feministism:

I look at people wearing MAGA hats the same as people wearing swastikas

kiwianaroha:

prochoice-or-gtfo:

motherbychoice:

Nah

Mood.
-V

This reminds me of a party I went to last year. I was standing with some friends, chatting, and someone said something that indirectly implied that sexism exists. Some trivial recounting of the basic facts of daily life for most women. Something so mild, so uncontroversial, so mundane that I don’t even remember what it was. 

Suddenly, this man standing on the outskirts of our conversational circle piped up with “actually, I think men are more discriminated against than women these days.”

 All conversation died.

I turned to look at him and he had this smug, insufferable grin on his face, relishing this moment, expecting us to waste our time and energy refuting this ridiculous thing he had just said.

The Devil’s Advocate was among us.

And, in my mind, I saw the next 15+ minutes playing out. The parade of facts and statistics in a vain attempt to defend ourselves, our gender, and to prove that misogyny is real. The glib, snide denials from some shithead who is getting off on our pain and frustration. The Gish Gallop of bullshit that would take a whole evening to properly dismantle. It was depressing and overwhelming. I hated it. I had to kill it before it began.

So I looked him dead in the eye and I said “OK,“ shrugged, and just walked away. 

Nothing I have ever said to another human being has ever been so crushing. As I walked away, I watched the smug grin vanish and confusion and anxiety set in. The rest of the group turned their backs to him and carried on as if he had never spoken – as if he was invisible. He was still staring at me when I walked over to another friend and told her what he had said. I pointed him out for her and made direct eye contact with him while we both laughed.

tl;dr: Don’t feed the troll. Let it perish, cold and hungry, in the wasteland of your indifference. It is weak and you are strong. Live your best life.

tenmillionpoundsofsludge:

hazmat suit with “JUICY” bedazzled on the ass 

dysphoriaart:

Being Trans is Like…

Being trans is like moving to a new house but the owners left all their belongings there. The house is great and all, there’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s not your house. The couch is awesome the tables cool and the chairs look elegant, but it doesn’t match you. It’s not yours and you don’t feel comfortable in the house because it’s not yours. The items in the house don’t represent who you are, and you want to be proud of your home, to show it off to people and for them to be impressed and for them to compliment it and for them to be able to get an idea of the type of person you are just by seeing the decor. The things inside the house are supposed to represent your identity, but the things in the house just don’t fit it right. So you take what doesn’t work well out of the house, you keep what you want, and you accept what you can’t take out. You remodel and make the house your home, a place where you feel safe and comfortable and confident. A place you’re proud to show people. You didn’t change the house itself, the structure is still the same, the materials are the same, the memories are the same, the house is the same. The only thing that’s different is the way it’s presented on the inside and how it feels when you walk in. You can even change the outside! You can fix it up by planting trees and flowers, but it’s still the same house. It’s still the same house, but it’s happier. It’s still the same house, but it’s now a home.