But do you know why?
(Before you start ranting about me being irrational and start spewing facts about the number of assaults in public washrooms committed by transgendered people - please read on first...)
Not because I think a transgendered woman is going to attack me or my daughters in a public restroom.
Not because I think a transgendered woman is going to take a peek at my 'naughty bits' in a public washroom.
But because suddenly, our oh-so-tolerant society (yes, that eye-roll you feel coming on -- let 'er rip) that I live in, has suddenly become (not so suddenly) oh, so intolerant.
North Carolina is passing legislation that will force - FORCE - transgendered people to use the bathroom that matches the gender they were assigned at birth, not the gender with which they identify.
So, basically, a man, who was born a woman, would have to share the bathroom with my daughters. Now, do I think that man is going to assault my daughters? No.
My fear isn't for my daughters at the hands of transgendered anybodys. My fear is for the transgendered people who get hassled every single day of their lives. Who have lived a life of fear far deeper than the fear that is instilled in girls throughout their lives. My fear is for the transgendered man in the women's washroom because North Carolina says he has to use that washroom due to what his birth certificate says.
And who's checking this, anyway? Is North Carolina going to hire a bunch of gender identifiers? Are they going to start requiring transgendered people to register with the government and wear some sort of identifying mark?
You know who did that once? Look how that turned out.
No. I'm not afraid of a woman sharing a bathroom with me who may or may not have been born a woman. Seriously - I just need to pee. And likely, so does she. I'm not afraid OF the man standing awkwardly outside a bathroom in North Carolina, trying to decide if he's brave enough to go into the men's washroom and risk 'getting caught', or if he should go into the women's washroom because that's where in North Carolina, his birth certificate says he is supposed to go. And what happens when he walks in there and some woman comes out and complains? Do you think someone will say "oh, well, he's transgendered, so it's all cool. Just relax" or "hey dude, you're not supposed to be in the women's washroom!"
No. I don't foresee any problems arising from this! (yep - eye roll again).
This is just another - I don't know - attempt - to force one person's (or in this case, group of people's) biased views on another group regardless of the repercussions.
I have to say, I don't think this was well thought out. Because really, what place does the government have in the pants of its citizens?
And if there are ever any transgendered women who are afraid to use the women's washroom for fear someone might say something.... I'll go with you.
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
The Neon Pink Backpack.
About seven or eight years ago, I was diagnosed with a life threatening illness. 20% of Canadians will be diagnosed with this in their lifetime. 100% of Canadians will be affected either by friends or family who will be diagnosed with this. It's one of those illnesses that doesn't discriminate based on age, economic status, gender, or culture.
Treatment is pretty simple. Medications control the illness and its symptoms. Effective treatments and consistent follow-up with my medical team help keep the illness in check and avoid major complications.
But there is one huge difference.
People run away from people like me. No one is lining up to offer me or my family support, keep my kids busy, visit or call or bring meals.
If I had cancer (and this is not at all to say that cancer in and of itself isn't serious), the amount of support my family would be offered would be immeasurable.
But I don't have cancer.
I have depression. It can affect every waking moment of every single day. It can leave me exhausted by simply getting out of bed in the morning. There can be days where just getting a shower or making a meal feels like a gargantuan feat.
And there are the good days. The days where I practically spring out of bed, ready to face my day, fight the good fight, and feel like bedtime can't come soon enough because I have been so busy and productive that I have exhausted myself, but I feel ready for more.
Thankfully, there are more of those days than the former.
The thing is, the stigma of mental illness is such that while 100% of Canadians are going to be affected by this disease, those that are lucky enough to not have the disease do not understand what their actions do to those who do.
When you have a friend who is diagnosed as depressed, deciding that it's too hard for you to deal with is probably the most selfish and hurtful thing you can do. Depression is isolating. Depression can be all consuming. The person with depression might come off as angry and rude, but the reality is, they are - they are angry that they are feeling so low, and they (we) don't know how to handle it. We push people away because we don't want to be with ourselves. When you have a friend who seems to be pushing away, you should be pulling them in closer. Not accepting that they are pushing you away. Once you've isolated that friend, or rather, once that person has isolated themselves from you, your response, or lack of response, simply solidifies in their mind that they are the worthless piece of junk their brain has told them they are.
When a depressed person feels abandoned by her friends, not reaching out simply tells that person that she is indeed abandoned. That the people she thought cared, really don't. Because if they did, they would not have abandoned her.
It's a state of mind and it's cruel. Chemical imbalances that require medical intervention are cruel.
Imagine, for a minute, that you had a 100 pound weight on your back. You cannot put that weight down for anything. It's already on you when you get up in the morning, and you can't take it off to shower, use the toilet, brush your teeth or cook breakfast. You can't take it off to drive to work, or do your grocery shopping. You can't take it off at work at your desk, and you must absolutely carry it around everywhere you go. It goes to bed with you, too.
But you can't tell anyone about it either. Because people don't want to know about your 100-lb backpack. They would much rather ignore it and pretend that even though it's neon pink, doesn't match with your outfit, and sometimes even has a flashing light and siren that will go off at intermittent, unplanned intervals, we just don't talk about pink backpacks. Your pink backpack is your problem to deal with. No one else wants to know about it.
Chances are, they have their own backpacks. Some of them are heavy, but match well with their outfits, so they're hardly recognizable, and often, they are someone else's burden, that they are carrying for that person. Or that they have taken on of their own accord.
Sometimes, the backpack looks like your neon pink backpack, but it also has a sign on it that says "cancer", and people are drawn to helping them with their backpack. Or trying. They'll offer to take a few things out of their backpack in an attempt to lighten their load. Sometimes, their backpack is much bigger than yours. Sometimes, their backpack is so big, it's only a matter of time before the backpack takes them away. And those people struggle if not just as hard, sometimes even more than we do with our intermittent-siren-and-lights backpack.
Sometimes, people have a big pink backpack, but all they carry in it is one or two small things. They think their backpack is the same as your backpack, but they need all the attention. They've found a way to trip the siren and the light so it goes off all the time. They get the sympathy you crave, even though you haven't told anyone about your backpack, and have tried to hide it by covering it with something that makes it look like everybody else's backpack. You force yourself to stand taller and not bend over the weight of your backpack, so you can look like you're not carrying a 100-lb noisy and light emitting backpack.
And just when you think you've got a handle on the weight of your backpack, something inside shifts and the weight is once again unevenly distributed. Now you have to find your balance again with this shift. See if you can figure out what shifted and whether or not you can get it back in place, or if you have to find a new way to cope with this new distribution. There are professional backpack packers. They can help you pack your backpack in new ways and even help you get rid of some burdensome items. Buy they won't come to you. You have to find them. And sometimes you may not like the way they pack your backpack, so you have to try another one who will help you, and not tell you how to pack your backpack.
Everyone has a backpack. They're all different sizes with all sorts of different items in them. You can ask for help, but your friends should realize when your backpack might be getting too heavy. As people with depression, we need people who will be there when our backpack gets too heavy or the load shifts. We already recognize that other people's backpacks are also heavy. And because we don't want to add the weight of our backpack, we pretend our backpack isn't as heavy as it is. We carry ourselves and hide the weight of our packs. Just so our friends, the people we are supposed to turn to when our packs are heavy, won't feel burdened by our loads.
Don't be that sort of friend. If you have a friend with a neon pink backpack that intermittently sounds a siren and flashes lights, ask them if they need help with their load. Sometimes, that's all they need. To know someone recognizes they have a heavy load and are willing to help. Don't stop calling and inviting them or excluding them because their backpack is a garish shade of pink. Remember, they didn't choose to have this neon pink backpack with the lights and sirens. This is the backpack they were given.
Treatment is pretty simple. Medications control the illness and its symptoms. Effective treatments and consistent follow-up with my medical team help keep the illness in check and avoid major complications.
But there is one huge difference.
People run away from people like me. No one is lining up to offer me or my family support, keep my kids busy, visit or call or bring meals.
If I had cancer (and this is not at all to say that cancer in and of itself isn't serious), the amount of support my family would be offered would be immeasurable.
But I don't have cancer.
I have depression. It can affect every waking moment of every single day. It can leave me exhausted by simply getting out of bed in the morning. There can be days where just getting a shower or making a meal feels like a gargantuan feat.
And there are the good days. The days where I practically spring out of bed, ready to face my day, fight the good fight, and feel like bedtime can't come soon enough because I have been so busy and productive that I have exhausted myself, but I feel ready for more.
Thankfully, there are more of those days than the former.
The thing is, the stigma of mental illness is such that while 100% of Canadians are going to be affected by this disease, those that are lucky enough to not have the disease do not understand what their actions do to those who do.
When you have a friend who is diagnosed as depressed, deciding that it's too hard for you to deal with is probably the most selfish and hurtful thing you can do. Depression is isolating. Depression can be all consuming. The person with depression might come off as angry and rude, but the reality is, they are - they are angry that they are feeling so low, and they (we) don't know how to handle it. We push people away because we don't want to be with ourselves. When you have a friend who seems to be pushing away, you should be pulling them in closer. Not accepting that they are pushing you away. Once you've isolated that friend, or rather, once that person has isolated themselves from you, your response, or lack of response, simply solidifies in their mind that they are the worthless piece of junk their brain has told them they are.
When a depressed person feels abandoned by her friends, not reaching out simply tells that person that she is indeed abandoned. That the people she thought cared, really don't. Because if they did, they would not have abandoned her.
It's a state of mind and it's cruel. Chemical imbalances that require medical intervention are cruel.
Imagine, for a minute, that you had a 100 pound weight on your back. You cannot put that weight down for anything. It's already on you when you get up in the morning, and you can't take it off to shower, use the toilet, brush your teeth or cook breakfast. You can't take it off to drive to work, or do your grocery shopping. You can't take it off at work at your desk, and you must absolutely carry it around everywhere you go. It goes to bed with you, too.
But you can't tell anyone about it either. Because people don't want to know about your 100-lb backpack. They would much rather ignore it and pretend that even though it's neon pink, doesn't match with your outfit, and sometimes even has a flashing light and siren that will go off at intermittent, unplanned intervals, we just don't talk about pink backpacks. Your pink backpack is your problem to deal with. No one else wants to know about it.
Chances are, they have their own backpacks. Some of them are heavy, but match well with their outfits, so they're hardly recognizable, and often, they are someone else's burden, that they are carrying for that person. Or that they have taken on of their own accord.
Sometimes, the backpack looks like your neon pink backpack, but it also has a sign on it that says "cancer", and people are drawn to helping them with their backpack. Or trying. They'll offer to take a few things out of their backpack in an attempt to lighten their load. Sometimes, their backpack is much bigger than yours. Sometimes, their backpack is so big, it's only a matter of time before the backpack takes them away. And those people struggle if not just as hard, sometimes even more than we do with our intermittent-siren-and-lights backpack.
Sometimes, people have a big pink backpack, but all they carry in it is one or two small things. They think their backpack is the same as your backpack, but they need all the attention. They've found a way to trip the siren and the light so it goes off all the time. They get the sympathy you crave, even though you haven't told anyone about your backpack, and have tried to hide it by covering it with something that makes it look like everybody else's backpack. You force yourself to stand taller and not bend over the weight of your backpack, so you can look like you're not carrying a 100-lb noisy and light emitting backpack.
And just when you think you've got a handle on the weight of your backpack, something inside shifts and the weight is once again unevenly distributed. Now you have to find your balance again with this shift. See if you can figure out what shifted and whether or not you can get it back in place, or if you have to find a new way to cope with this new distribution. There are professional backpack packers. They can help you pack your backpack in new ways and even help you get rid of some burdensome items. Buy they won't come to you. You have to find them. And sometimes you may not like the way they pack your backpack, so you have to try another one who will help you, and not tell you how to pack your backpack.
Everyone has a backpack. They're all different sizes with all sorts of different items in them. You can ask for help, but your friends should realize when your backpack might be getting too heavy. As people with depression, we need people who will be there when our backpack gets too heavy or the load shifts. We already recognize that other people's backpacks are also heavy. And because we don't want to add the weight of our backpack, we pretend our backpack isn't as heavy as it is. We carry ourselves and hide the weight of our packs. Just so our friends, the people we are supposed to turn to when our packs are heavy, won't feel burdened by our loads.
Don't be that sort of friend. If you have a friend with a neon pink backpack that intermittently sounds a siren and flashes lights, ask them if they need help with their load. Sometimes, that's all they need. To know someone recognizes they have a heavy load and are willing to help. Don't stop calling and inviting them or excluding them because their backpack is a garish shade of pink. Remember, they didn't choose to have this neon pink backpack with the lights and sirens. This is the backpack they were given.
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