Bicameral

WHAT I’LL TELL MY CHILDREN: ON BEING ‘F***ABLE’ UNDER THE REGIME OF PRESIDENT-ELECT

I read this and I cried. I read this and I sat up a little straighter. I read this and thought, this is why I’m in therapy; this is why I struggle with the words at home when I’m sitting across the table from my two male housemates with PhDs, who went to the finest schools in the country, who seem to always have the words for everything, who doubt all the women, so must especially doubt me. This is why I falter with my students of color. This is why I linger when they clearly want to go. This is why I ignore the texts from my female friends. This is why I disregard the bullshit they want to hash out over lunch, over coffee, at the mall.

What is happening? How am I supposed to do this? How is this supposed to go? What are the motions? Why do we insist on the motions? Can dissonance be a constant state of mind?

He gave me a Christmas present and I slid it right back at him: “I don’t do Christmas and I don’t accept gifts.”

Now more than ever.

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