Carrie

“Disability Visibility: First-Person Stories from the 21st Century” Centers the Wisdom of Disabled People

In her introduction to Disability Visibility: First-Person Stories from the 21st Century, anthology editor Alice Wong issues a call to action: “I want to center the wisdom of disabled people and welcome others in, rather than asking for permission or acknowledgment.” Wong put these words to the page before COVID-19 swept the globe or ongoing protests for Black lives changed cities and conversations — but they feel more resonant than ever. In this kaleidoscopic collection, Wong and her contributors provide not just a snapshot of what disability has meant in the past 20 years, but an urgent invitation to take that understanding forward. How many times have you heard that we’re “in a new world” recently? Disability Visibility challenges us to consider what a world with disability at its core can look like.

The cover of Disability Visibility: First-Person Stories from the 21st Century, edited by Alice Wong. The cover shows the book title superimposed over a series of colorful triangles.

Photo courtesy of Alice Wong

Across its four sections — Being, Becoming, Doing, and Connecting — this anthology illustrates the power of disabled life, individually and in community. “I was very selective and very intentional to make sure multiply-marginalized disabled people are really at the forefront,” Wong explains. “And I really wanted complex stories. I really want people just speaking their truth… real talk about what it’s like for them. That, to me, is the most important thing, especially for nondisabled readers: to be uncomfortable, just dive in, and try to get some sense of the reality of being disabled in this century.” The result is a vibrant catalog of perspectives on visibility, activism, community care, joy, and how to keep going. Sound useful at the moment? (It is.) And that discomfort Wong references comes up often, which is the point. These stories aren’t just about how we survive as disabled people now; they’re designed to spark questions, challenge conventional wisdom (even and especially within disability communities themselves), and point the way toward something more.

“We have such unique and effective ideas for change, if people would just pay attention to what we have to say,” says contributor Mari Ramsawakh. “Disabled voices have so often been pushed out of conversations and devalued, especially more marginalized disabled folks such as disabled BIPOC and trans folks… Our justices are intertwined and it’s important that we not only uplift disabled voices, but Black and Indigenous disabled voices, and especially queer, trans, and Two-Spirit voices, because they are the ones who are most affected and their knowledge is key to finding justice.” Disability Visibility never lets readers push that fact aside, which is what makes it so vital to this moment and beyond. Rather than a whitewashed, linear disability rights narrative, these pieces offer complex realities that don’t shy away from the work involved in disability, in activism, or the intersections of both.

Four photos arranged in a square. At top left, Alice Wong, an Asian American woman, in a power chair. She is wearing a blue shirt with a geometric pattern with orange, black, white, and yellow lines and cubes. She is wearing a mask over her nose attached to a gray tube and bright red lip color. She is smiling at the camera. At top right, Sky Cubacub stands next to Alice Wong and Nina Litoff wearing a brightly colored, patterned jumpsuit. They are posing triumphantly. At bottom right, Keah Brown, a Black woman, stands outdoors on a garden path, smiling at the camera. She is wearing glasses and a gray sweater with a cowl neck. At bottom right, Mari Ramsawakh, brown person with long pink hair poses on a black chair with their cane. They are wearing bright blue lipstick, a light blue leather jacket, a black shirt with a rainbow on it, distressed jeans, and black laceless sneakers.

Clockwise from top left: editor Alice Wong, contributor Sky Cubacub (with Alice Wong and Nina Litoff), contributor Keah Brown, and contributor Mari Ramsawakh. Alice Wong photo credit to Eddie Hernandez Photography, Sky Cubacub photo credit to Grace DuVal.

Some essays hit home particularly hard right now — Keah Brown’s “Nurturing Black Disabled Joy,” for instance, or “On the Ancestral Plane” by Stacey Park Milbern, who passed away in May. Sky Cubacub’s piece on radical visibility feels especially resonant as folks navigate how to protest in a pandemic. “The protests plus COVID make for a very interesting combination,” says Cubacub, the founder of Rebirth Garments. “Face masks serve a double purpose; they are good for trying to prevent the spread of COVID and for masking identities… it is a balance between being anonymous at protests and being radically visible in the other aspects of life.”

“I’ve been working as an activist for years, translating the disabled experience to able-bodied people via the sharing of my experiences in an open and sometimes visceral way,” says contributor Elsa Sjunneson. “I think it’s more important than ever as we fight against social institutions which harm people at multiple intersections to talk about how people at those intersections are harmed — and how we look to support them.” Disability Visibility provides a starting point for that conversation and a blueprint for building a “new world” that’s tangibly, spectacularly better than the old one.

“Especially now, it feels like this anthology in particular is so important,”Brown points out, “because disabled people are marking our place in history, in the world even. We are not apologizing for the space we take up and we are not just worst case scenarios or people worthy of dying in pandemics. We are people first and people always… I want [readers] to know that I, a black disabled and queer woman will not be going down without a fight. Whether you share those identifiers or not you shouldn’t go down without a fight either. Even if that means fighting yourself to prove that you are worthy. We all have to start somewhere.”

Disability Visibility is a landmark resource for understanding disability as a life experience and celebrating the wisdom it can bring. It demonstrates how to find hope in tumultuous moments, the importance of adapting anew each day, and the need to honor the past even as we look forward. “I do want to make sure there’s something for everyone,” says Wong. “And I think overall, raising the bar is the best of what it’s all about. [If] that ruffles some feathers, that’s fine by me.”

Disability Visibility: First-Person Stories from the 21st Century is available June 30 from Vintage Books. Visit the Disability Visibility Project for more information on the anthology and its companion resources.

Perfectionism and the Art of Rock Climbing

I don’t want every day to be a fight. I spend a lot of time worried that I’m going to slip — like no matter how strongly I start the day, something is going to go sideways and I will fall off. That’s not a real way to be here, is it?

I want to just experience things.

Rock climbing reentered my life about a month after I put all that down in my journal. I say “reentered” because my first experience came in childhood, courtesy of my older sister’s desire to try it and my dad’s desire to consolidate our schedules. Climbing fit snugly into a universe that otherwise consisted of basketball, video games, Xena, and general mischief. I loved the climbing gym. A quick Google confirms I still remember its layout.

The air in the gym near my current apartment smells exactly the same as that one. Gross, maybe — but I’d know it anywhere.

I arrived in DC without many expectations for the place but with a ton of them for myself. Somehow I would become the most professionally successful, politically astute, and most plugged-in me while simultaneously conjuring a social life, deepening my relationship, surviving my first even-remotely-real winter, and embracing a new city while not flaming out. I’d prepped for this moment in public ways (the liberal arts education, easy command of career trajectory, a strong community profile) and private ones (constant evaluation and revision of work habits, the podcast feed stuffed with productivity shows, a perpetual stomachache that eventually stopped registering). Honestly, by all appearances, it worked. No one can argue with the resume I’ve built here. I’m smarter than when I arrived and clearer about my desires. But that’s all due to unlearning, to everything I’ve had to unravel.

Perfectionism tops the list for sure. Its benefits are many and its costs are usually personal, the kinds of things we’ve sort of normalized by now as the price of admission to a meaningful life. If you’re a compulsively responsible do-gooder like me, of course you’ll pay, even if it hurts a little more each time. That’s just how it goes — especially when you’re in the continuous boss fight that is advocacy, activism, or social justice. Plus, every community has its grid of fine lines not to be crossed or even brushed against, so it helps if you’re already used to watching your step.

I always trusted my perfectionist instincts because let’s be real: they got me what I wanted. External validation, sure, but also an internal sense of goodness I had trouble mustering up any other way. I didn’t have to worry as long as I was always right. But of course, I did worry — constantly, about everything — because any new undertaking represented a chance to go wrong, to fail my community and myself. Getting meta about it for a minute, that’s why I’ve historically curdled with fear when writing. I’m an edit-as-I-go, one-and-done type who almost never produces second drafts. I understand their importance in the abstract, as a thing other people absolutely have the right to but that I haven’t allowed myself. What’s the point if I can’t do it right the first time?

I’ve dissected my disability and sexuality enough by this point to understand that I basically stood no chance of avoiding this kind of thinking. Give a girl enough straight As and she’s going to realize that there’s no security quite like achievement. In high school, I decided I could risk coming out precisely because people already knew me as well-liked, very involved, and probably smarter than you. I was right; I didn’t lose a single friend. In my twenties, when I started writing about my disability online, I regularly stayed up all night (and I do mean all night) to manicure the final product. People liked what they heard — but I also internalized a cycle of suffering and success that still gnaws at me more often than I’d like.

As a perfectionist, I’ll always be more comfortable sharing my shiny conclusions than my messy processes. And the best thing about climbing, for me, is that it’s pure process.

I’m not yet skilled enough to breeze through a route the same way twice in a row. Right now getting to the top feels like the payoff from a series of fortunate but entirely random choices. Part of it, I think, is that nondisabled people set the routes in my gym (and, I’d suspect, the vast majority of others). They host adaptive clinics here every month — which is actually how I got back into this whole game in the first place — but don’t change the routes during them at all. “Correct” paths up the wall are designed to challenge bodies that aren’t mine, so the likelihood of me sending on a first attempt (let alone explaining how I did it) is pretty slim. I’ve had to grapple with that a lot. It’s not just overcoming my lifelong reflex to prove my worth through competition; it’s also the fact that I have to show my work, particularly to my belayers.

Like my route setters, these folks are exclusively able-bodied, and if they have other kinds of disabilities, we’ve certainly never discussed them. I quite literally put my safety in their hands each time I’m on the wall. If we’re being honest, though, that’s not the scary part. Even worse than the possibility of falling is the inevitability of someone else getting a front row seat to me trying something new.

Ouch, right? I know. But that’s how my brain has worked up ‘til now. I wouldn’t say I fear big failures; I do, however, experience them as a time lapse of smaller ones every step of the way. By the time I get to the end of whatever it is I’m trying to do, I’ve pickled so thoroughly in anxiety and castigated myself so completely that the final result doesn’t matter. That goes double for new experiences (even fun ones). Until last summer, I hadn’t even attempted a new hobby since college. Sure, I can blame the exhaustion vortex that is working adulthood, but my clenched-fist resistance to any kind of vulnerability is just as responsible. Admitting that you want to try a thing, let alone having a stranger watch you do it from 30 feet down, requires trusting yourself to survive mistakes and trusting them not to judge you for it. A fight-or-flight operating system gets you precisely nowhere in that situation.

There’s also the fact that climbing is — to put it politely — really fucking hard. Its physical demands are no joke no matter who you are. For me, that’s meant a pretty intense overhaul of how I use and understand my body. Going from routine reliance on my arms to using my toes (?!) on a regular basis has been very confusing. I am routinely forced to engage muscles I never knew existed, move in ways I long assumed impossible, and execute feats of balance that feel questionable at best.

I do feel the need to say here, for any new-to-the-party able people reading this, that climbing doesn’t erase my disability, help me overcome or transcend anything about it, or make me more like you in any way. I’m still disabled; you still aren’t the point.

The point is trusting (there’s that word again) my body to stretch as I learn to be nicer to myself. I was really, really cruel before, even and especially when you’d never have guessed.

Living here has required its own renegotiation of my body. I now use a cane most of the time when I’m out in public. Initially I bought it for extra security in the snow, but it’s become invaluable when navigating packed trains and sidewalks full of East Coast speed walkers no matter the weather. It’s a Get Out of the Way signal that I only wish I’d been confident enough to use sooner. It also, it must be said, clarifies my “situation” for able-bodied people a lot more quickly. There’s a whole other essay in the fact that no one has questioned whether I’m “really disabled” in well over a year.

I do feel “really disabled” here — for perhaps the first time, which is complicated to admit. Before, cerebral palsy was more of a political identity than something that affected my day-to-day. It certainly made itself known, but during my last couple years in Los Angeles, I thought about it a lot more than I felt it. Now I feel it almost every day. Turns out I like seasons, but my body most certainly does not. There’s also the matter of navigation; for all the deeply real problems with LA being so car-centric, I miss being able to get everywhere in the same amount of time as an able-bodied person. I know lots of disabled folks for whom DC offers unprecedented logistical freedom. My experience has been the opposite. I’ve lost some independence being here. On the other hand, I’ve gained community, and feel “really disabled” because I’m part of that. Knowing I can run ideas or questions or problems by other actual disabled people, after decades of being The Only One or The Expert By Default, changes a lot.

But this is also the first time my body has felt like part of my job. It’s a form of credibility, proof of the “lived experience” that gets me a seat at a lot of tables around here. I’m Professionally Disabled now in a way that I only sort of was before. There’s incredible power in that, but it comes at an incredible cost. Turning an identity into a full-time job is dangerous for anyone — especially, as it turns out, a people-pleasing perfectionist. I’ve always had a hard time separating who I am from what I do and how good I can be at it. Here, that separation pretty much ceased to exist.

In retrospect, I understand that I got to Washington a little high on my own supply. It’s hard not to believe the hype when you land an important job thanks in large part to things you wrote online. The internet is a merciless hellscape, and yet I managed to avoid the worst of it despite being extremely public about very private things. No woman is ever supposed to pull that off. And I think, somewhere beneath what I could even articulate, I took that as evidence of my rightness and superiority as a person. I also only understood “whoopsie” failure at the time: mistakes I found personally humiliating but, in the grand scheme of things, were easily fixed. I didn’t know what it felt like to really, truly fuck up and have to own it.

Then I got my ass handed to me from May through August of last year. Plans I made and decisions I signed off on imploded repeatedly. I hurt people in ways I didn’t comprehend until it was too late. I internalized systemic failures as personal ones. And all that happening at once did a real number on my perfectionist brain. The reality is that I did the best I could, and actually prevented many bad situations from getting worse. But what I told myself, for months, was “You are a complete failure.”

When you hold yourself to impossible standards, you think you’re protecting yourself against disappointment, when you’re really just stunting your own growth. You and your work are either good or bad, right or wrong. There’s no “so far,” no “next time,” no “lesson learned” — there’s no process. But process is the only way actual change happens.

It’s not a coincidence that I started climbing again in the midst of all this.

I’m not actually very good at climbing, truth be told. It’s still new, and I don’t get to the gym as often as I’d like, and I usually feel clumsy when I’m up there. But I really love it. And even if I never got any better, never climbed any harder routes than the ones I do now, I’d still love it. Because it’s allowed me to see myself in an entirely new light. It’s introduced me to the value of a second (or third, or tenth) try. And it’s allowed me to embrace what I would have previously called irresponsibility, and am now learning to recognize as forgiveness.

I’m moving back to Los Angeles in the fall; most people don’t know that yet, though I suppose more will now. My girlfriend got into law school and it’s my turn to be the trailing spouse. I’m excited to bring this version of myself home — the one who understands that ultimately, being happy matters more. I’ll keep climbing, of course, and likely at the same gym I went to as a kid.

There’s room at the top, there’s room on the way up, and there’s room down here, too.🌲

edited by Heather.

Resistance and Hope Dares Us to Go Beyond Activism 101

There’s a section of my bookshelf right now devoted entirely to Resistance Manuals. It cuts across genres — history, biography, criticism, memoir, how-to — but each entry offers actionable guidance on navigating political moments like the one we’re living now. I know I’m not alone here; I see at least one other woman frantically reading up whenever I take the train to work. You may be cultivating a similar collection in your home library as we speak. Here’s a question: When is the last time one of those books actually challenged you? Made you uncomfortable? Held you accountable? For me, the new anthology Resistance and Hope: Essays by Disabled People did all of the above.

Resistance and Hope is the brainchild of Alice Wong, Founder and Director of the Disability Visibility Project. If you’ve spent any time on the disability internet, you know Wong’s work, and she uses that platform to assemble an all-star team of contributors. Wong based Resistance and Hope on a set of questions: “Okay, who are the people I’ve learned from? Who are the people I’ve followed, and who I know?And [how do I] make this intersectional as fuck, without using the word ‘intersectional?’ It should sort of just be that way.” The result is an anthology that centers people of color, trans folks, and the queer community seamlessly. That’s the first big lesson of Resistance and Hope – how it looks when you live your values from the start.

Initially, Wong conceived of the project as a direct response to Donald Trump’s election. “The evening of Election Night 2016 was a very scary moment,” she admits. “Like so many other marginalized communities, we knew exactly what would unfold under this administration… [and] I just really wanted to think about the response and opposition to what the next four years would look like.” You can feel the shadow of Trumpism throughout the book; it’s somewhere in every essay, whether explicitly or lurking just beyond what’s written. As a whole, the anthology provides a forceful cross-section of reactions to, as Wong puts it, “this dumpster fire.”

The most intriguing offerings in Resistance and Hope ask something more of us as readers: to take a look at ourselves. That’s where this collection really levels up. “It’s not Resistance 101; it’s not Activism 101,” Wong says. “We gotta make people uncomfortable. We gotta challenge our own understandings and our own presumptions. And we have to challenge our praxis, the way we do things and think about things.” Whether you’re new to disability justice or a seasoned practitioner, Resistance and Hope is going to push you.

“Activist communities often relate to disability community as additional work, as people with problems that need to be addressed in order to participate,” explains Naomi Ortiz, who contributed the essay “Self-Care When Things Shatter.” “They often do not relate to disability community as one with a wealth of gifts, which of course we are.” In highlighting those gifts, the authors in Resistance and Hope don’t shy away from the realities of the work. If you’re looking for easy answers that preserve your bubble, you won’t find them here. That’s exactly why anyone who considers themselves an activist, an ally, or a member of the resistance writ large needs to read this book.

“It is so grueling to practice our ideals in the day to day,” admits contributor Stacey Milbern. “Sometimes it feels like all I do is make mistakes, but I know also that’s how we make our politics stronger — through practice — and it’s what makes them real, not just theory.” The difficult questions in Resistance and Hope are there to help us sustain our movement — to ensure that resistance survives as action rather than simply reaction. “To me, that’s what these contributors are offering,” says Wong. “They’re offering a pathway, they’re offering a vision, and they’re offering actual steps.”

Resistance and Hope doesn’t pretend that perfect activism exists. Instead, it offers blueprints for doing better, and dares us to pursue that goal. “This is an invitation,” Wong continues. “This is an opportunity to be part of that journey, or to start that journey, whether through discovery or internal work. That’s the only way that we can create a better world: if we are open about our vulnerabilities, what we know and what we don’t know, and that we can rely on each other.”

You can order Resistance and Hope on Amazon (all proceeds go to Helping Educate to Advance the Rights of Deaf Communities (HEARD)) or download the anthology on Smashwords.

FRIDAY OPEN THREAD: Show Me Your Power Outfits

Hi, you’re looking sharp today! Welcome to the Friday Open Thread, where we lay out our feelings, hopes, and dreams, then process away in the grand tradition of our people.

I spent much of the past week focused on the U.S. midterm elections and you might have, too. It was a topsy-turvy ride full of big wins and small wins and heartbreaks and progress, and if you’re a wonk like me, chances are you’ve already rehashed it ad nauseam in the rest of your life. So I’m not gonna make you go there again! But I do want to tell you about something I did in recognition the next day.

I wore this.

Carrie wearing a red flannel over a shirt with a cartoon uterus giving the middle finger.

In case you’re wondering: yes, that is indeed a flannel over a t-shirt with a cartoon uterus giving the middle finger. And let me tell you, taking this getup onto the streets of Northern Virginia the day after the midterm was an experience. So many knowing glances! So many stink eyes! Either way, I was into it! Putting my political feelings across my chest on an important day made me feel a little more empowered. Which is, all told, one of the best things our clothes can do for us. So.

In honor of our newest quarterly issue, But Make it Fashion, I want to see and/or hear all about your power outfits, dear readers. What’s that one ensemble you have in your closet that transforms you? Makes you the most yourself? Gives you the biggest boost? How do you feel when you’re in it? Tell me everything (and share pictures if you can).

Let’s all celebrate each other looking our hottest and most powerful — since power started to look a little different this week.

How To Post A Photo In The Comments:

Find a photo on the web, right click (on a Mac, control+click), hit “Copy Image URL” and then…
code it in to your comment like so:

If you need to upload the photo you love from your computer, try using imgur. To learn more about posting photos, check out A.E.’s step-by-step guide.

How To Post A Video In The Comments, Too:

Find a video on YouTube, copy the URL, and paste the link on its own separate line in your comment. You no longer need to use the “embed” code!

10 Books on Voting, Elections and Government to Get You Ready for the Midterms

On October 6, I sat in the U.S. Senate gallery and watched Brett Kavanaugh get confirmed to the Supreme Court by a vote of 50 to 48. I’ll be honest: it was brutal. But it was also one of the most important events I’ll ever witness as an American. Because I also watched women from around the country — senators and otherwise — make it known that they will not stand for this, that they are ready to dig in and fight, and that change is coming. So I took my rage home and channeled it in the most productive way I could think of.

I sent in my absentee ballot.

With the midterms finally (!) around the corner, it’s time for each of us to get registered, get engaged, and get out the vote. Whether you’re waiting for November 6 or already wearing your sticker, here are 10 books (all by women, thank you very much) on electoral politics to remind you of what’s at stake and how far we have left to go.

One Person, No Vote: How Voter Suppression is Destroying Our Democracy by Carol Anderson

This one’s on a lot of folks’ lips right now, and with good reason — Anderson’s deep dive into the history and practice of voter suppression is both readable and urgent. She provides a clear through line from earlier iterations of ballot box discrimination to the (literally) whitewashed manifestations of today: gerrymandering, voter roll purges, the Shelby County v. Holder case that decimated the Voting Rights Act, and voter ID laws, to name a few.

“What you do is, you create an obstacle — and then you create an obstacle to the obstacle,” Anderson explained on The Daily Show. “And you make it so difficult for people who are already working their hardest to make it, to now just be able to access their basic right to vote.” Her book is an ideal primer for getting your head around this issue, what it looks like today, and how we as citizens can push back on the ground.

Good for: The 3,000-foot view with contemporary context.

The Myth of Voter Fraud by Lorraine C. Minnite

For the data-happy among us, Minnite offers a more qualitative investigation of exactly what “voter fraud” is — and, more importantly, is not. She insists on a more specific definition than the one whipped up by GOP fearmongers, and concludes through painstaking research that actual fraud is (no surprise) exceedingly rare. This book is a galvanizing escape from the abyss of alternative facts.

Good for: Coming ready with the numbers next time your conservative uncle tries to get into it with you.

The Woman’s Hour: The Great Fight to Win the Vote by Elaine Weiss

Reviews of The Woman’s Hour tend to emphasize two things: 1) its cinematic level of detail and 2) its honest look how racism suffused the women’s suffrage movement. It’s worth a read on those merits alone. In detailing how the fight to ratify the 19th Amendment came down to one final state — Tennessee — Weiss doesn’t sweep anything under the rug.

In a presentation at the National Archives, Weiss detailed the driving forces behind her work:

The fight for women’s suffrage is really one of the defining civil rights struggles in our nation’s history. It’s one that cuts to the heart of what democracy means. Who gets to participate in our government? Who has a voice? When we say “We the People,” what do we really mean? Do we mean everyone?

If those same questions are currently keeping you up at all hours, hi, welcome. Let’s add this to our late-night book club.

Good for: A more honest take than you ever got in high school.

One Woman, One Vote: Rediscovering the Women’s Suffrage Movement edited by Marjorie Spruill Wheeler

Speaking of women’s suffrage: this essay anthology, which comes recommended by the patron saint of our collective rage, Rebecca Traister. It’s also the companion piece to an eponymous episode of the national treasure American Experience. Relevant: American Experience has been my preferred balm for the soul ever since the 2016 election and I highly recommend watching every installment. (The theme music makes me tear up sometimes? I’m fine.)

Good for: PBS enthusiasts and other “perpetual student” types.

The Voting Rights War: The NAACP and the Ongoing Struggle for Justice by Gloria J. Browne-Marshall

This wide-reaching overview of Black Americans’ fight for equal voting access — which continues today, in case you forgot — stands out by focusing on the role of the NAACP at pivotal moments. If (like me) you work at a national-level organization and find yourself occasionally disenchanted by its slow pace of change, turn to Browne-Marshall. She will remind you what is possible.

Good for: The exhausted nonprofit employees in your life.

Electoral Dysfunction: A Survival Manual for American Voters by Victoria Bassetti

Bassetti’s book is another companion to a PBS documentary, but stands equally well on its own as a warts-and-all electoral politics crash course. It covers why the right to vote never made it into the Constitution, the (racist) origins of the Electoral College, common Election Day controversies, and more, all in an accessible style that untangles the most infuriating knots in our political system. The documentary is worth a watch, too — but trust me when I say don’t skip this write-up.

Good for: Understanding what the hell is going on when you cast your ballot.

When You Grow Up to Vote: How Our Government Works for You by Eleanor Roosevelt and Michelle Markel, illustrated by Grace Lin

Look, I think we all could use a modernized edition of queer icon Eleanor Roosevelt’s children’s book on American government right now, okay? Age is just a number.

Good for: “I’m Just a Bill” fans.

Minority Leader: How to Lead from the Outside and Make Real Change by Stacey Abrams

For my fellow political memoir fans, this one more than delivers — part autobiography, part activism guide, all from a woman who is fighting voter suppression tooth and nail in her own gubernatorial race as we speak. Get five pages into Minority Leader and you’ll understand exactly why Stacey Abrams is national news.

“The starting block is knowing what you want,” she says, “and then wanting more. Run for office, take the helm at corporate boards, go to college, or start a small business. Whatever the path… locate [your] ambition and use it to create a path to leadership that does not bow to inner doubts or outside prejudices.”

Sound good? Great, me too, let’s go.

Good for: Locating your ambition.

The Big 4: Ins and Outs of Local Government by VoteRunLead

Whether or not you’re planning to run, VoteRunLead’s guide to local government offices will help demystify those down-ballot races and make you the envy of your civically engaged friends. This ebook (which is free with your email address and ZIP code at VoteRunLead’s website) breaks down the roles and responsibilities of city councils, state legislatures, school boards and county commissioners while profiling women who have served. Best of all, VRL provides companion videos that go into even more detail on each office.

I went to a candidate training soon after moving to DC earlier this year, and can say without reservation that VRL was the highlight of that day. They want you to run as you are — seriously, that’s the name of their initiative — and resources like these prove it.

Good for: Aspiring candidates, campaign managers, and volunteers.

Run for Something: A Real-Talk Guide to Fixing the System Yourself by Amanda Litman

There are over half a million elected offices in the United States — and if you want to run for one, know someone who should, or care about who does, you need to read Run for Something. It’s the no-bullshit play-by-play you’ve been waiting for. Litman’s up front look at campaigning is vital for every voter, regardless of personal ambition, because it shows what it takes to actually win a seat and what happens when we look the other way. She details the perils of the uncontested election (spoiler alert: there are WAY TOO MANY OF THEM), how exactly to launch a campaign, and the value of citizen activism, all with a particular focus on marginalized people who don’t see ourselves represented nearly often enough.

“I’m angry at a system that makes it so hard to run for office,” Litman says, “and at a party that perpetually encouraged rich lawyers to run and then seems shocked to find itself without a diverse pipeline of talent… Our elected officials are, by and large, a sea of white men who don’t actually represent the diversity of this country. You have to fix it.”

Good for: Fixing it.

Go forth and engage, my friends, and let me know your other favorite wonk manuals in the comments. Also tell me when you’ve voted in the most important election of our lifetimes because we really, really, really need you to. Thanks, glad we had this talk.

FRIDAY OPEN THREAD: How Do You Stand Up For Yourself Like A Boss At Work?

Hello, power suits! It’s time for the Friday Open Thread and given what a topsy-turvy nightmare this past week has been, I want to focus on a productive outlet for our collective rage, and something I think we need to celebrate and encourage: standing up for your goddamn self at work.

Intimidating? You bet. Necessary? That too. So let’s talk about it! I’ll start.

Ever since I moved to DC, I’ve been exhausted by one particular aspect of my life here: my commute. There are (quite literally) many steps involved, and I’ve realized over the past few months that as a disabled person, the way I’ve been getting to work just isn’t physically sustainable. It’s not a matter of being lazy or out of shape (thanks, internalized ableism!), but the straight up fact that I have cerebral palsy. I’d cut my commute time in half and arrive at full strength if I started driving in. But a parking space is not standard here. So making that change meant having to do something I’d never done before: ask for a workplace accommodation.

The irony, of course, is that I work at a disability rights organization — so that kind of request shouldn’t freak me out. But oh, reader, it did! I felt like it was fine for other people to ask for accommodations, but that I didn’t really need one so did I really need to trouble my bosses like that? Especially as the new person on staff? Spoiler alert: that’s not how the ADA works and this is exactly the kind of thing that counts as an accommodation, actually. So I did that thing where I thought through every possible scenario and about 75 different alternatives if they said no, delayed asking at least three times, and finally laid it all out there: look, I’ve been doing my job well, but I want to do it better, and here’s how I can. It’s an easy fix.

They said yes. And yeah, it has been pretty revelatory to have so much more energy all of a sudden. I can go out after work! I can run errands after work! I’m not panicked all the time! And I am, in fact, better at my job! But if I, in pretty much the most privileged situation imaginable for this scenario, had such a hard time even getting up the gumption to ask for what I needed, this needs to be a bigger conversation (especially for queer folks). That’s where you come in.

So let’s hear it: how have you asserted yourself at work recently? What on-the-job victories do you want to celebrate? How did you make them happen? And if you’re looking for advice on how, exactly, to become the professional BAMF you’ve always dreamed of, put your questions out here too. May we all achieve our goals as we smash the patriarchy in every industry, amen.

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The Disability Justice Initiative Moves Beyond the ADA to Raise the Bar for Progressive Movements

In the past week, I have:

Taken ten trips on public transit, parked my car in two designated accessible spaces, used my office building’s elevator four times, spent money at five local businesses, stepped off at least 50 curb cuts, and accessed three separate federal government buildings.

That means I benefited from the Americans with Disabilities Act a minimum of 74 times in seven days. And those are only what I can quantify; add in, for instance, the fact that I work full time for fair pay alongside nondisabled people, and the ADA’s importance to my life becomes immeasurable. It’s one of those laws that’s everywhere if you know what to look for. But treating the ADA like civic wallpaper means taking it for granted — when it’s actually far from a foregone conclusion. Earlier this year the House of Representatives passed H.R. 620, a bill that decimates key ADA provisions under the guise of “education and reform.” This latest attempt at cutting off the ADA’s nose to spite its face fortunately stalled en route to the Senate, but legislative sneak attacks aren’t the only threat at hand. There’s also the assumption that the ADA is enough — that just by being a landmark law, it sealed the deal for disability rights. But as anyone who doesn’t fit the mold of Trump’s America can tell you, rights do not guarantee justice. Ending that conversation with the ADA is like passing Go, collecting $200, and then not moving forward another square for 28 years.

The Center for American Progress won’t accept that stagnation. Last week, CAP launched the Disability Justice Initiative, making them the first ever think tank to host a dedicated disability project. (Yes, the first ever, and it’s 2018. Take a minute to consider what that means.) The DJI’s coming out party demonstrated what happens when intersectional justice is the starting point instead of the finish line. This isn’t your run of the mill activist space — and women are running the show. (For real: women consistently held center stage at not one, but two kickoff events for this initiative. Be still my heart.)

“CAP has been incubating disability policy work inside of its Poverty to Prosperity Program since 2014,” explains Rebecca Cokley, Director of the Disability Justice Initiative. Rebecca Vallas, the VP of that team, came to the organization with the desire to not only build out the work on poverty, but also a program of work on criminal justice and [a program on] disability. Given the intensity of the fight to save the Affordable Care Act last year and the continued assault on disability rights in general, CAP decided it was time to create the first disability policy shop inside of a DC-based national think tank.”

A who’s who of disability advocates convened to introduce the initiative, including Chai Feldblum, the first openly lesbian Commissioner of the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission and the fourth disabled person to serve on the EEOC; Vilissa Thompson, founder of Ramp Your Voice! and #DisabilityTooWhite; and Sarah Blahovec, Disability Vote Organizer at the National Council on Independent Living. And that was all in the leadup to the launch. When those are the speakers at your night-before reception, you know you’re onto something big.

“We are at a moment now in our country where people are energized,” Feldblum said. “People are focusing on making progressive social change. Our challenge is to channel that energy so that the people who are lifted up, the people who are helped, are those who have been shut out and kept back for years — so that they can now live lives of safety, dignity, and integrity. But here’s the thing: we have to act intentionally and strategically to make that happen.”

Cokley concurs. “I feel like the disability community needs to spend some time asking itself: How are we working together across movements in the progressive space? How are we centering the voices of people with disabilities who are fighting multiple oppressions? How are we embodying sustainability of ourselves in such a time where it seems like the ground underneath us is always shifting and we are drinking not from a fire hose, but from a flamethrower? Disability justice, as established by thought leaders and activists including Patty Berne, Mia Mingus, Leroy Moore, and Eli Clare, created a series of principles several years ago that was significantly different from what was being talked about art the time: principles like collective liberation, intersectionality, interdependence, and centering the dialogue on those in the disability community who faced multiple forms of oppression. Frankly, it’s the way all disability organizations should be doing business.”

From left: Rebecca Vallas, Keri Gray, Noorain Khan, Julia Bascom, Mia Ives-Rublee, Elena Hung, and special guest star Xiomara Hung introduce the Disability Justice Initiative. Photo courtesy of Rebecca Cokley.

From left: Rebecca Vallas, Keri Gray, Noorain Khan, Julia Bascom, Mia Ives-Rublee, Elena Hung, and special guest star Xiomara Hung. Photo courtesy of Rebecca Cokley.

CAP brought together the right women for that business: Keri Gray, Director of the Rising Leaders Initiative at Disability: IN; Noorain Khan, President’s Program Officer at the Ford Foundation; Julia Bascom, Executive Director of the Autistic Self-Advocacy Network; Mia Ives-Rublee, Founder of the Women’s March Disability Caucus; Elena Hung, President and Co-Founder of Little Lobbyists; and Tammy Duckworth, U.S. Senator from Illinois.

“I think we should talk about intersectionality, in addition to lived experiences and how we communicate with a greater population, as a way to draw strength for ourselves, and think of it as a position of power,” Duckworth said. “It’s really about showing the progressive community that we are at the forefront of their fight, and it’s the same fight.”

Laura E. Durso, Vice President of CAP’s LGBT Research and Communications Project, has some insights for queer folks looking to foster that solidarity with the disability community. “The fight for access to the public square is a major intersection of our work now. We have real work to do to show the harms of overly broad religious exemptions for all marginalized groups and how the outcomes of things like odious bathroom ban legislation affect a wide range of people who need equal access to public spaces. When it comes down to it, we all deserve that right, and the disability community is an incredible partner for us in that fight.” As Cokley puts it, bills like H.R. 620 and North Carolina’s infamous HB2 are “cut from the same cloth — intended to keep one group of people out.”

The Disability Justice Initiative offers a promising model for the coalition building required to survive our political upside-down. “We are living our values,” Cokley says. “We are amplifying the work, the voices, and the leaders in multiply-marginalized communities. We are committed to bringing on staff who have this lived experience. We are committed to working with the experts — disabled people themselves — to create tools and resources that they want and that we can help supply.”

“The goal is to see other progressive movements see the value in authentically integrating a disability justice framework. Because there is no issue or constituency right now that is not impacted or doesn’t include people with disabilities, even if they don’t see people, or understand the nuance of the issues,” she continues. “Disability justice as a framework can be a real opportunity to have some of the tough conversations we’ve needed to have, and also make our movements more sustainable for the long-term.”

For more information on the Disability Justice Initiative, follow CAPDisability on Twitter, visit #DisabilityatCAP, and watch this introductory video from the Center for American Progress.

So You Want to Host a Voter Registration Drive

Pop quiz for all the U.S. citizens: what are your state’s voter registration rules? If you’re not sure, I suggest you brush up, because the 2018 midterms are knocking on the door. You might have even had a primary already! It’s really happening, everyone. And in an era where Virginia recently decided a tied House of Delegates race by pulling a name from a bowl, getting out the vote matters more than ever.

Say you’ve already got your own registration squared away. What then? Good news, fellow overachievers: there is yet more you can do. And that “more” is called a voter registration drive.

Registration drives aren’t just for overeager people with clipboards in grocery store parking lots. I, a self-proclaimed introvert, helped register voters during the 2016 election and still think about it daily as one of the most important decisions I’ve ever made. There are few better paths to saving the republic than getting your fellow Americans registered. We’re holding our first registration drive at A-Camp this year because it’s that important.

But what can you do, exactly, as one person? Where do you even start? Melissa Wyatt, Policy Associate at Rock the Vote, gets those questions a lot. “I think people often are wondering how to fill out these forms accurately, concerned about making sure that they are following the law — of course — and a lot also come to us who want to make sure that they’re maximizing their efforts,” she says. “Especially if you’ve never run a voter registration drive before, there are so many different approaches that you can take and so many different things that you don’t think of until you have the experience in the rearview mirror.”

To save time you otherwise would have spent staring into that mirror, here are some ways you (yes, you!) can run the best, most civically engaged voter registration drive EVER.

1. Know your state.

“The first step that anyone should take is knowing their state laws and regulations around these drives, because that really can vary so much depending on where you are,” Wyatt explains. Some places only ask you to fill out a voter registration card request, others require day-long trainings that only happen once a month, and did you know that North Dakota stopped requiring voter registration altogether in 1951? Right. Add in state-specific rules about who can register (including folks with felony convictions, for example) and when (hands up for preregistration!) and there’s a ton to keep track of long before you get to the polls.

Fortunately, Rock the Vote is among a handful of organizations that provide state-by-state breakdowns of the registration rules in terms that actually make sense. “We try to help people understand the laws and regulations that they’re gonna be dealing with depending on the state, and we provide supplementary guides that run through FAQs and scripts of how to approach people,” Wyatt explains. “That’s what our guides try to get at: the things that you might not know to ask about.”

2. Integrate with existing community events.

See: A-Camp! For queer people and other marginalized folks especially, hosting a drive where we’re already congregating will get you a lot further than just trying your luck elsewhere. The opportunity to register may very well not reach us otherwise. According to Wyatt, “The reality is that going out into these communities has such an impact, because they don’t otherwise receive the resources and the system isn’t designed for them to participate. So getting out and engaging people — also providing information that demystifies the process and making sure they’re equipped with what they need to go out and vote — is so important. Creating a relationship with people where you can talk face-to-face about how important it is for them to vote and how much you want for them to vote can really be useful.”

3. Do a dry run.

I personally find the very sight of voter registration cards intimidating (better safe than sorry, perjury charges are no joke). If that’s a trait you share, Wyatt suggests walking through the process in advance — from all sides. “Practice how you handle a form, how you engage with people, and what you should say back depending on various responses,” she says. “It’s also important to practice registering yourself and see what it’s like to be on the receiving end.” (Fellow perfectionists, this one is for us. It’s gonna be okay.)

4. Double check everything in real time.

As great as the temptation may be to get the entire interaction over with — you have more people to talk to, they have lives to get back to, it’s probably at least a little awkward — you’ll be much happier later on if you look each form over right away. In fact, this is Wyatt’s biggest tip for the day of. “A lot of times people will accidentally put today’s date in the birthday slot or vice versa, or they won’t sign it, or there will be missing fields. Pretty much once the person’s gone, there’s not much you can do about that. It puts you in the situation of trying to find them again or contact them or something, which can get complicated. So just doing that quick check while they’re still there is key.” Accuracy check now, save yourself from having to chase a stranger down the street later!

Wyatt also suggests collecting folks’ follow up information as part of your drive to make sure they receive the reminders and information needed to actually vote. That extra effort can make a particularly big difference in states with voter ID laws. “Of course you need to get the forms from people at registration drives and submit them — but it’s also important to provide them those free resources so they can cast a prepared and informed ballot and actually know when the next elections are. That’s really key to translating the registration drive into actual voter turnout.”

5. Remember why you’re there — and have fun.

When you’ve been tabling for six hours and only gotten two completed forms, it can be easy to doubt the efficacy of this whole thing. But voter registration drives offer a path to political participation, plain and simple. And keeping that path open should be a top priority if you care about the direction America is going.

Wyatt points out that registration drives are critical to leveling the playing field around voting rights and civic education. “The reality in this country is that voting has evolved over the centuries, and people have fought long and hard for everyone to be included. But hundreds of years ago, voting was pretty much only meant for wealthy white men. That’s where the system started and what we’re still going off of today. So that also means that laws and systems and processes around voting in this country [make it so] that marginalized communities of all kinds are not included. Sometimes laws are specifically designed to make it harder for those communities to turn out… [and] voting can be kind of shrouded in mystery depending on where you live.”

If you can clear up that mystery for even one person, it’s worth getting out there. So clipboards up and look alive — I believe in you!

Downloadable Guides and Toolkits

Voter Registration Toolkit (Rock the Vote)
Voter Registration Drive Guide (Fair Elections Legal Network)

National Organizations and Initiatives

American Association of University Women
APIA Vote
Black Women Vote
HeadCount
League of Women Voters
National Voter Registration Day
Nonprofit VOTE
REV UP Campaign
Rock the Vote
Spread the Vote
VoteRiders
Voto Latino

Official State Resources

Alabama

Voter Registration (Alabama Secretary of State)

Alaska

Voter Registration (State of Alaska Division of Elections)
Registrar Handbook (State of Alaska Division of Elections)

Arizona

Missouri

Montana

Nebraska

Voter Information Frequently Asked Questions (Nebraska Secretary of State)

Nevada

Voter Registration Drives (Nevada Secretary of State)

New Hampshire

Voting in New Hampshire (New Hampshire Secretary of State)

New Jersey

New Mexico

Voter Registration Information (New Mexico Secretary of State)
Third Party Voter Registration Agents (New Mexico Secretary of State)

New York

North Carolina

Conducting Voter Registration Drives in North Carolina (North Carolina State Board of Elections and Ethics Enforcement)

North Dakota

Voter Registration (North Dakota Secretary of State)

Ohio

Oklahoma

Voter Registration in Oklahoma (Oklahoma State Election Board)

Oregon

Voting in Oregon (Oregon Secretary of State)

Pennsylvania

Voter Registration Application (Pennsylvania Department of State)

Rhode Island

Voter Registration (Rhode Island Board of Elections)

South Carolina

Online Voter Registration (South Carolina Election Commission)

South Dakota

Voter Registration Drive Instructions (South Dakota Secretary of State)
Registering Voters in South Dakota One-Pager (South Dakota Secretary of State)

Tennessee

Voter Registration Drives (Tennessee Secretary of State)
How to Host a Voter Registration Drive (Tennessee Secretary of State)

Texas

Volunteer Deputy Registrar Guide (Texas Secretary of State)

Utah

Utah Voter Registration (Utah Lieutenant Governor)

Vermont

Voter Registration FAQs (Vermont Secretary of State)
Registration and Elections (Vermont Secretary of State)

Virginia

Registration Drives (Virginia Department of Elections
Voter Registration Drive Training Video (Virginia Department of Elections)
Guidelines for Conducting Voter Registration Drives (Virginia Department of Elections)

Washington

Hosting a Voter Registration Drive (Washington Secretary of State)
Guide to Hosting Voter Registration Drives (Washington Secretary of State)

West Virginia

Voter Registration (West Virginia Secretary of State)

Wisconsin

Voter Registration Guide (Wisconsin Elections Commission)

Wyoming

Registering to Vote (Wyoming Secretary of State)

FRIDAY OPEN THREAD: How Did You Know You Were Home?

feature image via Shutterstock

Hello rainbows near and far! I’m emerging from the deep freeze of an overwhelming offline life to lead this week’s Friday Open Thread, where we all get together to talk about our feelings and the events that inspired them. Pull up a chair/comfy pillow/bar stool/living room sofa/other seat of choice and let’s go!

I kicked off 2018 with a gigantic change: relocating from Los Angeles to Washington, DC to work at a disability rights advocacy organization. About four months in, I’m happy to report that my job and I are indeed made for one another and I remain in awe that they’re paying me to do any of this. No matter what I will always be proud that I responded to the 2016 election by picking up and going for it. There is no better way I could have transformed my grief and anger and I’ve never felt more empowered or fortunate.

HOWEVER.

Relocating is hard! And as someone who hadn’t done it before, wow was I surprised how intensely the homesickness hit about a month and a half ago. I recognize I’m super late to the party on this but geez. No matter how nice the people (and in my neighborhood they really, really are) or incredible the opportunities (being at the Capitol the night of Nancy Pelosi’s DACA quasi-filibuster is up there), I haven’t quite been able to shake the sense that I’m a Californian in a strange land. For a while I had to actively restrain myself from getting off the train at the airport on the way to work and flying home — not to quit, but to feel like I was back where I belonged for a minute. Fortunately conditions have improved since then thanks to the change in the weather, leaning into the endless amount of nerdy stuff to do here (which not even the literal worst administration in history can take away), and the arrival of my girlfriend and the cat.

A fluffy orange cat looks very pleased about the chin scratches he's getting

Seriously look at this guy

So here’s my question, fellow travelers: how did you know you were home? Whether after moving to a new place, switching apartments in the same city, or finding the community you’d been searching for online/in life, what made you realize you’d arrived? When did you finally relax and say “yes, this is it”? What’s the best thing about wherever and whatever you call home? Tell me all about it and let’s create a home for each other here while we’re at it.

PS: Excited to see a bunch of you at camp SO SOON! Come say hi!

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VIDEO: Did Love Win? Not for Everyone

I remember June 26, 2015 so clearly I can give you an hourly breakdown. The TV was on as soon as I woke up, Pacific Time meaning I cut right to the good stuff outside the Supreme Court. I expected a much longer wait — one that justified the days, months, and years of hand wringing and breath holding already done — when boom, there it was, barely ten minutes into my day.

“There is a right to marriage equality.”

“Same-Sex Marriage Legal Nationwide.”

“It is so ordered.”

My boss sent me home from work early to celebrate because I clearly wasn’t getting anything done. I had a beer on a restaurant patio at noon. One of my college professors met up with me in West Hollywood, and we spent the rest of the day into the next one hugging, crying, and meeting up with friends who arrived in waves. People were sobbing in the street, releasing years of frustration and rejection and the White House was lit up rainbow and it felt like, on that day, we were finally getting somewhere.

Now Obergefell v. Hodges seems like an incredible dream we all had at once. I still believe it will stand the test of Trump (and Gorsuch) and time. But two years ago, I also wasn’t considering its limitations. Not just that a marriage license won’t save you from losing your house or your job — but that marriage equality isn’t yet a reality for many queer disabled folks, no matter what the Court said.

That’s because of some delightful provisions in Social Security benefit law known as “marriage penalties.” Never heard of them? Good news: I made you a video!

Because of what programs like Supplemental Security Income (SSI) and Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI) help pay for, benefits “adjusting upon marriage” isn’t as benign as it sounds. You don’t just have less money to your own name — you’re also risking your only means of access to certain kinds of healthcare. That’s not something your partner can fix by adding their income to yours.

“Once you get married, they say ‘You’re no longer a burden of your parent — you’re a burden of your spouse! Congratulations,’” explains Dominick, a queer trans person I interviewed for the project. “They basically put all the burden on your spouse to take care of you, and they become financially responsible for you as a disabled person, which is a really horrible way of looking at [us]. Their income, no matter what it is, is now paying for both of you. So if, for example, you only have Medicare, good luck getting a wheelchair. I hope your partner’s income can pay for that.”

“A lot of us are living day-to-day, and people don’t want us to even have that,” he continues. “They say we’re entitled, they say we’re lazy, they say we don’t deserve this. But I also don’t see it as a choice. Choosing between lifesaving healthcare and marriage? That’s not a choice. That’s why it’s a penalty, and that’s why this is an issue of equality.”

One point the video touches on that I want to drive home here: the penalties still apply if you are “living as married,” meaning that any serious relationship, even without the formalities of marriage, poses a risk. So public acknowledgment of that relationship may be asking too much. “Sometimes you don’t even mention your partner by name,” Dominick says. “Or if you’re talking about them online, you use a pseudonym. It’s for their safety as much as yours, because the fear is very real.”

Marriage penalties often fall through the cracks of the equality discussion. They don’t affect everyone, they’re confusing, and who cares about something as dry as Social Security law anyway? But especially now, it’s crucial to stay vigilant about the work we have left to do. So watch this video, enjoy me in full Narrator Mode, and remember that “equal dignity” means all of us.

For more on the Obergefell ruling, Social Security benefits, and marriage penalties, visit rootedinrights.org/didlovewin.

So You’re Gay Now: Interview With My Childhood Best Friend, Iah

Welcome to So You’re Gay Now, a series where Autostraddle writers get back in touch with that person they went to school with/knew from summer camp/grew up next door to who has since come out to ask:

When did you know?
When did you come out?
How did you perceive the LGBTQ-friendliness of the environment we were in?
Did you want to make out with me?
Did you get a vibe from me?
Secret celeb/high school crushes?
What would you change?

I can’t think of sixth grade without thinking of Iah. She was the friend I could never quite believe I had: smart, outspoken, well-liked across all social groups. And she forever had a bit of mystery about her as the new kid who ultimately left as quickly as she’d come. She moved to Chile partway through the year after her dad went on sabbatical (a word I’d never heard but immediately hated) at work. My 10-year-old heart couldn’t imagine anything more devastating. This was right before the internet exploded across the world, so we couldn’t yet shrink the distance between us with emails or screen names. We missed the window by just enough. Naturally, I always wondered what became of her.

Imagine my delight when the answer turned out to be “gay rabbi in Ohio.”

Side by side photos of Iah. On the left she is a young kid wearing a softball uniform (complete with visor). On the right, she's in her twenties, smiling away from the camera while wearing red framed glasses and a pink scarf.

Then and now.

That’s right, kids: the technology that showed up a few months too late the first time around repaid us in full. We’ve been internet friends for a while now, and recently had a marathon brunch (and FORGOT TO TAKE A PICTURE I KNOW I’M SORRY) during her visit home. Now she’s here to help us usher in Autostraddle’s long-gestating but positively inspired series, So You’re Gay Now.

Can you talk about who you are now, where you are now, and what our relationship was when we first met?

I’m a rabbi in Ohio now! I was recently ordained, I’m working on a book, and I’m doing some teaching. When you and I first met, we were in elementary school. We were part of the same group of weirdos [laughs]. It was my saving grace, because I was the new kid in fourth grade. And then we were part of the same group of nerds, which was awesome.

Yes! That was a strong group.

It really was.

When was the first time we were actually in class together?

I think we became friends in fifth grade, but we only had class together in sixth grade. And I don’t think anyone cool was in my fourth grade class either. [Both laugh]

Yeah, I think the rest of us were all in the class down the hall from you. I remember that you weren’t there when I first arrived. Where did you move from?

I had gone to school over the hill, like the next town over. After we moved, my mom got a permit to allow me to stay at that school, so I started another year there. But then halfway through, who knows why, I decided I wanted to switch. What I told my mom was that I wanted to know the kids in the neighborhood. But why that was an urgent, midway-through-the-year thing, I don’t really understand.

From my impression of you as a little kid, though, that actually doesn’t surprise me. You always seemed like a very opinionated child.

Yes, I was.

Like when our Republican congressman came to our class to answer questions and you asked him for his thoughts on soft money. [Both laugh]

That’s one that came straight from the parents!

Most of my memories of you, including that one, are from sixth grade. But that’s also when there was the absolute trauma of you moving [both laugh]. I look back on that event, and it’s the first thing from my childhood that makes it really clear that I was gay: how upset I was over you leaving.

Aww! I’m sorry for your pain, but that makes my heart warm.

Yeah! I think back and it’s so obvious that I had a crush on you. This was also before anyone had cell phones, so whenever we’d want to see each other outside of class, we’d have to call and ask each other over, which we did often. But I remember I was so nervous to call you a lot of the time, I would dial the first six digits of your number and then hang up.

What?! [Both laugh] That’s adorable.

I know.

And I would have been so thrilled to hear from you! I always liked hanging out with you so much.

It didn’t make our friendship weird at all. It wasn’t like there was tension, or some secret thing happening that I wasn’t telling you about. I didn’t know.

No, not at all. The timing is interesting, because soon after that, when I was in Chile, was when I first remember being like, “Am I gay?!”

“There is this one coded entry in my journal from that time — no other entries, this is the only one in code, perhaps expressly for this purpose — that was like ‘What is this? Am I? Is this normal? Could I be gay?'”

Tell me more! My realization experience was so not like that.

There is this one coded entry in my journal from that time — no other entries, this is the only one in code, perhaps expressly for this purpose — that was like “What is this? Am I? Is this normal? Could I be gay?” And then there was some guy that was interested in me, so I was like “Okay, let’s do that!” But I was never really that into it.

After that, I went to all-girls school, and I had been going to all-girls camp. So I thought “Oh, maybe it’s just because of all-girls school.” So part of why I went to coed boarding school in England in tenth grade was to see. I was super into the straight dating scene there… and then very quickly fell in love with my best friend. [Laughs]

As you do. That’s basically what happened to me in high school. So when would you say that you knew?

I would say middle school was a lot of me thinking I was interested in men and women, but not being able to accept it. Especially because I had a secret love connection with my best friend in eighth grade —

Oh wow, okay! [Laughs]

Yeah! We’d stay up all night and watch Queer as Folk and cuddle. [Laughs] I really wanted to talk about it, and she didn’t. But we’re still actually really good friends, which is awesome.

I’d say I really came out to myself at the end of tenth grade, when I was in love with my best friend at boarding school. We used to make out with each other when we were drunk. And then I wrote her this letter being like, “Will you go out with me?” and she said “Can’t we just be best friends who make out?” Our relationship changed, and she freaked out for some reason and told everyone about this letter. So then I was outed. I kind of lied about it at first, and then decided to just be like, “Yeah, and?” People would ask if I was a lesbian, and I would say “Girls, boys, whoever. It’s the person, not the gender.” And everyone was like, “Oh, okay, cool.” I was pleasantly surprised. I basically only dated girls after that.

And then, when I was about seventeen, I came home from a Shabbat service where I had just staffed this event about gay people in the military, and my mom was like, “So… are you invested in this stuff because it’s important, or because it’s personal?” And I said both. And she was like, “Great!” But my parents had a hard time with the idea of bisexuality, even though I was only dating girls.

It must have been the first year of college when I realized I was actually a lesbian. But it was a subtle transition, because I just hadn’t been interested in guys for so long. And everyone I knew in college was gay. I only had, like, one straight friend.

I came out in high school, the spring semester of eleventh grade. So it sounds like we were on pretty similar paths, time-wise; it’s just that we didn’t go to the same school anymore. I feel like we would have been friends in high school, though.

Totally. We definitely would have.

“I think it’s really interesting how we all gravitated toward each other. Similar things happened with my camp friends. Maybe we were all seeking out kindred spirits.”

Did you have a sense of whether our elementary school was queer-friendly at all? Was that even on your mind, or were you not there yet?

There was one time — I think it was fifth grade — I was wearing a shirt with a rainbow on it. I loved rainbows. I always wanted a shirt with a rainbow, and I finally had one. And I think it was one of the popular guys who was just like, “What are you wearing? You know that means you’re gay, right?” I was very upset by that.

And there was a lot of stuff going on with [redacted] and his gender presentation. How he was treated, how he was considered “a girl” because he wore bell bottoms. I think a lot of that was reacting to the heteronormativity, even at that age. I fell prey to that too, dating people in sixth grade because I thought that was what you were supposed to be doing, even though I didn’t want to.

Yes, especially with [redacted], there was a lot of gender policing. I think about him all the time, actually. I haven’t seen him since, but I think about it constantly. I didn’t participate in it, but I didn’t try and stop it, either. If I was a teacher at that school now, I would love and defend that kid to the ends of the earth. But at that age, I just didn’t understand. I knew I didn’t feel good about it, but I didn’t understand what I could do.

Totally. Plus he was new, and he was friends with a lot of the people who bullied him the most. Like all of those girls who were obsessed with *NSYNC [laughs]. I remember his hair being a big deal, too, because of the way it was styled more like a girl’s.

There are a surprising number of queer people who came out of that little group we were part of.

Yes! And who knows, there might be even more. I would not be surprised. I think it’s really interesting how we all gravitated toward each other. Similar things happened with my camp friends. Maybe we were all seeking out kindred spirits.

When we found each other online again, so many years later, and I realized you were gay, that was the most gratifying thing. Because oh, here’s this person I was so close to — and I knew there was a reason!

And that it wasn’t just in your head.

Exactly! I always tell people now that my gaydar was on point from childhood.

Absolutely. And I remember being really excited to find out that you were gay too. [Both laugh]

“Having you come back into my life after all this time, it’s a good reminder of the importance of people and how much you can learn from each other.”

Did you get a vibe from me when we were kids? I was an aggressively gay child, but I don’t know if it actually came off that way at the time, or if it’s just something I see so clearly looking back at photos.

No, I don’t think I would have. When I found out, I was surprised, and then immediately not surprised. [Laughs] I always saw you as very much your own person, and so that made it less shocking. But I hadn’t thought about anyone that way at the time.

Right. I wasn’t really evaluating anyone that way either, regardless of their gender or sexuality. It just hadn’t registered yet. What do you mean by “my own person”?

You did your own thing. Part of it was definitely because of your body and the constraints that came with that. But the way you did it was very much… you were just Carrie. There was a lot of posturing in elementary school, pretending to be something or showing off how smart you were, but you weren’t one of the people who played those games. The thing I really liked about you was that you were you, and honest about it.

You also just always had a really nice energy, too, which I really valued. A nice and trustworthy presence — which I would not say about most of the people we went to school with. [Both laugh]

Thank you! That’s all so sweet. And I would say that about you now! When we met up a few weeks ago and had brunch for four hours —

Which was amazing.

It was so good! And it really took me back to a lot of the things that I enjoyed about our friendship originally. I always felt very safe and understood when I was with you. The fact that you wanted to be friends, and that we were both really smart and enjoyed hanging out together, made me really happy.

Right. And we had real conversations about things, even as kids.

Right! It was validating to know there was someone in the world who was smart and interesting who thought that I was too. I didn’t have to pretend around you. We could just be ourselves, and that was enough. That’s amazing in friendship at any age.

Definitely. You’re just an easy person to talk to. And having you come back into my life after all this time, it’s a good reminder of the importance of people and how much you can learn from each other. I admire so much about what you’re up to now.

“I miss having a queer community. I miss it being normal. So it’s good to be reminded that there’s an affinity, and something about queer culture and queer people.”

I have to say, I admire your ability to exist as a gay rabbi in Ohio, especially right now.

[Laughs] I didn’t realize how much I was feeling the stress of Ohio until I was in L.A. recently. But I also love it, and it’s given me opportunities I wouldn’t have otherwise. One of the hardest transitions for me was going from college to rabbinic school. I was very involved in queer organizing in college, so everyone knew I was gay, and I never had to come out, really. And all of a sudden, when I came to Ohio, there were no gay people. All of my closest friends were super straight, with kids.

My second year, I had a small pulpit in the middle of nowhere. My third year, I was there again, plus I was working in a retirement home. And for the first time ever, I was like, “Oh god, I’m in the closet.” I didn’t try to put myself in the closet — but by not saying that I’m gay, everyone’s assuming that I’m straight. The old people are talking about getting me a husband. I didn’t want to go there, so I would just say “I’m not interested in dating.” Because I wasn’t! But it was awkward. I wasn’t dating anyone, and I didn’t have an ex I could just drop into the conversation — which is how I usually come out to people. I didn’t want people thinking about my sexuality, especially as a lesbian and a rabbi.

And then one of my congregants had her son come out to her. I had always thought he was gay, but obviously wasn’t going to say anything [laughs]. She came to me looking for advice on how to be supportive of this 17-year-old in rural Ohio. And then I came out to her. Like, “Just so you know, I’m gay too.” And, y’know, “Just tell him you love him.” Afterward, I wasn’t sure if she’d told people or not — but I was really grateful I’d been given the opportunity to come out, because I wouldn’t have orchestrated it myself.

Once I did a gay panel — like, interfaith gayness — in Cincinnati, and I was shocked because I was like, “Of course you can be gay and religious,” and all the other speakers were like, “No you can’t.”

Whoa.

It was bad. I was a student, and they were all professionals. They were also all middle-aged men. I didn’t expect it; I was thinking of the wrong audience.

But much like the way that we found each other in elementary school, the thing that is really nice about the Midwest — at least the part of it that I live in — is that there are a lot of alternative people. And there are a lot of very, very liberal people. But everyone is so conscious of being in this environment that they’re so excited when they find another person. And there are different ways that you let someone know what your politics are before you really let them know. Since the election, I feel like it’s more clear where people stand because they’re so upset about it. They go out of their way, which is nice.

Is there anything else you want to say about our mutually gay friendship spanning 20 years?

I’m just really glad that we’ve reconnected. It’s deeply gratifying, especially right now, as I’m going through a lot of transitions and sometimes second guessing myself. It’s been a nice reminder of how things stay the same, as well as how things change. Because I feel like one of the things that’s difficult for me now, as a rabbi, is that I miss having a queer community. I miss it being normal. So it’s good to be reminded that there’s an affinity, and something about queer culture and queer people.

Same. I mean, from here on out, I plan on always being your friend.

Oh, me too. Absolutely.

FRIDAY OPEN THREAD: Moving Forward Oh My God

Hello, cozy patterned sweaters! Welcome to the Friday Open Thread, where Straddlers near and far convene to discuss what’s going on in the world, our lives, and our dreams. Any weird dreams lately? I’ve sure had some.

I hope your Halloween was the best yet and that friends and strangers alike loved how clever your costume was. I am one of those people who adores this stretch of the calendar from Halloween to New Year’s, cliches be damned, so I’m thrilled we’ve finally gotten to the good stuff. It’s when I feel my emotions most deeply and take the best stock of where I stand. Maybe it’s because I’m a fall baby, maybe because significant life events always seem to happen for me right around this time. To that end…

Photo of a black Volvo station wagon parked on a city street.

RIP, ol’ girl.

It’s finally happened, everyone: I have to say goodbye to my first car. Ruth has been exemplary in her service to my family. She was my dad’s for years before I adopted her and has never let me down despite how poorly I understand her. Like her namesake, she is old as hell, but she gets the job done. After this most recent round of tune-ups and surprise expenses, though, it became clear that this really was Ruth’s Last Ride. So I am in the process of acquiring a new vehicle and getting my hand control system moved over (which is a lot more complicated than it sounds) — all while facing a number of other Unprecedented Decisions that are pushing me in a terrifyingly forward direction.

So tell me, dear readers: how do you handle daunting transitions and changes in your life? Any advice for making big moves, literally and figuratively? Do you have any important choices, intimidating purchases, and/or leaps of faith you need to make and want to share with the class?

Let’s gather ’round and build each other up! Deep breaths.

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EXCLUSIVE: Center for American Progress Calls for Paid Leave Policies That Cover Chosen Family

The idea that “representation matters” is all too familiar for those of us who aren’t straight, white, cis, nondisabled men in America. We don’t have the luxury of our stories being standard — so we’re expected to seek them out in community spaces, recall “the first time we saw ourselves” with perfect clarity, and make our own contributions to that cultural mirror whenever possible. Visibility is the name of the game. But too often, that game begins and ends with mass media. You know where else it’s important to show up? In political data.

If that answer threatens to put you to sleep, consider this: data is the language that politicians speak. They rely on it to steer their campaigns, set their priorities, make proposals, and keep their jobs. Doesn’t guarantee they’ll listen (see: the post-truth void that is the current administration), but you have an infinitely better shot if the numbers tell your story — especially if it’s not yet reflected in policy.

A new study out today from the Center for American Progress does just that. With “People Need Paid Leave Policies That Cover Chosen Family,” lead authors Katherine Gallagher Robbins and Laura E. Durso confirm what many queer, disabled, and otherwise marginalized folks have long suspected or already lived: that chosen families often provide the support our biological and legal families don’t, and that it’s past time for paid leave laws to catch up.

Two professional headshots side by side of Katherine Gallagher Robbins and Laura E. Durso.

Lead authors Katherine Gallagher Robbins (left) and Laura E. Durso (right). Photos courtesy of the Center for American Progress.

“One of the things I wanted to do upon arriving at CAP was really look at how different communities and different kinds of families were being shortchanged by government policy,” Robbins, CAP’s Director of Family Policy, tells Autostraddle exclusively. “We know that’s happening in many ways — everything from immigration and how that’s splitting up families, to criminal justice policy.” So she talked with Durso, Vice President of CAP’s LGBT Research and Communications Project, who came to the table ready to advance the conversation around queer families in a specific way.

“Marriage equality has been well-discussed, but really was not the end-all-be-all of the LGBTQ rights agenda,” Durso explains. “I think we in the queer and trans communities really put value on making sure that family can be defined in different ways that are meaningful for people.” For queer folks, this study marks a new opportunity to think beyond marriage and a normative definition of familial rights — so that you don’t only get to enjoy the fullest possible legal protections after you say “I do.”

“Virtually all kinds of people are similarly likely to report taking time off work to care for the health-related needs of a chosen family member. Two groups, though, reported markedly higher numbers: queer people and disabled people.”

Robbins and Durso surveyed 1,864 people (857, or about 46%, of whom identified as LGBT) about their experiences with health care, discrimination, family support, and more, focusing on whether they had taken time off from work to care for a chosen family member. The similarity of findings surprised even the authors, with “yes” responses hovering around 30% across all groups. “Supporting chosen family members is a remarkably common occurrence,” the study concludes. “Virtually all kinds of people are similarly likely to report taking time off work to care for the health-related needs of a chosen family member.”

Two groups, though, reported markedly higher numbers: queer people and disabled people, who both clocked in around 42%. “I would say that the other thing that perhaps isn’t surprising, but really stuck with me, is that of the two strongest predictors, LGBT status was one and having a disability was another,” Durso explains. That may not come as much of a shock to queer folks; the narrative of chosen family stepping in for an unsupportive biological or legal one is widely understood. But these numbers challenge outright the assumption that disabled people are exclusively care recipients, revealing the more complicated reality that we are often providers too.

“I think it busts the narrative completely open and, again, is one of those things that just reflects the reality of what people’s lives look like,” Durso continues. “You needn’t look any farther than the fight to protect the Affordable Care Act to realize it’s disability rights advocates who are fighting for all of us… I think that is incredibly important finding that will hopefully speak to policymakers who may only think within that dominant framework of who needs something, as opposed to who is someone who’s giving back.”

With these stats in hand, Robbins and Durso turned their attention to paid leave policy (which covers categories like paid sick leave, family leave, and medical leave) and the ways in which it currently falls short. “I think the primary thing to know about paid leave in this country is that most people really don’t have it,” Robbins admits. Right now, the U.S. offers workers no guarantee of paid leave, with the Family and Medical Leave Act — the one federal law concerning leave from work — only providing unpaid leave. The FMLA also works off a narrow understanding of family, which is exactly the kind of outdated measuring stick Robbins and Durso hope to do away with. (A Better Balance, which partnered with CAP on the study, created this guide for LGBTQ workers on the FMLA.)

“What we do know from data,” Durso says, “is that people end up using vacation or sick time of their own to care for chosen family members, and the system isn’t really set up for the different types of care that they can provide, or that they need for themselves.” Expanding these policies to account for chosen family isn’t without precedent, or even contemporary examples — New York City broadened its definition of “family member” within paid leave laws earlier this month, and seven paid sick time laws passed within the last year guarantee paid sick time to care for chosen family.

“‘I think that’s the next step, is to just take the numbers and go to lots of different types of policymakers and get this done.’ (Translation: send this study to your mayor.)”

Robbins hopes that “the immediate order is to get these data out to the folks who are already doing the work around these issues and help them influence policymakers,” with Durso pointing out that paid leave can be addressed by either an administration or a legislature, making it an ideal action item at the local level. “I think that’s the next step, is to just take the numbers and go to lots of different types of policymakers and get this done. We don’t have to wait for a state legislature to catch up. We can go and do this in a city or county right now — which is an exciting prospect for the information.” (Translation: send this study to your mayor.)

Even if you’re not a data nerd, this study generates momentum for disabled and queer folks by bolstering our experience with new kinds of evidence. “What I think our data show is that that lived experience is true, it’s backed up by data, and that people who’ve had the experience of building chosen family are not alone,” Durso says. “I think we can teach people something about how family works, and not just because we taught everyone that ‘who you love is who you love’ — but that we can think of family in a really broad and wonderful way. We have more to say about what family means, and we can influence the way the law works to help ourselves and our families.”

You can read the entire study at the Center for American Progress. We’ve got a long way to go — but the numbers are with us.

You Need Help: Your Therapist Is Clueless About Disability

Welcome to You Need Help! Where you’ve got a problem and yo, we solve it. Or we at least try.

Q:

So I’ve been diagnosed with depression (and anxiety and OCD and, and, and…) for almost ten years now and I took a four-year break from seeing a therapist when I moved across the country. I’m doing better lately, I think, but there are still so many issues I’m hoping to figure out. Like how to factor my queer sexuality in with my disabled identity. I’ve been completely avoiding sexuality issues for my whole life out of confusion and shame, etc.

Here’s the thing, though. My therapist, despite how nice and helpful she’s been, is completely clueless when it comes to issues regarding disability. I’ve talked to quite a few therapists over the years, actually, and even the better ones seem to be clueless at best. Most of them are actually really dismissive. I’m just tired of looking for metaphors to explain situations and feelings when I’m the one who needs help. Add in my hope for a therapist who’s body-positive and doesn’t suggest a myriad of ways I should change myself? Feeling increasingly hopeless. Do truly helpful, understanding therapists even exist? If so: WHERE ARE THEY HIDING, DANGIT?!

A:

Yes, they do exist! Yes, they are worth it! And yes, they are very hard to find! Stay with me.

First of all, I want to confirm that you’re not alone in your frustration with this process. You aren’t just trying to do one difficult thing, you’re trying to do three: lock down the right therapist, navigate a medical environment while disabled, and integrate disability with queer identity. At the same time! No wonder you’re at your wit’s end. It’s neither a surprise nor a sign of personal failure that you haven’t had much luck so far. The fact that it’s taking a while doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong; you are fighting multiple battles simultaneously when any one of them is enough to exhaust a person. So I commend you for recognizing that you want more than you’re getting from your therapy right now, and especially for reaching out about it. You haven’t given up — nor should you.

Here’s some real talk, though: most people do not understand disability as anything other than a problem to be solved. So regardless of their role in your life, they will probably not arrive with an affirming, identity-based mindset already in place. That doesn’t mean there’s no hope for them to get there — but it does mean that you have to advocate on your own behalf. I know, I know. It’s exhausting and shouldn’t be necessary and why can’t everyone just get it together and quit judging each other’s minds and bodies? But the fact is we don’t yet live in that world. Self-advocacy remains our best hope at creating it. And in this situation, I think there are a few different steps you can take toward that end.

If you are interested in staying with your current therapist (or at least trying to), it is okay to tell her that the way you’ve been discussing disability together so far isn’t working for you. Be as specific as you can about what you need instead: is the conversation too heavy on “Oh, that must be so hard?” Do you wish she could recommend resources for you? Is she looking at the situation as a diagnosis, when you’re hoping for more of a justice and pride angle? Figure that out for yourself and be ready to talk about it. It’s not clear to me from your question that you’ve actually brought it up; she can’t go in a new direction with you unless she knows that she needs to.

If spitting it out directly feels too confrontational, you can try leading the horse to water: is there a particular book/movie/article/zine/whatever that helped you come to terms with your disability identity? Mention it in session. Ask her if she’s heard of it. Talk to her about why it mattered to you and why you need more resources like that in your life. (If you don’t have any examples yet, might I suggest one of these — they’ll do you good even if you don’t end up discussing them in therapy.) See how she responds; if it seems like she’s getting it, try to tie it back to the way you’ve approached disability together in the past. Or ask her if she can recommend any similar resources — judging by your question, probably not, but trying to find some might be informative for her. The therapist/client relationship is extremely intimate, and as with all relationships of that type, if something is awry you owe it to yourself to be clear on what you need and speak up about it.

But let’s say you decide it’s time to move on to someone new, after trying the above or not. There are, in fact, therapists who specialize in disabled clients (usually among other areas). That may sound like a magical dream from where you’re sitting now — but keep in mind that still doesn’t guarantee they’re the right therapist for you, just like not every therapist with experience in queer issues would be the right one either. Specialists can also mean going out of network, which may or may not be an option. I’d recommend trying out a few folks with various expertise, instead of insisting only on those that pop up when you type “disabilities” into the search field.

My therapist, for instance, is an able-bodied woman who specializes in anxiety disorders and working with creative people. There’s nothing disability-specific in her background. But in my first session, I brought up disability, and especially my interest in disability rights and justice, early and often. I emphasized that I view my disability as an identity rather than an error that needs fixing, because I needed to know she could get on board with that. And she did! I was direct about where I was coming from and she knew she could meet me there. So that would be my first piece of advice on your search: be clear about your disability identity and/or politics up front and see what reaction you get. That can tell you a lot.

You can also ask more specific questions: have they ever had a disabled client before? What’s their background in cultural competency? Do they prefer to give advice, or guide the client as they work things out for themselves? Are they big on recommending outside resources or not? And how do they handle it when a client voices concerns about how sessions have been going? Remember that in initial consults especially, you’re there to figure out whether you’re right for each other. It’s okay to be up front about what you want and need. It’s their job to help you, not your job to be the perfect patient. You’re introducing yourself to them — but the inverse is also true.

Consider different varieties of therapy, too. I went in planning on talk therapy and wound up doing trauma therapy instead, which I never could have predicted or even told you I needed. But switching to a more specific form of treatment completely changed the game and let me dig into the core issues underneath the problems I originally wanted to confront. Same therapist throughout, results night and day. So keep in mind that in addition to the other person in the room, you might benefit from a new course of action. Disability and queerness manifest in so many complex ways that make so many different impacts. You’re allowed to try fresh approaches. (That includes things like doing sessions online, which may expand the pool of therapists available to you.)

One thing that stuck out in your question is how you’re “tired of looking for metaphors to explain situations and feelings.” That suggests, to me, that you’re in search of someone who will directly empathize with your experiences. I’ll be real that you may not be able to get that from your therapist. Disabled people are extremely underrepresented in health professions (all professions, actually, but that’s a soapbox for another post) and finding a self-identified disabled therapist who’s affordable, practices in your area, specializes in the right things, is currently taking clients, and who you actually like might not be feasible. But the good news is there’s a thriving community of disabled folks out there (especially online — say hi in in the comments, everyone!), that you can tap into for that kind of support. I reached out to a queer crip internet friend about your question, in fact, and I think she has it right:

What I have found most useful is having friends my own age who share my disability to talk frankly with about issues. I’m not sure I would want a therapist who is disabled. Not all disabled people (particularly those who are much older/pre-ADA generation) come to the disability experience as I do, or share the same approach to disability identity as I have. Disability is of course wrapped up in all of the issues I have ever spoken about, and with each therapist I’ve been able to further expand my disability identity from those conversations. I find the process of sharing my experience with someone new helps me discover other aspects of myself and the experiences, and brings me to an increased awareness of my own boundaries.

Someone can change your life for the better even if they don’t check every Dream Therapist box. Don’t be afraid to ask the hard questions and be patient with yourself and the world as you figure out what you need from this person, your treatment, and other areas of your life. Remember that therapy is an ongoing process and an evolving relationship. You deserve someone who’s on your team and will guide you toward only those changes that make you feel most powerful. Finding them is more than worth the effort.

Why I’m Going To Run for Office

The first time I ever voted, I arrived at my polling place in a wheelchair. I was recovering from spinal surgery and not quite back to walking full-time, but refused to delay my participation in democracy. Not when I’d been waiting on this day for the better part of a year. Plus, accessible voting booths seemed like a reasonable expectation, especially in an affluent Los Angeles suburb. That, I reasoned, is what the Americans With Disabilities Act is for.

You can see where this is going. Instead, I got two rows of standard booths and a poll worker who looked like she’d just been sprung with a pop quiz. We exchanged a weighted silence — each of us praying the other would break our impasse — before she offered the one “solution” I didn’t expect:

“Do you want me to fill it out for you?”

That’s right: her definition of “access” was “hand over your ballot and take my word for it.” Which, honestly, is a spot-on summary of the political process if you’re disabled and queer in America.

I’m not one of those people who recoils at the word “politician.” I love politics — the wonky ins and outs, the human drama, the potential to push us forward — and know what it feels like when they change your life, for good and for ill. The ADA passed when I was about two years old and made sure my local public schools’ doors were literally and figuratively open to me. I sailed through my education blissfully unaware that I might not be there if a Republican President and Democratic Congress hadn’t found a way to work together. Then there was Prop 8, a sucker punch from my home state that validated the politics of fear, followed by the incomplete but incredible victory of Obergefell years later. In the interim, the Affordable Care Act gifted me the sense of security my able-bodied peers take for granted. And then, of course, there was election night. I don’t have to tell you which one.

When your rights ebb and flow with the political landscape, it really matters who’s in office. I owe a lot to politicians and they know it. I’ve felt downright pandered to during the last few Democratic National Conventions. Disabled gay woman under 35? Check, check, check, and check. Promising to “fight for LGBT people and people with disabilities” is standard procedure now. And you know what? Great! Because I’m old enough to remember when at least half of that promise never made the convention stage — at least not if you wanted to win. So I get that cynicism is in, but that’s not what I’m about. I believe in the people I vote for. But don’t think I haven’t noticed that almost none of them know what it’s like to live in this body.

I’m probably not the only one here wrestling with the idea of an office run. Maybe your friends sent you this article too, or this podcast, or these texts:

A series of three iMessages, all from the same sender. Text reads: "You have to run for office. That article was so inspiring. And I want to do it too. But it seems like it's right up your alley. You're everything politics needs."

Casual

But maybe you, like me, know that at least five of those friends are more qualified to run tomorrow than you are. Maybe you, like me, called them after the election to offer your future speechwriting services, phone banking hours, activist connections, and/or queer cred. Maybe you, like me, haven’t studied international relations, run a field office, or clerked at a law firm. Maybe you, like me, shudder at the harassment opinionated women face online.

But maybe you, like me, still can’t completely talk yourself out of the possibility.

It’s true that we all need our qualified friends to run right now. But it’s equally true that the fight won’t end in 2018 or 2020 — so neither can our list of potential candidates. And I think it’s past time those candidates have some firsthand knowledge of, say, how much it costs to spend a week in the hospital, or how an Individualized Education Plan works, or what it’s like when your polling place wasn’t built for you.

I want to run because someone like me has to. I realize that more with each leak that drips from this toxic disaster of an administration — and, to be honest, each Democratic Senate healthcare panel that has no disabled people on it. I’m done putting my faith in well-meaning surrogates. That’s not enough now, and it never really was. I’ve got the bones of a good candidate: people like to talk to me, I listen well, I actually enjoy public speaking, and I know a lot about issues that matter to me. I’m intentional with my words and confident in my perspective, but careful to acknowledge when it’s not the most important one in the room or could use an overhaul. And frankly, I want to learn and I want to help people, and our government could use more of both at every level. Yes, there’s a lot I don’t know yet — but self-righteous blowhards have run (and won) on less for centuries. Or, y’know, last November.

I want to run so that the opportunities I’ve had — education that made me a critical thinker, healthcare that saved me when it counted, and a home state that values my civil rights, to name a few — become standards rather than exceptions. That’s not going to happen until and unless people like me get over our doubts and get into the room. I can read up on policy and go to City Council meetings. I can learn to write a fundraising email and prep for a debate. None of that is beyond me. And if nothing else, all the groundwork for running will make me a more engaged, informed, and impassioned citizen.

I didn’t let the poll worker vote in my place that day, and I can’t cede my political future to other people now. There’s too much on the line for me and the ones I care about. I owe it to myself to find out how much I can accomplish when I don’t shy away from the most obvious path just because it’s also the most daunting. Learning how to run will be an uphill battle — but I’ve won a few of those before. I come from two of the most adaptable and resilient communities in America. That has to count for something.

I’ll be recapping my experiences with the She Should Run Incubator right here on Autostraddle very soon. In the meantime, if you’re also thinking of running, please make yourself known so I feel less alone in this gargantuan pursuit; if you know someone who has, or is, tell me about it; and please send me your best advice, expertise, and campaign slogans. I can’t be the only one among us who’s having this conversation with herself right now.

So here: I’ll go first, and let’s see what happens.

You Need Help: You Can Want Sex Exactly as Much as You Want (or Don’t)

Welcome to You Need Help! Where you’ve got a problem and yo, we solve it. Or we at least try.

Q:

One of the reasons I like reading this column is it gives a little glimpse into the future of what could be, and I would love that right now.

I’m 23 and have known I was queer since I was maybe 19. I sort of didn’t have any sexual feelings for a while and then, very slowly, I did. Now I definitely recognize my sexual attraction and I get turned on; the main issue is that I just don’t really want sex that much. Like, hypothetically, and when I kind of vaguely fantasize about things, yes. But when it comes to the actual moment of, y’know, breathing through insecurity, overcoming barriers, taking risks, I’m like, that seems like a lot of effort, what if I just don’t. (I feel the same about being in a relationship). And sometimes, just not doing it seems fine! That’s a valid lifestyle, that’s okay, plenty of people live that way and are happy and fulfilled.

But I think sometimes I feel like I’m not as happy or fulfilled as I can be, because I’m in some lovely delightful sex positive environments and everyone’s like “what kind of porn do you watch” (I haven’t yet — my friend got me freaking DVDs and I just haven’t watched them) or tells me “sex is amazing.” People sort of insist that everything in life is different once you have sex in a way that makes me feel like I’m making things less great for myself. Also there are studies that say having sex is healthy and that makes me feel like not having sex is not healthy?

I feel very silly please help,

Unmotivated About Getting It On

A:

Hello friend!

I’m going to start with one of the first things you said: “the future of what could be.” Guess who gets to decide that? You! You get to create whatever sort of sexual-or-not future you want. I bring that up because it seems like external pressure is the real “issue” at hand here.

At the end of the day, you’re the one who gets to live in your body and be you. So you have a right to figure out your feelings and intentions around sex for yourself, on your own time. If that means you’re not into it right now, great! If you find yourself wanting to explore it more later, great! And if not (say it with me), great! I know that might sound like a non-answer, but it’s actually The Point: you’re the one who gets to make the choices here, and they’re all valid. “Sex positive” shouldn’t mean “pressuring you to have sex” — it should mean “supporting whatever choices you make about sex.” And that process can and should be fun.

Lest you think I’m spouting platitudes, let me share with you a bit of my own experiences. I didn’t have sex until after college and didn’t care all that much about it, to be honest. I knew I should care, but I was busy! Priorities, y’know? It wasn’t for lack of opportunity; I’d been in plenty of situations where I could have “gotten it over with.” I just… didn’t want to? It didn’t seem worth it. Thankfully my friends and family left me alone about it — maybe I just got lucky, maybe it’s because I’m disabled and no one expects disabled people to have sex anyway, who knows. But I also knew I was supposed to want this thing and be frustrated that I wasn’t getting it. It was like phantom pressure: not enough to sway me, but I couldn’t get rid of it, either. Maybe you’re feeling something similar now. (Related: a lot of that pressure comes from The Sex Myth, which Carolyn does an excellent job of breaking down in this article you might find helpful.)

So when I met the first person I truly, honest-to-goodness wanted to sleep with, I was both incredibly nervous and slightly taken aback. I had a lot of the same reservations you mentioned around being vulnerable and the risk of new intimacy. Those are absolutely justified; you are putting yourself out there every time, whether it’s the first or the hundredth. I actually don’t remember much about my first time except that I felt mortified for most of it. It wasn’t a bad experience — I just felt super exposed (because I was!). From there I became more comfortable and it got better. You could say I learned a lot. But I still didn’t love sex as much as I thought I should or would. That’s since changed, but not because the “right” person/relationship/experience magically appeared and changed my world. It’s because I took the time to get to know my body at my own pace, without anyone else’s input.

Based on your answer, it sounds like you might already know this, but masturbation can help with that process a lot. There’s nothing quite like hands-on (sorry) experience when it comes to figuring out what you like or don’t. You can watch porn as part of that, or not. If those DVDs your friend bought aren’t the kind you want to watch, okay! Try erotica, or audio porn, or fanfiction, or whatever. If your sexuality is something you’re interested in exploring, give yourself permission to experiment, and also to not be super into everything you find. It is okay to be like “huh, not for me” and move on; you don’t need a perfect batting average. It’s not a personal fault if you’re not turned on by something. I’ve watched plenty of stuff that ended up feeling like nothing more than an instructional video. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me or the way I experience desire, and the same is true for you. Also: you are under no obligation to share with anyone what kind of porn you watch, if any. I’m sure your friends mean well, but if a question feels invasive you don’t have to answer it. Friends should respect boundaries.

I also wouldn’t let a preoccupation with health be your central motivation in all this. “Healthy” bodies look and behave in all kinds of ways — including having sex or not. “Good health” covers so much more ground than we give it credit for. So not being super into sex, or waiting to do it, or never doing it at all has nothing to do with whether or not you’re a “healthy” person. (And if I may get on my soapbox for a moment, a lot of language around health relies on false equivalencies anyway.) The important thing is feeling as good as you can in and about your body. Sex can be part of that or not. Again: it’s up to you.

It sounds to me like a lot of your anxiety around feeling “unmotivated” comes from places other than you: your friends, that phantom pressure that insists sex should be the best thing that could possibly happen to you, or wherever else. It’s okay to slow down and give yourself time and space to figure this out. Be patient and explore all this only when and because you want to — not on anyone else’s timeline — because that’s the only way it’s going to stick. It may turn out that you like some sex things you haven’t discovered yet. Or maybe you’re just not that into sex. Either conclusion, or anyplace in between, is valid (and may evolve over time — be generous with yourself there, too). The important thing is to learn and explore, and you can’t do that just because someone else thinks you should. You have to do it for you. You know what will happen otherwise (because it sounds like it already has): you’ll build up all this anxiety that isn’t even about your sex drive, but other people’s evaluation of it. That kind of thinking is like a snake eating its own tail. You need to cut off the food supply.

Sex can absolutely make you happy and fulfilled, but so can a ton of other things. If you prefer those other things, there’s nothing “unhealthy” about that, or about you. Take your time, trust your own process, embrace that silly feeling as you try new things out, and arrive at whatever destination(s) confident that you know yourself better than before. That’s what counts, and there aren’t any rules for that. There’s also no wrong answer. But no one else can answer for you.

AM/PM: Early to Rise

Welcome to AM/PM, where Autostraddle team members share our morning and evening rituals.

I have always been a morning person. Saturday morning cartoons, 7:00 AM “zero period” from middle school on, a bright and early geology class my first semester of college? All no problem. I think I get it from my dad. As far back as I can remember, he has been making coffee or already at his computer by 6:00 at the latest. So now I feel like I’ve wasted the day if I’m not up, dressed, and doing something by 8:00. Yes, I am one of Those People.

Hear me out, though — I think morning people just have really bad PR. Everyone assumes that because we get up early, we’re self-righteous about it. We can’t wait to tell you about our sunrise hike or how many charitable organizations we donated to while you were busy hitting snooze. Guess what: for me, not true! People love sleeping in! Especially on weekends! Great! I will let you do that! I’m not interested in lording my circadian rhythm over anybody. In fact, I think not having to talk to anyone for a while is the whole point. So by all means — stay in bed until noon and leave me alone.

A black iPhone 6s with a pink case sits plugged in on a black desk.

Being an early riser doesn’t make me immune to distractions. I fell into checking social media from bed and stuck with it for way too long despite the fact that it made me feel like garbage (because that’s how habits work). Recently I started stashing my phone on my desk rather than my nightstand while I sleep and dear reader, it has changed my morning game. Forcing myself out of bed rather than allowing for the linger gets me off on the right foot and makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something from the very beginning. Like, even if I do nothing else today, I got out of bed on the first try. Small wins, forward momentum, boom.

Two photos together: the top one is of a freshly made bed with a light green top blanket and pillows with teal, yellow and gray chevrons. Bottom photo is of a white woman with short brown hair doing a butterfly stretch on a blue exercise mat.

The Virgo Code of Conduct states that one must make their bed each morning, so once that’s done I settle in for about 20 minutes of stretching. Cerebral palsy makes my muscles really tight and stretching them out extra important. I didn’t get into doing it every day until college, but now I definitely understand what my physical therapists were nagging me about for years. (I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Barbara from Glendale Adventist Medical Center.) These days I feel off kilter whenever I don’t make time for it.

If you’re going to start stretching in the mornings, I recommend investing in a thick gym mat that will be kind to your creaky bod. This is the one I have.

Then I go outside and collect the daily paper from my driveway. That’s right, kids: I still get the newspaper! As paper! Mostly because I like doing the crossword puzzle by hand, but it’s also nice to catch up on news without having to spend even more time on my goddamn phone. I’ve really tried to cut back on gazing at screens this year because it helps me avoid Trump Despair and the newspaper is a great tool for that. I’m not actually a day behind in news because yes, I still use the internet, but doing in-depth dives at night or the next morning instead of INSTANTLY OH MY GOD TELL ME RIGHT NOW has boosted my mental state a thousand percent.

Also Rachel Maddow thinks you should subscribe to your local paper, so.

Whenever my girlfriend sleeps over, I make breakfast for us. She is much better at cooking dinner than I am, but she’s also not naturally a morning person, so breakfast is my time to shine. Whatever I whip up usually involves eggs because my roommate keeps pet chickens (and their terrifying coop) in the backyard, so we always have a surplus. Also the rumors are true: fresh eggs taste better.

I’m not as good about cooking involved breakfasts for myself, even on weekends. During the work week, I’ll usually just make toast or a smoothie and go. I’m getting better at prioritizing sit-down time — for instance, I’m now a night showerer after years of doing it in the mornings, and it’s really made a difference. But having my girlfriend there to cook for helps me slow down more and be appreciative. I don’t have to rush right away.

A plate of food showing eggs on toast with a small grapefruit slice next to it. There is a white mug full of tea in the background.

This time I made toast with eggs and Trader Joe’s Roasted Garlic and Onion Jam, which you should try if at all possible because it will make your life (and your breakfast sandwiches) better. I also really like this Numi Aged Earl Grey Tea a friend sent me in a post-election care package. Grapefruit courtesy of my girlfriend’s Imperfect Produce delivery.

A white woman with short brown hair and glasses fixes her hair by running her fingers through it. She is wearing a blue and white plaid shirt underneath a black houndstooth sweater.

Once I’m dressed and my teeth are brushed and I’m otherwise ready to head out the door, the last step is doing my hair. I stopped wearing makeup about four years ago and have paid a lot more attention to my hair since then. It used to be this thick sheet that went down to about my shoulders and almost completely covered my eyes. In high school and into college I would flat iron it to within an inch of its life because I didn’t know how else to manage it. Now that I’ve gotten shorn (as part of a larger effort to actually look how I want to look), I love the natural waves in my hair and how I can run my fingers through them. I used to use much more intense gels and such, but for now I’m into Jack Black Clay Pomade because it lets my hair be itself, just gussied up.

Related: I need a haircut.

A white woman with short brown hair and glasses wearing a blue and white plaid shirt under a black houndstooth sweater smiles close-lipped at the camera.
And thus, with our top buttons buttoned and our layers on because yes it was actually raining in Los Angeles at the time of this writing, we are ready to face the day.

Queer Crip Love Fest: Love Is Showing Up

Over seven months of Queer Crip Love Fest, we’ve talked books, kids, pets, partners, breakups and more with some of the disabled internet’s most captivating queer folks. The goal of this series was to illustrate just how many forms love can take, no longer forcing us to wait for able-bodied saviors who’ve Just Learned So Much. We deserve space to speak out about our own passions on our own terms. I’m incredibly proud to have created that here, with all of our guests and all of you. And today, for the final installment, I could not be happier to introduce you to Nicole and Lindy, who have just the kind of story I want to end on.

Nicole had this to say about Lindy:

I love my girlfriend. She has perfect blonde hair and her laugh is the best thing in the world and she makes me feel like I’m full of glitter. We travel to see each other every month or so and count down every single day until we’re back together. We met on Tinder and she came to volunteer at the summer camp I worked at for a couple of weeks. She flew on a plane alone for the first time to come visit me.

I think it’s important to highlight that we’re both disabled in different ways; I have invisible disabilities, whereas she is legally blind and so we have two totally different kinds of access needs that we’re working toward mindfulness about. I think that disability has always been a part of our love; it’s a constant exchange, nothing is off the table, we’re always here holding each other and offering space for accessibility and everything else within our relationship. We acknowledge that love is growth and finding space to give each other what we need to make the world a more accessible place for both of us. It has changed my experience in love because I’ve never had someone love me the way that she does, and the way I love her.

Lindy and Nicole smile at each other adorably in the park.

Lindy (left) and Nicole (right)

Who wants to see them at next A-Camp? Me too! But for now, enjoy our big gay sendoff with a bit of everything: lifeguarding, Lesbian Processing™, text etiquette and yes, True Life.

Why don’t we start with more about your origin story? I know that it’s adorable, but tell me from the beginning.

Nicole: So, Tinder. [Laughs]

Lindy: I messaged first. She didn’t respond for a while.

N: That’s because I was busy, first of all. [Both laugh] I was! It was the very beginning of the summer; we had just done the turnover from staff training to an actual session at the camp where I was working. I had just downloaded Tinder, and she said ‘Hey cutie’ with a smiley face, I remember that. And we got to chit chatting, and then moved over to Snapchat. I’d send pictures from being up too late in the office, just looking exhausted, wearing a fanny pack, clearly had not showered in days. Very camp manager. [Both laugh] Remember you were out at the bar, and you sent me something?

L: Yes, I was drunk.

N: Sent some great snaps. [Both laugh] Got real intimate, real quick.

So had you met in person at this point?

Both: No.

N: I was still in session, and you can’t really leave while that’s happening. Management doesn’t get breaks. So we hadn’t had the opportunity to meet in person, and then I kind of disappeared for a little bit.

L: For like, two weeks.

N: It was not two weeks! It was like, four days.

L: She’s lying, because I’m never that dramatic. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. [Laughs] So eventually I texted and said “If you don’t want to talk to me, I can take a hint” or something.

N: I was managing six program areas and about 150 kids, plus 50 staff. So it was legitimately a busy time!

L: And then you took your lifeguard class. Because you sent me a snap on your way there, and I was like “Oh, I’m a lifeguard instructor!”

N: And I was like “Well, that’s a really helpful thing to know, because we’re looking for one!” [Both laugh] So we still hadn’t met, but we did need another lifeguard. So I asked “Do you want to come to camp for a week?” and she was like…

L: “… yeah.”

Aww! So Lindy, you hadn’t even met her yet — how did you feel when she just asked you to come there for a week?

L: Well, I already had the week free; think I had something planned, but it fell through. So we met the day before camp started and went on our first date.

N: Yes. We went to Kerbey Lane — do you know what that is?

I don’t know what that is.

L: [Whispers] Oh, she’s missing out.

N: Yes, you’re missing out. It’s like IHOP but better in all the ways. You can get a swirl in your pancake, and they have vegetarian, vegan and gluten free options every day. And you can also get a carafe of mimosas for $12. I figured you should know that.

L: So we went on our first date there, and then I met all of her camp friends. I’m pretty good at going into random groups, and I thought I did pretty well. But they all had camp names and I was like “This is weird.” Then we went to the lake, and then we went to Dick’s Sporting Goods —

N: And then we went to Whole Foods and got some food in a box.

So you’re essentially just checking off gay thing after gay thing over the course of this one day.

L: You grabbed my hand at whole Foods.

N: I did. We held hands at Whole Foods. We do a lot of really gay shit. Get excited, this interview is about to get really gay.

“When one of us would walk into the dining hall or something, we’d text each other stuff like ‘Oh, your hair is so beautiful today!'”

So when you met in person, was the vibe definitely there? Because sometimes it can be tough with internet people, not necessarily knowing if you can make the transition.

Both: Yeah.

N: It was pretty immediate. And what was nice was that we’d had Tinder conversations, we’d had Snapchat conversations and we’d had a couple of phone conversations. So the vibe was there early on.

So you had to jump into this thing head first, because you were working together right off the bat. Do you think it was good to have total immersion with each other immediately?

L: I think it helped build a friendship instead of just a physical attraction. And also, seeing how each other interacted with other people, and how we are under stress.

N: In that environment, you’re gonna figure out pretty quickly who you do and don’t want to be around. So it worked really well on that level.

L: We’re not really allowed to be on our phones, so when one of us would walk into the dining hall or something we’d text each other like “Oh, your hair is so beautiful today!” Because we couldn’t really go up to each other and be cute either. But working together ended up being really good, because it taught us a lot about each other that we might not have learned until later.

And what about afterwards? Because then you have another big transition, so was it “Oh, I want to be with you,” or “Maybe this isn’t the right time,” or what?

N: We had made it official pretty quickly. We didn’t U-Haul it, but we did call it something pretty quickly. If we could have U-Hauled it we might have. [All laugh] But she did help me pack and go to the airport.

L: We bawled. I almost got my car towed because I got out and went inside with her. They don’t like that. [Laughs] But there wasn’t really a sit-down conversation. Because she wouldn’t have phone service in the middle of the woods in Vermont, which is where she was going, I wrote little letters to give to her, so each day she could open one. It would be like “When You’re Feeling Sad,” or whatever. And then she could open it.

Had either of you been in a long-distance relationship before?

N: I had.

L: Nope.

So what sort of agreements did you hammer out going into it?

N: That we are only with each other, and we’re going to make sure we keep up communication, agree to visits, switch off the visits. It was very clear from the beginning what our relationship was going to look like, and that if it needed to change, we could talk about it. It took practice. There were some moments of friction, some call out type things: “You’re not listening, you’re not paying as much attention as you could,” stuff like that. But what never changed is that we were happy to talk to each other.

L: I think part of it was we were scared because it was real. The stakes are so much higher. Plus you always wonder if it’s going to feel the same when you go so long without seeing each other. But we’ve been able to trust each other from the start.

“She asked curious questions in a respectful way, which people don’t do… She makes me feel like I have an open space to say when I need something.”

So you’re the first couple I’ve ever interviewed together, and also the first where both people have disabilities. I’ve actually never been in that situation, so I’m really interested to hear how it plays out in your relationship. The first thing I’m wondering about is disclosure, since that can be a huge issue when you’re meeting people online. Did you disclose your disabilities up front?

N: She told me that she was blind when I mentioned that I was applying for a job at a school for blind students. So we just kind of carried on, and I asked something like “So what does that mean for you? What does that do for your daily life? What do your access needs look like?” Not “Oh wow, so what’s it like?” in that morbid way.

L: She asked curious questions in a respectful way, which people don’t do.

Right! It would be amazing if more people did that for their partners — not “Tell me everything I feel entitled to,” but “Tell me what this is gonna mean for us,” which is a completely different question. Can you tell me more about that made you feel?

L: It was really reassuring. She seemed interested and not like she’s never been around someone with a disability before. She knew what to ask to make me feel open to want to share with her, and not have to justify myself or why I need printouts of PowerPoints, or to not use green marker on white boards or things like that. It was just really good. Sometimes I’ll feel attacked or like I need to defend myself when describing my disability to people; with her, that never happened.

On the other hand, when we would Snapchat, I could never read what she said because the font was so small, and I waited a while to bring that up. It was a couple of months until I was like “Hey, can I ask for a favor…?” And now we only use the bold, big fonts. When she forgets, she’ll just immediately resend the same thing with the font big. But she won’t take it to the extreme and overcompensate like people sometimes do. She makes me feel like I have an open space to say when I need something.

And what about for you, Nicole? Did you talk about your needs before or after that?

N: It’s never been a big, one-time disclosure, because I do have multiple things going on. There are some things going on with my body that are invisible disabilities, and then I have learning disabilities and mental health stuff. So it wasn’t that it came out slowly or that I wasn’t telling the truth, but there was a right time for things and a not right time. So it would come up like “Hey, this is a thing I usually have a handle on, but right now I don’t and I need support.” Dealing with both the physical and emotional exhaustion that comes from all this.

We made a lot of lists. She would sit on FaceTime with me —

L: And I would type the list for her. She would tell me about the things that she needed to get done within the week, so I’d send her daily reminders.

N: That was so helpful; it made things a lot more manageable. There was a window of time where I was feeling really depressed, and she helped me clarify what I needed to do, and whether I was taking my medication. That came up one time.

L: I didn’t mean it in a bad way, but one time I accidentally said —

N: We were arguing, and I was really upset. Instead of taking it as “Oh, Nicole’s upset and it’s okay to be upset” or whatever, it became “Are you taking your medication?”

L: For the record, I did feel awful about it!

N: But that is an important question! Are you feeling this way because you’re not taking care of yourself? That’s completely legitimate. It’s just a weird line to navigate, and a hard thing to ask, and a hard thing to be asked. Because you’re having these feelings, and you need the other person to know that they’re very real. So we navigated and worked on that.

Nicole and Lindy gaze lovingly at each other and melt all of our hearts.

It seems like you’ve negotiated the logistical access stuff really well, and that your needs and abilities complement each other. What about emotionally — how does it feel to be in a relationship with someone who understands access on a visceral level? Not “Oh, I should understand this concept because I’m a good person,” but “I understand this because I’ve been through it”?

L: It helps that Nicole had studied disability in school, so she knew how to ask properly. I’m pretty open; give me somebody who shows interest in disability stuff, and I will tell you what I need. So her giving me that made me feel like I could ask for those things without causing a problem. The knowledge to understand where I was coming from was really helpful.

Is there anything that’s challenged you about being in a relationship with another person who has access needs?

N: Not in relation to disability for me, really, beyond that moment of “Are you taking your meds?”

L: There have been more conversations around our ways of supporting each other. When I need support, it’s a mixture of “Please agree that this sucks” and a hug or a hand to hold. And then “Here are the things we can do to make you feel better.”

N: You also love a good platitude. [Laughs]

L: As you can tell from her tone [laughs], Nicole does not like platitudes at all. She likes “This fucking sucks, and I want you to understand that.”

N: I want her to listen and be there with me, rather than tell me about how it’s all going to be okay. Just for her to say “Yeah, that sucks, and I’m right here with you” — that’s all I want.

L: And I’m a fixer. So that was a huge issue that we had to figure out.

But that’s great — that sounds like a pretty standard relationship issue, and a really healthy thing, rather than this huge blowup around feeling like a burden, or whatever people might assume your problems would be.

N: That’s definitely true. We’ve gone through breaking up and getting back together, and it’s not because of any disability-related stuff at all; it’s been for the same reasons and followed the same path as it would even if that wasn’t a factor. It’s because things weren’t healthy, and then we worked on healing, and it was hard on both of us, and now we’re here. You just learn a lot about each other and come to that place of understanding.

We definitely had to negotiate how often to communicate and in what way, though, when we were first getting back together. Really be mindful of the line between what was and wasn’t healthy, and choose the medium carefully.

L: I sound like I’m in a mood whenever I text, because I put periods on things.

Why would you do that?!

L: People just assume I’m angry because I put periods on things! Which then does put me in a bad mood! [Laughs]

Rookie mistake. You can’t put periods on your texts.

L: That’s the real takeaway from this interview: don’t end your texts with a period.

“Love is in the things you choose to do and the way you choose to be and the people you choose to be with. I think it means that’s the person you give the last of your favorite candy in the bag to, the one you bring to a place you love and share it with them, the one you have total honesty and truth with even when you’re not quite so pretty in it. It’s being your gross self with someone.”

Okay, last big question: what does love mean to you? I want you to each answer this individually.

N: Do you want us to each leave the room so we can’t hear the other one answer?

If you want! I think that’d be cute.

N: You go first. [Leaves the room]

L: Bye! [Laughs] Okay, I’m ready. I think love means accepting each other with all flaws and positive attributes. Even when you’re in a bad mood, still loving them and letting them know that you’re still there and not going anywhere. Eliminating that fear of leaving is really big for me; knowing that they’re not going to leave when you have a bad day.

[Nicole comes back in]

We’re talking about you, go away! [All laugh, Nicole leaves]

That sense of security is big for me too, because it’s so rare to get from anybody. Knowing that you can show your whole self is such an important thing.

L: It’s like that in my family too; we can be mean to each other, but we know that we’re there for each other and aren’t going anywhere. I don’t mean purposefully, but getting into arguments and knowing it’ll still be okay. And I love having that security with Nicole. Because I’m not always great — no one is — and it means a lot to be able to let her know when I’m not having a good day, and have her say “Okay, thanks for telling me” and still love me is really important.

Great answer!

[From off camera] N: Can I come back now?

Yes!

[They switch places]

N: I think that love is in the things you choose to do and the way you choose to be and the people you choose to be with. I think it means that’s the person you give the last of your favorite candy in the bag to, the one you bring to a place you love and share it with them, the one you have total honesty and truth with even when you’re not quite so pretty in it. It’s being your gross self with someone. Lindy knows everything; she’s been around, y’know?

Love is taking the time, and just sitting there on Skype even when you’re not really doing anything. Love is sharing food, and asking for Sno-Cones and going to get them and then realizing you didn’t want them after all, but nobody gets mad because you spent time together. Love is showing up.

Wait. Can I tell you a secret?

Absolutely.

N: She was on True Life: I’m An Albino. And I bought the episode — didn’t just watch it on YouTube, I bought it. It was when she was in high school and going through her scene kid phase and it’s just so good. [Laughs] Love is being able to buy her awkward teenage moments on iTunes and watch them over and over.

Oh, this is amazing. I really wish I could put this in the interview, but I don’t want to out her MTV phase without her consent.

N: [To off camera] Babe? I have a question! [Laughs] You know how I bought the episode of True Life? Can that be part of this?

L: [Laughs] Yes, that’s fine. Thanks for asking.

N: See? Love is calling her over to ask if that’s okay.

This is the last installment in Queer Crip Love Fest. View the complete series.

Queer Crip Love Fest: Nana’s Stories and Ginger Loaf

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: disability is a family issue. But all too often, that means misguided portrayals of disabled kids as “burdens,” the assumption that no family would want a disabled child, and insistence that nondisabled family members always know best. What about all the other ways disability can play out in a family — as a source of empowerment, empathy and togetherness — particularly across generations?

To find out, I talked to Scout, a 22-year-old Māori queer person and aspiring politician living in New Zealand, who had this to say about love:

The first person that would pop into my mind is my great-Nana. She’s 93 (nearly 94), she has dementia and she lives in a secure dementia ward in a rest home that’s airy and bright and just like when she used to live with us. She’s been this one constant source of love and ginger loaf since I was tiny, and has watched me grow up. Because of the dementia, she’s the only person in my life who I will let call me by my dead name. Which is pretty big for me! Out of all her grandkids and great-grandkids, she remembers me the most often. I love the levels of unconditional love and optimism she spouts every single day. I love her fond stories about her childhood, and I love hearing them for the 14th time in a row, too. I really cherish every moment I have with Nana.

Read on for more about forging a political career while disabled, the importance of interdependence, and some excellent family lore.

Tell me more about yourself, and especially your political ambitions!

I identify as takatāpui; that’s a word in Te Reo Māori (the Māori language) that these days is used as an equivalent to the word “queer.” So it means a Māori queer person. I use the term to describe my gender and sexuality all at once — without it I’m “somewhere sort of like a boy but not a man but also really gay but not into guys.” I’m disabled and mentally ill. I believe in a world where we can be all these things and still live safely.

I’m really good at communicating with people simply and clearly. I want to use those skills for good, so I’m going into politics. I’ve already run in one election — last year, I ran for mayor and city council and I actually came within 180 votes of election, which was remarkable given my age and budget.

That’s incredible; as an American, I can’t even imagine a young, brand new candidate coming that close, so I’m really impressed. You have a lot to be proud of!

The neat thing is that in New Zealand, because our Parliament is made up of all these different people from different political parties, being elected is actually pretty achievable here. You don’t have to be a privileged millionaire. In the next ten years I see myself in Parliament, with a portfolio in something like social development. I specifically want to represent the trans community and the mentally ill community in New Zealand because we have no one in Parliament who can truly amplify what we have been saying for years.

“Part of the reason I’m trying to shift my community work from this activist, volunteer level up to being an actual politician is that I can affect change in a way that is better for my disabilities — I can work with my strengths so that I don’t exhaust myself doing everything else.”

Politics is a notoriously demanding field — lots of traveling, long hours, staying on top of multiple issues at once. How do you negotiate your disability, which can also ask a lot of you, in all that?

The political party I’m in wants to see a Parliament where we can have members who jobshare. Their focus is that it would be great for parents who deserve to have a voice but need to raise their kids too. I think it’s a fantastic idea, but I’m coming from the place where if I could share a portfolio and divide my Parliamentary responsibilities between me and another person with a disability, we could manage our lives so much more sustainably.

Several of my friends are members of parliament, or MPs, and I literally just sit here and watch them work from 5 AM to 11 PM — or later, some days, and they don’t get days off, and I see the impact of that on them behind the scenes. It isn’t a sustainable role for anybody and I think our attitudes towards work are so inherently capitalist and need rethinking. Taking a day off shouldn’t be the end of the world! Productivity doesn’t trump health!

Personally, too, I hold multiple volunteer positions where I have an incredibly high level of responsibility with zero compensation for that work, and it’s really difficult to do in a sustainable way. I can’t afford the doctor’s appointments, medications and supplements to keep myself well, even in a country with almost universal healthcare. Part of the reason I’m trying to shift my community work from this activist, volunteer level up to being an actual politician is that I can affect change in a way that is better for my disabilities — I can work with my strengths so that I don’t exhaust myself doing everything else. Maybe it’s a pipe dream, the idea that Parliament could be easier on my health, but at least being reasonably financially compensated for my work would enable me to access the healthcare I need to do the work.

Do you come from a political family?

My immediate family aren’t particularly political — my parents actually have polar opposite politics to me in many areas. My little brother is getting more and more interested, especially as this year he gets to vote for the first time, but neither of us was really raised in political spheres. I think I get the politics from my dad’s side of the family; his grandma, my great-grandma, used to speak about politics on a literal soapbox, and she and her husband were both staunch unionists — much like me! And I recently discovered that on dad’s dad’s side I’m related to the guy who’s been mayor of a city further south since 1993. He’s pretty well-liked! So it’s in my roots, at least.

Scout sits on a couch next to their grandmother, and they both smile for the camera. Nana is wearing an amazing floral printed jacket, and Scout has a vibrant red bow headband on.

Scout and Nana, with strong fashion all around

Speaking of your roots, I want to hear more about your great-Nana and your relationship with her. Do you have a favorite story of hers?

My Nana Vera is a little 93-year-old English woman who grew up in London and watched Queen Elizabeth playing in the backyard at Buckingham Palace from her doorstep. She made excellent ginger loaf back in her day, and now I have the recipe too. She came to live with us when I was maybe 13, and she was always busy — she loves “cooking, knitting and sewing,” that’s her mantra — but she also would ask my mum to give her literally anything to iron and she would stand in the lounge at the ironing board ironing scraps of fabric or tee shirts or pants just because she enjoyed it.

One day my family went out to the lake on our boat. She stayed home, but she made us a bacon and egg pie to have for lunch and when we cut it open, she’d left the fork that she’d mixed it all up with inside. When I tell her that story now, she finds it absolutely hilarious. Nana has lots of stories — the clothes she and her siblings would make for the rats that lived in their London house, sleeping overnight in the tube during World War II when London was being bombed, the swimsuit she knitted herself, and when she dove into the water and stood up to find the woolen swimsuit stretched down to her ankles. We hear these stories over and over again now, often with details swapped out for those from another story, and I think we all cling onto the stories now because that’s going to be what we have left of her soon. The stories and the ginger loaf.

And you said you’re the great-grandchild she remembers most?

Yes — she doesn’t recognize me anymore because I’m an adult now, so when I see her and she asks who I am, I have to say “Hi Nana, I’m your granddaughter, [deadname].” Last time I saw her, she talked about being the one who gave me that name (even though my parents were actually the ones who did), and it was a bit of a twang to the heartstrings because she doesn’t know me as Scout. She knows me as this awkward 10-year-old with messy hair, and I desperately want her to know who I am now because when she does get snippets of me, she is so, so proud of me and how far I’ve come. She doesn’t know about my disability or chronic illness, but sometimes sitting with her gets really difficult because part of dementia is when people start to get confused, and they get paranoid and scared, and it’s much like psychosis. I’ve experienced psychosis quite a bit, I know how terrifying it is, and I’m such an empath that I really struggle to know that I can’t just take her hurt away.

A vintage photo of Nana on the dance floor at a party.

Vintage Nana

That’s really interesting, because nondisabled people say that kind of stuff to me a lot — “wishing they could take the pain away” or whatever — and I’m wondering if that’s true for you. That sentiment can mean such different things, depending on the context.

Yeah, wanting to just magic the hurt away is a weird feeling to be coming from me! But at the same time, we’re talking about literal distress here — like emotional hurt. And I think for many of us as disabled folk, we’ve come to terms with what we experience — but Nana’s experience of dementia is sort of different in that she doesn’t always know what’s happening or who and what she can trust. We can be empowered about disability at the same time as acknowledging that some of it really, seriously fucking hurts and no one should ever have to experience it. Given that I’ve experienced psychotic episodes where I have no idea what is real, what is not, and what I can trust and hold with me, I would not wish that terrifying experience on anyone and it breaks my heart hearing Nana echo those same feelings. There is a lot that Nana cannot do anymore and a whole lot that she struggles with; at the same time, she’s an incredible baker, she knits pretty well, she always says the right thing even when she’s not very with it that day. She is overflowing with compassion for everyone and everything.

On her good days, she’ll tell me how much I’ve grown; on her bad days, she’ll tell me it’s “lovely to meet you!” I love how excited she is to see me, every five minutes.

“I’m glad she doesn’t know, in some weird way, because it means I have one person in my life who just assumes I’m competent unconditionally.”

You mentioned that she doesn’t know about your disability; was that a conscious choice, or has the timing just never been right? Do you wish she knew?

She hasn’t consistently remembered who I am for the last five-plus years, whereas I only became disabled in the last three years. So somehow it’s not really come up because she’ll just forget five minutes later. I’m glad she doesn’t know, in some weird way, because it means I have one person in my life who just assumes I’m competent unconditionally — and being disabled, y’know, not often do you get to just do things without people second-guessing whether you’re capable of them.

Absolutely, and I think that’s a great point to make here. It sounds like becoming disabled gives you a lot of empathy for her, but also a clear understanding of the different ways disability and illness can manifest and change your life.

Definitely. Since becoming disabled, I’ve had to rely on people for things a lot more. And I think a lot of the time the role of your best friends can be blurred into the roles of your carers. And with that, your carers and doctors and your whole team become part of your group of friends too. It’s fascinating to me how those relationships have helped me learn what is and isn’t genuine.

How so?

I have a lot of trouble trusting people enough to feel loved, but when I do, it’s because I can read someone’s genuineness in how they interact with me. Working in politics, y’know, all my interactions with people feel so fake some days. I love genuine conversation, I love when someone trusts me and when they just have that feeling about them that I can trust them too. I love when people don’t expect me to do what they’re capable of doing, when people are conscious of my limits but don’t decide those limits for me.

“I really despise this idea that dependence is ‘inherently bad.’ Humans are pack animals; I’m so sure that we have never been this doggedly independent in our whole history.”

I think the idea of “dependence” can get unfairly vilified, even in otherwise progressive spaces and among other disabled people. Dependence is not inherently a bad thing or a sign of failure, and can in fact be a source of empowerment, I think. Do you agree, or not, or have anything you want to say about that?

I really despise this idea that dependence is “inherently bad.” Humans are pack animals; I’m so sure that we have never been this doggedly independent in our whole history. People are so individualist in their approaches to everything now, even in progressive spaces. I prefer more communal spaces, I like the ideology of “it takes a village to raise a child,” and I apply that to how I exist now. There’s no point beating myself up for needing a friend to come sit with me on tough nights, or for always having to ask a friend to open difficult jars for me. That will just turn into some gross circle of self-loathing, and I’m not here for that.

I think we have to be careful with dependence — when it becomes a situation where the other person can’t do anything for themselves anymore, then that’s a bit of a problem. But it’s important to be able to depend on things like facts and the knowledge that someone can help us and the people we surround ourselves with. We need to support each other to make positive change together. That also means we have to take self-responsibility, look after ourselves, and remember that means asking for help when the job gets too hard.

So with all that in mind, what does love mean to you?

Love means that you can put your trust into someone and mutually agree that you will keep each other safe to the capacity that you’re able. Love is not conditional; genuine love is someone who sticks around even after I’ve been stuck in bed three days, or blown them off four times in a row because I can’t cope with leaving the house. Love is when someone understands that my behavior at a given point is out of the ordinary, maybe I’ve socially withdrawn myself, and asks if I’m okay without getting angry at me and taking it personally. Love is trust, safety and home.

Interview With My High School Crush: Leanne

We all remember the First Girl. The one who made us go “Wait a minute,” or pushed us right off our axis, or maybe even broke our hearts. Sometimes she’s a friend, sometimes she’s a stranger, sometimes she’s straight, but she’s always there — the leading lady in every coming out story. In this case, I mean that literally. My First Girl was one of the stars of our high school theater department.

Leanne stands smiling in an amazing floral printed jumpsuit.

Leanne and I met in choir, which meant long hours in each other’s company and ample opportunities for me to fall headfirst into infatuation. The process of coming out to her, then to the world, and finally professing my love spanned two years, multiple choral festivals, and one high school musical (the official unit of time for artsy kids). And to her credit, she could not have responded better — especially given how Republican our hometown was. (Blessedly, I hear the tides are changing there now.) My crush on her deflated the minute I admitted it, but over ten years later, she’s still one of my closest friends. We talk at least once every couple weeks. There is life, dear readers, on the other side of high school queer confession.

In the mold of Interview With My Ex-Girlfriend, here’s an Interview With My High School Crush that would make 16-year-old me weep with joy. You’ll see.

How long have we been friends?

It has to be since the beginning of high school, ish. My sophomore year, your freshman year. I was probably 15 — so you were 14? Holy shit.

I think you’re one year off, actually. I think it was my sophomore year, your junior year.

That makes a little more sense. But it’s not like we didn’t know each other; we didn’t become friends until my junior year, but I definitely knew you existed. We were in school together, and we were both in choir.

Yeah, in that way, we were very much in the same universe. Do you remember when we met?

Oh my God, way to put me on the spot. Do you?

Yeah! I was meeting the love of my teenage life, of course I remember!

[Laughs] That’s great! That’s so great.

Do you want to hear my memory of it?

Oh, I do. I really, really do.

I think it was at the airport before choir tour that year. Because I remember being in the elevator with you, going into the terminal. It’s such a specific memory for me. I knew who you were, but that was the first time I’d ever shared space with you.

You’re right! Now that you say it, yes, definitely. I just have this recollection of, like, “Oh, we must have bumped into each other in the hall and then we were besties. That’s how it goes sometimes!” But now you’re saying that, and that was totally our first interaction.

Right. And I remember seeing you and thinking “Oh my God, she’s so beautiful. She’s so beautiful.”

I love it. And I was just like [Singsong voice] “Doo doot dooooo,” totally not getting it.

The weird thing, though, is that I didn’t even know I was gay then.

Yeah, I know. Because you weren’t dating anybody then.

No, but —

But you did start dating somebody.

[Laughs] Oh, the readers of Autostraddle.com are gonna love this. Right. So on that trip, I wound up in this weird love triangle with these two boys that I clearly didn’t wanna be in, but I was like “Okay…?” And then one of them sucked less than the other, so I decided to date him upon returning.

Oh, God. That’s right!

Yeah! He was so sweet. He and I are still friendly. He’s delightful. But he was a guy.

It wasn’t your cup of tea.

Exactly. But you know what was my cup of tea, was you.

[Laughs]

Our friendship sort of blossomed on that trip as well, and was developing side-by-side with my relationship with him. And how I realized I was gay — I had a feeling, but how I knew — was that I was so much more invested in you. What you were doing, the stuff you cared about.

[Hasn’t stopped laughing]

Depending on how I felt that day — I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this — I would change my route through school to either go by your locker on purpose, or avoid you.

[Still laughing] Oh my God, Carrie. That’s funny. I don’t think you’ve told me that, no.

So that’s how I knew — I was like “Oh, I like her… a lot more than I like my boyfriend. I know we’re just friends, but I don’t feel this way about this guy.”

I remember we became friends really quickly. But also, that’s just how I am. Like, “Oh, whoops, now we’re really close!”

I would agree with that. I think you tend to be trusting of people.

Well, and I just know my people. And I’ve always been that way. I mean, obviously. You’re still one of my people, I still talk to you all the time, and it’s been over ten years. I always knew you’d be one of the people I’d carry on with. There was no other option, in my mind.

“I’ve never doubted for a second that you’re this magnificent person. Something in me always kind of knew that. I just knew it. So to have somebody like that tell you they’re in love with you — I really felt loved. I really did.”

So let’s jump ahead a little to the next year. I was a junior, you were a senior.

Right. And our choir teacher knew that you were in love with me by then.

Yeah, I’d told her.

And at that point you were, like, in love with me.

Yes.

You knew. I was still blissfully unaware.

So did you not realize at all that I was totally in love with you?

Oh no. No idea. I had no clue; I didn’t even know you were gay! I didn’t know how you felt about me until the night you told me. And even then, I was like “Oh — ohhh.”

But I think also, part of my personality is that I can be that oblivious. So I think I was like “Oh, we’re just best friends! Obviously!”

Do you remember when I came out to you?

Not really, no. And I know that’s awful. But now all I can think about is the night when you told me you were in love with me. [Laughs] That night, I’ll remember forever.

Okay, what do you remember about that night?

We must have gone out to get coffee or something, because we were in my car. At that point I had the dark green Camry —

Aww, RIP Camry! I loved that car!

Seriously. So we had come back, and we were in your driveway. I feel like I knew you needed to talk to me; that’s why we’d gone out that night, because I sensed that. And you totally had me freaked out. You must have been acting kind of weird that night and for a while before. Because when you were like “There’s something I need to tell you,” I thought you were dying. I had no clue.

I could tell it was something big. I was like “Oh fuck, this is huge. What is she gonna say to me?” And then you just told me you were in love with me, and I was like “Oh my God. What a relief. A) I’m really glad you’re not dying, and b) I love you so much.”

I just remember feeling “Oh my God. Okay, I see.” And just being so thankful. Having someone of your caliber, somebody who is obviously this immensely wonderful person, be in love with me and see me in that way was like, “Oh, if I could, yes, believe me.”

That’s so nice!

That’s the thing — I’ve never doubted for a second that you’re this magnificent person. Something in me always kind of knew that. I just knew it. So to have somebody like that tell you they’re in love with you — I really felt loved. I really did.

Also, I felt super hot. I was like “Oh, wow! This is great! Okay then!”

[Laughs] I do remember that. That’s sort of how I knew you were gonna take it well and we were gonna be okay. Also, thank you. That’s all amazing of you to say. That’s the way I felt about you, and is the way I feel about you still, but without the…

Misguided teen lust?

Exactly. [Both laugh] I just thought that you were so talented and gorgeous and funny. You were magnetic to me, and completely unlike anyone I’d ever met. Around this time was also when you were in Guys and Dolls, right?

Yeah.

I bring that up because it was a seminal moment in my gay development. You were Miss Adelaide, and I came to see you so. Many. Times. If they went back and tallied the ticket info from that, I’d pop up more often than anybody except, like, people’s moms.

[Laughs] Oh my God, Carrie, that’s amazing. I did not know that.

I was there so much! Because by then we were friends, and it was your first big role. For the record, you were incredible. But also, it just made me fall for you that much more. Seeing you in that element and being like “Oh wow, she’s so good at this.” It was hard!

Oh, I’m sure! I can’t even imagine, honestly.

“There was an intensity to you in high school. I think I got more of a front row seat to that than other people… I knew this other side of you, which was that you were going through a lot of shit.”

What was I like in high school?

You were ridiculously intelligent and a very, very, very good friend. I thought of you that way, and I know there were other people, too, who would say “Carrie’s solid. She has your back, she’s your person.” And also, I feel like coming out was huge for you internally, but also in terms of how you presented yourself.

There was an intensity to you in high school. I think I got more of a front row seat to that than other people — because you didn’t let them see that part of you, ever. I think to other people, you were just super great all the time, super smart, getting shit done, always perfect. But I knew this other side of you, which was that you were going through a lot of shit — in high school, of all places.

Right. You were in the room when I officially came out for real. Do you remember that?

Oh yeah, definitely.

How did you feel being there? Because I’d asked you to come. It was at a Gay-Straight Alliance meeting, and I knew I was gonna say it, so I asked you to be there.

I felt so good, I felt so proud. I felt like, “Oh my gosh, Carrie is being Carrie — real Carrie, in front of everybody.” Even the Mormons! Were you out to our Mormon friends before then?

I’d come out to some of them one-on-one to test the waters, but there were a lot of people who didn’t know. And where we grew up was pretty conservative at that time.

It’s funny — I don’t think I ever really got how conservative it was. I don’t know where it comes from, because certainly my family doesn’t hold the same beliefs that I do, but it never occurred to me that you being gay would be a problem for anyone. Fundamentally, I don’t understand how it’s something you could be against. So I never quite had an awareness that that belief, that homophobia, was real for so many of our friends. To me it just never made sense. So anybody who said stuff like that, I was just like, “Nah” and never took them seriously, which I’m sure they loved.

But yes, I remember that day. I was so proud, just that you asked me to be there. Wow. Again — “This person fucking loves me enough to want me here for this moment?” I felt cool! I really did!

That’s so sweet! Because I always thought you were so much cooler than me, and that was part of my attraction to you. I was amazed that you even wanted to be friends at all. I had real rose-colored glasses on about you in high school.

Oh, I know, I get that. When you’re in love and also that infatuated with someone, everything can feel really different than it actually is. I understand that, and it’s even more meaningful now that I get it and have been in love myself. Of course you had rose-colored glasses on.

I really thought you were a flawless person.

Oh, it’s so great. [Both laugh]

How have I changed, and how has our relationship changed, since then?

You’re completely different than you were in high school. Really, though. I mean, you’re still Carrie — you’ve still got shit on lock, and you’re still ridiculously awesome and super intelligent and absolutely wonderful. But you’re just… you’re you. It took a while for you to actually be fully gay. There were some road bumps, there were some… people that had to be dealt with [laughs], but they helped push you toward where you had to go.

You’re definitely fully who you are now. And I always knew we were gonna get to this point. I’ve talked about this! “Oh, can I come to your cool parties where all the awesome power lesbians are?” “Sure!” And then it happens.

You literally came to a New Year’s party at my girlfriend’s house this year.

Yeah! With a bunch of super awesome gay women! Told you!

What was that like for you, seeing my life? Because we don’t live in the same place, so now a lot of our friendship happens over the phone — we talk all the time, but it’s not like we’re in each other’s day-to-day.

That was fantastic. I was just like, “Jesus, you’re so hip, I can’t even deal.” It was so cool I didn’t know what to do. But also, I’d expect this from you. Everybody was so rad.

It felt important to bring you into my world and show you what I’ve actually been doing, because we’d sort of existed in this vacuum for each other. I was so excited that you got to meet my girlfriend, too.

That was so beautiful. She is so beautiful, and you are so beautiful together. Even just all your cute photos on Instagram — I can’t even like them enough. I like them so much it hurts. But seeing you together in real life — you’re with her, and she’s with you, there’s so much love there, and I’m like, “Thank God.” Because it took a minute, y’know? For so many reasons. But just to see a friend in that space is the best. “You’re in a good relationship that comes with ridiculously awesome friends who do amazing work? Great!”

Also, they all thought you were really hot. The minute you left, everybody was like, “You had good taste in high school!”

[Laughs] I feel like I always look significantly hotter when I’m in Los Angeles. It’s, like, this inner thing. Talk about high school — my inner LA can’t not come out when I’m there. All of a sudden I just get five degrees hotter.

You are very hot, still. I will say that.

Well, thanks — I’m not gonna turn that down! [Laughs]

“There’s a truth to you. You’ve always had it, it was there even before we met, but I think I’ve learned what it is to be true to yourself through you.”

Okay, so —

Wait. You know what else I want to say about you getting older?

What?

Your haircut is so perfect right now. [Both laugh] It went through some phases, but I feel like it finally landed at the Hot Gay Lady Short Haircut. It was longer for a while, and then you finally went short, and right now it just looks perfect. Your whole style is, like, slaying now. I’m loving it.

Thank you, I agree. Good segue, actually: did you ever think about dating me in high school, and would you date me now?

Oh my God. [Laughs] Okay. High school, probably not, because I was so straight and white. I was from Republican Suburb, California. The person I am now was there, but wrapped up in that culture. So it was like “Oh, well, I couldn’t, because I’m a nice straight white woman.” There was no flexibility; it wasn’t a concept I had been introduced to. So I probably wouldn’t have dated you, because I just thought “Oh, this is not possible.”

I think, too, at that age, if you are a straight girl, you’re in love with some stupid, awful man-child. I can’t even believe teenage boys are a thing.

On that we agree. And what about now?

I probably would date you now, yeah. I mean, I haven’t dated a woman yet; I keep waiting. I’m really into this girl at work, who’s one of the only women I’ve ever been interested in. I don’t have those feelings all the time for women, but this is my first grown up, Big Girl Crush on a woman. [Editor’s note: The only reason I’m not completely flipping out right now is that she mentioned this situation to me long before our interview. Rest assured I reacted appropriately at the time.]

If we met now, as adults, I would totally date you. Especially if you pursued me.

Aww!

Oh, for sure. Hello! Are you kidding? Now I’m like “Well, guess I’m not as straight as I thought I was.”

Are you not as straight as you thought you were?

Definitely not as I thought I was, no. Again, it was so far away from my consciousness before that it wasn’t even an option. Fluidity wasn’t a thing, and I understand that it is now. But maybe it’s just that I’ve been working for lesbians for the last five years.

I work for lesbians now, and it’s definitely made me gayer, so.

This girl at work is the first woman that I’ve ever been like “I want to make out with you so badly that it’s hard for me to talk to you.” I definitely have a real crush on her. It took me a minute; at first I was like “Oh, you just think this chick’s cool. You wanna be her friend.” And then it kind of changed a little bit, and I’m like “Wait, that’s not what’s happening.”

Oh my God, wait. You’re going through what I went through. You’re me! You’re me at 16! She’s your Leanne!

I mean, it’s not going anywhere. She’s in a relationship, which I want her to continue to be in because it makes her happy — but I also want her to come to my house and sit in the hot tub. I have some conflicting wants and needs. [Laughs]

Also, I gotta say, it doesn’t hurt that men are just really upsetting to me all the time. It’s really hard for me to deal with male energy at all, especially right now. I’m just like “Nope, no thank you.”

Welcome aboard, I’ve been on this train for years. Okay, one last question: what have you learned from our relationship?

Oh gosh, Carrie Wade. I think, really, at the bottom of it, I’ve learned what a true friend is. And I feel like that was always the setup, on some level, between you and I. I was with you and part of a really, really intensely vulnerable moment in your life, and that set the tone for our entire relationship. So I’ve learned what it means to be a true friend, to show up no matter what’s going on. I feel like that’s something you do really well.

You teach me a lot of strength, and I guess that’s just you being you. Witnessing what you’ve gone through in your life, who you are, and knowing the strength you carry, I feel like I’ve learned what strength looks like — which is not something I say lightly or find in many of my other relationships. There’s a truth to you. You’ve always had it, it was there even before we met, but I think I’ve learned what it is to be true to yourself through you. You’ve always been witness to truths that other people can’t see, in my experience. When I think about you, it’s “Oh, this is what friendship means.”

I love you so much, I really do. It bears repeating.

I love you too.

I’ve held you in such high esteem, and I still do — this immense love and deep friendship. Somebody really witnessing you at your worst and at your best, and still showing up. That’s what it’s about.

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