By Ash Acuña

When I first joined the team at the Women’s Center, one of the very first things we covered were Brave Space guidelines. The three core tenets of Brave Spaces—challenge yourself, respect others, cultivate community—invite curiosity, learning, and safety to improve. Brave Spaces, at times, feel like a replacement for what educational spaces are supposed to represent. Growing up in a time of social media, it feels like everything is at risk of being recorded and put on the internet for others to dissect. Having Brave Spaces reminds me that real life is often not like that—and yet, the anxiety carries over.

I find it odd that my peers will often soften their opinions in class. Classrooms should be a place for learning, but I have heard classmates say, “I don’t want to get canceled for this,” far too many times (and on relatively cold takes, too). They share their thoughts with hesitancy, putting literal disclaimers out ahead of their speech, afraid they will be ostracized for participating in a discussion that is intended for all of us to learn from. Rather than be wrong and grow from it, we live in an age where being wrong in the wrong place can send a hurricane of hate your way.

I feel the same anxiety my classmates do. I see the same people they do get canceled on Twitter and fear my words could also be virally twisted to the point that nobody will listen when I try to defend myself. My own fears stem from the physical world; in 2020, stuck in quarantine with my family, I was verbally attacked by loved ones for what was perceived to be performative activism (rather than burnout and the personal trauma I was sorting out). Unable to defend myself, isolated from a support system, it felt like one wrong move would send me straight to hell. If I didn’t act the exact right way, or didn’t say the exact right thing, then I was a performer, a bad person, a liar who cared more for themself than for the people who they claimed to want to help.

I know I was not the only one who experienced this kind of anxiety; many of my friends stayed silent for fear of saying the wrong thing and getting blasted on Facebook or Instagram stories. I watched as people who seemed to be making honest efforts to improve got dragged for posting about their learning. I have found myself to be in the position of a crusader, having shamed a past partner for not voting when they were able (shaming someone is different than sharing different values; voting was, and is, important to me, but it was not to my partner. Rather than understand that, I tried to coerce—shame—them into believing what I wanted them to). Even though situations are often more nuanced than they appear to be, nuance is not, it seems, easily translated or understood in mob thinking. The social pressure to think like everyone else, at risk of ending up on the side of the attacked, is great enough to cause an emotional spiral.

What I know now is that shame does not work to create change. It is a spiteful, coercive tactic to manipulate people into doing or believing what you want them to. It also does not leave room for learning. Rather than understand why what we did or said was wrong, when we are shamed, we fixate on how to avoid being rejected by our community. Cancel culture necessitates that we publicly shame others into believing they were wrong, but it does not actually teach the wrong-doer how to change their behavior. Cancel culture is operating under the name of “accountability” when it is in reality just a substitute for public shaming. Shame, as Brené Brown puts it, is the feeling that something is wrong with ourselves. Remorse, on the other hand, is understanding the harm our actions have caused.

Cancel culture is often justified by suggesting that the person being canceled should know, or is old enough to know, better. But how do we judge that, without knowing all that a person has experienced? Knowledge is not inherent; we all learn it from someone or something. With my personal experience of having grown up in a highly conservative area, I have seen how the echo chamber of the community you live in is one that could very easily never challenge your beliefs. Let us not forget that higher education is a privilege; even publicly available literature is often inaccessible to those not familiar with academic jargon.

We cannot cultivate community when we are looking for reasons to oust people from it. We are not respecting others when we don’t give them the benefit of the doubt. We cannot challenge ourselves when we don’t feel safe enough to do so.

People are wrong. Frequently. What matters isn’t that we are wrong, it is how we handle it. It is impossible to know everything, especially when the world changes so quickly. A community that will guide us and continue to treat us as humans when we are led astray is the best way to combat ignorance. It helps no one to launch into an immediate attack, throwing inflammatory labels onto someone who, for all we know, may have been truly misguided. And if we are so easily ready to throw stones at those who are wrong, it may be worth looking inwards and treating others with the same grace we should be affording ourselves.

Happy New Year!

Accessibility and Disability Services, including Student Disability Services (SDS) will operate remotely this week (January 3rd through 7th) during regular business hours (8:30am through 4:30pm) and, in general, staff will not be available on campus to proctor in-person tests.  Employee accommodation requests and inquiries can be made online the ADS website (link). SDS questions and testing matters for this week should be emailed to disability@umbc.edu.  

As you know, UMBC has asked that students, staff, and faculty delay their return to campus, if at all possible, due to the surge in COVID-19 cases.  Anyone who wishes to return to campus must have a recent negative COVID test on file as well as meeting additional requirements.  See https://covid19.umbc.edu/

For students - the overwhelming majority of winter session courses are being taught online, and those courses with tests will be administered online as well.  Registered SDS students who would like to utilize approved testing accommodations for a Winter 2022 course,  must submit a Semester Request so that SDS can send your Letter of Accommodations to the instructor.  Instructions for submitting a Semester Request can be found at https://sds.umbc.edu/accommodate-semester-request/

For those who are new to requesting accommodations due to their health condition each process is available remotely 24/7 - however it is best to apply as soon as practical - details are here:

• Student Disability Services works with graduate and undergraduate students for academic accommodations
• Employee Accommodations for Faculty Staff and Student Employees are administered by Accessibility & Disability Services,
• Have an accessibility concern?  Report it here.  We also partner with Facilities Management Work Control system, Residential Life's Facilities FXit Process, and DoIT's RT system

ADS and SDS will update operations and availability for next week as more information becomes available.

Stay safe and stay healthy!

ADS and SDS Staff

Image description: shows student, Jane, smiling in front of a UMBC building

Positionality Statement: This post is written by Jane DeHitta, an adult learner in her final year at UMBC, who works as a student staff and social work intern at the Women’s Center. I am a first generation Filipino-American student who seeks to be self-aware of the power dynamics that take place in the intersections of our identities and strives to be intentional in the ways I speak to and encounter others. In this post, I share my experience of microaggressions against race and discuss a connection between microaggressions of different forms and the impact that can have on the individual. My experience is my own and I use it as a point of reference and not to represent the innumerable diversity of people’s experience with microaggressions. I hope that what I share in this post gives validation to those who have had experiences similar to my own, and to give a moment for thought and self-reflection for those who find themselves as the microaggressor.

Image description: a cartoon gif of two hands holding up a dark blue sign with the words “Words have power” written across it. The word “power” has an animated line being crossed underneath it for emphasis.

“I wonder who is more Asian?” my white female friend said in passing. She and I had been discussing movies we recently watched, among them Crazy Rich Asians and Always Be My Maybe, movies that feature a predominantly Asian cast. My friend had lived for several years in China and even spoke Cantonese and Mandarin, she had the privilege of experiencing much of Chinese culture. I, on the other hand, grew up in Maryland my whole life and have never been back to my parents home country of the Philippines, nor was I taught how to speak their native languages of Tagalog or Cebuano beyond a few conversational words. 

Taken aback by my friend’s question, I scoffed and went along with what I assumed was a joke by saying, “between you and me?”

She laughed, “yeah.” 

I felt uncomfortable but uncertain why or how to express it so I half-heartedly laughed back and said in an exaggeratedly teasing tone, “don’t make me prove my asianness to you!” We continued our conversation for a few minutes more before parting ways, but that discomfort lingered as a knot in my stomach. 

Prior to this recent encounter, I know that I have experienced microaggressions throughout my life, from friends saying, “oh, sometimes I forget your Asian!”  to strangers asking me “Where were you born? (Maryland) No, but where are you really from?” But because of my introverted personality and the culture of passivity I grew up in, I learned to respond much like the way I responded to my friend. Ignoring it or laughing it off. I wouldn’t confront the perpetrator or call them out, because it was easier that way, I could deal with my discomfort later. And afterwards I would go through a dialogue in my head that looks something like this, “they didn’t mean it like that. I shouldn’t be offended! They were just kidding! I’m not actually hurt by what they said. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Even if I was hurt or bothered, I’ve already laughed and moved on, and so have they. They don’t always say/do things like that.  Dwelling on it isn’t going to help. I don’t want to make them uncomfortable or feel bad.” I also struggle with invalidating my own experiences simply because “others have it worse”.

Infographic shows a breakdown of the impacts of microaggressions; key words: Imposter Syndrome, Stereotype Threat, other bad feelings like poor self-confidence, depression, etc. Link for more information

Growing up in Maryland for the entirety of my 26 years of life, I have had conflicting feelings about my Filipino/Asian identity. My parents did their best to share their culture, through cooking, traditions, and stories; every summer we went to the local Filipino festivals, and were a part of various Filipino groups. I loved going to these places, tasting the food, seeing the traditional clothing, and watching the dances–one of the years, my sisters and I even participated in the procession for Filipino princesses. And there were moments at these events as we would walk through the stalls as a family, when vendors would greet us, striking up a conversation with my parents in Tagalog or Cebuano. While they talked, I would just stand there awkwardly, nodding and smiling, though I didn’t know what was being said. Then they would turn to me and ask me something, and my mom would translate to me so I could answer. The shopkeepers would give a look of disappointment, “Oh you don’t speak Tagalog…?” It was in those moments, I remember this feeling, almost like imposter syndrome, that I’ve blown my cover, that if someone tried to talk to me they would realize I’m not actually Filipino and I didn’t belong.

A microaggression is “a statement, action, or incident regarded as an instance of indirect, subtle, or unintentional discrimination against members of a marginalized group such as a racial or ethnic minority.” These can be subtle and are often considered harmless by the deliverer, but can have a huge impact on the individual. 

This infographic describes how to be an active bystander and address microaggressions. Key words: Observe, Think, Feel, Desire. Link for more information

Once my friend left me to ponder the authenticity of my racial and ethnic identities, I was able to take some time to reflect and navigate through my feelings. I asked myself, what about that question has continued to bother me? I was able to confide in my siblings, and as I processed through the experience with them I realized that the question I felt was lying underneath my friend’s words was this accusation of  “are you really Asian if…?” …you haven’t been to the country of origin, if you don’t speak the language, if…

I felt this question cutting at the ties of my belonging and identity. And I broke down crying.. 

Fortunately, my siblings were quick to support and affirm my feelings of confusion and hurt, as well as, comforting me with a list of  reasons of “you’re so Asian you…” (always tap the bags of rice at the grocery store; have a blue sash in Kung Fu; know how to pronounce adobo…etc) It’s funny, I laughed, and also I realized how ridiculous it was to even have a list of these qualifiers. 

Image description: an Asian woman making a “check mark” gesture with her finger saying “okay check!”

Being Asian or belonging to any racial or ethnic minority cannot be qualified and boiled down to a few checkboxes. It’s the different and unique combination of an individual’s upbringing, family history, ancestry, shared culture, passing on of traditions, and along with that, their experience of the intersectionality of their identities of race and ethnicity with gender, religion, sexual orientation, ability/disability, socio-economic status, etc.

The next day, I ran into this same friend and we made small talk. I was about to walk away when in my head I thought, “now is as good a time as any.” I asked if she had a moment to talk about our conversation from the other day and was able to express how what she said had made me uncomfortable. However, I was so concerned about her feelings that I kept downplaying my hurt and focused more on reassuring her “I know that wasn’t what you intended, or what you meant, and you’re not responsible for how I feel or react, but you are responsible for the things you say.” She apologized and shared that she was probably coming from a place of insecurity as well because she sometimes doesn’t feel connected with either her Asian connections and her White-American identity. This is not an uncommon experience, oftentimes when women of color are talking to a white woman to call them on, the conversation moves quickly from impact on the person of color to the guilt the white person feels for having made that impact. Their whiteness becomes centered. I listened and nodded and reassured her. And then I said we were fine and we ended the conversation.

The peace and resolution I felt after that encounter did not last. I found myself avoiding spaces I knew she would be in and feeling unsure of myself because I had already said we were fine, and I didn’t know how to communicate that I was, in fact, not. 

I ended up texting my friend and setting a boundary, “Hi, I know we had our conversation but I realize I’m still uncomfortable and I need space. That might look like I’m giving you the silent treatment, but I’m just trying to process.” 

She responded, “Thank you for letting me know. I have been thinking about our conversation too. If and when you would like to talk together again or process together I am open to that. I am very sorry for hurting you so deeply.” 

After taking a few days, and talking it through with my siblings, I made a plan for having a follow-up to the follow-up conversation with this friend. My sister suggested I write down the things I wanted to be able to say and to think of the reason or goal behind having this conversation:

The point of this conversation is to: 

1. Express how our second conversation made me feel unheard because it became centered on you
2. Be able to freely and authentically express how I feel without interruption or downplaying the impact of your words

Things I wanted to say:

1. It’s important to have this conversation because my feelings are valid and important and matter
2. I was hurt because it felt like you were asking me to prove my asianness and it hurt to think of the fact that my parents didn’t have the money to send me or my siblings back to the Philippines to visit or that there was an assumption that my parents didn’t care enough to teach me their language 
3. I think it would’ve been offensive even if you were Asian to say that, but it was more so because you are white and in that sentence you assumed my experience was similar to yours, when your lived experience is fundamentally different simply because you are white. Like when the rise in Asian hate crimes happened, you didn’t have to question how that would affect your behavior or safety.

To be clear, I share this not to villainize my friend. To her credit, she was able to have that conversation with me and give me the space I needed to process with her in that final dialogue without coming to her own defense and explaining where she was coming from. She listened to how her words had affected me, gave a sincere apology, and acknowledged that the excuse of “I wasn’t thinking” was lacking. To that end, I share this to make room for self-reflection for all of us, myself included, “have I said or done things that would be considered microaggressions to others? How have I used language that excludes others from feeling like they belong? Have I, at times, done more to defend myself than to listen to the impact of my actions or words?” 

“So maybe another question to ask is, how can I let this person share their experience with me before I assume what their experience has been…?”

These questions are things I have been asking myself.

As The Women’s Center continues their year-long conversation on Disability Justice + Access, I want to pose these questions specifically towards disability, both visible and especially invisible disabilities

Microaggressions can take a number of forms against those with disabilities. As I was reading I was struck by how subtle these can be and how harmful they are to the individual. Becoming aware of them and naming them can help prevent us from making the same hurtful mistakes in how we interact with those in the disabled community. 

My experience with having my own racial identity questioned closely resembles the invalidation that people with disabilities often face from those who question whether or not they are actually disabled or disabled enough. 

For instance, in this article I read, for those with invisible disabilities who drove, parking in handicapped spots often engendered glares, questions, or negative comments. A woman with a hidden disability stated, “Sometimes I get out of the car and I’m like, ‘Oh, who’s around, like do I need to take out the wheelchair for show?” (Olkin, 2019)

These microaggressions, among other things, can be felt as an attack against belonging and identity. As a non-disabled person, I cannot speak to what these experiences are like, and I don’t want to sit here comparing microaggressions like some sort of oppression olympics; what I want to do is be thoughtful about the ways I encounter those with disabilities (and to be considerate with meeting people in general because you never know what someone might be struggling with). So maybe another question to ask is, how can I let this person share their experience with me before I assume what their experience has been…?

In the last two years, I have been working on finding my voice and learning how to express my needs and feelings. This instance that I’ve shared was the first time that I really addressed a microaggression directed at me. And as I shared, it was not a straight-forward or easy path. I questioned how I was feeling and whether it was worth speaking up. I had to have the conversation a couple of times and sought out support from those who know and love me to help me organize my thoughts. 

Image description: An Asian woman saying with a determined expression, “We do speak up now. We do have a voice.”

As I’ve been educating myself more on social identities, I am learning how I can advocate for myself and on behalf of others. 

I’m challenging myself to 1) be brave in holding these conversations when someone says something that makes me uncomfortable and 2) be humble and self-reflective if and when someone calls me out or calls me in for something I have said. Making an authentic apology without excuses can be healing for both persons involved.

I encourage you to join me. Together, we can be the change we want to see in the world (too cheesy with the Ghandi line? I think not!).

Image description: A scene from Always Be My Maybe, in which the Asian female lead, Ali Wong points to the camera and smiles affectionately.

Recommendations and Resources: 

 I quoted this article when talking about microaggressions against disabilities: The Experiences of Microaggressions against Women with Visible and Invisible Disabilities. Olkin, R., Hayward, H., Abbene, M. S., & VanHeel, G. (2019). Journal of Social Issues, 75(3), 757–785. https://doi.org/10.1111/josi.12342

How Microagressions are like Mosquito Bites

A Guide to Responding to Microaggressions 

University of Washington made these infographicson microaggressions that can be helpful 

Office of Equity and Inclusion also helps with civil rights issues including discrimination, harassment, hate and bias

Content Note: This post is authored by Jess, the director of the Women’s Center. I am a white cisgender queer woman. This post is a reflection about my reading list which is informed by my race, gender, and sexual orientation. Upon reading this, the reading opportunity that presents itself to you may look differently than mine. We all have different salient identities which provide us an opportunity to shift our dominant perspective. I hope you’ll find your own opportunity to include new or expanded voices into your 2021 reading.

If your end of December timeline was anything like mine, you might have seen a lot of screenshots of your friends’ Goodreads 2020 Year in Books summary (see some of mine below). I noticed an uptick of these posts from previous years. I mean, we were (are) in a pandemic, which presented the opportunity for many of us to read a lot more last year (I read twice as many books as I did in 2019!). There was an excitement to many of these posts – a “look how many books I read vibe. I want more! What recommendations do you have?!“

As I PANned (a mnemonic device that stands for “Pay Attention Now” which is the act of intentionally observing and noticing behaviors, comments, feelings, and patterns of treatment.) through many of the images of books, I noticed a pattern — a lot of the books were written by white authors. That is, of course, minus the anti-racism books that surged to the top of many readers’ lists this summer during the Black Lives Matter protests. It was a pattern I noticed in my own reading list a few years ago when I started keeping track of the books I read. The first year I wrote down each book I read was the same year I made a commitment to read only women authors. I can’t remember the article, or let’s be honest, the podcast I listened to, that urged such a commitment, but I know it had to do something to do about the publishing industries’ problem with sexism. So, that year I only read women authors.

But, I should really say, I had a year of reading mostly white women authors.

When I took stock of my list, I noticed it right away. Out of the 18 books I read that year, only 3 were written by women of color, more specifically, all 3 were by Black women authors. Ouch.

So, the next year, I set out to include more women of color into my reading list. Of the 28 books I read, 13 books were by women of color and 1 by a indigenous man. In just one year, by being a bit more intentional with the books I selected, I went from reading 17% authors of color to 50%.

In 2020, I set out to be just as intentional, with even a bit more of a caveat. In my 2 years of tracking, I noticed something else that required more specificity from me. Most of the authors of color I was reading were Black authors, but I had set out to read more authors of color, which means I was still missing the opportunity to read books by Latinx, Native & Indigenous, and Asian authors. One way I set out to address that was by using various cultural months like Latinx Heritage Month (September 15 – October 15th) or National Native American Heritage Month (November) to read authors whose identities reflected those months of celebration.

A pleasant, but unplanned, for opportunity also popped up early for me in 2020 when 4 of my first 7 books were written by LGBTQ authors and featured queer storylines. As a queer woman, I had this ah-ha moment where I realized I didn’t always have to read stories about straight people, followed by another ah-ha moment of wondering why it took me this long to figure that out. In 2020, I read 13 books by LGBTQ authors.

Representation matters. Whether it’s reading stories that honor our own under-represented identities or incorporating voices and stories that shift our dominant perspective, representation matters.

Here’s the catch, though. My unintentional reading list was exactly how the major publishing industry intended it to be. Here’s some critical truths outlined in this recent New York Times (NYT) piece. In a study highlighted by the authors of the article, researchers analyzed the race of authors’ books published between 1950 and 2018 by large publishers and widely available via public libraries and e-books. From the search, they were able to identify the race of 3,471 authors from a total of 7,124 books. Over the course of nearly 70 years, 95 percent of the books were written by white people. Looking specially at the year 2018 in the sample, 89% of the authors were white. Over the past decade, only 22 of the 220 books on the NYT Best Sellers list were written by people of color. This article goes on to present more damning evidence about the very white publishing industry to include racial pay disparity for book advances, tokenization of authors of color, and the number of white editors that dominate what authors get published. For more information about the publishing industry, this is another really important article to check out.

A screen grab from the NYT times article referenced above highlighting the authors of color on the NYT’s best seller list in relationship to white authors (the gray-scaled images) on the list.

Going back to my 2020 reading list, even with very intentional goals, I still veered off course. In November, the list of books I read were by predominantly white authors. I picked up a book randomly at an AirBnB house. An audio book that wasn’t on my list showed up as a “It’s Your Lucky Day” pick through my public library app. A Baltimore-based book finally was available via my que, and I didn’t want to send it back to begin waiting for it all over again. So, without really trying, I read back-to-back-to-back books written by white authors. In other words, without trying, when left to read what was readily available, I was not reading books by authors of color. When looking at the statistics outlined above, it’s clear to me why that would be the case. It wasn’t a mistake – the publishing industry is set up that way like so many of our other institutions that center whiteness, heteronormativity, and the patriarchy.

A screen shot taken from the article I cited above that breaks down the diversity of people working in the publishing industry in 2019.

The industry is set up that way, so how will you push back? Check out lists on Goodreads like The ZORA Canon: The 100 greatest books ever written by African American women or Diversity in Fantasy and Science Fiction. Pick an author to read during this year’s cultural celebrations like Black History Month (February – that’s this month!!) and Pride Month (June). You might also want to expand the list to include months like Sexual Assault Awareness Month (April) by reading a book by a survivor or reading an author with a disability during National Disability Employment Awareness Month (October). Consider reading books from international authors and see if you can find one that interests you from a woman translator. Follow #bookstagram influencers of color like @Lupita.Reads on Instagram and go down a rabbit hole of all the other folks she mentions in her posts and follow them. Don’t just track your books via Goodreads since their platform doesn’t provide an easy way to keep track of the identities of authors (see my very basic tracking system below). Think about the identities you don’t have to think about whether it be ability/disability, religion, nation of origin because your identities privileges you in such a way that you do not need to think about that identity. Go out and find authors and stories that invite you to consider those identities and experiences in new ways

Here’s how I kept track of my 2020 reading list. Different color dots or dashes helped me stay accountable to the different kind of authors and stories I was reading.

A final thought. I originally had the title of this reflection called “A Reading Challenge,” but I decided it was worth reframing as an opportunity. I hope as you consider the ways you expand your reading lists (and for that matter, your tv watching and podcast listening) as something you get to do. Embrace is not as something you have to do, like it’s some chore, but as an opportunity that will allow you to grow.

So, what’s on your list? Comment below or share some of your favorites by visiting the Women’s Center on our social media platforms. Happy reading!

This post was written by Women’s Center director, Jess Myers as a tribute to our UMBC moms. Special thanks to the moms who provided photos to help curate our Women’s Center moms collage. Wishing happy thoughts to all our UMBC moms in your first and hopefully last quarantined Mother’s Day! 

Self-Care Content Note: There’s lots of reasons why Mother’s Day can be hard for a lot of different people. We see you and your story and your pain and hurt matter to us too. Be kind to yourself. Create boundaries in ways that feel right for you. Reach out to someone who can validate your real emotions that don’t require censorship.

To those who may be hurting. We see you.

Okay, so let’s just put this out there. My mom is my favorite human being. So much so, I just got teared up writing that last sentence.

How else can I explain it? I remember one Mother’s Day when I was in high school. My mom and I were in the car to go visit my Busia (that’s grandmother in Polish). We were listening to the radio and a caller request came in. The caller explained that the requested song for her mom was “their song.” And, as caller requests go – she shouted out her mom, said she loved her, probably gave a woooo!!!, and then the song came on.

It was Celion Dion’s Because You Loved Me.  

It took all of three seconds for my mom and I to look at each other with the biggest “wows” on our faces (also mom upside down is wow). A love song. A love song for a mother and daughter. By then we had pulled up to my Busia’s house, but we just sat in the car, listened to the lyrics, and cried. And, that was the moment we too had a love song.  I am everything I am because my mom loves me.

Jess and her mom with True Grit at UMBC’s Faculty and Staff Awards celebration in 2018! 

I could go on and on, but the point of this blog post isn’t to gush about mom (well not exactly). It’s about gushing about you, Dear Moms of the Women’s Center at UMBC.

To the moms who serve or who have served on the Women’s Center Advisory Board

To the Returning Women Student Scholars + Affiliates Moms and all of our student moms

To the moms who have spent countless hours in our lactation room pumping away

 To the moms who have served as staff members over the decades

To our Friends of the Women’s Center Moms

To the moms who have donated their money, their time, their skills to support our mission

To those who aren’t moms but support and champion the work of the Women’s Center because of the space and meaning it holds for moms

Thank you for you. Thank you for being a part of the Women’s Center community. In the words of Celine Dion, we are everything we are because you love us… you make us a stronger and richer community because we get to learn from you, benefit from your skills, and call you our friends and allies.

So, in honor of all these brilliant moms we offer some suggestions and action items to take this Mother’s Day weekend:

Virtual ways to celebrate or honor a mom in your life:

• Plan a virtual Mother’s Day celebration. I know, the Zoom burnout is real but how can you get creative so it doesn’t feel like another work or school meeting? Send invites, encourage people to dress up or bring some fancy snacks to the call, or make it a game/trivia call. 
• Not up for organizing something? Watch something together that’s already planned like Un Dia Especial con Mamá (Special Day with Mama) hosted by Creative Alliance, Somos Baltimore Latino, Nuestras Raíces Inc., and Artesanas Mexicanas. The live stream begins at 11am on Mother’s Day. 
• Zoom again but this time with the kiddos! Give a mom you love the chance to take a deep breath by offering to entertain their little ones via Zoom by reading them a story or leading an activity.
• Send or drop off a care package or meal.
• Create a grateful jar. What are the things you’re grateful for when it comes to a special mom in your life. Write it down and put it in a jar so that gratitude can be called upon in times of need. This can be an individual or collective effort.  
• Send some snail mail (or a text!). ! If there are people in your life that could benefit from feeling seen and appreciated on Mother’s Day, consider writing them a thoughtful note, reminding them you’re here for them, or simply drawing something that words can’t quite capture. As we reminded folks in the content note above, there are lots of feelings people can experience on or close to Mother’s day. Acknowledge and validate those feelings.
•  This list not working for you? That’s okay! Let Google be your friend or let this simply be the beginning of a creative brainstorm session.

To help advocate for a mom in your life:

For those of us who aren’t moms, we may have no idea what it’s like to be a mom in quarantine. Even moms in quarantine won’t know exactly what other moms are going through. What we do know, though, is that at home and on the front line of this pandemic, women are essential.

So how can you learn more? Here’s a few recommended readings and podcasts. After checking out those, consider ways you can advocate for mothers in your own life and spheres of influence. As always, we appreciate your own ideas and suggestions in the comments!

• A Working Mom’s Quarantined Life
• Women at Work’s We’re Beyond Stretched episode (and with more time, check out the archives too)
• Here’s a specific higher ed lens as it relates to faculty and publishing and a fact sheet about student parents
• There’s also a lot of really good reading about women in the workplace over on the Association of American University Women’s (AAUW) Issues Page.
• Beyond Mother’s Day, follow intersectional feminist organizations on social media to stay in touch or learn more about how our privileges and marginalized identities can shape and inform motherhood (not sure where to start? Check out our Instagram account to see some of the orgs we follow for inspiration and accountability!).

Autumn is a junior Meyerhoff Scholar (M29), pursuing a BS in Chemistry and a BA in Gender, Women and  Sexuality Studies dual degree, and currently a student intern at the Women’s Center.

Content Note: The content of this blog may be triggering. Topics addressed by this blog include transphobia, menstruation, pregnancy, dysphoria, and gender-confirmation surgery.

When I first received an offer to intern at the Women’s Center, I was very excited. Throughout my years at UMBC, the Women’s Center quickly became my home away from home and was a place to feel safe, included, and accepted. I participated in as many events as possible and volunteered whenever I had the time. I even had the privilege of being able to facilitate Spectrum meetings for a semester before formally joining the staff. By working in the Women’s Center, I thought I would be able to help create an even better space for the people I shared the space with and new community members alike. 

However, even while writing this blog post, I experience imposter syndrome. Imposter syndrome is “the idea that you’ve only succeeded due to luck, and not because of your talent or qualifications—was first identified in 1978 by psychologists Pauline Rose Clance and Suzanne Imes.” I think that the sheer complexity of how this imposter syndrome is taking effect for me (and people like me with a pretty fraught, tenuous and ever-changing relationship with womanhood) is demonstrated in the carefulness of the words that I am using in this blog. This is a really multifaceted issue that deals with dysphoria, internalized transphobia, the differences of experiences between marginalized identities and intersectionality. 

Vaginas!? 

When I was born, the doctor looked at my genitals and proclaimed to the world and the government that “It’s a boy.” For those who know me, it is somewhat obvious that this label did not stick for the “normal” amount of time (read: the entire lifespan). If you’ve not caught on yet, I’m very much not a boy anymore and I identify as a nonbinary trans woman (I know its a bit of an oxymoron; gender is FUNKY).

I experience marginalization and oppression, but I also have privilege in this identity. I struggle with the privilege I have by being a trans feminine person that was able to come out early on in my life and that I was able to start my medical transition when I still was in high school. 

Even so, working in the Women’s Center at UMBC as a nonbinary, transgender woman is peculiar. Because of my experiences with transness and my body, I am not the best equipped to assist with issues that students may come to the Women’s Center to address. For example, I don’t have a vagina (YET!), and I didn’t grow up with one, therefore I don’t have the first-hand knowledge that comes with menstruating, pregnancy, or growing up as an AFAB person in a heterosexist and misogynistic society. 

This has made interactions with some community members weird when they ask for help with things I don’t have experience with. I’m deathly afraid of giving the wrong advice or having an interaction that makes someone uncomfortable. If a community member comes into the Center and asks about internal condoms or pregnancy tests (while I’m not uneducated on the subjects) I cannot give as good of an answer as someone with experience.  Even when I am pointing out the tampons and pads that the Women’s Center offers to the community for free, I deal with that fear and alienation. 

As a transfeminine person, I am acutely aware of how “womanhood,” as the greater society knows it, is defined in bioessentialist definitions. When doing the work that involves vaginas and helping people with vaginas, I am always reminded of the “essential” difference of my body and that I am not fully “them.”

I am wondering how much this anxiety stems from internalized transphobia that I have surrounding transgender women, including myself, not really being “full” women or that I don’t truly belong in a women’s space. Throughout my life, the topic of periods, reproduction and menstrual products have always been a sticking point for me and my experience: a constant trigger for my dysphoria. It’s a common trigger for a lot of trans women, not just because of the consistent TERF bioessentialist dog whistles, but because we as trans women lack the thing that is worshiped as a pillar of western societal femininity: the ability to reproduce. Of course, I want to acknowledge that this is a completely bogus measure of femininity because the ability to reproduce is completely disconnected to femininity. Femininity and reproduction are two distinct aspects of humanity that are conflated in a way that serves to not only enforce exclusion but to oppress those who do not fit the societal standards. To some extent, I believe that I’m invading a space that I really do not have the right to inhabit. 

Privileged Transitions

In terms of my transition, I am exceptionally privileged. I was born to an accepting family who supported me when I came out after my freshman (literally “man”) year of high school. Me coming out to them was a bit of an accident even, but it went well. I was able to access hormones soon after and I just scheduled bottom surgery for after I graduate from UMBC. I’m white and I pass as a cis woman reasonably well, and I have the resources to access my endocrinologist regularly and I am able to afford my medical treatment. I also have the privilege of growing up as someone who was assigned male at birth in a society that greatly values maleness, especially in science and in leadership. Because of my socialization, I am allowed a higher level of confidence and ownership in science and leadership than someone who was reared as a woman in the same fields.

All of these compounding areas of privilege greatly influence how I can exist in a space, and how much space I take up, especially at a women’s center. As someone who was reared as a male in our society, it sometimes feels really weird to go to events that specifically cater to women.

I also see my own experience paralleled in a previous Women’s Center staff member Daniel, as they had to grapple with the realities of being a trans man when working in the Women’s Center. In their blog post about male privilege, Daniel discusses how they strive to be cognizant of the space they take up within the Women’s Center because Dan’s privilege is not as cut and dry as one might see between a cis man and a cis woman. Their blog posts detailed how they saw themselves within the Women’s Center as a “white, medically transitioning, ‘passing’ man,” and how that influenced Dan’s participation. Even though they have the privileges afforded to white men, because of their transness, Daniel is precariously perched on the Glass Elevator and experiences marginalization at the hands of a heterocissexist society. Although the experiences of all trans people are not the same, I can deeply relate to Dan’s experiences as a student staff member at the Women’s Center.

Privilege aside, there is a level of marginalization that I experience in entering and being a part of the Women’s Center. Cis women come into this space and feel entitled to it. Me? I do… and I also pause. I enter the space tentatively because my sense of belonging is not always assured. 

Existing Within the Bounds of My Triggers

Throughout my transition, my dysphoria, anxiety, and depression has been pretty intensely triggered by the topics of menstruation, reproduction, and topics around cis-women bodies. 

I was really, really worried about this when I started at the Women’s Center because I imagined that it would be very hard for me to remove myself from potentially triggering situations when I’m working (such as a community member needing assistance with something). I still really struggle with this even as I am halfway through my internship. However, I’ve been a lot less triggered by these situations than I thought I would initially.

I am not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I feel like this ease comes in part from the ability to put boundaries between my own sense of self and my sense of representing the Women’s Center. Regardless of what this means about my self-esteem and coping, boundaries allow me to exist and operate in this work.

Ultimately, I think that it is okay and normal to be uncomfortable in some spaces. This discomfort is good. The oppressive nature of the gender binary and the heterocissexist society is diametrically opposed to the reality that trans people live so discomfort is inevitable. But when dealing with big, overarching systems of power that influence our lives, sometimes identifying that there even is a problem is the first step of trying to challenge the norms. In other words, without identifying the problem, it is impossible to generate a solution. It may seem like the big, overall problem is the Gender Binary, but I think there is a smaller, more pervasive issue when thinking and talking about how transgender people fit within the model of a women’s center. 

I think that the problem isn’t that transgender people do not fit into the current framework of mainstream feminism. The real problem is with those who either knowingly or unknowingly perpetuate systems of oppression (read: most everyone), and don’t use their power or privilege toward the radical but simple process of affirming transgender identities. In spaces like the Women’s Center, trans people should not only feel welcome but also a sense of home and belonging–and it’s cis people’s prerogative to either build those bridges with intentionality and care or continue a system that oppresses everyone: the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.

My transness is an integral part of my identity, and I’m exceptionally proud of it. However, I know that my belonging in the Women’s Center is not just tied to my identity as a nonbinary trans woman. In the Women’s Center, I am surrounded by people who support and care for me and it is in that where the promise of real and actionable liberatory justice resides.