably twelve clients I see regularly as part of my internship, and while their tastes vary drastically from person to person, there’s always one constant — Taylor Swift. She’s on every single client’s playlist. Some of her songs are used as lyric analyses for clients processing events and emotions. Some are used for “fill-in-the-blank” style singalongs, like “Karma” or “Mean.” A few of her songs, like “You Need to Calm Down,” are simple enough to play with boomwhackers, or giant tubes meant to produce a certain note when you smack them against something.

Preferably not your music therapist’s head, thank you.

And I think there’s a reason why her music is so ubiquitous in the music therapy world.

You see, it might sound weird, but I often look back wistfully to a time when music was less fractured, when everyone listened to the same five radio stations in their area. You knew that as you sang along to Michael Jackson being spun by your favorite DJ, there were hundreds of other people in your city singing along. These days, there are so many microgenres and independent artists, there’s no guarantee anyone else in the world is listening to the same song as you at any given time. For better or worse, there’s no such thing as monoculture, which means there’s no universally beloved artist anymore. And that means in this day and age, there are no real rock stars.

But then there’s Taylor.

This woman is the closest we still have to the true definition of a rock star. She’s our generation’s Freddie Mercury. Young or old, male or female, black or white — chances are you like Taylor’s music to some extent. And that makes her invaluable in music therapy.

As a music therapy intern, my iPad is chock full of Swift songs, and I keep having to add more as my clients request them. There’s something about her music that captivates people on a deeply personal level, and I’m constantly finding creative ways to use it for therapeutic purposes. There’s no other artist whose music reaches the masses on this level with such consistency, and it’s actually pretty inspiring to witness. The power of music is nothing short of miraculous, and no one seems to embrace that fact quite like Taylor (who, I should add, donated a music therapy program to a children’s hospital).

Something tells me she would have been a great music therapist in another life.

She’d play a mean QChord, that’s for sure.

I Just Can’t Wait to Be King

So I already fell off Bloganuary. Blame my internship. But I’m interrupting my radio silence because I have some exciting news to report to everyone!

I am going to start doing drag!

Drag Race' Legends To Host Political 'Drag Isn't Dangerous' Telethon — I can only *aspire* to this level of fabulousness, though.

My wife and I have been frequenting the gay bar down here in Fort Wayne. It’s a little blip of queerness in an otherwise very cishet state. Drag is a huge part of the culture there, and as I watched the queens and kings work the crowd, I realized I was made to do this kind of thing. Dress up obnoxiously, wear a crapton of flamboyant makeup, and lip-sync to fun songs in front of a bunch of people?! It’s like they created a job description just for me.

At first I wrestled with whether I’d be a king or queen. After all, there are AFAB queens, also called “bio-queens,” which sounds very sci-fi, like some kind of alien insect queen.

But the thought of being a king is kind of exciting. After all, I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that I’m bigender, or at least genderfluid in some capacity. As a kid, I wasn’t sure I was supposed to be a girl. I felt like my voice was too deep and my mannerisms were too boyish. I found myself identifying more with Bon Jovi than Disney Princesses. As I got older, I settled into womanhood and actually became something of a girly-girl. In fact, I’m probably girlier than most women out there — I love makeup and dresses and being pretty! I’m at home with my femaleness, but I still feel like there’s a little man living inside me. And I think drag will be a fun way for me to get to know him.

So, meet Richie Styx!

He’s an ambiguously gay British rock star from the 70s. He’s very much inspired by the likes of glam icons Freddie Mercury and Marc Bolan, with a little Richie Sambora thrown in (which is who I named him for). I had a lot of fun creating my man-sona from bits and pieces of male figures I looked up to as a kid.

I’m still just a baby king. My first performance will be an open stage night next Thursday. I feel so cool and confident as Richie though, and I can’t wait to bring him to life with my act. I think that’s the beauty of drag — you can be literally anything. You can be a Disney Princess or an alien queen, or even the old-school rocker dude you always admired as a kid.

Call me Simba, ‘cause I just can’t wait to be king.

The World is a Scary Place and I’m Kind of Over It

When I was a much younger Jessa, I thought I had a future in journalism. I envisioned myself curled up on a leather sofa in my high-rise apartment in NYC typing up a rough draft for a juicy exposé. It wasn’t exactly my dream life, but it seemed more attainable than, say, going on a world tour as a Taylor Swift-level rock star, and just as cushy. And I was good at journalism. I remember joining the university newspaper on a whim and absolutely wowing the editors with my writing skills. It seemed perfect.

But despite earning my journalism degree, I never pursued news writing any further. Because frankly, it’s depressing as hell.

And I’ve heard Hell is pretty depressing.

I don’t like to read the news. I keep up on it, sure, but I don’t enjoy it. I feel like these days, it’s all bad news, and lately I’ve been feeling overwhelmed by the weight of it all. So many awful things are happening and I feel powerless to change it.

Literally last night, my wife watched this video on how the right is boycotting damn near anything and everything remotely queer. Imagine someone hating you so much, they protest your very existence. And the sad thing is, it’s working. As the YouTuber in the video mentioned, Bud Light’s stock fell drastically after partnering with transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney. There are enough people out there who hate me and my loved ones to cripple an entire corporation. It’s scary.

And this shit happening in the Middle East is upsetting as hell. The whole Israel vs. Palestine thing? I don’t even know what side I’m on anymore because the more I research it, the more I’m not sure there even are good guys, save for the innocent civilians caught in the crosshairs. Like, I support Jewish folks having a safe place to live away from oppression, especially after everything they’ve been through throughout history, but does it have to be like, right the fuck there? Where people were already living? It’s a messed up situation all around, and I wish there was an easy answer.

And then there’s the mundane dystopian shit happening here in the US. There’s a whole fucking subreddit dedicated to inspiring stories of medical debt and the perils of capitalism. A teenager sacrificed her college fund to avoid homelessness. People have to ration their fucking medications. There are plenty more stories out there of horrible situations rebranded as inspiring that highlight just how messed up our society has become. Like, I’d call our healthcare system a joke, but it stopped being funny a long time ago. It’s damn near predatory. I shouldn’t be one happy accident away from ending up on the streets. No one should. And yet…

I hate it here. “Here,” as in Earth. “Here,” as in “being a part of humanity.” I want to believe people are generally good, but the greed and the prejudice and the violence is leading me to feel otherwise. I’d like to believe it’s not human beings, but power that’s the problem. None of these atrocities would happen if not for the people in power. Everyday folks like you and me, we’re not the problem, but we still sit idly by and let these people do rotten, despicable things to us and our fellow man. And it’s fucked up because what can you do? I feel helpless.

I guess that’s part of the reason I write this blog, to feel some semblance of control in this bleak world. I hope my words reach people. I want us to fight for peace, for housing and food and healthcare for all, for a better future for us human creatures. We’re all in this together, and I hate seeing how divided and polarized we’ve become. I feel weary, but I have hope that things will get better in my lifetime.

Maybe I’m too optimistic for my own good.

How to Be More Original

So, I signed up for a virtual audition with The Voice. Get your laughs out now; I know it’s silly. But I’ve wanted to be on one of those ridiculous singing shows ever since I was little. The Voice. American Idol. X Factor. Like, I’ll take any ridiculous singing show.

I remember watching those shows with my family as a kid and imagining I was on that stage, performing in front of millions of people at home. My name would be in lights. I’d actually be popular, which was a pipe dream for socially awkward, autistic little Jess, who discovered performing music was a way to make people like her.

My first foray into the world of televised singing competitions came in college. I found out the American Idol auditions were coming to Detroit. I stood out in the cold with my two best friends at the time, Crass, rehearsing my little heart out with my guitar and chosen two songs. I’d play a jazzy cover of “You Give Love a Bad Name” followed by my original, “Oceanography” (which I recently re-recorded and released, actually).

I knew I had it in the bag. And to be honest, I did make it pretty far into the audition process. Something no one tells you about American Idol is it’s not one or two standouts and five hundred duds auditioning. NO. It is quite the opposite. You’ve got five hundred Mariah Careys in the room with maybe one or two William Hungs.

So the fact that I made it three rounds into the audition process is astounding. I passed the initial audition, another audition in front of a set of producers, and made it to the executive producers.

Judging by the fact that I’m typing this and not, I don’t know, on a yacht sipping a pina colada with Simon Cowell somewhere, I obviously didn’t make it.

It’s what the producers told me that will stick with me forever though.

You’re just not unique enough.

After years and years of being the outcast for being too unique, I, Jessica Joyce Salisbury, was not unique enough.

I almost laughed. It didn’t seem right. I wasn’t like any of the other girls auditioning. I had blue hair at the time, for cryin’ out loud.

I’ll forever associate my blue hair with the Band That Will Not Be Named, though.

I guess in a sea of, say, Ypsilanti, I was basically the town’s Taylor Swift, but in a sea of millions, I was just another girl with a guitar. There wasn’t anything original about me. I didn’t have some sad sob story except the fact that I grew up without friends (which is a sad sob story another million other singer-songwriters already have). I didn’t even have that unique of a look. I didn’t come in there looking like Lady Gaga, or that girl who wore a bikini to her audition. I was just…ordinary.

I think I’m running into the same problem now as I go about promoting my music. Every artist needs a hook, and I honestly don’t know what mine is. I’m autistic and ADHD. So? There’s millions of neurodivergent artists out there doing the damn thing. I don’t have a unique look about me. I dyed my hair black in part to quell comparisons to Swift, but now people, especially older ones, compare me to Ann Wilson from Heart. Not that I minded either comparison all that much, considering both women are musical inspirations (and big gay crushes) of mine, but I wish I had a look that stood out more. Even the split-dyed look I sported for a while has already been done better by Melanie Martinez.

I don’t know what I need to do to set myself apart, but I’m sick of being the only person who cares about my music. I just wish I knew how to make other people care about my music. I can’t just pull a U2 and download my songs onto other people’s devices or like, stream “Oceanography” or “Sweet Honey” directly into people’s heads. (If that were possible, it probably wouldn’t be legal.) I’m not a virtuoso by any means, but I’m a damn good songwriter. That should be enough, but we live in an age where anyone with a laptop can be a songwriter and produce their own music. That’s not a bad thing, but it does make the competition that much more fierce.

Maybe I’ll get through the Voice auditions and finally get my big break, who knows? All I want is for my music to be heard by other people. I’ve always made music as a way to connect with other people. I don’t do it just for my own amusement.

Even if I do listen to myself more than I’d like to admit.

I didn’t answer the question in the title, mostly because I still don’t know myself. I guess I’ll always be on the journey to find new ways to stand out in a big wide world of other creators. That’s all we artists can do.

An Open Letter to JustPearlyThings

I happened upon a video by one of my favorite YouTubers earlier this morning. I’ll leave it here for you to watch as well. It’ll give you some background info at least, if you’re unfamiliar with the creator Hannah Pearl Davis of JustPearlyThings.

Pearl is a vocal advocate against women’s rights, which is ironic because she is, in fact, a woman herself. Not content to, ya know, have voting privileges and her own credit card (the latter of which wasn’t possible until my own mother was an adult), she speaks about how women generally suck in comparison to men. Her sources for this are seemingly rectally sourced — “But men built modern society!” Never mind that we weren’t allowed to contribute for much of human history. I guarantee had we been viewed as equals, we would have been just as prolific. But when you’re relegated to a life of wife and mother and shooed away from public life, you’re not exactly going to be building pyramids or discovering electricity. I’m just saying if we’d had equal rights like, several hundred years ago, life would probably look a little closer to the Barbie movie.

Minus the garish pink and weird feet, hopefully.

I’m not mad at Pearl for believing what she does, as problematic as her beliefs are. Rather, I feel a deep sorrow for her. How sad must it be to believe yourself inferior simply because of the way you were made! As shown in the video, she’s admitted herself that she has low self-esteem, which no doubt contributed to her falling down the alt-right rabbit hole that’s sucked in way too many young people like her.

So my irrational womanly feelings led me to pen an open letter to her. I highly doubt she’ll read this, as she’s a creator with millions of followers and I am simply some asshole with a blog, but perhaps some girl who’s falling down the same rabbit hole will. I pray my words convince her that she’s worth more than this.

Pearl,

Your name has a meaning — you are beautiful and precious and nothing can take that away from you. I hate what this patriarchal, red pill bullshit has done to you. I’ve seen some of your older videos — the light in your eyes has gone. But it’s not too late to reclaim it.

Your gender has nothing to do with your worth. You are a woman, and that’s okay! We’ve fought like hell to get to where we are today, and that’s something to be proud of. You have a voice because your mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers decided that they’d had enough of the very life you claim to want to go back to. Today, we have the choice to be scientists, businesswomen, politicians, or even just a wife and mother, which there’s absolutely nothing wrong with! My mom was a wife and mother, and that’s all she wanted to be. But she and my dad raised me and my sister to have a choice, and I cherish the fact that they gave us that choice.

You have a choice, too. You can live quietly as a wife and mother, or you can pursue a different dream, whether that’s in business or academia or politics or something else entirely. A lot of women manage to do both, which is admirable as heck! But you have that choice, and it’s a shame you want to take that choice away from other women. Our freedom was hard-earned, and you’re still receiving benefits from it. You weren’t pawned off like chattel to be forcibly married to some rando, were you? That’s an extreme example, but it shows how far we’ve come as a society. We need feminism because without it, that’s how we’d still be living. We’d be little more than the property of our fathers or husbands.

I write this because I know you’re capable of so much more. You’re a Christian too, right? Remember the verse that says there’s no male or female in Christ (Galatians 3:28)? That means our earthly gender divisions are moot — we’re all equal in the eyes of God. What’s more is that you’re beloved by God! He loves and provides for the lowly sparrow, and you’re worth much, much more than that to Him! You’re the daughter of a King, so straighten that crown and get out of this red pill nonsense.

You. Are. Worth. More.

Love,

Jessa

When You Can No Longer Turn a Blind Eye to Hate

Sometimes, I get the no-reason sads. Usually, the logical side of me (the part I’d like to imagine is bigger) will chalk it up to a chemical imbalance., just some muddled up brain slush not doing its job. This most recent sad, I could have easily brushed off as me not having my Wellbutrin for the last few weeks. But there was something more to this particular sad, and I could feel it.

The sad was not a typical no-reason sad. It was a scared sad, and it came with a realization.

I’m going to be living my entire life in fear for the women I love more than anything in this world.

I fear for my wife, who is black in a world that turns a blind eye toward violence against people of color. I fear for my girlfriend, who is transgender in a world that tells trans women to kill themselves, if the world doesn’t murder them first. I have so many fears about my future family and whether or not we’ll be safe in this country I love, the country I’ve called home my entire life.

I want to start a family with my two favorite people so badly, but I can’t shake this fear that something will go horribly wrong. Growing up, I never felt that kind of existential fear. I was a white, straight-and-cisgender-passing Christian. I never had to worry about systemic oppression or the ignorant prejudices of other people. I was able to exist peacefully and apolitically. But you can’t exist apolitically in a society that vilifies your loved ones and actively seeks to harm them. I used to be able to overlook oppression, but now I see racism and homophobia and transphobia in the world and it’s fucking personal.

My mom once told me that my writing has the power to change the world, and I hope it does. This was a hard post to write, but it’s so important to put out there. I want to live in a world that allows my future daughter to grow up without fear, without the nagging feeling that someone’s going to hurt her moms. No one should have to bear this kind of anxiety, ever, and I pray someday we’ll live in a society that lets us simply exist.

I don’t think that’s too much to ask.