hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
Washing the dishes after a holiday meal made me miss my mom.

The details were all different for me today at work when I was cleaning up a Pesach seder, but my mom spends much of every family gathering in the kitchen and from the time I was old enough to be trusted drying the good dishes, I've helped out. So there was something very familiar about it even in its novelty (I know shamefully little about Judaism; I'm grateful to the increased time I've spent with these Jewish friends now that I'm employed by one of them having exposed me to a lot more conversations and information about it, but still everything is new to me).

Washing and drying and stacking and storing made me miss my mom, but also sheesh now I appreciate how much project managing she does in dealing with the aftermath of a big meal for a bunch of people. What gets washed in what order, where clean things can be put, she's better at all of that than me. This is the kind of skill that gets so associated with women it is not even recognized as existing; soddevalued that even I who'd witnessed it for a couple decades didn't consciously think about it until now.

Maybe I shouldn't be too hard on myself for not being as good at this as my mom. She has a thirty-year head start on me, but she also had no doubt done this more before she was my age than I have. My life looks very different from hers, but still there are these echoes.
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
Quick update.

Just got a call from another GP receptionist saying I need to see a nurse (not the doctor I was told on Monday, but this makes more sense because this is what usually happens) and there's a cancellation today so I can go in then.

So in an hour I'll go and have my lecture about being fat and about my blood pressure which is only high because of my lifelong unttreated anxiety disorder, also because lecturing people about being fat stresses them out, and then I'll be able to get my prescription.

Still going to look into getting the implant but at least I won't be miserable (or as miserable, or miserable about this anyway!) until some time next week.

Thanks for all your kind and helpful comments yesterday.
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
My GP surgery rejected my request for more birth control pills and took it off repeat. The receptionists didn't know why when I came in to pick up the prescription and they say I have to see a doctor about it. I can't even have a phone-call appointment for a week.

I woke up with cramps, they're not too bad yet but I'm scared they'll get worse. I remember what they used to be like. But even more than physical effects, I had terrible emotional dysregulation without hormonal contraception. Andrew can testify that at least once a month I'd keep us both awake all night crying.

So it's probably not doing my tendency to burst into tears lately any good either! Here I thought it was just the stress of a badly-designed project whose deadline is a few days away (which I know has made classmates cry) or the job interview I'm totally unprepared for (I have dressy clothes somewhere but I'm going to have to find them!) or the neverending churn of stress, anger, fear and frustration that I go through every time I think about Brexit!

That would be enough. But let's have my hormones in turmoil too eh? That sounds great.
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
The Doctor is a traveller in time and space.
my friend Alex writes. So far, so totally normal for me. I've been hearing about Doctor Who since my second visit to the UK started the week after the show re-started in 2005 (and I got to watch "Rose" because the friend I was staying with had taped it on her VCR; that's how long ago 2005 is).

But then!
She goes anywhere she likes...
Now that did something to me. Like going to gigs to listen to Stuart's otherwise-all-female band, like watching new Ghostbusters or Ocean's Eight or Wonder Woman. I never adequately take into account how affecting I find it when men are not the default. As the least feeling-like-a-woman of all the women I know, I never expect seeing women as main characters will make feel any different but it absolutely does.

And I feel that same kind of way -- somehow more excited and more settled at the same time -- when I read a paragraph calling this character "she." In all the time I've been in the UK, I've been hearing about the Doctor, but I'd never heard the Doctor called "she" before. And he wasn't just talking about characteristics of this Doctor -- she's blonde, she has a West Yorkshire accent -- Alex was saying this about traits that'd always been associated with the Doctor.
She goes anywhere she likes, from Earth’s past, present and future to alien worlds and stranger places still. She respects life rather than authority, and obeys no-one else’s rules. She lives by her own joy in exploring new places and times, and by her own moral sense to fight oppression. She prefers to use her intelligence rather than violence, and she takes friends with her to explore the wonders of the Universe.
I shared Alex's post in a tweet where I tried to cram in what a big deal the she/her pronouns were for me, and when he saw it he was good enough to share a bit of the thinking that'd gone into what he'd written about this.
I always wanted to do the Doctor as 'she' because all the versions have been simply about the current one. I did think carefully about 'they' for the Doctors in general, but we're always talking about the current one as if she's all of them, because she is, so why change that?
Some friends of mine had a thoughtful discussion about this, particularly about "they," after we saw the first episode last Sunday night. I found myself instinctively reacting against "they," for reasons I couldn't articulate, but other people could manage it and what they said definitely resonated.

In the case of a Doctor, a single person who keeps changing bodies, the "they" could add some confusion if it's mistaken for a plural -- all those faces. "They" could also sound like the compromise of someone who's not quite on board with the (bizarrely contentious) notion of a woman being the Doctor. And most importantly of all, the Doctor has never, in any of her incarnations, expressed any indication of being non-binary or using they pronouns. She seems surprised but not misgendered when Yaz calls her a woman, and later refers to the clothes she needs to buy as "women's clothes."

Alex included several quotes in his blog post, from "Doctor Who people" as he calls them -- writers, the current and previous Doctors, etc. Alex changed the pronouns in the quotes [all but Verity Lambert's, which is definitely about the First Doctor] and he told me,
I decided they were the exact quotes even when I was changing them, and took especial license (and pleasure) with Terrance Dicks' words because I suspect he'd disapprove.
And some of the differences were about more than pronouns. One bit of that Terrance Dicks quote now reads "The Doctor believes in good and fights evil. Though often caught up in violent situations, she is someone of peace. She is never cruel or cowardly." And about this Alex said the loveliest thing of all:
It was difficult because it was the only bit where I had to do more than change the he and him: "he is a man of peace." I chiselled at that for a while: "a woman of peace" didn't scan for me, "person" for the same reason and also ducking the gender, and so on. I left it highlighted and came back later with "someone of peace," which isn't quite right, but seemed to have the same flow saying it aloud, and I felt that was important, like translating poetry.
There's more I could say about this Doctor now that we've seen her first story, but what was meant to be a little aside/introduction about her pronouns has grown into so many words I don't want to add any more to it, so maybe I'll write about the episode another time. Maybe even before there's another one! But maybe not.
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
Andrew and I have been excitedly reporting to each other that Gary is walking on all four feet, the kind of thing you don't appreciate normally.

He spent the last couple of days hopping around on three, holding his back right leg up. We took him to the vet yesterday afternoon and he apparently has a bit of an infection in the nail bed, he was given antibiotics and painkillers (as well as the quickest nail-clipping I've ever known him to have!) and was so excited to leave the vet's he practically ran all the way home.

It is good to have him more or less back to his old self, after a couple of days of sleeping and not eating much. The vet said that kind of infection could get serious if it's left too long but we seem to have caught it early, which at least meant the stress and expense of going to the vet was justified.

birth control gatekeeping, fatshaming, fertility, etc. )
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
Something bad that I knew would happen has finally happened and I'm as upset as I thought I would be when I first figured it out on Tuesday. It feels like it's ruined two days now, with all the accumulated grumpiness.

But there are good things too. I woke up today with some big and stressful things to do, and I've done then: bought train tickets for London (it amuses me that it cost me the same today to travel this weekend as it cost when my on-the-ball friend [personal profile] po8crg bought tickets as soon as they became available for our Hamilton trip in April, so this time the procrastination has a huge good side effect and no bad side effects), packed for the three days including doing laundry in time that it'll hopefully be dry, and had my syntax & morphology exam. Which I actually enjoyed: it was tough and I definitely have messed up some of the time but it was things I'm interested in and I knew enough that I'm not worried.

One thing that made me laugh. Being disabled I get to do my exams on my own, which is actually an accommodation I like more than I thought I would. I'm about half an hour into the text and somebody walks in and starts chatting about how she has some kind of chore (cutting paper? sorting out papers? something like that) to do and she's going to do it here because some other room was taken, or something... I actually wasn't paying attention, didn't look up, didn't break my concentration. I didn't hear a reply from the invigilator behind me, so I'm assuming frantic hand signals or fierce whispering must have been deployed because the next thing she said was "Oh, is he taking an exam?" and she left in a flurry of flustered apologies about how she didn't know. (Though really if I walked into a room where one person was sitting bent over their pencil (as my tenth grade English teacher liked to put it) at a table full of papers and the only other person there was an old guy in a sweater reading the newspaper, I'd probably think somebody was taking an exam!)

It made me laugh that she said "he," just because I'd happened to notice as I started the text that I was wearing a low-ish cut top and I had to lean over especially when trying to make sure I filled in the correct circle on the accursed optical-scan paper. So here I was, worried I was accidentally flashing my boobs at people, but I guess I couldn't have been if someone called me "he." Even if we've already established that she isn't the most perceptive person in the world.

Oh and I got a much-needed haircut too, just to give myself something to do when I was struggling to see the numbers on the buses (the optical-scan exam paper did my head in, with its tiny rows of circles, so I had migraine symptoms by the time I was done). That was very successful too: nice lady who cut my hair like I asked without trying to make it more "feminine" or anything (a problem that eventually had me give up trying to get other people to cut my hair, a year or so ago) and was friendly without being an overbearing "got any holidays booked this year?" kind of thing which also makes me anxious enough to put me off haircuts.

I'm really happy with the way it feels and people tell me it looks nice too. Here's a picture I took at the bus stop.
Me smiling with my hair shaved on one side and long enough to hang down the side of my face on the other
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
I have a sore bit of skin where my bra has rubbed on it because bras are terrible and all betray you eventually.

I realized in the familiar feeling of frustrated despair at this that I'm gonna have to wear a bra every day for the rest of my life and I'm so mad about this.

Angry envy

Aug. 24th, 2017 09:36 pm
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
I keep seeing female-presenting people in wide-legged, cropped trousers and envying them so much I am mad at the strangers because I don't have any. They're perfect for me! Why don't I have clothes like that?

Then I remember It's because you haven't been clothes shopping in years, Holly. Because you hate it.

Oh. Yeah. There is that. Not fair. I'll have to tell myself I can justify new clothes soon, before the ones I like go out of style and everything is skintight again.
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
This morning I saw someone quote an idiotic tweet, "Do you want a world of women-only screenings, or a world where everyone can go see a movie with no gendered problems? You can't have both."

This is in reference to a movie theatre in America scheduling women-only showings of Wonder Woman, and is part of the inevitable backlash of men who can't cope. Poor little snowflakes, who don't realize they've made the whole world into their safe space and now don't see why anyone else wants one.

It got me thinking, though: while I don't need women-only screenings (it'd mean I can't go with either of my usual moviegoing partners/carers who I'm happy helping me get around in the dark, for starters!) I would love some only-"people who are okay with the existence of women-only screenings" screenings. (This would get me both of my boys back, of course, as well as anybody else I'm likely to feel happy being around!)

It also got me thinking about the saying that's cropped up recently: "When you're used to privilege, equality feels like oppression." I really loved it at first and have made a lot of use of it but...I'm starting to realize the situation is even worse than that. These women at the women-only screenings still face gender pay gaps, the "second shift" of housework and caring responsibilities, street harassment, and the million other instances of individual and systemic misogyny that women endure.

They're getting to hopefully escape all that for a couple of hours (except however much there is in the movie, I guess; I thought I remembered fatphobia but I guess that's only in the advertising campaign outside of the cinema, where all the men are).

This is not equality.

It's not equality that is making the privileged men feel oppressed. It doesn't take anything as profound as that. Maybe a more accurate version of this modern proverb could be "When you're used to privilege, even a momentary gesture towards equality for a few people feels like oppression." Yeah, it's less snappy, but sadly it's more true.
Anything that carries the merest whiff, the possibility, the potential to even slightly threaten the privilege is greeted like oppression.

Heaven knows how the privileged would react to actual equality. We have no way of knowing, since it's never happened yet.


Apr. 14th, 2017 11:21 am
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
Two people have approvingly called my new haircut "feminine" and I don't know why but it really makes me sad. I think about this now every time I see myself in the mirror.

Girl Hours

Dec. 30th, 2016 08:59 am
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] meepalicious who, upon seeing Adrienne Rich's "Planetarium" linked to in my post about Vera Rubin, told me about another poem about another space-science woman which I absolutely adore: "Girl Hours".
Oh bright rain, brave clouds, oh stars,
oh stars.

Two thousand four hundred fires
and uncharted, unstudied,
the hours, the hours, the hours.
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
Honestly, I've been pretty sanguine about the death toll of 2016. I think this is probably because I had a lot less to do with pop culture than most of my friends, either through being slightly younger, living a boring sheltered life, or what. I don't feel personally connected to them so I don't feel like I'm losing that bit of myself when we lose them.

But what I think my calm acceptance is about (and I don't trust this thought because I really think I'm rationalizing my lack of emotional connection) is that most of these great people can and should be emulated. The good that they do should, and hopefully does, live on after them in the people they inspire to do the kinds of things they did which made us like them.

So while I recognize that (to give a recent example) David Bowie, Prince and George Michael expanded the boundaries of what men can be like, I also believe that this good and important work can and should continue beyond them. That maybe the best way to honor them is to emulate the things we liked about them and even push some boundaries, like they did.

However! There is one death I'm actually sad and angry about, and it's not because it's someone who personally had a big impact on my life but because it says something sad and angry-making about our world.

Vera Rubin discovered dark matter in the 1970s. She also died on Christmas Day.

This means, among other things, that she will now never get the Nobel Prize her work so richly deserves, because they're only awarded to living people.

As this article about her said in June, "It’s like the [Nobel] committee cannot see her, although nearly all of astrophysics feels her influence." This, of course, could also be a description of her famous discovery: dark matter is called that because astronomers can't "see" it (or detect it in any other way) and yet it must be there to explain the behavior of the matter we can see -- like stars and galaxies.

Only two women have ever won the Nobel Prize in physics, the most recent in 1963 (and even that was a woman sharing it with two men). Even with how difficult it is for women to get in, stay in, and succeed in scientific fields, it happens more often than twice a century!

Like all women in predominantly-male careers, Vera Rubin had to be extra aggressive and persistent. Stories like the one where she had to modify a bathroom sign because until then there'd been no ladies' room where she worked sound endearing and admirable at first...but then realization dawns: how could there have been only men's toilets?! How is this a thing anyone has to put up with? Rubin herself said in 2000 she was "fed up... What’s wrong with this story is that nothing’s changing, or it’s changing so slowly.”

This is why I'm sad and angry. We owed her so much better.
I found out about Vera Rubin's death from the twitter of Dr. Chanda Prescod-Weinstein, one of a few space-science women I follow there. I used to follow some men too but only the women talk about what really interests me, which is space (where they say the same kinds of things as the men of course) and social justice here on Earth. Dr. Chanda P-W is Jewish and a woman of color as well, so I find her perspective especially valuable in this, plus she just sounds like a fun person to know.
The following tweets you can see if you click on that one give a good idea of what Vera Rubin was like as a person, not just as the discoverer of a bit of science so famous we've all heard of it even if we don't really know what it is.

Other good stuff about Vera Rubin I found yesterday:
“I first observed at Palomar one long dark December night in 1965,” she recalled later. “My assigned bedroom was on the second floor of the dormitory, and there was a velvet rope at the first floor, blocking the stairs. When an astronomer asked why the rope was there, the answer was ‘because Vera Rubin is upstairs.’”

I live and work with three basic assumptions," Rubin once wrote:
1) There is no problem in science that can be solved by a man that cannot be solved by a woman.
2) Worldwide, half of all brains are in women.
3) We all need permission to do science, but, for reasons that are deeply ingrained in history, this permission is more often given to men than to women."

And here are a few clips from the BBC of Rubin talking about her work.
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
"Hang on a second," I said, starting up the stairs just when Andrew was nearly ready to go out. "I need to get some different shoes."

Trying to catch possible comments before they might happen, I said "I know you only have one pair of shoes because you have one pair of feet, but I can't do that."

"I know you do!" he said, rightly a little defensive at my pre-emptive unfairness. "I don't get it but I don't get a lot of things."

"And do you know why I can't have only one pair of shoes like you do?" I called down from the bedroom where I was buckling pointless but cute little buckles on my sandals.

There was a long pause.

I'd taught Andrew that women have to choose between comfort/suitability and acceptable appearance a lot more in our clothing than men do. I've never had one of those jobs where they mandated high heels, but I've certainly had criticisms for insufficiently-"professional" footwear even at temo jobs (where I couldn't afford new shoes!). Andrew's black brogues from Clarks are the overlap in the circles of functionality and approbation but for women in almost all of society, these two circles of the Venn diagram don't meet.

The pause got almost long enough that I was going to give the answer when two words floated up the stairs: "The patriarchy?"

"Yep!" I said, slapping my knees for dramatic effect as I stood up, feet newly sandaled and ready to take on the world. He got it exactly right; I'm so proud.
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
I'm so lucky that my life is far enough removed from the gendered expectations of the dominant culture that both Andrew and James noticed I'd shaved my armpits as soon as they'd seen me after I did it. They both seemed concerned or confused, and asked me why I'd done it.

I've totally forgotten that bodies like mine are expected to be hairless. And it's largely down to these two men.

Also, this happened:
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
resenting bras, my need for bras, how they never fit right (and yes I have had fittings!), how they hurt and maim, how they get old so quickly and are useless, I hate needing to think about them.
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
I was asked if I'd do a focus group thing for one of the fat-girl shops I buy clothes from -- it's interesting in the way things I never thought I'd do might be interesting, and they give you fifty quid for two hours of your time!

But I've got homework! I've got to think of three outfits, and send pictures of them beforehand. One is what I'd wear for "a special occasion," which shouldn't be too hard, one is "relaxing around the house" which honestly I could do most hours of any day though I can't expect the clothes shop to start stocking t-shirts given to me by men who love me, which is my favorite kind/at least half my t-shirts.

But the last request made of me is "an outfit you feel really good in." And...I don't know what that would be. Except for the aforementioned other-people's-t-shirts!

I wear clothes to feel good in the sense of warm and comfy, but not in any sense of feeling good emotionally for wearing them. In some ways I think that makes me the worst person ever for this group -- I feel like clothes and shopping for them are always just a matter of managing what kind of disappointment I'll feel.

But then maybe that makes me the best kind of person for the focus group, because "plus size" retailers are falling so far short of what I think are fairly straightforward and universal demands I'm making of my clothes: I want what thin people already have, which is readily available, reasonably priced, socially acceptable (for the many demands work and life place on women's clothes and appearance), clothing that actually fits my body shape -- which is not a thin person's clothes just increased by the same arbitrary amount in all directions.

Anyway, I still need to think of "an outfit I feel good in" to take a picture of in the next few days. Such an alien concept.


May. 19th, 2016 09:44 pm
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
For the last few days I've had sore boobs.

The kind that makes me worry I'm about to get my period (with PCOS, this usually means one day where I can't move or finish a sentence without swearing, so pretty much the opposite of ideal when my parents are here). But I didn't.

But they're still sore, days later, and I'm fed up.

None of my bras are adequate. Not wearing a bra is unthinkable -- which is really unfair because that's usually my favorite thing to do. The fantasies of having them chopped off have only been held at bay by the knowledge that even if I have no use for them, I know a couple of other people who are terribly fond of them. But even at the best of times I consider them nothing better than a nuisance that means my shirts never fit right, and right now they just make me even more unhappy than usual with my body and my hormones and everything about me.

a thing!

Mar. 11th, 2016 11:30 am
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
Sometimes things happen to me which amuse me because they seem symbolic in a way that I don't feel they actually are.

Today I was that I wanted some boxers to wear, because they're the comfiest with these trousers, but I couldn't see any in my underwear drawer because all the bras were in the way.

It's not a sign of gender fluidity or anything, it's just a thing that happened.
hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)
This was the week of everybody around me having health problems or concerns, so that can fuck the fuck off as soon as it likes.

But today was fun. To cheer up my friend Katie, I met her in town.

We looked around the Magic, Witches & Devils in the Early Modern World exhibit at the John Rylands Library...something which I'm sorry to say I basically couldn't engage with at all, fascinating as I find the subject matter. Mostly it was books in glass cases, which I understand being, y'know, Early Modern need to be kept in safe conditions. But they were not just behind glass and in very dim light, they were also accompanied by very small labels, with some of the writing being light-blue-on-white, explaining what everything was, which were useless to and a bit of a struggle even for fully-sighted Katie. There was a "Large print guide" at the start of the exhibit, which delighted me because it looked to be full of interesting stuff....until I realized that I couldn't relate anything I was reading to what I could see -- there was no way to know which interesting book or object was being talked about in the descriptions I was reading. Katie thought it was the same text as the brochure she'd originally found out about this exhibit from. Add this to the light-blue-on-white or white-on-light-blue text in the very dim lighting conditions, and the fact that Katie had been led to expect a lot more than a little corridor with about six things to look at in it, and neither of us could quite say we were happy with it.

Shame as I do love the John Rylands. And now with my volunteering/museums/accessibility habits well-ingrained (as anyone who's been to any kind of museum or similar with me in the last six months can attest, I'm always going on about fonts and light and contrast and signposting now; Katie said I should make myself a job as a disability consultant), I've tweeted them to ask who I can talk to about accessibility because I have some feedback. And Katie and I found a couple of comfy chairs just waiting for us to sit in them and chat about work and health and relationships and everything (possibly annoying the Terribly Serious visitors to this corridor, but if so they were too polite and British to say anything) before we decided we should get some food.

We ended up going to Ed's, the chain trying to be 50s American diners that has recently made it to Manchester. What I knew only as "the place to go if I'm waiting for a train at Euston" Katie was familiar with as somewhere she and her friends would go after school, age twelve or thirteen, to have cheesy fries and peanut butter milkshakes and imagine they were doing exactly what all American teenagers do. So of course we had to get cheesy fries, and this time her peanut butter milkshake had banana in it too. I considered a root beer float but went for the other thing I always get at this place: chocolate malt. Being my father's child, I far prefer malts to shakes, and they're impossible to find otherwise (though Andrew once made me one with Ovaltine and it worked surprisingly okay). We also had "Atomic American Onion Rings," which is just onion rings with lots of implausible things to dip them in: "jalapeño jelly," barbeque sauce, cheese (and we're talking proper bright-yellow chemical-tasting cheese sauce here, same thing that was on the fries), guacamole and sour cream.

After we'd eaten all the onion rings, we still had half a bowl of cheesy fries left, but dumped the sour cream, guac and the other cheese sauce into the bowl as well, getting a bit giddy by this point from all the sugar and just how much we were enjoying each other's company. "Whatever the female equivalent of a bromance is," Katie said, "that's what we're doing." So I told her about Galentine's Day, which yes technically would have been yesterday but we were clearly celebrating exactly the things it means to celebrate: friendship with women you can be yourself around. Appropriately, perhaps, we'd already spent a bunch of time talking about some womanly things, like hormonal birth control, being socialized to blame yourself for everything about other people that disappoints you, emotional labor, how difficult it's been to overcome diet culture and how delighted we were that we could enjoy our meal of fat and carbs and everything that's supposed to be bad for us.


hollymath: Selfie: white person, three-quarter profile, smiling, brown hair shaved on the side we can see, chin-length on the other (Default)

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