On Caitlyn Jenner

Many things in the news recently have brought me feelings of frustration, anger, disgust, etc, etc, etc. At the same time, many have brought me great joy, hope, and a sense of relief. While there are many things happening that I'd like to comment on, there is one thing in particular that has been bothering me for the last few days.

In recent weeks, I have seen a number of social media posts questioning the validity of Caitlyn Jenner's identity as a woman. These posts have argued that, because Caitlyn has never experienced the pain of menstruation, the loss of a miscarriage, the joy of pregnancy, or the struggle of menopause, she couldn't possibly be a real woman. That because Caitlyn has never known the fear of sexual assault when broken down on the side of the road, she couldn't possibly be a real woman. That because Caitlyn's life has looked different from their own, she couldn't possibly be a real woman. That Caitlyn Jenner's identity as a woman must be tied up in being a wife, a mother, a victim of biology and sexism.

I call bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

Some women don't menstruate because they have medical conditions that prevent their body from carrying out the process. Some women don't menstruate simply because their birth control stops the cycle. Some women have complete hysterectomies, causing them to cease menstruation. Some women cannot carry and birth their own children, so they choose to adopt. I have never been - and plan to never be - pregnant. In turn, I will never experience a miscarriage. I do not - and will not - know the joy of carrying and birthing a child or the grief of losing one. Am I less of a woman because I will not carry or birth or lose a child? Is my friend less of a woman because her body cannot menstruate? Is my aunt less of a woman because my cousin is adopted? Are we not real women because we haven't experienced these quintessential facets of womanhood? Hell no.

First, I will say this. How dare we take possession of Caitlyn's identity or her life experiences. How dare we make assumptions about who she is based on the small window into her world that fame has provided us. As the biological parent to six children, can we definitively say that she has never experienced the joy of parenthood or the loss of a miscarriage, simply because it doesn't neatly fit into the box of emotion we have prescribed for it? Do we discount the intensity of the emotions felt by fathers simply because they do not physically birth - or miscarry - their child? By this logic, adoptive mothers aren't real women either, right? Or, at least, they aren't real mothers. I cannot wrap my mind around such profound ignorance. I don't even want to try.

Next, I will say this. Perhaps Caitlyn doesn't truly know what it's like to get stranded on the side of the road and hope that a man stopping to help has ill intentions. To that I say - good. No one should know what that's like. I imagine that being the world's best athlete has some benefits in that realm. But you know what Caitlyn has survived? The struggle of growing up in a body that doesn't feel like her own. A body that has never felt like it belonged to her. Did you know that over 40% of transgender youths attempt suicide? Over 40% of transgender youths believe it would be easier to end their lives than to continue to live in a world that discounts and questions the validity of their existence. Let that sink in. Over 40%. That is astounding. It is horrifying. It is a damned shame. Not only did Caitlyn not become a statistic in this regard, she experienced this struggle as the public image of masculinity. She had an inner conflict, the likes of which many of us will never understand, while being praised and defined by the very body that held her captive for six decades.

In my 25 years, I have never found my identity as a woman in the functionality of my uterus. I have never found my worth in my ability to menstruate or carry a child. Being a woman isn't defined by what you push out of your body. Being a woman isn't defined by your body's ability to shed the lining of your uterus (I'm troubled that I even have to write this sentence). Being a woman isn't defined by being a victim, by being afraid, by being vulnerable. Being a woman isn't defined by breasts. It isn't defined by hair. It isn't defined by curves. It isn't defined by the number of surgeries and injections you have elected to undergo.

If society's idea of womanhood is intertwined with midcentury ideals of marriage, motherhood, and menstruation, please count me out. I want absolutely no part of that club. If Caitlyn's idea of womanhood is rooted in courage, strength, and the ability to gracefully withstand intense and unwarranted scrutiny, pick me for that team any day. I don't admire Caitlyn because of how her body looks in a dress (although, she looks damn good). I admire Caitlyn because she has the courage to be unashamedly her. She has the courage to be exactly who she is... how many of us can say the same?

The Last Three Years

The last three years of my life cannot be easily reduced to a blog post but I'm going to try anyway. I don't believe much of anything can be easily reduced to a blog post, really, but in this age of social media we all try to do just that, don't we? We trim and edit, looking for the best language, the most quotable phrase - we get off on being concise. You know what can't be trimmed or edited? Relationships. Marriage. Love. Life. The last three years have been a messy, intimate, raw, indescribable journey with a man I am ever-grateful to call my partner.

The last three years have taken us down paths we never could've predicted and far from where we'd planned. I went back to school. I have learned and grown in directions I couldn't have imagined two years ago. Ethan has expanded his artistic ventures, creating scores for real commercials, being asked to play music with other gifted musicians. I am constantly amazed by his talent. It is awe-inspiring. We have experienced so much in these last three years. A family member moved into and out of our home. We've said goodbye to friends as they've continued their journeys elsewhere. We've lost loved ones, both suddenly and expectedly, learning what it means to mourn together. We have celebrated at weddings and grieved through divorces of the people we love. We have spent late nights writing papers and creating music. We have laughed. We have cried. We have fought. We have forgiven. We have loved. And loved. And loved.

I am not arrogant enough to think that three years of marriage makes me an authority on the matter. I don't know that any amount of time will ever make me an authority on it -- isn't it so different for everyone? And doesn't it continue to evolve through the years? I was recently asked about marriage by someone who is skeptical of the entire institution; what were my thoughts on the concept, she wondered. My response was that, while the physical aspect of a relationship cannot be ignored or belittled, I know Ethan is right for me because he truly knows me and he chooses to love me. I can be myself with him. My true, authentic self. My flaws, my insecurities, my opinions, my voice -- these things are laid bare for him and he is not afraid, he does not run away. He stays and he chooses to love me. He wakes up every single morning and he chooses to love me. And I, him.

Before falling asleep each night, Ethan says to me, "Goodnight. I love you. Wake me up if you need me." These words are simple. They are obvious. It seems evident that sharing a space with a human means that, in some way, they are there (even if it's only a physical 'there') if you need them. Yet these words comfort me. They allow me to sleep more easily. What's even better is that he means it. Even when it's three o'clock in the morning and I wake him up, in tears, because I am experiencing unbearable pain from a sinus infection taking root in my jaw. He is there. Googling remedies and comforting me. Even when he is tired, he is there. Even when he has to get up in three hours, he is there. He is there. I hope to never take that for granted.

I have a note hanging over my desk that Ethan wrote to me when we were still dating. It is a list of short sentences beginning with "You are," and ending with various descriptors of who I am in his eyes. Three of them are my favorite: "You are smart," "You are strong," and "You are passionate." While I enjoy being told I am beautiful, I much prefer to be told that my mind, my thoughts are valued. Don't be mistaken. Ethan tells me daily that I am beautiful, that I look good in the clothes I put on my body. More often, though, he tells me that I am intelligent, that my thoughts matter, that what I have to say is important. In a world that values the vapid virtues of size 2 jeans and perfectly ombre-d beachy waves, my partner finds sexy the content held within my mind and the passions held within my heart. He assures me that I am more than my physical presence. That I am enough.

So today, and everyday, while I am thankful for our home, for our jobs, for the modest life we are weaving together, I am infinitely more thankful for the love we share. Ethan, you are kind. You are generous. You are talented. You are intelligent. You are really, really, ridiculously good looking. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for cooking all the best foods. Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for loving the people I love, for treating my family like your own. I love you, and I always will. The last three years have been a beautiful journey and I can't wait to see what the next three hold. And the next three. And the next three...