I was browsing the website Shakesville tonight when I came across this post from Melissa McEwan announcing that she’s bringing herself back to the #365FeministSelfie project for 2018.
I, too, had participated during 2014 as an act of resistance. My blog post about the project even earned me a subscription to Bitch Magazine (yay!) I completed the year and fell away from the concept, thinking that reducing my discomfort with photos of myself was the goal.
I was wrong. Or, perhaps more accurately, my appreciation for the project has taken on a new level.
As I’ve mentioned (ahem), I’m having a hysterectomy next week. Everything (EVERYTHING) has been a struggle – from insurance companies to nausea to coordinating medical providers. The only things that have been consistent are my determination that I want this procedure and Ledcat’s steadfast support.
I thought I was all-set for this to happen. Then two people I was counting on to take care of two sort of last-minute needs (cleaning my house and cutting & coloring my hair) before the surgery both bailed on me. It was especially devastating because I had already done my share of the barter. So now I feel screwed and I’m struggling to regain a sense of control of the situation. Neither of those things were personal, but the impact and the fallout for me are very, very personal.
I was contemplating how I could switch my mindset from feeling so helpless (nightmares about being strapped to gurneys are not a good sign) to taking some control back. It is important to me to be authentic about this entire journey as possible because the silence around all reproductive justice issues literally kills people.
Authenticity involves words, but also photos. So I’m jumping back into the #365FeministSelfie project myself. Don’t worry – nothing graphic. But when I took my first selfie today, I look sad and tired and anxious. I tried a few fake smiles, but I realize – of course I *am* sad, tired, and anxious.
Soooo this feels right, right now. I can do this and maybe I’ll keep up with it. Maybe the nightmares will subside soon. Maybe I’ll remember the fun of selfies. But I’m going to persist. Visibility of angry, sad, and anxious queer feminists matters. So here you go:
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