Why I am Mildly Pissed (angry, not drunk)

Since our class discussions have (happily) veered into the land of applicability, and actual relevance to my everyday life, I've been taking some steps to change my lifestyle habits in order to live a more ethical and less privileged life.

Surprisingly, some of these changes have been almost subconscious. Perhaps it's because I'm doing a lot of chilling with disability studies for my project, but I'm slowly getting past labels of any type. For instance, I was talking with a friend, who is a public school choir teacher, about racism in the Huntington area. Her was pity, feel sorry for children who are the subjects of racism among her peers. First, it's disturbing that people who work with children are racist. Second, pity, to me, feels extremely demeaning. Almost as if feeling pity is another way of stripping someone of their potential power. While my friend is very compassionate and caring, I was really mad at her because of her first reaction, which wasn't really her fault, it's just how she's come to deal with marginalization in our society.

Contrastingly, my reaction is to examine the power forces in place and see how an individual has been de-privileged. More importantly, I don't seek pity, but correction, calling out the individual's racist attitude, becoming "that person." I mean, it's not my job to show pity or to be sympathetic; it's my job to make a change for the better.

In some ways, I think I'm ready to be "that person," in some ways I already am, especially when it comes to masculine/feminine stereotypes, I don't hesitate to mention disparities like that. But now, I'm in a new realm. Like with disability, I don't feel pity anymore, which I used to, instead, I take a more existential look at it, just letting people with disabilities (and everyone, for that matter), be. They don't need correction or sympathy (although empathy is nice), they need to be understood as people, as individuals.

This is where Rosemarie Garland Thomson comes in, you really look at it, everyone is disabled in some way, everyone is different from the norm (where does the norm come from anyway?).

This outlook is mirrored by experiences I've had on Social Anxiety Disorder websites (ha, social anxiety "disorder"). Many of those with SAD are adamant on correcting or deleting SAD from their lives. However, a few (including myself) acknowledge they have SAD and that it is part of how we function. I was diagnosed relatively recently as having SAD, and until then I didn't know there was something "wrong" with me, I just figured I was really shy. I'm more than shy, and sometimes, I am crippled with anxiety. But still, it's part of who I am. Anxiety has made me analytical. Not fitting in society has made me question it. I seriously do not think I could be the scholar I am if it weren't for SAD. So in a way, I'm thankful for it. And I am really glad that I have other women articulating these feelings. Before they found the language to do so, I didn't really think that my experience was all that relevant or all that real. Like Nancy Mairs sees her identity and her disability intertwined, I see SAD as intertwined with my identity and my schoolwork.

It's really important though, that I don't speak for anyone else, I can only speak for me. And when I see something wrong happening, I call it out, I talk about it, I bring these issues to the surface so that we can move on.

I'm sure it's going to get tough, but I want to stick to it.