Post-Mortem: A Set of Notes

In the days after the election, I was unsettled.

I was full of righteous anger, but my thoughts were all over the place. It was hard to cobble together enough cohesive thoughts for an essay (or a newsletter update), and I often found myself opening my Notes app, just jotting down thoughts as they came to me.

Here, I’m sharing some of those uncensored thoughts — from November of 2024:

(1) I believe in myself. I believe in doctors and scientists. I believe in logical thinking, and in support networks, and in thoughtful, organized efforts to effect change. But we are all imperfect, and we can only do what’s within our ability, our skill set. We certainly have our work cut out for us.

(2) I see women with fried hair and thick makeup and painted-on smiles, with red-rimmed eyes, fueled by gleeful anger. They’re celebrating in the comments sections of various Instagram posts — posts written by liberal and left-leaning celebrities and influencers. But there’s something especially sinister about this behavior, something these women don’t want to own up to:

If these gloating tradwives were truly happy, they’d be spending time with their families — their “wonderful” husbands, their little cherubs — and not arguing with random 20-somethings on Instagram.

(3) I do think some people will starve to death. I think we got lucky — we, being the non-Trump supporters — the first time around, when the pandemic killed more of his own (anti-mask, anti-vaccine, anti-science) fanboys. This time, they’ll make sure that whatever comes violently kills us instead. We will be deprived of tools to protect ourselves, so that everyone — even informed people! — will have the means to suffer.

(4) I have to force myself to be kind to some of my more odious relations, who tend to be supportive of Conservative causes, because I have to have some form of stability. I have to ingratiate myself, sometimes, to stay “non-threatening” and to have a chance to make a grab at a piece of the family’s pie. It sounds cruel, but it’s the same type of pragmatism that these types value. (Because money is God to these sorts of folks, if you can ingratiate yourself, you can occasionally earn their trust/their coins. It feels weird to try to play their game, though.)

(5) If I absolutely have to, I will make General Sherman look like Mickey Mouse. I’m not afraid of fighting back.

I can either spend the next 1,462 days dreading life, or I can be an activist. I can prioritize my own survival, and then prioritize the needs of others who need help — and then I can leave the rest of the bullshit behind.

(6) I’m not going to change — I’m not going to become any more conservative in four years’ time. I will always be looking out for me and the dolls and Black women, and the oppressed and the marginalized and other progressive people — and that essentially covers it.

(7, a similar thought) I simply … I’m like Don Draper’s quote:

I don’t think about them (the sore winners) at all. When I say that, I mean it — because I’m too busy thinking about oppressed, marginalized, and progressive people who need our help.

(8) I was already having a crisis of faith, but this made my doubt deepen. If Heaven exists, it’s probably a field of stars. But I’m not so sure there’s an afterlife. I think it was just a privilege to get to know people — family and friends — while we were/are here.

… I admit that I’m kind of afraid of “the idea of heaven,” considering some of the cruel and hateful people who believe that they’re going there. Why would anyone want to be in an infinite afterlife with people who are unapologetic about their cruelty?

(9) I look to my ancestors for inspiration.

I think of the man who left Barbados and became a Quaker — knowing that the Quakers opposed slavery. I think of the Central African-descended woman (and her own ancestors) who survived the Middle Passage. I think of my North African and Andalusian ancestors, who managed to flee the Inquisition. I think of my Southern ancestors who fought for the Union instead of the traitorous Confederates.

I wear my ancestral altar on a chain around my neck: the Congo, Tamazgha, and Barbados.

I am here because I am made of stronger stuff.

Look The Other Way

To people who have time to say negative things to say about marginalized people:

Bud, just keep scrolling, or keep looking the other way.

It’s clearly not that hard for you to do.

You do it when it’s homeless people.

You do it when it’s homeless veterans, even though you brag about donating to the Wounded Warrior Project. Once. Eleven years ago.

You do it when it’s a hungry child in your own community.

You do it when your own kid comes to you to tell you that your boyfriend/girlfriend hit them or slapped them.

You do it when it you neglect your own needs out of a selfish desire to drag other people down with you.

Just keep looking away, though. It’s what you’re good at.

I Need To Complain

If you know me in real life, then you already know that I have posted about my disappointment — and my deep disgust — regarding the state of things right now.

I have written a ton of guides, rants, and mini-essays, which I’ve posted all over Instagram, Threads, Bluesky, and TikTok.

I’ve also drafted an essay for Medium that I plan on posting this weekend. (If you follow me over there, be on the lookout for that.)

I’m exhausted. But I’m still choosing to be active. I’ve done all sorts of productive things — donating to UNRWA, canceling my Amazon Prime membership, canceling my New York Times subscription (and blessing them out on my way out the door), donating to refugees, donating to farm workers, and donating to reproductive health coalitions.

And I’m going to keep doing more. I won’t back down.

But … I’ve come here today to rant.

Everywhere else, I’ve posted information on what we all can do to uplift marginalized people. I’ve also posted messages of support and solidarity for folks who are marginalized — and I’ve told them to take time to grieve and to rest, and to never let any of the Sore Winners guilt them into pity.

What I’m trying to say here is that, within a year or two, some of the people who are celebrating now will be on their knees, begging us more sensible folk for help. And grace. And forgiveness. And money.

I have said, time and time again, that Black women, disabled people, trans folks, single women and single mothers, neurodivergent people, and migrants will be the first ones who Sore Winners beg for help — because the Sore Winners expect marginalized people to have endless reserves of sympathy.

I have encouraged marginalized people to think carefully about who they help — because, much like a drowning victim pulling their would-be rescuer down with them, you have to watch out for danger, anger, and retaliation.

If you are marginalized, and you are put in a position where you can help a Leopard-Face-Eating victim, I encourage you to prioritize your own safety, first. You can still help the leopard-attack survivor. But don’t let them make you do it at the expense of your safety.

This week, I have written and read and listened and reflected and opened my wallet and shared information and …

I have done a lot, already. But I’m going to pace myself and work hard, to keep doing more. We’re running a marathon, now, and we can’t sit down now. The race is about to start, and I’ve done my stretches this week — so I’ll be ready to run. But we can’t afford to get worn out. We have to pace ourselves and do good work.

In the meantime, I’ve been thinking about how I’m disappointed, but not surprised.

Living in the upper part of the mid-south means that I hear lots of lunacy on a daily basis.

Recently, I had a conversation with someone in my extended family network. This person is a stereotypical rural Kentuckian. Now, for some reason, the conversation turned to Walmart.

I mentioned that Walmart once had a snack bar where they “served up disgusting shit, like Frito Pies and Skyline Chili.”

Their Economix Anxiety senses must’ve tingled when I said that!

But I made it even worse when I (needlessly) added something about how that’s the kind of stuff heavyset people from Ohio like to eat.

I had my own Charles Barkley churros moment. Not proud of it — but it happened.

Now, for the record, I think mocking people because of their weight is punching down, a cheap shot, generally unnecessary, etc., etc.

But in that moment, I made a surface-level statement. I pictured a clutch of heavyset men in NFL jerseys gathered around a kitchen table piled with nearly-empty casserole dishes and cans of Natural Light.

At no point in time did I say any of these words: Republican, white, conservative, Christian, working-class, middle-class, or MAGA.

I don’t think I even mentioned NFL dude-bros or midlife crisis munchies, though I was surely thinking both of those things.

And get this:

As soon as I said that bit about Ohio, this Rural White Voter had the gall to (1) call me a Reverse Bigot and (2) managed to incorporate the n-word into their “takedown” of me and mine.

I didn’t argue. I sighed and walked away.

I have a feeling the next four years are going to be filled with Sore Winners taking Angry Victory Laps, and then “coveting our prayers and grace and understanding” when things go poorly for them.

My advice — as mentioned above — is to protect your peace, salvage your sanity, secure your safety, and help people within your community.

Help the most vulnerable people. Help disabled people. Help Black women and femmes. Help Black children. Help neurodivergent people. Help trans and 2-spirit people. Help international adoptees. Help homeless people. Help migrant farm and factory workers. Help Indigenous women and femmes.

Help all of the people who are going to be overlooked and hurt — people who are already hurting.

And help other like-minded Progressives.

If you have any energy left after doing all of that, you may choose to extend some grace to the people who chose this bullshit.

But never feel obligated to help someone who would kick sand in your face simply because your existence as a marginalized person makes them feel Economically Anxious.

So … that’s where I’m at, right now. I needed to rant, I needed to remind y’all to help each other, and I needed to remind y’all to protect yourselves.

Oh, and while I’m at it? Cancel the damn Amazon Prime membership. You won’t even miss it.

Occupational Outlook Handbook

looking up Beggars in the OOH /

can’t find the median annual wage

I have a feeling that the occupational outlook for Pick-Mes will sharply increase over the next few months, followed by a steady decline when (1) those who were chosen realize they’d rather have been chosen by someone else and (2) those who did the choosing start doing the cheating.

Oh, so it’s you doing the bending cheating? Ah, well.

Reflecting On An Incident

Back in the spring, or maybe just before the arrival of spring, a group of racists gathered in a neighboring town.

This group — a group that explicitly promotes violence and racism — marched in front of a historically Black institution. This “demonstration” was terrible and disheartening.

There were two things that immediately made me upset:

  1. This institution, a church, is one of the rare churches in our area that closely follows the “hands and feet” example. They set up warming centers, they feed people of all background and all ages, they have a community garden, and they do all sorts of things for the benefit of the entire community. To have a hateful parade right in front of their church is so cruel and disrespectful.
  2. The day before this happened, my mom and I were driving around that town. We paused outside of the A.M.E. Church, and we commented on how beautiful their stained glass windows are, and then we drove away. We aren’t members of either of these churches — they’re two different churches in two different neighborhoods — but we appreciated how obviously cared for both of these churches are. To see someone else’s devotion and to belittle it — to show hate and disregard instead of respect — made me mad.

In the months since this incident, I haven’t heard of the hate group coming back to town — but I have heard that the church has continued to provide all kinds of support for all sorts of folks in the community.

Just as they always have, just as they’ll continue to do — they’re still there, still standing strong.

And since they’ve stood strong for the benefit of the whole community, we should continue to stand up for them.

Cable “News” & Church Pews

I think about this all the time, because I have relatives and peers who were — at one time — (seemingly) normal people.

But after years of exposure to Fox News and QAnon, and other things of that odious nature, their brains have rotted.

You may be thinking, That’s extreme. You don’t need to exaggerate, or be mean, or be judgmental. Be a little kinder!

No. I don’t think I will. People have already spent too much time mincing their words about a pretty serious situation. This is something that’s poisoned minds and hearts. We may as well call Fox News and QAnon Jupiter, because these folks have gone there to get more stupider.

And — in addition to acting more ignorant by the hour — these people are suffering from other diminished faculties. They’re more fearful than ever. They’re angry all of the time.

They’re also convinced that all Christians in America are secretly spied upon and persecuted, even though there are dozens of Baptist, Methodist, Church of Christ, Catholic, Episcopal, and non-denominational churches around here. None of those churches are boarded up, and they’re constantly holding events for new members. They send out postcards begging young families to bring their kids to game nights and car shows. They really try to make it a family affair.

Truthfully — and even the brainwashed folks, if they were being rational, would acknowledge this — the biggest “enemy” working against “the faith” is apathy. Many of these people have kids and grandkids who don’t have an interest in the church. Many young people also won’t go to church because they can find faith-based information and/or community in a judgment-free zone. The church is not — generally speaking — a judgment-free zone. The young people are tired of being bullied by people who think church is a competition or a fashion show. That is why they have no interest in attending a “more traditional” church. It feels too much like high school.

But the concept of “traditional values” has given these (usually older) folks something to rally around. They think that, if they could just convince their kids and grandkids to go back to church, that suddenly everything would fall into place. Lots of cherubic babies, little ones with soft curls and dimpled cheeks, would spill out of us, the young women, like lace unspooled from a slender filature.

With a Gunne-Sax dress covering my body from shoulder to ankle, and a beautiful (but silenced) baby on my hip, and a young man with an unfortunate face expression standing in front of me, I would be the model of perfect femininity. I would bend to my husband’s will, as the perfect helpmeet, and listen to whatever tidbits of nothingness he’d managed to collect from a busy day of listening to Ben Shapiro’s podcasts while he either (1) drove an air-conditioned tractor up and down the field or (2) dumped numbers into Google Sheets.

My husband and I would pretend to smile from sunup to sundown, and we would only get a break while we cried ourselves to sleep, miserable at having been paired off to meet the church’s No Husband Left Behind policy.

But on Sunday morning, with Cherubleigh on my hip, we’ll walk into church with our heads held high — but not too high, because the preacher’s daughter will inevitably be there, too. And she will expect us to know our place, as slow-witted peons who can’t afford designer clothing. She — and her peers and her daughters — will glide in wearing matching Coco Chanel and pearls, while I’m stuck in a cheap-o prairie dress that came from a virtual vanity boutique.

The boutique, of course, is run by the preacher’s wife or daughter. And that’s yet another way they expect us to tithe. I’m starting to wonder whether this money is funding the house of the Lord or the House of Chanel.

Anyway — as bleak as that sounds, I think that some people think this “return to traditional values” sounds nice and normal, simply because people are given a place to be in the world. That’s true — so long as everyone knows their place.

Nobody expects to be at the bottom of the ladder — except for me. I know that I would be placed on a bottom rung, and that I would be given a philanderer or an abuser, and that I would be expected to straighten him out or be a good little SAHM Soldier. I would be expected to tame the dishes, the mistresses, the laundry, and the insatiable libido. And I know I couldn’t do it, because my spirit would be broken.

Surprisingly — to many people — I am actually a straight woman. But I would prefer to choose things for myself, just as every living being does. Even children and the elderly like to choose things for themselves, because they are people, too.

And while it’s true that some children and some elderly folks need extra assistance, they still have the autonomy to refuse things — or to ask for an alternative option. If our ability to even have preferences is taken away from us, then I’m at a loss for what to do.

Suppose I do decide to marry a Godly young man, but I would prefer for us to attend a different church — for one reason or another. If I don’t have a say in the matter, how is that fair to me? Similarly, how is that fair to my husband and/or family, to have a sulking mother who’s on the path to becoming an apostate, all because they wouldn’t allow me to have my own thoughts and feelings?

Ah, well. They don’t care about that. These are the same people who leave “F**k your feelings!” in the comments on every Facebook posts — from the poorly-generated AI art to the AT&T ads.

While I know they don’t care about confining people to a lifetime of unhappiness, I find it odd that they think their sons and daughters, or grandsons and granddaughters, would find being a Trad Spouse Content Creator exciting. Besides, that market is beyond oversaturated by now. I can’t compete with the Ballerina Farms lady, because I’m not a ballerina and I don’t own my own farm.

I’m certainly not opposed to spirituality and faith — and I find a lot of folks find strength in their faith. But making faith a commodity and/or fodder for influencers, and making church feel like a country club, and making people feel that any Outsiders — even other Protestants — are not to be trusted?

Those are the things that have made me feel uncomfortable and unwelcome in the various churches I’ve attended or visited.

Yet there’s still this lingering idea that, if we could get every American soul — to say nothing of the bodies! into a pew on Sunday morning, that the country would experience a complete reversal of fortunes. Everyone would have a stately, ornate dining room. Everyone would have a solid gold toilet. Everyone would drive a freshly-waxed Maserati.

Well, everyone except for the people I hate!”

But enough about that.

Anyway, the folks at that terrible cable “news” network — a channel that focuses on punditry and opinion shows, a channel that rarely broadcasts actually news content — have landed on a gold mine. They know that they can pay someone to ramble about highly-emotional topics — faith, bravery, veterans, children — and that they’ll entice millions of Boomers to sweat issues that …

Frankly, these issues are best handled on a family-by-family basis. Not every family has kids — some are childless, some are childfree, some are TTC, and some have stepchildren who are only in the home half of the month, or half of the year, or only during summers. Not every family goes to the Baptist church — though some are Methodists, some are Catholics, some are not religious, and some are happily living in interfaith families. Because of this variety, there’s no one prescription to “save” all the “families” of America.

For the people who are all about states’ rights, or taking away federal power, it seems that they’d be able to understand the need to make less centralized decisions, or to give the power to choose back to the individual.

But these are the same people who ignore the “well-regulated” in front of “militia,” so I can’t be too certain they’d appreciate the irony of this situation.

To be perfectly honest, I didn’t spend a lot of time drafting this post — simply because I spend most of my time living this post. The South is, of course, where America buckles its Bible Belt. I’m used to hearing people (of all backgrounds, ages, economic classes, denominations) speak about their faith, their church, their volunteer group, or their Bible study class.

I don’t flinch. I certainly don’t insult people. I’ve even taken people up on their offers to visit their churches, because I am admittedly quite nosy, and because I have family members who’ve affiliated with nearly every denomination.

So perhaps it’s shocking when I say that church can still be isolating — and that the biggest “offenders” who have lectured people for not attending church are usually people who are themselves unchurched.

These are the people who have had their names read at a packed Sunday service, or who have argued with a preacher, or who got hopping mad when they saw that a gay couple is now “allowed” to attend services.

It’s hard not to judge the judgmental person who wants to “ban gays” from coming to church. On the other hand, it’s hard not to feel sorry for the woman who quit going to church because she had her name read — a form of public shaming — after divorcing an abusive spouse. There are all kinds of people who have left church — from the judgmental to the unfairly judged.

Through careful planning or dumb luck, the folks at Fox News — and Conservative commentators and podcasters — have landed on the magic formula: make people afraid and get them screaming-mad about feeling persecuted. The delicious irony of this, considering that their own enemies are “snowflakes.”

In fact, that was my original reason for writing this post. After seeing pushback in the wake of the Opening Ceremony — pushback to “mocking religion,” to Greek gods, to pagan priestesses — I realized we were fighting a losing battle against willful ignorance. And after calmly explaining the allusions to Greek mythology at an Olympic celebration, I realized that they didn’t even want an explanation. They’re just as bad as a playground bully who wants to fight. How childish and weirdly unnecessary. Get a better hobby than arguing on Facebook!

Now that I’ve thought about it, Rupert Murdoch has made me a more devout person. Not because I’ve bought into any of their programming. Not at all.

Instead, this wellspring of faith has come about for another reason. I hope and pray that there is a just God watching all of this nonsensical, mean-spirited programming. And I hope that God shows mercy to every person who’s suffered at the hands of someone who’s weaponized the hateful rhetoric on that channel.

I also hope that the same God who shows mercy to others smites dishonest CEOs. If that’s not too much to ask, then I will — as they say — pray on it.

Thoughts and prayers, prayers and thoughts. Pardon me for not having kind thoughts about any of the media moghuls who are trying to deliver us to evil.

Chatterboxd

When I was in high school, I just jabbered, jabbered, jabbered all the time to my grandmother, who tolerated the incessant talking and preaching.

Even at seventeen, when other girls were hanging out with their boyfriends, I would go talk to my group of girlfriends and then go bother my grandmother with stories about what had happened at our school, in our hometown, and in the news. (I didn’t spread gossip to my grandma, unless it was well-known/established gossip. Pregnancy speculation? No. Pregnancy confirmation? Yes.)

I didn’t bother any boys because I didn’t like any of the boys I went to high school with, even though many of them have grown up to be wonderful men and fathers.

It feels funny to say that – so often, men say things like wonderful women and mothers – so I’ll say it like that, for laughs.

Even now, I feel guilty. I wish I’d done more listening than talking — especially when it came to chatting with my grandmother, who had so many interesting stories to tell.

I’ll always wish I could do more listening.

Miss Speaking

I’m still haunted by the time I said state senator instead of US senator in a presentation back in high school.

I’m also haunted by the time I said cathedral instead of chapel in a meeting at work.

No one besides me remembers these incidents — no one besides me obsesses over these incidents, even if they do happen to remember them.

But I often feel hyper-scrutinized, and I also feel hyper-aware of curiosity that isn’t even actual scrutiny.

So when I feel like I’ve made a bad impression, or like I’m on the receiving end of a harmless snap-judgement, I feel like I won’t ever have a chance to make up for it.

I feel like everyone will only know me as the weird woman who misspeaks.

… but I guess I could handle that.

Or I could use Gorilla Glue as lip gloss. I’m thinking about trying that.