Pavini Moray's Blog, page 7

Time to Get Selfish!

I recently received feedback from someone who perceives me as selfish. 

My response? 

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Yes! You are right! I am selfish!

Just a few years ago, this feedback would have been devastating. 

So how could I hear it now without reactivity? 

How could I move towards the person giving it with kindness and compassion? 

That has been a question I've been living inside, mainly because it interests me when I notice a significant personal change. 

I always want to know why and how it happened. 

When I started weight lifting, my gym assigned me a trainer. It was random, and that's how I met Jon, a dudebro trainer. 

At first, our relationship was strictly professional. 

But as we got to know each other through meeting three times a week at 6 AM, his true nature emerged. 

Jon would dance around, singing the little mermaid, while he fiercely bullied me into one more rep. 

With equal parts silly and severe, Jon held my goals rigorously and loved me enough to help me have what I wanted. 

I don't imagine that I was his easiest client. I complained, pushed back, and sometimes flatly refused. 

But he was willing to step in and hold the part of me that wanted strength while combating the part that wanted something else. Ease, perhaps. 

I learned so many things from this random guy I cherish. 

One of the most important lessons I learned from him was about getting selfish. 

I'd be at my last squat or my last press, and the muscle agony would be winning. I would be ready to quit and abandon my goals. 

Then, Jon would say, "Pavini! Time to get selfish about the burn!" 

I interpreted this to mean I could reframe the burn as the prize.

Jon gave me permission to take exactly what I wanted; strength and power. 

He taught me to be selfish, which I had never heard described in this way. 

Could being selfish be a good thing? 

I had always learned that being selfish was to be avoided. 

The best thing was to be someone who shares freely and doesn't want too much for themselves. 

But there is a part inside me that wants everything. 

Interestingly, that part doesn't want it at the expense of others. 

As a kid, it wasn't that I wanted all the (insert whatever the good thing is here) and didn't want you to have any. 

No. 

I wanted how much I wanted and you to have how much you wanted. 

The first time I experienced food scarcity was in pre-school. 

We ate a hot lunch that the school provided. 

We sat at our family group tables and passed the food around, each student putting it on their plate. 

The day in question was hamburger day. 

Each hamburger had been carefully cut into quarters. 

When my classmate passed me the yellow basket, I took two pieces. 

And my teacher reprimanded me: please put one back piece, so there is enough for everyone. 

Later, I would overhear my teacher telling my mom that I often put more food on my plate than others. 

As an astute kid, I realized this was A Problem. 

I felt that hot burn and collapse of shame. I was bad! 

But I was hungry! 

It wasn't for another three decades that a nutritionist specializing in eating disorders would tell me she believed, from the symptomology I was exhibiting, that I had experienced some degree of starvation at a young age. 

Later, my childhood best friend confirmed she had always been hungry at my house when she lived with us. 

What do you do when you are trying to meet your needs but trying to avoid being selfish? 

You find covert ways to meet your needs. Sneak food, for example, which I became an expert in. 

I have needs, you have needs, and we all need to meet our needs. 

The problem is that there is often shame about needs and wants.

So much shame that it is hard to hear the actual need. 

Compassionate communication, or NVC, teaches how needs and strategies get conflated. 

You have a basic need, like food. Then, you meet your need with a strategy. Chinese or Italian for dinner? 

Problems happen when we get attached to our strategies: you are hungry and will only eat Chinese. 

(Am I hungry right now? A lot of my examples in this piece are about food!) 

My former lover Lore and I often conflicted over our strategies to meet the same need: food. 

She wanted one kind of food to satisfy her appetite, and I wanted another. 

When we first started dating, I would usually eat where she wanted. 

Her preferences and opinions were more robust than mine. 

But then, I began to feel resentful. 

I started sticking up for what I wanted to eat. 

Although we were both hungry, we could spend an hour arguing about where to eat. (I feel silly admitting this, but it is true.)

After many repetitive and life-draining fights, we got creative. 

We came up with a plan. 

If we couldn't agree on where to eat pretty quickly, we would get food from two different restaurants. 

Once, we even sat through two meals, first mine, then hers, so that we could each meet our needs exactly how we wanted. 

It was a beautiful night of connecting, chatting, and enjoying the deliciousness we both wanted. 

Plus, the added pleasure of watching your love get just the thing. 

Without shame, I accepted my needs and my desires and her needs and desires. Neither of us had to compromise on a meal just one of us wanted or neither of us truly wanted. 

I want everyone to have what they want and need. 

I got curious when I received feedback that someone perceived me as selfish. 

A few years ago, I would have been hurt, angry, and resentful to hear someone experiences me as selfish. 

But now, I hold it with gentleness. Why?

As I continue to sit with this question, here are some emergent thoughts. 

Of course I am selfish. We are all selfish. We all have needs and desires that we are trying to meet. 

It is my job to either meet my own needs or make requests (that I am willing to hear no to) to ask another to help meet my need.

Reframing selfishness as having what I need and want and wanting everyone to have what they need and want, I release shame about having needs.

I practice the mindset that there is enough for everyone.

I don't want anyone to sacrifice so that I can have what I want. 

I want win-win strategies more than anything. 

I value win-win strategies, and I trust myself to act in accordance with this value based on the proof I see in my actions.  

I'm guessing the person who lobbed this judgment at me has difficulty giving themselves permission for their feelings and needs, and it's confronting to see me do it. 

Needs don't compete. 

Scarcity, perceived scarcity, or fear of being an outcast because we are 'selfish' makes us do all kinds of weird sideways shit to meet our needs. 

Rarely is there a situation where, with enough spacious non-urgent creativity, both people cannot meet their needs.

I'm not a big believer in sacrificing your own needs or wants for the sake of a relationship. 

That tends to lead to resentment, which like kudzu, eventually strangles its host. 

Love needs intentional tending, which means not holding resentments. 

Instead of sacrifice or compromise, how can needs be held in a relationship as "the needs of both people in this relationship?" 

How can we team with our loved ones to ensure everyone has what they need? 

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Fat in Action

This is a piece about fat activism. It's a letter I wrote to a neighbor about her fatphobia. It's being delivered to her mailbox as well.

When fat people talk about fatphobia, we often get labeled as 'angry fat people.'

The truth is, all of us, no matter what size our bodies, are oppressed by body standards that tell us our bodies are wrong.

We are all oppressed by toxic diet culture, especially as it lives under the guise of "health and wellness."

I bet you can relate.

I hope you find something useful in this week's writing. There's a great list of resources my friend Scarlet curated at the very end.

***Content Note: Fatphobia, anorexia, eating disorders, medical malpractice.

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Dear neighbor,

This morning, while out for my morning walk, I strolled by your house, just as you were getting into your jeep.

The person who I assume is your housecleaner was schlepping a bucket and a vacuum up your sidewalk. She greeted me. I kept walking my fat body on, as I heard you, behind me, greet her as well.

She said to you, "You look so thin," and without missing a beat, you replied loudly, "I'm FAT!"

At first, I was startled. Here is a fat person not more than 10 feet in front of you. Initially, I thought you were speaking in a disparaging way about your body, in that way white women are trained to. There's even a name for it: "Fat Chat."

I thought you were speaking negatively about fatness, and the soft warm blubber your body carries. I stopped in my tracks, and looked at you. You don't read as fat. There is nothing I would look at and say, "that person is fat."

I wondered if I should call you out on your unexamined fatphobia.

I was bummed because all I was doing was taking a lovely stroll in my neighborhood.

Then I heard what I've heard ten thousand times before: my body is wrong for being the way it is, which is fat. Ugh, it's so painful. My entire life people have made nasty comments.

According to the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance, one-third of the world’s population is fat, yet fat people are discriminated against in all aspects of daily life; from employment to education.

Fat people face more than discrimination, though.

They face death, but not in the way the medical-industrial complex who loves to use the word "obesity" and "BMI" (which are b.s. standards, BTW, look up the research) would have you think.

From bullying, to suicide, to medical bias resulting in deadly treatment mistakes to eating disorders as we try to fit our body into what society says we 'should' be… make no mistake, fat people are under unrelenting, merciless attack.

In 2010, researchers at the University of Michigan released disturbing statistics about how size intersects with childhood bullying. They found that fat kids were 65 percent more likely to be bullied than their peers.

As a former fat kid, I can attest to this. Called "Russia" because of my size in 6th grade, the bullying made me not want to be here anymore.

As in, at 11 I had a plan to take myself out. When I look back at my pictures from that time, I cannot see the "morbidly obese" child everyone assured me I was. I see a slightly thick, healthy kid who roller-skated everywhere. Weird, huh?

So I hope you understand why I was taken aback by your comment. It felt like a threat.

My healing has been about unapologetically taking up the full space of my body every day. It's been a struggle, and tens of thousands of dollars spent on therapies of all kinds later, I finally feel like I deserve to breathe.

So I do breathe, and fully. Taking a deep breath into my gorgeous fat body, I feel into my right to be here, walking in my neighborhood on this delightful sunny morning. I consider what to do about you.

I get curious.

I think about the tools I have at my disposal. If I were to confront you now, it might come out all wonky.

You would surely get defensive, and say you meant YOU, not ME, was fat.

And looking at your straight-sized body, I would stumble over my words, and not be able to communicate what I want you to hear.

Which is this.

Yes, you are fat.

I believe in a world where people are what they say they are.

I believe trans kids when they say who they are.

I believe queer people when they say who they love.

The ability to self-determine matters.

You believe you are fat, so I believe you. You are fat.

Now, fat activists with bodies larger than yours may surely have some feelings about you claiming the word fat to describe yourself, but don't worry. I'll be right here to help you.

We're neighbors, and that's what neighbors should do: be kind to each other. Be respectful of each other's bodies, and definitely not throw shame.

As I thought about it some more, I realized that perhaps you were more culturally sensitive than I gave you credit for.

If so, I am sorry. I am still learning.

I had noticed your housecleaner's accent, and that English was not her first language.

From her melanated skin, I assumed she was Latina.

Perhaps you heard the concern in your housecleaners voice when she said, "You're so thin."

Because I did.

It wasn't a compliment she was paying you, but a worry for your health.

I'm not Latinx, and I can't presume to speak from that cultural perspective, but I do know that different cultures have different interpretations of 'thin' and it isn't always considered a good thing.

This is to say, your context of fat as unhealthy is not the global context.

If you were pissed about your housekeeper policing your health, I get it.

As a fat person, I am used to people concern-trolling me.

Being worried about my heart, my health, and my weight. I'm used to doctors telling me...

If I just lost some weight, then my sore throat would resolve.

If I could cut back on carbs, my shoulder sprained from weight lifting would improve.

Losing a few pounds would do wonders for my mental health.

Medical stigma against fat bodies can have a deadly impact on us, as in the case of my fat friend JB who was disbelieved when she went to the hospital in agony with a ruptured appendix.

She was told the cause of her pain was her weight, and she was exaggerating the pain.

She almost died.

So perhaps you heard your housekeeper's concern, and being more culturally sensitive than me, decided to respond with a comment that would set her at ease.

In that context, "I'm FAT" translates to "Don't worry about me! I am well-off, and I've got plenty to eat. Whole Foods is right down the street, and my pantry is full of high-caloric expensive organic foods. I'm cool."

I'll tell you what is really medically concerning: eating disorders.

At 16, I watched my friend Colleen die of anorexia, her frame wasting away to nothing.

Colleen was 78 pounds at her death.

My friend was murdered by fat-phobia, the belief that fat is evil, and that fat people are bad and deserve to die.

Even as a teenager, I knew I had to heal my stuff around toxic diet culture. I had an eating disorder to heal, and so much body shame to work through.

Perhaps you saying, "I'm FAT" is a way to confront your own eating disorder.

To work through your own pain of being told your body isn't good enough, either because it's too thin, too fat, too this, or too that.

But I do want you to know that one symptom of an eating disorder is body dysmorphia, perseverating on a perceived physical defect like a fat belly, that others cannot observe.

So your housekeeper says you are thin and you respond with "I'm FAT," well, this is actually concerning.

Other signs of eating disorders include

concern about eating in public

preoccupation with weight, food, calories, fat grams, or dieting

excuses to avoid mealtime

intense fear of weight gain or being “fat”

severely limiting and restricting the amount and types of food consumed

refusing to eat certain foods

denying feeling hungry

expressing a need to “burn off” calories

repeatedly weighing oneself

patterns of binge eating and purging

developing rituals around food

excessively exercising

cooking meals for others without eating

It took a lot of work to heal my eating disorder.

I had great support, and now enjoy the pleasure of eating and nourishing my body. I'm still fat, and I eat better than most people I know.

I'm also wayyy healthier now as a fat and juicy human than I ever was when I was a dry husk, starving myself with diet after diet.

I hope my story helps you realize that body size is not an accurate measure of health.

As I walked on, I stopped several times to ponder your two words, and the impact they had on my body and heart.

As I processed the hurt, I realized we likely live in two separate paradigms.

While we are both victims of body shame and a culture that wants to kill us, the difference is what we choose to believe.

You live in a world that tells you that in order to be loved, you have to change who and how you are.

You have to restrict your food, exercise excessively, earn your right to be here.

You may have never touched your curves and rolls with pleasure and wonder, taking delight in your yummy fat.

This contrasts with the size-inclusive worldview I've worked to develop.

A paradigm of body acceptance that welcomes people of all body shapes, sizes, genders, ages, skin tones, and abilities to unapologetically and joyfully exist!

While fat acceptance is a worthy goal, fat liberation is where I set my sights.

I want to be a fat person who loves their fat body (Have you watched Lizzo's Big Grrrls yet? OMG so good).

I want to feel free to eat, dance, fuck, move, work, travel, play and live exactly how I want.

Not in spite of my size, but because of it.

I am committed to doing the life-long work to unlearn the shame and hate that oppresses fat bodies, trying to keep us from living lives of beauty and justice.

If my assumption is correct, and you are still hating your body, I want to issue an invitation to come over to my side of things, which is superbly, gloriously, and fatly wonderful!

What would happen if "I'm FAT!" was your mantra of confidence?

You, being proud of your body and all it has survived.

The horror and the trauma and the shame that got thrown at you as a young woman.

It is possible, You can shake it all off now, and live a life of fabulousness and taking up all the damn space you want.

Okay, here's the last part I want to write to you today.

I'm glad you're fat!

Coming out and naming your fatness is a courageous thing to do.

Everyone knows you are fat already, so it is counter-intuitive that you must come out.

But you do.

Coming out as proudly fat, claiming your body as sacred, not something to be erased or dieted out of existence takes so much bravery.

When you say proudly, "I'm FAT" you are smashing an oppressive, murderous paradigm that tells young people of all genders in every way possible that their worth is their weight.

Colleen believed it. You don't. Good job.

You announcing loudly to the block that you are willing to fight for fat people's right to take up space, to be complex humans, and not just the funny, loveable but lonely desexualized sidekicks… well, I commend you.

I'm happy to welcome you to the ranks of activists like Mikey Mercedes, Marilyn Wann, and Evette Dion, the fat and black editor of Bitch Media.

Evette writes, "Fat-shaming is stitched into the fabric of American culture. In fact, it’s so embedded in our everyday lives that we don’t often recognize when we’re perpetuating fat-phobia or the act of discriminating against someone because of the size of their body."

Hearing you shout "I'm FAT" with so much vigor reminds me of the joy I feel when I accept myself as I am, without trying to whittle away my feelings, my experience, or my body.

All bodies deserve respect.

Yours included.

I'm glad I made it, and I'm glad you made it too.

Us fatties gotta stick together.

I want to thank you for your comment.

While I have been practicing using the F word to name my body and experience for 20+ years, today you showed me I still have work to do.

Fat is not a bad word. That I reacted that way when I heard you use it helps me realize I've got to keep fighting!

I'm glad to have a fat ally in the neighborhood.

Let me know if you'd like to go for a stroll and discuss how we can make the neighborhood a safe place for all bodies to be.

Big fat love,

Pavini

Oh, and here are some RESOURCES my friend Scarlet Tunkl curated to help you on your journey of body liberation:

Sonya Renee Taylor’s book The Body is Not an Apology is a great primer re bodies and our shame oriented culture. She discusses fatness along with skin tone, disability and other body traits that get oppressed. This is a great podcast of Taylor and Brenee Brown talking about the book.

Christy Harrison is a great resource. While she is not a fatty, she is an amazing fat ally, anti-diet dietician, author, podcaster and all around good human. Her site is full of amazing things to read and listen to. Here is a short blog entry she wrote that goes over some of the basics of diet culture and what it means to be anti-diet oriented. Her book Anti-Diet is life changing and so is her podcast. I also get her weekly newsletter and it always teaches me new things. Here’s one of my favorite podcast episodes. ​

​Maintenance Phase is an incredible podcast by fat queers who go into the dark histories of all sorts of things related to fat phobia. They are also hilarious.

Here’s a super informative episode on the “The Obesity Epidemic,” how it was manufactured and fucked up all our lives. Other episodes discuss things like the history of weight watchers (being owned by candy companies), the Keto Diets harmful backlashes, Oprah Winfrey and The Master Cleanse.

"Everything You know about Obesity is Wrong" is a groundbreaking article that was released about 4 years ago focusing on the medical industrial complex and its oppressive, harmful impact on fat folx.

Here’s a podcast from another fat activist, Virgie Tovar. In this episode they discuss how Anti-fatness is actually anti-blackness and vice versa, candy, pleasure, and living your best life. She also had a great book called “You Have the Right to Remain Fat."

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Pride and Prejudice, but mostly PRIDE

PRIDE is a strange brew of joy, celebration, fierce activism countering the fear and violence queer and trans people face daily.

On some holidays, like Valentine’s day, we (North Americans) agree to dedicate our attention to romantic love.

And during PRIDE all the flavors of the LGBTQ+ spectrum get some national attention.

Stores fill with rainbow apparel. Houses of worship in liberal places peddle belonging, festooning their buildings with welcome and colorful banners reading things like, “In God’s House, All are Welcome!”

There are parties, parades, art events, dances, glittering galas, drag shows.

When I lived in San Francisco, we called the month of June “Gay Christmas.”

We celebrate, we commune with each other, and for a moment, it feels safer and more wonderful to be alive.

I traveled to DC this week, and everywhere I went, there were signs of businesses catering to LGBTQ+ customers, remnants of the Poor People’s Campaign with trans flags, streamers and flags.

It’s beautiful to see.

And yet on June 12, 31 members of the white nationalist Patriot Front were arrested near an Idaho Pride event.

They were packed in a rental truck, intent to wreak violence and chaos in the midst of queer joy.

Why?

No matter how hard I try, I can’t grok it, other than queer people are free, and that is not okay in a “democracy.”

We change our names. Our pronouns. Our hair color.

We love who and how we want, liberated from the shackles of heteronormativity and monogamy.

We make up our own gender roles.

Commune with our ancestors. Provide the tenderest of care and mutual aid.

Dance wearing too much glitter. As if.

I mean, if I saw a bunch of people experiencing the freedom and fun and play that my queer friends do… well, I’d be jealous too. “Why do they get to have that, and I don’t?” I can imagine my bitter heart berating.

It’s not super helpful to polarize into us and them, but how do I talk about the people who choose to spend their precious time in a body trying to hurt and control others?

Like, don’t you have any hobbies that are more interesting than hate and violence?

Because we sure do. Girl, you think putting on eyelashes is easy??

We’ve got no time to think about you and your anger, because we’re busy over here having a GRAND FUCKING TIME!

And you know what?

We are a welcoming, inclusive bunch.

So if you ever wanna stop playing GI Joe, and have complicated intimacy, learn how to queer process and let us put you into some gold booty shorts without getting a wedgy, well, you know where to find us. Follow the rainbow.

But seriously. PRIDE matters for all people because a diversity of being is always more resilient than monolithic culture to which all adhere.

Queer people make more space in society for all types of sexuality and gender.

More space benefits all of us.

Space where your expression of self isn’t regulated by the social conditioning you have received but rather guided by what beauty wants to emerge from your spirit.

The following piece was written by Robert Dennick Joki, AKA Starrlet O’Hara, who lives where I grew up.

A conservative, solidly red state that tries to squash queerness, but as Starrlet’s piece attests, cannot.

Several things strike me about this piece:

Starrlet’s mastery of reactivity: they don’t follow their violent impulses, giving themselves a moment, a sacred pause.

Their capacity in the moment to recognize the danger to not only themselves, but the young minds who are observing and consider the safety of all involved.

The faith in magick they trust that if they open their mouth, somehow the exact right thing would come out.

This is queer resistance, and activism born of practice, love, and sparkle.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Cue the tissues.

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Regarding The Incident At PRIDE

Robert Dennick Joki, AKA Starrlet O’Hara

First and foremost, I need to thank everyone who has reached out to me this week. If I haven’t responded, please know that I do appreciate your concern and your kind words. I just needed a minute to process this before I addressed it.

I was on stage for our Rust Belt Theater family friendly Kids Show, getting ready to announce the next performer… When a man with a megaphone rushed out of the crowd. He called me a “pervert.” He said that I was “grooming” and “indoctrinating” children. He was also filming my reaction.

My first instinct was to tackle him. I did not. My second instinct was to scream back at him. I did not. I have been doing theater for children for over 25 years. As a performer I am always hyper aware of my audience and what I consider to be APPROPRIATE, especially when it comes to young people. In the words of the late, great Stephen Sondheim:

“Careful the things you say,

children will listen.

Careful things you do,

children will see.

And learn.”

What I COULD do, was counter his message with my own, because the only way to banish the DARKNESS is to turn on a LIGHT. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and started to sing. The first words that came to my mouth were…

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high…”

It’s a song my Nana used to sing to me, probably the first song I ever learned all of the words to. It has always been a source of comfort for me when I needed it, and in that moment it was there for me once again.

The man with megaphone got LOUDER. He began to circle me, getting closer, becoming more and more agitated, screaming at the crowd…The crowd of CHILDREN, telling them I was a MONSTER. I was terrified, but I was determined not to show it.

“There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.”

Then something unexpected happened…One by one, beginning with Esther Gin and Mrs. Goutfire, the other performers joined me. They linked arms with me, and started to sing along. We were then joined by people in the audience, singing in unison. Together we drowned his message of HATE with our message of HOPE. He had a megaphone, but I had a family.

In the end he ran off, pursued not by parents, not by security, but by queer and nonbinary teenagers. They were wearing pride flags as capes, like the heroes that they are.

“Birds fly over the rainbow, why then oh why can’t I?”

By the end of the song, the darkness was gone, banished by the light. By progress. By the future. Afterward, several people asked me if it was all part of the show. I promise you it was not

After it happened I was determined not to let anyone see me cry. I took a moment in the dressing room to get myself together, and we just continued with the show…Because that’s what we do. And what we do is important. This incident was a reminder of just HOW important.

Anyway….thank you for indulging me, and allowing me to get this out. I have been struggling with it all week and I’m hoping that writing down the experience will ease my mind a little. The anxiety, and especially the nightmares have been brutal. My mind is not always as kind to me as perhaps it should be.

“If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow…Why, oh why can’t I?”

Please know that I love all of you, no matter what.

Here is a photo from that day with my two nieces, Ellie and Ema, who rode on the pride float with me.

“Careful the tale you tell

That is the spell,

Children will listen...”

Sail away Sail away Sail away

I came up in Cleveland.

A rust-belt polluted midwestern city. In the 70’s and 80’s when I lived there, you couldn’t feel too much.

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You couldn’t be a snowflake. Snowflakes got pounded into the asphalt of the playground, gooey in the hot summer.

Snowflakes had their bikes stolen.

Snowflakes were tormented and brutalized.

As a teen, the punk shows I attended were violent.

People always got injured.

Often the cops showed up with their own brand of violence.

Feelings were physical: the throbbing of eardrums the day after a show or the bruised arms and shins, from the mosh pit.

That was feeling. You survived, or you didn’t.

Many tender friends I loved did not make it.

But I did.

Later, in somatic therapy, I would learn the price I’d paid for my survival.

I couldn’t feel shit.

Sensations or emotions.

I was numb.

Fast forward, now I practice feeling my aliveness. I cry every day.

You can imagine the healing that has been necessary to admit that.

It’s taken years of work to be able to hear the truth and wisdom my body shares.

I value the healing work we all have to do, and all the healing you have done.

However, this week two important people said versions of the same thing: Your purpose is not healing.

You are here to live, and healing is what you do so that you can actually live.

Healing is not your life’s purpose.

As a somaticist, I have dedicated my career to the study of bodies and embodied learning.

I hold a deep respect for the wisdom of my body.

When it tightens upon meeting someone new, I consider that important information.

The animal self that is me is responding to something that the mind that is me cannot perceive.

But.

How do I discern when to listen to the wisdom of my body and when to listen to my brain?

Because while I want to listen to my body, I do not want not be at the mercy of my traumatic responses.

The story I am about to share highlights the importance of both your mind and your animal body.

My partner Ari arranged a hot air balloon ride as a birthday surprise.

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Very tiny picture of me in the basket!

Ever since I can remember I have longed to go up in a hot air balloon.

Around the age of nine, I read “The Twenty-One Balloons,” a novel by William Pène du Bois published in 1947.

The story is about a retired schoolteacher whose ill-fated balloon trip leads him to discover Krakatoa, an island full of great wealth and fantastic inventions.

It sounded so beautiful and magickal to fly high above the world, blown by the wind, no control of your direction.

It is an act of faith that you will return to the Earth, and land intact, before running out of fuel.

When we lifted off the ground, gently floating upward, I was fine for the first ten feet.

The sensation was gentle, pleasant like been floated in a warm pool of water, someone safe holding up your body.

By twenty feet in the air, my body started to freak out.

It was at about 50 when I had to stop looking at the ground, raising my chin and squinting so I could only see the mountain in the distance, a familiar and comforting view.

Riding in the balloon, I had to use the manual override to not do what my body insisted.

The conversation my body and brain went like this.

Body: “Oh shit! We are gonna DIE!!!! Get down, get down, get down, get down in the basket!!!”

Brain: “Love, we may die. But it won’t be because we are standing in the basket and not crouching.”

Body: “If you make me stand, I am going to lock every muscle!”

Brain: “Okay sweetheart, that’s fine.”

Body: “No, I’m serious! I am gripping on as hard as I can! The edge of the basket! Ari’s overalls! The rim of the fuel tank!”

Brain: “Sure, go ahead and grip on, but you aren’t gonna fall, you know.”

Body: “Agh! This is terrifying!!! Get low NOW!”

Brain: “I know you are scared my sweet and precious ride, but your fate was sealed the moment you stepped into the basket. You will survive or not, but in the meantime, let’s be present for this incredible once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

Note the hand grip!

​

Halfway into the voyage, the panic lessens.

My compulsive gripping stops. I let go of Ari enough to drink some water.

The urge to kneel evaporates.

I’m in love with the floating clouds, as we drift silently over the mountain tops.

This sacred world is lovely.

A picture I took once I stopped gripping so hard!

The trauma gurus on Instagram have huge followings because people need to heal.

There is another more insidious factor, though, trauma is compelling.

It’s highly marketable. Profitable. This should make you mad. It makes me furious.

As much money as I could make off your trauma, I don’t want to anymore.

I want to relish being alive and be compensated for teaching folks to savor life while you have it.

It’s trauma that made me cleave to the edge of the basket.

Trauma that inappropriately grooms our instincts, so we think we should hide when we have the chance to fly.

But the gripping would not save me in a crash.

The cleaving to anything (the basket, an identity, a narrative) will not save you as you float in the wind, blown by a force you cannot see but can wholly feel.

Moral of the story: clench all you want; you are still in a (metaphorical) basket 5000 feet above the ground, having no idea where and when this journey will end. Or how.

You can practice trust and letting go even as you cling to the edge.

These do not have to be binary.

Sometimes you listen to your body.

Sometimes you have a conversation; body and brain.

So you can live and enjoy, not just survive.

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How to connect by not doubling down!

“I love all the divine feminine energy here. It’s so important. They are trying to tear us apart, but we won’t be divided,” she leans in, her wispy voice, disrupting the conversation I had been having with my best friend, Theo Mae.

We are sitting on the lawn at The Chicks concert.

In the background, Cherry Bomb by the Runaways blares, projected onto multiple 25-foot screens.

We were enjoying our snacks, waiting for the band to take the stage, when this white waify purple-haired woman sat down on the grass between us.

At first, she was on her phone, invading our personal space, but she seemed harmless.

But then she started talking, all goddess this, womyn that, feminine feminine feminine.

Eye-gazing.

Lavender hair tossing.

Trying.

To.

CONNECT.

Theo Mae and I rolled our eyes at each other and shook our damn heads.

Both non-binary, we are no strangers to hearing how incredible our “feminine energy” is.

Let me be clear.

I love women.

I am down with how people want to describe their experiences.

Usually, I pick my battles about gender.

I often ignore comments like these.

After all, I will never see the person again.

But this lady wouldn’t drop it.

Amping up, she went on and on about the glorious feminine moon, the goddess energy of the crowd, the field of the feminine emanating from us all.

Finally, I had had enough.

I turned toward her and said, “I’m not trying to bust your groove, but you are talking to two non-binary, trans people. The language about the “divine feminine” you are using doesn’t work for me. It is alienating and off-putting. You are gonna need to stop with that if you want to hang out with us.”

Clear. Kind. Boundary.

In my head, I’m putting my money on her doubling down. It seems, for a brief moment, that she will stop.

I’m still bracing for it.

“Oh yes! I honor you so much!” she replies, chatting about the music for a minute.

Great, but my guard is up.

“But really, fighting the patriarchy takes ALL of us.”

Uh-oh.

And then.

“Okay, but you don’t understand. Your feminine energy is so beautiful! You are so powerful!”

And there it is, folks. The ole double-down.

Here’s what the Google has to say: “The phrase “double down” means to put forth the additional effort or risk in a situation or argument, even if you know the outcome will be a mistake or will be negative.”

At this point, Theo Mae sees my disgust. They lean in, bless them, and bravely give purple hair Gender 101.

For five minutes of their precious life on Earth time, it’s all smash the gender binary, celebrate the glittering gender multiverse, and try to help this woman learn.

I admire Theo Mae’s fortitude.

Their educational interlude gives me time to think about what I want from this situation.

I want it to stop.

I want to have a good night.

I want to be kind.

Until.

This bitch puts her hand on my arm! “I just want you to know I honor everything about you, your….”

I knock her hand off my arm.

“Don’t touch me,” I growl.

I mean.

When was the last time someone tried to manage me physically?

Now I’m mad.

Is she tripping? She might be.

I still have care for this human, misguided as she is.

I say, “Look, I know you want to connect, but I’m here for the concert, not to educate you. I asked you to stop, and you didn’t. We are done here.”

She tells me that because she honors me, she is going to leave.

“If you really honor me, here’s what you can do. After the concert, go home and get on Google. Research gender identity. Research non-binary. That’s how you can honor me,” is how I reply.

This is reasonable, considering all the shitty and mean things I could have said.

Here’s her parting shot: “I’m sorry for all the people who hurt you and made you the way you are.”

She runs, I mean RUNS, off, forgetting her wallet in the process.

I look at it lying there, unwilling to do anything with it.

But Theo Mae is nicer than me and sprints after her to return it.

They return, laughing, “ Now she’s gonna think trans people are so evil.”

And she likely will.

Bullshit like this happens all the time to my black friends, transfeminine peeps, fat folks, disabled friends, and all the other folks existing at the edges of what is considered ‘normal.’

But something about this episode made me question the doubling down thing.

Like, why double down?

Why did she believe her intention to be understood was much more important than the impact I expressed to her?

More important than the boundary I set?

This is a meme, right? The doubling down?

What did that lady think was gonna happen if she kept insisting on my feminine energy after I set a boundary, saying how she honored me without listening to me and kept nonconsensually touching me? (She did it again!)

Does anyone ever soften because you’ve convinced them you are right?

or…

Have you ever been convinced by someone’s intentions that the impact you feel doesn’t matter?

I think about embodied strategies a lot.

Strategies are attempts to meet needs.

You can ask, “What is this strategy trying to take care of?” especially when it seems nonsensical.

Doubling down is a strategy; my best guess is that it is trying to take care of belonging.

That lady wanted to belong with Theo and me, and for that to happen, she felt we had to understand her perspective.

It makes sense to me.

However, how she went about belonging didn’t work for us, and ultimately for her.

If she were my client, I would suggest implementing a new narrative and strategy for belonging.

Stop and listen when someone gives you feedback that something in your behavior isn’t working.

Every week in my dance community, we read our community agreements. Here are the relevant bits:

“If you receive feedback from another dancer that they were uncomfortable with something, here’s what to do:

Stop.

Listen.

Reflect back to them what you’ve heard.

Ask questions to make sure you understand the impact they are sharing with you.

If you get stuck, seek a supporter.

If someone offers you feedback, they give you the gift of believing in your capacity to learn. Take the opportunity.”

Seriously.

It doesn’t seem that difficult to me.

Sure, it’s hard to hear you unwittingly impacted someone, but it was an accident, right?

So why not just listen, and say something like, “Oh so sorry! I hear that language doesn’t work for you, so I’ll stop.”

That would have been the coolest thing, and then she could have hung out with us all night.

What is the necessary work that gets us all to the place of being able to hear the impact we inadvertently caused without taking it as a personal affront we must defend against?

If I hurt you, I want to know about it, so I can make it right.

That starts with listening and making sure I understand the impact.

Hurt happens in all relationships.

Repair from harm deepens all relationships.

Being the angry trans person isn’t my jam.

It’s no fun.

I often have so much spaciousness for people’s learning.

Case in point: Three weeks ago, I came out as NB to my 75-year-old silversmithing teacher.

It was the first time she met someone NB or encountered the concept.

I explained it to her, then she got excited and hugged me, saying, “Happy Binary! Happy Binary! I love you!”

I knew exactly what she meant.

Now we are having conversations, and I’ve given her permission to ask all her questions.

This feels good to me.

I love this work.

She is so excited to learn and to understand and confront the limits to her understanding.

When she makes a mistake, she readily admits it, “Oh shoot, I messed up your pronoun again!” and we move on.

It’s just not a big deal.

Last thought on this: I wanna double down sometimes too.

Being misunderstood sucks.

The thing is, I didn’t misunderstand the purple lady.

I didn’t think she had bad intentions.

Her intentions of connection were clear.

What else was clear is the learning she still has to do around gender, boundaries, and listening.

As do I, as do you.

Doubling down feels like “But…!” in my body.

“But you don’t get what I’m saying!”

“But I didn’t mean it like that!”

“But if you really got it, you wouldn’t feel like that.”

I think the corrective here is to consider that the impact someone is sharing is the impact they experience.

You don’t know what that feels like to be them.

I am practicing listening to the impact I catalyze in others without defensiveness or trying to convince them of my rightness or good intentions.

I’d be delighted if you’d join me in this practice.

Down with the double down, up with Connection!

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Is glitter addiction funny?

I've been thinking a lot about something I read in Pema Chodron's book "Living Beautifully with Uncertainty and Change."

She writes about a prophecy given by Hopi Elders in 2000.

There is a river flowing now very fast.

It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.

They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart and will suffer greatly.

Know the river has its destination.

The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river.

Keep our eyes open and our heads above the water.

See who is in there with you and celebrate.

I think about this advice often.

Let go of the edge and see who is in the middle of the river with me, celebrating.

This is who is in the river with me. Who is celebrating in the flow with you?

This summer, I've been enrolled in a writing class called "Being Funny."

Humor is a medicine. Lighten up and laugh, and you feel better.

I'd like to share with you some of the short pieces I've written.

While often I send more serious things that I hope will support you, today I'm sending something I hope makes you laugh.

Because IMHO, laughter is where we feel the freest, and that's what I want most for us all: liberation.

If you don't already know this, I have something to come out to you about. I have a glitter problem.

Be warned that there may be more sparkle bombs headed your way this summer.

Pavini

Alert! Rainbow Mountain Preschool Parent Alert! Please Read!

Since this condition has been on the rise in our community, please read the following information from the Center for Societal Preservation very carefully.

At Rainbow Mountain, we take the protection of your children with the utmost sincerity. We have a strict No-Glitter Policy as noted in Section 3, Clause 18 of our parent handbook. We strongly caution you to adhere to this policy.

​
As a reminder, children seen sparkling at school will immediately be sent home, and must refrain from attending school until the issue is resolved.

Parents, please speak with your child about not asking repeatedly to use glitter in their artwork, as we seek to staunch the spread of the contagion.

Love,

Your Teacher

CSP White Paper: Preventing Glitter Toxicity in Children

Overview

Glitter toxicity, also called Hyperscintillamus G is a rare but potentially serious condition caused by an excessive amount of glitter in the body.

It occurs when glitter builds up in the body, often over months or years. Even small amounts of glitter can cause serious health problems. Children younger than 6 years are especially susceptible to glitter poisoning, which can severely affect normal gender and sexual orientation development. At very high levels, glitter poisoning can be irreversible, and affect financial wellness, social standing, and career choice.

The most common complication is postglamoric infatuia, which causes intense (in some cases borderline obsessive) desire for glitter for a long time after shimmer has been cleared from the body.

Hypercintillamus G is frequently caused by an effluvium spread by drag queens during Drag Queen Story Hour. It is highly infectious.

Hyperscintillamus G isn't a life-threatening condition, but it can be very painful and expensive for families of the afflicted. Vaccines can help reduce the risk of glitter toxicity. Early treatment can help shorten a sparkle infection and lessen the chance of complications.

Symptoms

Bodily secretions observed displaying an unnatural sheen or sparkle

Contact dermatitis in any orifice, including the mouth, vagina, and anus.

Initially, glitter poisoning can be hard to detect — even people who seem healthy can have high blood levels of glitter. Signs and symptoms usually don't appear until dangerous amounts have accumulated.

Mental health symptoms include:

Disregard for social mores and norms that dictate appropriate use

Unhealthy interest in heels

A belief that too much is just enough

Those afflicted with this syndrome often suffer from the delusion that everyone loves glitter as much they do.

Patients can become violent when prohibited from application.

Symptoms can mimic addiction.

When to see a doctor

If your child knows all the words to Lady Gaga's "Born this Way"

Wants to watch RuPaul

Early diagnosis and intervention is crucial to prevent lifelong symptoms.

Causes

Contact contagion

Well meaning gay uncles

Art teachers who encourage children to self-express through sparkle

Pre-school costume closets containing dance tutus, bedazzled sunglasses, and/or feather boas

Complications

Early contact with glitter alters brain development

A sequelae of Hyperscintillamus G is a predilection for all things shiny, including unicorns and/or merfolk

Later stages of the disease include a propensity to dye the hair unnatural colors, or pursue a career in the performing arts

Prevention

There is no known cure for Hyperscintillamus G. Clinical research recommends harm reduction techniques, such as minimizing risk through encouraging the afflicted to apply mica or naturally dissolving glitter made of sugar. Rhinestones are showing some treatment potential.

NOTICE: Rainbow Mountain Preschool has an affiliate relationship with the providers of goods mentioned in this message and may be compensated when you purchase.​

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