If I got a Finnish flag tattoo, I would never regret it. The four women that have influenced my life the most carry Finnish blood even if I don’t. Finland is not me. Finland is:
- Tiina
- Aada
- Mummo
- Heytch
The only reason that I used real names for Tiina and her family is that I thought you would meet us, not me. That this is what it looks like if you meet us on the ground. Only the people that you’ll see me with if you roll up are important enough to have names. I am never trying to hurt anyone, but I do. That’s because I’m willing to let strangers see my inside voice, the things you’re not supposed to say but do, anyway because they contain a kernel of truth once you strip away the emotion.
Humans are supposed to have fear, anger, defense, joy, elation, sadness, self-protection, the whole works. This is not a manual on how great I am. It’s a reflection of life as I know it, and something that will be available to read a hundred years after I’m dead. That’s why even the screenshots that were taken of my work to show how obsessed I was will look a whole lot fucking different in 20 years.
It’s not a screenshot. It’s a memory.
People want to know what was happening 20 years ago in their lives, and generally my blog is their best bet because I’m the only one who remembered to write it down while it was happening. I never have authority in the moment, or don’t mean to, anyway. Aada thought I was a dictator, that my words were stone and hers were sand. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. Aada’s story would be legible to her if she’d written it……….. but she didn’t write it. She leaned into my narrative instead of blending ours together, so nothing changed over time with both our input.
Because I am so sure in myself, it takes a lot to meet me at altitude and now I know it. I cannot be partners or friends who do not actively write their own story. That’s because my opinions are not law. They are mine out of eight billion. Not only that, writing is living life backwards. People accuse me of all kinds of motivations for the future that simply are not there because I don’t have an agenda except responding to life.
People are also not used to being met where they are. There’s a lot of tone policing without taking accountability for the tone they used with me. If you use aggression and defense and expect kindness in return, that is simply not happening. I shut down and stop listening. The conversation is over at that point. It is a fundamental shift from thinking that there is something wrong with me for taking up room. Kowtowing to every opinion around me in order to feel loved has never gotten me anywhere, but it was a coping mechanism for a long time. I disappeared into the wallpaper because it saved me from emotional violence, but I wasn’t thriving, either.
Most people aren’t strong enough to compete with me because they think it’s a competition in the first place. It’s not about taking other people’s defense, it’s about finding other people who already think at my altitude. Because the thing about being a writer who is this able to advocate for themselves is that it comes across as threatening whether I mean it or not….. they are just not as agile with words and instead of saying, “let’s switch over to voice because I’m not a writer,” it becomes all about how my written responses are intimidating and threatening and not any need I actually expressed.
As a writer, voice conversations are my kryptonite. Don’t try to meet me on a playing field where I’ve left blood. I will treat your email like you are the New York Times. I care about what you say and want to respond to it. But if you don’t want a crafted response because it makes you feel like you don’t have anything to offer, change the medium and not the message. I have auditory processing disorder and I will be lost.
You’re out of your element, Donnie.
Now you can RTFM instead of just thinking I’m weird. I am clear about what I want; I offer instructions and compromise because not only my feelings matter. But ignoring my feelings because I’m a writer and you’re not is not the move. Changing to your playing field is.
Because here, I do not roll any punches, so I won’t with you, either. I am never looking for weaknesses, I am mapping humanity, namely mine. I have underestimated how much my thoughts matter since I was a baby, ignoring that I definitely have an orbit and thinking I was too stupid for that to be a reality. Southern men have a way of treating women that way. Little snarky, dismissive comments designed to make you unsure on your feet. Every boss I’ve ever had has treated me like I was little, cute, and worthy of protection……… but not an equal.
My partners have always treated me the same way because that’s what I thought I deserved. Pricks on my skin regarding my preferences, my spending habits, the way I do literally anything. Even my stepfather left my money to a trust instead of to me without telling me before he died. But the signatures were all screwed up and the trust was never created, so one of my stepsisters stole about $20,000 from my investment account because under Texas law, she doesn’t have to give it back and it is not her problem……….. despite repeatedly telling Paolo the Accountant that she would. It’s been years.
This is the same stepsister that made sure Lindsay’s and my experience of our stepfather’s death was a garbage dump of a situation. I won’t go into all of it, because it’s drama I’d like to forget. But the missing money is not the only issue here, Dude.
What stings is that she’s very financially stable and I need that money to live, but whatever. I know that she wasn’t intentionally ableist in taking money from a disabled person’s trust, but intention does not equal impact. What I have learned from this experience is that some people are not motivated to make anything right when it seriously improves their lives to be assholes.
In short, I have stopped worrying about all of this to the point of nausea by just saying to myself that some people are dicks and shrugging it out. An enthusiastic eyeroll is also helpful.
My friends have become my chosen family because now that one entire set of parents is dead, along with my stepmother, I need other people around me to fill in the gaps. One of the reasons all four Finnish women are my heart is that they gave me mother energy around me without actually being my mother themselves.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with seeking out the company of women when your mother is dead and you just want that energy around you. Because it’s not about dating. It’s about creating a circle of women that have the folk remedies for menopause and the secret to life being dark chocolate. And also I am pretty sure that Aada is a witch.
Please read that like “mother earth crunchy granola ‘this one wild and precious life'” witch, not “I will hex you if I am even slightly uncomfortable.” No, wait. I am absolutely saying both. 😉
We contain multitudes.
I will never forget Dana saying that our “couple name” (we were not a couple. Think “work wife.”) was The Holy and the Moly. I have never been a Bible thumper, it’s a reference to my friend Auna nicknaming me “Hipster Jesus.”
Oh, and one more note to myself before I close.
Richmond.
Eat it, Brown.
Stories That Are All True 