What is it about having a dick that makes some men such know-it-alls? Is it that their egos are as fragile as their junk? But then, the general fragility of that side of the gender means that ‘my’ side (-ish, being genderqueer) gets treated like all emotions stem from a wandering, hysterical uterus a la Freudian claims. We’re not allowed to be angry, or polemic, or hell, even mildly annoyed.
Of course, I felt that even more keenly through most of my life because of my narcissist parents. It was made clear from early childhood that I was only to be pleasant. Their idea of ‘helping’ when I was in my early teens was to shove me in a corner and tell me I could only leave when I told them how I was feeling. This set me back until my 20s on being able to actualise my own feelings and emotions, and only with the help of a robotic boyfriend (actually a meatbag, but his friends called him a robot often). But of course, I still had it frequently reinforced by society that I was ‘on my period’ or ‘hormonal’ if my temper flared up, or whatever.
I only really started to ‘get over’ this once I cut my parents out two and a half years ago. Without their influence, I was free to step back and see where my feelings and responses were over the top and frankly abusive, and why. I was trying to drive people off because I had no spoons and was terrified of letting some people close to me for fear they would abuse me. Which is also to say, I spent all my spoons and then some dealing with my parents. Suddenly, I had enough to be a bit gentler and kinder… but also, learning how to take little to no shit.
Take No Shit
One of the big problems in being conditioned to be ‘nice’ means that all the ‘negative’ emotions get shot out of the side. Which is to say, I took anger generated from people and events, and then attacked people who didn’t deserve it with my ire. There are still some people who, rather wisely, keep themselves at a distance from me because of being targeted as such. Which, of course, fed into the ‘oh stars I am irrational and bad and maybe I am hormonal’, and um…. blergh.
Which is to say, once I was able to step back and let myself be angry, and sometimes even tell a person off for it, is that I am a lot less angry than I used to be. Oh, I still have people, mainly cisgender heterosexual males implying or telling me right out that my ire is due to me being a lesser creature, slave to hormones and stuff. But at least now, I’m equipped to give ’em the middle finger dance and feel good about the validity of my emotions. That doesn’t mean that I roam the streets looking for people to douse in male tears or whatever — just that it is okay for me to be angry or annoyed, and it’s okay for me to express it.
I sort of lost what point I was trying to make, ha ha. I guess that I’m not going to feel bad or apologetic for 99% of my feelings. I guess that I am not going to feel contrite for failing to perform emotional labour that I don’t have the spoons to perform anyways. And while there is always room for self-improvement, I will continue to cherish this landmark, because it’s good to pat oneself on the back here and there.
Anyways, enjoy an early post. This is my once every two weeks time where I actually *le gasp* leave the house, so I’m not going to be here at what I want to be my ‘usual’ time.