Be My Valentine: Strong and Proud.

This is dedicated to my mother Ria Tesselaar and Donna Fizzell, two wonderful, amazing women who are both understanding and compassionate and excellent role models.

Also, Happy Birthday Mum.

I want to start this off by saying that feminism is not a dirty word. By definition feminism is the principle advocating social, political and all other rights of women equal to those of men. That is the stripped down dictionary definition. This does not mean that feminism is the doctrine of women wanting to be of higher rank then men it also does not mean to take rights away from men. What it does mean simply is equality. For some reason female is seen as weak and women rallying together to take a stand is somehow a ploy to take from men.

It’s not.

Feminism is also for everyone. Because at its inner most core it’s all about equal rights for everyone. If you ask anyone I think they’d be behind equal rights but feminism has become such a dirty word that people don’t understand. Feminism is not fascism, it’s not a dictatorship. It’s people for the betterment of people.

Now, here’s where I’m going to slam some of my own perspective into you and I’m also going to pitch out some facts. Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen, this lady got some talking to do.

I want to talk about my mother. My mother is a deeply understanding, kind-hearted person, who raised two very different children. The first born was my brother and after two miscarriages I arrived. My brother is seven years older than me and though I have never experienced a miscarriage the loss and sadness I feel for my mom and others is a very deep well. As it is I’m a bit of a miracle baby. My mom had to sit for the majority of her pregnancy as her uterus had fallen and not doing so could have resulted in my loss. It’s a story I’ve heard many times and even though times were extraordinarily tough I’m here. While my mom was in labour and probably for months and months before she kept on thinking I want it to be a boy, so my brother would have someone to play with.

I’m going to take a moment and say that at that time and during that era thinking that was logical. Boys play better with boys and girls play better with girls was the logic of the generation. It’s incredibly false but that’s how it was. My mom didn’t have the tiniest inkling in her head that I would be a girl.

Imagine her surprise.

Now, my Mom had someone who she could take on shopping outings and gab with and do all the things that Mom’s do with daughters that she never dared to dream of before. My brother also gained exactly what my mom wanted. It didn’t matter that I was a boy or a girl. I adored my brother and my brother taught me how to fight and I’m basically a smaller feminine version of him.

Here’s what I’m getting at, apart from the people who want to systematically generate their children, change up some chromosomes and even tinker with eye colour most people really don’t care. I mean if you wanted kids and thought about kids you probably had a preference growing up but when it comes down to it and you’re pregnant all you really want in the end is a healthy child. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a boy or a girl.

So, why does it matter if down the road a ways your child doesn’t feel right in their skin and is transgendered? Apart from whatever your child feels like they need to do, it doesn’t change them or who they are. All you really wanted was a healthy child and feeling wrong in one’s own skin can lead to exceptionally bad mental health that inevitably leads to poor physical health. That is still your child. In their very essence nothing has changed about them except their packaging and that should never matter. They haven’t become a different person. They’re just free and human and healthy and deep down that’s all you ever wanted.

You can’t generate someone and you can’t control them and things change along the way and that’s okay. That’s life and what makes it beautiful.

Don’t tell a girl that she’s only beautiful and don’t tell a boy that he’s too manly to cry and don’t tell a child how they should feel about themselves. Allow them the room to make mistakes and don’t punish them for it. Teach them that mistakes lead to great ideas, moments, and feelings. Mistakes don’t hinder you. They help you. Don’t discourage the dreams of the young just because you don’t know what’s possible.

Encourage children to dream and fall and get back up and smile and cry and try new things. Encourage their minds and their bodies and their hearts and their endless imagination. 

Now, what irks me deeply to a level you can’t possibly understand is this and I’m gonna lay some facts on you hardcore.

Until the 20th century pink was the colour for boys and blue was the colour for girls. Blue was considered paler and daintier of the two colours and pink was considered stronger. And here’s the big one, right up until the 15th century boys were called girls. All children were referred to as girls. Boy children were called knave girls and girl children were called gay girls. It wasn’t until much later that the term boy was labelled to a male child cause before it just meant a servant. The colours changed in the 1930’s when Hitler prosecuted both male and female homosexuals and the people who were deemed “curable” were sent to concentration camps with a pink triangle.

The entire pink is for girls and blue is for boys now is both a product of marketing and because of Hitler. In my artistic opinion denoting a colour to anyone is ridiculous.

Moving to early childhood, consent is a thing that needs to be respected. No most definitely means No and no amount of tantrums and tears should ever change that.

It’s a big issue today the whole idea of consent and I’m not going to say just for girls because it’s definitely a generalized issue for everyone with varying degrees all over the world and also where people have no autonomy at all. I can’t change the world. I can’t save it but I can change myself and I can write about it.

Consent should be the simplest thing to change but I guess you covet what you don’t have is still a big thing that happens. But if something does need to be taught it should be consent always and forever. Yes is yes, no is no, and maybe is maybe with no judgement on where that will lead. You’re allowed to be uncertain and you’re allowed to change your mind. You’re allowed to say no when you don’t want to do something as much as you’re allowed to say yes when you really do. You’re not allowed to pressure people into thinking there no actually means a yes in the long run. Or that a maybe always has to mean a yes. This is for anything. This isn’t just about sexual consent. This is personal on a level beyond that. If someone doesn’t want to drink or do drugs or drive or do a sport it’s up to that person and what they believe. You wouldn’t want someone pressuring you on your beliefs so why would you do it to others.

Consent and respect are the two biggest things to teach for the young and the old.

Education is a big one for change. It has improved a great deal from my grandparent’s days and my parent’s days. It’s still lacking a great deal.

Sex education for example is, for the most part, an absolute joke and people complain about it like it’ll corrupt their children into early acts of vulgarity. Sorry, no.

I think during my time in school I learned more about the male reproductive system then I learned about myself and what a woman’s body goes through. I mean you’re given some sheets of paper with the male and female reproductive system and you’re told to label it.

Yay, anatomy.

You’re then given a brief overview of insert slot A into slot B and bingo that’s intercourse but don’t forget the contraceptives and here’s the percent that they are effective. But let’s talk about wet dreams and morning wood. That was elementary school sex education. With a brief interlude into girls get periods in which their uterine lining detaches and you bleed once a month for a long, long while.

I remember before those classes began, I might have been, seven or eight; my Mom took me aside and told me about periods. She told me about when she got it. She thought she was going to die. For days and days she thought she was dying until she asked her mom and she said “that’ll happen to you every month.” She didn’t find out until maybe a year why it actually happens. But that was the times and people didn’t talk about it. My mom told me everything that was going to happen to me. How it would first show up, what it would possibly feel like and that it definitely didn’t mean I was going to die and why it happened. When I got mine in seventh grade I walked home for lunch and told my mom and she told me what to do and that was that.

But no one really tells you how you’ll feel because it’s different for every young woman and I think that should be addressed. There are a lot of medical issues that go along with your period so it should be talked about. Not getting one every month can be associated to stress and being underweight along with there being quite a few menstrual disorders such as PMS, PMDD, and AUB to name a few.

I, myself, if I wasn’t on birth control would bleed pretty continuously for the whole year. It started happening to me back in eighth grade. I was put on birth control early on in high school to stop it. What can I say I have a body that wants to expel blood? I had to get both nostrils cauterized for that reason. When I wasn’t on birth control I would also cramp up very bad and vomit from pain. In some countries you’re actually allowed one to two days each month for menstrual leave from work. Periods are that debilitating for some women.

That’s not even going into the price for feminine hygiene products like pads and tampons. For something that happens monthly and is just a part of biology women pay a silly amount on those products for most of their lives. Not to mention pads are very uncomfortable and tampons come with a lovely possibility of toxic shock syndrome. Look it up, it’s almost as horrifying as the warnings on cigarettes. There are other new methods like the diva cup that is a cheaper alternative and better for the environment.

Parents also shouldn’t be afraid to talk about sex. And I’m just picturing people cringing away from that remembering moments that you watched a sex scene in a movie with your parents in the same room. Sex can be daunting as is and talking about it honestly and freely takes away much of the initial nerves and fears. Virginity is such a widely varying word all over the world. It’s coveted; it’s hated, people want to keep it until marriage, some people want to do away with it as soon as possible. Talk about your first time. Say how it was. Say if you were really ready or not. If your child ends up being homosexual or pansexual or bisexual learn about it and still talk about your first time. Talk about love and romance and how you felt when it happened. If something went wrong, if it was awkward and there was more laughing then not, if you were raped.

Talk about it. Then mention how it is afterwards. It’s not taboo. Tell them the many ways to be safe. Give them as much knowledge as possible.

Tell them about pregnancy and diseases. They do that in school but go over it again. If the schools aren’t going to teach your children to be safe, go ahead and do it. It may be awkward but who cares.

Also, talk about pregnancy. For the love of god. All I got from school about pregnancy was you have sex, the sperm fertilizes the egg during ovulation, nine months later, baby, congratulations!

No one says what women go through afterwards. No one talks about after birth and the hemorrhagic bleeding that happens afterwards. No one talks about the aches and pains of going to the washroom for a while. No one talks about tearing and being uncomfortable with your own body and post partem depression. If you’re a school that does, gold stars.

I will gift you all the gold stars.

You know what, talk about prostate cancer as much as breast cancer. More men die from prostate cancer every year then women who die of breast cancer.

Just talk. That’s not to say my high school didn’t have a good sex education teacher because she was awesome but there’s always room for improvement.

They’re needs to be more history on women. Everybody needs some more female role models. I don’t even care if you keep to the country of origin. But every country has exceptional women and they need to be talked about. I took Greek and Roman ancient history in high school and though their pantheon is full of some badass ladies I would have loved to hear about Agnodice. She realized that a lot of women were dying during childbirth and at the time women in Athens weren’t allowed to be doctors so she studied in Alexandria and when she came back she pretended to be a man. She helped so many women that the male doctors were losing patients to her. So they accused her of seducing the women. When they brought her to court she lifted up her tunic and revealed herself. They then wanted to execute her for practicing medicine as a woman but all her patients came to court and they were forced to change the law and women were given the right to practice medicine.

I’m going to list a few more and you can read all about them on your own time. If I start writing about amazing women in history this is going to be a hundred page blog at least and no one has time for that in a blog. It’s going to be long enough as is.

Irena Sendler

Night Witches

Elizabeth Bathory (cause not all serial killers are men)

Ching Shih

Malala Yousafzai

Margaret Heafield

Rosa Louise McCauley Parks

Now, as you all should know by now I’m big into clothing and makeup which to be honest is predominately a male run market. With the majority of big named designers and owners being male. There is nothing wrong with this and the number of women gaining esteem is amazing. What I want to get into is dress codes and what people are saying about people’s appearances.

First and foremost I don’t ever want to read because boys can’t control themselves when they see a bra strap ever again. I don’t want to hear that wearing a crop top is dangerous and that she was too distracting in her leggings that she had to be sent home.

You’re being disingenuous to boys. Yes, they have dicks. It doesn’t control them. Last I heard there wasn’t a mind control device created to make men slavering beasts. 

Sure, some clothing choices can be poor choices. Skin coloured leggings are probably a no but let’s take a moment and look at today’s trends shall we. Shorts are getting shorter and pants are getting tighter and crop tops are getting croppier and it isn’t woman’s faults. And if a boys pants are riding below his butt that should be just as susceptible to the dress code as a too short skirt. It can’t go one way.

Out of a school zone and overlooking the business zone cause I get that suits are just as uncomfortable as pencil skirts and hose. You’re getting too hot and that skirts not staying where it’s supposed to. Fabric is a mess. But outside those two places. You can really wear whatever you want. You can choose to not wear whatever you want and no one is just asking for it. Ever. Be that a young woman wearing shorts (and in this day and age I can just say shorts because they are short shorts almost always) and a crop top, be that a man wearing a dress, be it a well-dressed man in a three piece suit, be it a teenager in a unicorn onesie, be it a big women in a dress. No one is asking for it and no one deserves to be harassed or commented on harshly. They deserve respect and the ability to be comfortable in their own skin always.

Women and men are allowed to wear makeup without comment of “I wonder what you look like naturally”. Or that it’s false advertising.

Sorry, no it’s not.

It’s how I and many others choose to express themselves and it has nothing to do with you, and how I look and what I decide to do with my body has zero to do with you at any point in time. If I want to sheer my hair off I will. (I did.) If I want to get piercings or a tattoo I will. (I haven’t.) If I want to dye my hair any colour in the rainbow I will (Also yes.) If I want to wear horns out I’m gonna. (Also, also, yes)

People are quirky and wonderful and different and the world would be so boring if we all conformed to one norm. Your normal is not my normal but I accept you and I respect you. I can respect someone who has their story marked on their skin be it in ink or wrinkles, stretch marks or scars. I can respect you if you’re big and wearing a crop top. You’re one hell of a women and I love that. I can definitely respect you if you’re a man who dresses as a woman cause you’ve taught me more about bravery and empowerment then most of my peers growing up. I’ll trust a drag queen over anyone else cause that’s a person who understands what it is to work. To really work.

The fact is that times change and cultures are different but if you take a step back and a breather it’s not that big a deal. We show more skin nowadays for the most part. Does that mean we’re always confident? Trends pop up and people follow them but at the same time you get to see photoshopped impossible men and women all over the place, as long as you’re healthy and your body isn’t at risk of being too thin or too big. You’re just fine. You’re incandescent. That body is yours and you may love it and treat it as you wish and no one gets a say about it but you.

It’s harder to deal with things now because of the internet and comments and people you don’t know judging you and fighting back just turns into marathon arguments of hate. I’m just gonna put this out there and say love your way through life. Be kind and show love. If someone doesn’t like a part of you, tell them how much you love it. Scream it from the rooftops. Look at yourself in the mirror and love yourself. You are more than others bad impressions. You are yourself. You are your own person and you are everything.

I don’t know how sexuality is taught nowadays. By the time I got to high school, it was heterosexual, and bisexual and homosexual and that was that. Full stop. Gender wasn’t even talked about and I remember saying at a party once that I don’t particularly feel like a woman or a man. Some days I felt more like a woman and some days I felt more like a man. Some of those girls never talked to me again after that.

Like I was some kind of alien.

I didn’t really delve back into it until my mid 20s when I started to really feel comfortable with myself. When I really stopped caring about what others thought. I don’t talk about it much. There are days when I wear plaid and jeans and feel like more masculine and there are days when I put on a wig and a dress and feel wonderfully feminine. I don’t think that makes me a bad or weird person. I think that makes me a deeply understanding person. One of my best friends who appear with me in these photos is Cleopatra Compton who is one hell of a drag queen and is one of the loves of my life. Cleo is family and that’s that. I’ve never judged someone for their sexuality and I’ve never judged someone for their gender.

Well… I may have said “Men…” with a shake of my head a few times.

But then again when you come upon history like this: When trains were introduced in the U.S many men believed that woman’s bodies were not designed to go at 50 miles an hour and that their uteruses would fly out of their bodies if they were accelerated to that speed.

You take a moment to shake your head.

Anyway back to the point. There are more sexualities now and more genders. But what it boils down to is that everybody is a person and everyone deserves respect. Everyone deserves to love who they want. They are not immoral or wrong in anyway. They deserve to love who they want because it shouldn’t be a privilege. It should be an absolute.

So love.

Love often and completely.

Love freely.

I laughed at the transgender bathroom issue. I laughed because when I moved to Vancouver a few years back I was in a bar and went to the bathroom and when I was done with my business and ready to wash my hands I walked out of the stall and a guy was washing his hands. I was surprised to see him, he was surprised to see me but we both nodded our heads said hi and washed our hands and left. He went out the left door and I went out the right. A lot of bars in Vancouver are like that and it doesn’t mean anyone is going to attack you. It means there’s a bathroom and everybody poops.

Here’s my number one, I will never be angrier than this concept, rape culture.

When I was in my first year of college I came upon this random article that was written in a paper and if I had been drinking at the time would have spit my tea all over it then ripped it apart, poured gasoline all over it and burned it to ash, swept that ash up and then proceeded to throw that ash into a vat of acid. I had never read something so heinous to give women suggestions on how to avoid rape. Don’t have long hair, and don’t wear skirts, and don’t drink, and herd yourself and your friends together like sheep. That was the some of the advice to females on how to avoid being raped.

No.

Just no.

Rape is not the fault or the victim and no one should be constantly thinking about rape as a thing that’s just going to happen to you. Rape is an assault on a person. It affects everyone. It doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman or whatever your sexuality may be. It’s an issue for everyone and is the lowest prosecuted crime because people are afraid of coming out about it or that nothing would happen to their attackers. It seems as of late that that is entirely founded and is something that needs to be changed immediately.

Rape is a violation and an attack on a person just as much as manslaughter and attempted murder. It is not a laughing matter and is an attack on a person. There is no she was asking for it, or he was drunk, or did you see what she was wearing.

No.

So, how do you protect yourself?

Be the most confident motherfucker in the room.

Be a fucking wolf.

Make self defense classes mandatory in high school. We had them at my school and it was a wonderful class. Take them anyway if that wasn’t an option.

Look people in the eye, stand tall, and always look like you know what you’re doing and where you’re going.

Rely on your gut and be smart. But I don’t ever want you to be afraid.

I don’t want to ever hear one of my friends say “I’m afraid to walk alone at night,” or “I’m afraid to go into this parking garage.” I don’t want to have to hear that ever again because that shouldn’t be a thing. I shouldn’t have to be told to be wary of this place or that place or what time of day because I go where the hell I want and everyone better back the fuck up because you don’t mess with this woman ever. I don’t want women or men or anyone to ever have to be afraid of other people or the possibilities that something bad might just happen. I don’t want people to feel like sheep.

You’re not a sheep.

You’re a fucking wolf.

And one last thing:

Bitch, diva, pussy. Not bad things.

Being seen as a bitch or a diva tends to mean for most people that you’re emotional, sometimes associated with that time of the month.

Being a pussy seems to now mean that you’re a weak ass little boy and why can’t you be a man.

No, sorry.

Being a bitch or a badass bitch means I’m a confident woman who says what I want when I want. Being a bitch means I have a voice and in most countries there’s this thing called freedom of speech. You don’t have the right to shush me or suggest that I’m moody because I’m bleeding. I want to be heard. I have the right to be heard and being a bitch isn’t a bad word.

Being a diva means what that I’m emotional? That I have feelings? Correct. I do. And sometimes they get the best of me and I need to tell some people. I’m not overly dramatic. I’m not looking for attention. I’m emotional and I’d like some help with a problem. If you’re too repressed to understand that, you’re not who I thought you were.

Being a pussy means that you have one. It is generally attached to your person. It is part of the anatomy. It is not weak in anyway. Hell it bleeds more than a dick ever will. It’s strong and versatile and as Betty White likes to say ‘they certainly can take a pounding.’

What I want you to take away from this if anything. Is that you’re not weak. You have a voice. You’re fierce and independent and you most certainly always matter.

So, be kind to each other. Stick together. Rally and respect.

After all, we’re all fucking wolves.