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I don't how how much of this is about being re-het-partnered, how much of it is about cumulative frustration with living around my parents' vague "leftist" anti-feminism for the last few years, and how much of it is the continued fucking wound of how the country was too goddamn sexist to elect the most capable fucking leader we've ever had a chance at, pretty much -- but my feminism's got kind of a hysterical edge to it these days, I gotta tell you. Truth coming out of her well to shame mankind - style. This bubbling well of explosive anger and alienation, like it hasn't been since I was a teenager. I've been the suzy sunshine voice in my friend group in re: the chance of the Trump admin being taken down without the world ending, but I think the unvoiced pain of her non-election -- not just the fear for the world, but the bludgeoning feeling of watching an exceptionally qualified woman be ground beneath the wheel of public sexism before your eyes -- is starting to be a problem for me. But I don't know what to do with it -- the allies I have available to me are not necessarily sympathetic to that particular trauma, and, pragmatically, it feels necessary to swallow my feminist rage and work with my daddy in resistance against Trump. It's not that I'm unwilling to do what's required of me -- it's just that I notice it's warping something in me, a little bit, pulling askew
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Your mom's sticker is choking me up. I was never brave enough to put one on my own car, and I regret it.