#as i just had a birthday that increased my age to a number that i dont much care to think about

[memorys-skyscraper]

fuck the new year, everyone say happy birthday ichiban kasuga!!!!!

[fearfulfertility]

CONFIDENTIAL MEETING TRANSCRIPT

DRC, Medical Ethics & Compliance Division

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: Above Average Fetal Quotas in Low Compliance Areas

Location: Paternity Compound [REDACTED], Unsecure Conference Room

Attendees:

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager, Insemination Operations

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator, Compound Oversight

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Bioethicist

I… I need to voice my concerns again, Doctor. I understand the need for productivity, but these insemination rates already exceed what we know is a risky quota. We're well beyond the original operational guidelines that were put in place by HQ.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Doctor, we've had this conversation... twice this week already. The DRC's objectives are clear, and compliance rates should be raised. And [REDACTED] City has the lowest surrogacy conscription rates for all of Zone 6, which has the lowest rates for the entire country. With so few surrogates, increasing embryos is the only way to meet our quotas this quarter. I'd love to hear if you've found a way to double conscription rates by just waving your hands.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

But... but... the physicality of it, Doctor. These surrogates... men, are not just numbers on a ledger. They're carrying life in multiples beyond the body's capacity, well beyond what our medicine says is natural. We are knowingly creating a dangerous scenario… and for what? Marginal increases in birth quotas?

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

While I appreciate your… concern for the surrogates' livelihood, we must remain objective. This isn't a hypothetical situation where we have the luxury of prioritizing ideals over results. We have mandates, strict deadlines, and expectations from the highest levels. The DRC is operating under intense pressure to show progress. We've all seen the latest reports on our population projections. Desperate times, as they say, call for desperate measures.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

My concern is ethical, not emotional, Doctor. If I seem… invested, I can't help but think that pushing them to such extremes… to see them filled so… utterly... borders on sadistic indulgence at best. We cannot simply keep filling them up like a fish tank. The latest reports put our average pregnancy quota at 16 births per surrogate, and I know that the quota is higher now. This is too much for them, and their bodies can only hold so much.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

"Borders on indulgence," you say? Interesting choice of words. But you know as well as I do that every additional fetus we bring to term brings us just barely into alignment with the national average. As uncomfortable as you are with their situation, your… fixation on the morality of the situation is, frankly, irrelevant.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

It's hardly a fixation, Doctor. It's a… concern for their wellbeing. They're under endless strain, stretching and expanding, filled to their limits with life… and yet, we expect each new batch to endure more. Are we prepared to reduce these surrogates to mere vessels? Some of these men are barely adults, scoped up the moment they've hit the age of majority. And we're pushing them to physical extremes with little regard for the aftermath.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

The aftermath is a healthy generation that will keep this country from falling into the dustbin of history.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

Let me put this in concrete terms, Doctor. Consider the case of Surrogate S116-5221-O, who was conscripted at 18 and carrying 15 fetuses not three weeks after his birthday. The strain was so extreme that he required round-the-clock oxygen, feeding, and hydration to maintain his basic stability. His organs were compressed to such an extent that by Day 22, he couldn't breathe without assistance. Is this truly the level of strain we consider acceptable?

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Yes, I recall S116-5221-O. However, as I mentioned, we specifically selected him due to his exceptional physique and vital health metrics. Despite the discomfort, he still brought each of those fetuses to term at a healthy birth weight and helped us meet our targets that quarter—an overall success in our otherwise abysmal quarter.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

Success story? Surrogate S116-5221-O was so big we needed a forklift to move him to the birthing wing. And he's not the only one. Surrogate S116-4418-Q was assigned 17 embryos, a record for our unit. By his second week, he was bedridden and needed to be suspended from the ceiling lest his womb crush him. He spent his final days hanging from the rafters, delirious from the strain. Are we to pretend that these outcomes are acceptable, let alone humane?

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Every surrogate conscripted will suffer some potential risks. No one denies the burden they bear, but each successful delivery justifies the process. Their lives, tragically short as they may be, are meaningful in the contributions they make.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

Their lives are defined only by our demands, Doctor. We are bending them, breaking them, for output at a volume beyond any semblance of human decency. I can't look at cases like Surrogate S116-4418-Q and rationalize that level of suffering simply because it fits our agenda. This will not end well—morally or operationally.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Your concerns have been noted, Doctor, but let's keep sight of our objective here. We both know that the alternative. I'm sure they'd appreciate the DRC not enacting martial law or forcing raids on their families. We're weighing one outcome against another, and while it's not ideal, we're dealing with the greater good here. Besides, we're not enforcing this on every surrogate. Only the most robust candidates are selected for high multiples based on their physiological indicators. We're not arbitrarily assigning high embryo counts.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

We must consider the limits of the human body, Doctor. And seeing these men in their… altered states, each with bodies so... distended, reminds us of our ethical boundaries. If we push them further, we risk turning this program into a grotesque display rather than a scientifically sound operation.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Such high ideals for the precarious situation we're in, Doctor. It's time we refocused on the logistics rather than the aesthetics of the problem. I'll take your concerns under advisement. However, we will proceed with the current embryo protocols unless I receive a directive to change course. Besides their surrogates... we have a legal right to do as we see fit to preserve our way of life, even at the expense of theirs.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

Legal obligation does not absolve us of ethical responsibility. They are conscripts, but that doesn't mean they are disposable. We must maintain some semblance of humanity in our processes. This notion that quotas justify any means will backfire. It's only a matter of time until public scrutiny catches up, and then we'll be accountable for every life lost under our care.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

Public scrutiny is not my concern. Meeting our birth quotas is. And, respectfully, the stakes are high enough that certain compromises must be made. These surrogates, as tragic as their fates may be, are providing an irreplaceable service to society. Their contribution is paramount.

If we cut back, we will lose ground, and soon, we will be too far behind to make any difference.

Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager

Let me be equally clear, then. I will formally request a review of these practices. There is a line, Doctor, and we are perilously close to crossing it. I will be escalating this to the Director's office.

Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator

You're welcome to try. But we'll continue with these measures until instructed otherwise.

[Transcript ends.]

----------------

Memorandum

Following a formal complaint submitted by Dr. [REDACTED], Senior Manager of Insemination Operations, to DRC Headquarters regarding operational protocols and perceived ethical concerns, HQ conducted a preliminary review and determined that no formal investigation was warranted. Dr. [REDACTED] was subsequently placed on probation for insubordination due to his ongoing objections to established protocols. After observation and review by HR, Dr. [REDACTED] has been reassigned to the Anchorage Office, where he will continue supporting DRC’s initiatives under adjusted responsibilities.

In parallel, Dr. [REDACTED], Administrator, Paternity Compound [REDACTED], [REDACTED] City, has been recognized with a personal achievement award. This award acknowledges Dr. [REDACTED]’s dedication to maintaining and exceeding local birth quotas amidst low surrogacy compliance rates. His contributions have been instrumental in stabilizing output levels despite challenges.

End of Memorandum

----------------

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

[fishermanshook]

"You look, oddly familiar." (surviors! x gn!reader)

INTRO

A prompt where you knew said Survivor before they came to the manor. Your reason for coming here? Probably because of them.

꒰wc꒱ 1.0k words (grammar and spelling warning, mentions of abuse in Female Dancer’s part.)

The Enchantress

You and the Enchantress were together a lot as kids, or has your growing age started to wipe your memory clean? Do you struggle to remember such personal moments the two of you shared? Such a shame, as it's been over 5 years and you've yet to trace her location down. Has she disappeared from the world entirely? Seems like it, doesn't it?

Oh. Wait. There's a memory. An old one for sure, but a memory is still a memory. You and Patricia had spent what seemed to be every waking second together. So much so that Patricia's "mother" had started to see you as her own. Another child to take under her wing, and she gladly would. You understand that, right? Had she not taught you enough? The two of you had made a habit of strolling through New Orleans together, knowing almost every face that inhabited every corner of the city. You'd be down there for any number of reasons. To pick something up, to look for new ingredients, or just to look around the place you know by the back of your hand.

If the two of you had spent so much time with each other, then why didn't she tell you where the hell she went? She never left a note, a letter, or even a single clue as to where she ran off. So yes, when you received a letter stating to know her whereabouts you followed. Was it dumb? Oh for sure. But you would take every chance you could get to find her. You didn't even get to go up to her when you spotted her, she already knew.

"I wish you hadn't come," The Enchantress says with her back turned to yours. "but I can't help but be happy that you did." She chimed, turning around with a smile and a strange-looking artifact in her hand.

The Painter

You were there when it all started. You know, his painting thing. At first, he was a mess, paint slobbered all over his hands and face like a child. But I guess he was a child when he first picked up the paintbrush. Who would’ve known he would never put it down?

As Edgar’s talent increased, he started painting other things. Boats in the river, flowers growing outside, people strolling around the park where the two of you frequented. His drawings decorated his room and cluttered his bedroom floor.

For your 12th birthday, little Edgar (in all honesty) had forgotten about your birthday. The thought of it struck his mind at 1 in the morning as he quickly grabbed for his paints before whisking out a canvas. Throwing himself into his work, he produced his first of many portraits of you. From that point forward, it was a tradition for him to paint you for each birthday. No matter how many fights you had over his short temper or accidental paint spills imported from the other side of the country, you still received a packaged painting. Wrapped in fine silk with a “happy birthday” note tucked in between the folds. For you, he spared little to no expense. That is, until he got older.

It has been over two years since you've seen the man and you haven’t received a single portrait since. Arriving at the manor, you find him in the garden alone, painting a familiar portrait.

“It’s nice that you remember my face, as I’m starting to forget yours.” Your voice nearly makes him drop his paintbrush, as he whips around to meet you. You in all your stunning beauty, god, how you’ve grown from the small child he once knew.

Female Dancer

It is either that you met Nata-Margaretha in Lakeside Village or during your shared time spent in the Hullabaloo circus. Both experiences that you will not forget, but time makes things foggy. It blurs memories that were important to your life that you can no longer recall. But for the sake of going to bed without a piercing migraine tonight, your brain tells you it was during the circus.

Ah, now you're starting to remember things. As memories (some unwanted) come flooding back to you about the circus. A curious place that produced good and bad thoughts. Your mind flashes back to before the accident when time was spent helping Margie (a nickname used widely throughout the circus by many of its performers) tame animals and perform new jaw-dropping tricks to stun the audience. 

You remember when your ignorance of what was happening behind closed curtains came crashing down. When Margaretha came crying to you, sobbing that she needed to tell you something. She then began to show you bruises and cuts that littered her body, all deliberately hidden in places that couldn't be noticed unless further expected. To keep it short, you were shocked that "he" could do something this horrible, to decorate her upper body in purple and red marks. It was even more shocking that if anyone noticed, "he" would just brush it off and say that she got hurt while practicing. 

At that time, you knew you had to get her and yourself out of there. A lack of knowledge has landed your friend with bruises, cuts, and unwanted love from someone she thought she cared for.

You haven't seen Margaretha since the fire. Actually, you haven't seen anyone since the fire. Not Mike, not Murro, not even Violetta. But following breadcrumbs as to where they all went earned you a one-way ticket to the Oletus Manor, maybe your questions will be answered there.

"Margie?" You almost choke on your words. Seeing her for the first time in so long feels nostalgic. (how old are you again?) She can't even respond, she can’t even believe it's you. All you'll get from her is a death-griping hug and a stained shirt accompanied by her ever-flowing tears.

note: I love you Patricia (writers block is kicking my a rn)

(2024)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

[thethirdromana]

It feels like I've been posting a bit recently (and indeed throughout Dracula Daily) around Victorian ideas of youth and age without ever putting any actual numbers on any of this.

This is all just me and my dear friend Mr Google, so do point out if I've got anything wrong. Where I haven't provided specific dates, this is broadly true for the 1890s.

Age 5-11: children were expected to be at school, which was compulsory (raised from 10 in 1893).

Age 11-13: children were allowed to work in factories, but they were supposed to continue attending school part-time.

Age 14-18: considered "young persons" by the Factories Act of 1878, teenagers were limited to 56.5 hours of work per week in textile factories and 60 hours in non-textile factories. (The same hours were applicable for women).

Age 16: the age of consent, as it is in the UK today (raised from 13 in 1885). Also a possible school leaving age, e.g. for junior clerks.

Age 18: the typical age for a débutante to come out in society, though this varied. She would be courting for a minimum of 6 months and be engaged for a further 6 before getting married. On average, upper-class girls married at 21 (this had increased from 18 over the course of the 19th century). Also the oldest possible school leaving age, for those destined to be educated professionals.

Age 21: the age of majority. People could marry at this age without parental consent, vote, enter contracts, and stand for elected office. In 1891, only about 2/3 of people reached their 21st birthday, compared with 99.1% of today's 21-year-olds in England and Wales.

Age 25: the average age at first marriage for women in England and Wales.

Age 26: the average age at first marriage for men in England and Wales.

Age 60: the age from which you could retire and receive a pension from the Railway Clearing System Superannuation Fund (the first one I could find with those details online).

Age 81: UK life expectancy in 2023. Only around 5% of men and 10% of women lived to this age in the 1890s.

[infamousbrad]

Post hoc ergo propter hoc might be wrong most of the time, but ...

A couple of days ago, for my birthday, I documented my fourth adverse reaction to a popularly-prescribed medication. None of which my doctor had even heard were possible, none of which I was warned about by my pharmacist.

Four times now, I've developed "a whole new disease" 6 to 18 months after starting a new medication. Four times I eventually thought to google my most recent medication and my current symptoms, and found that it was possible that I could be experiencing a (supposedly) "one per thousand" or even "one per ten thousand" person adverse reaction. Four times I asked my doctor to substitute a different medication, and lo and behold, the problem went away. Four fucking times.

And three of those four times, before I did so, I brought up the new problem as part of a physical, in front of a physician who had my whole chart in front of her, then she prescribed a new medication to treat my new symptoms, and I filled that prescription at a pharmacy where the pharmacist was looking right at a screen listing every medication I was taking. They both have degrees in this shit. Why was I the one who had to figure this out?

And also, bullshit that these adverse reactions are that rare. No way in hell I "won" a 1:1000 or 1:10000 lottery four times. And I know why, too: because I'm old, and I'm fat, and that meant that my doctor and my pharmacist "knew" what was causing my "new disease," either my age or my weight.

Skin dying and sloughing off around a recent incision? Yeah, that happens to old people and to fat people, they don't always heal well, just keep applying your antibiotic until it does. (Neomycin allergy: tissue necrosis.)

Mental fog and increasing dementia? Yeah, that happens to old people, nothing can be done. (Wellbutrin: mental fog. Lisinopril: mental fog.)

High blood sugar? Yeah, that happens to fat people, lose weight. (Thiazide diuretic: high blood sugar.)

And all four times, insisting on switching to a different medication solved the problem.

Oh, and that doesn't even count the fact that I was misdiagnosed with "drug seeking behavior" for telling my surgeons that the opiates were having no effect, despite the highly visible clue of my bright-red beard: I inherited the genes that make me totally opiate non-responsive. Count that as a fifth adverse drug reaction, if you like.

(Never mind that I wasn't asking for higher doses, I was telling them to stop prescribing opiates; that was "a clever ruse." And, oh, yeah, one clever nurse practitioner had heard of my condition and recommended I bully the doctor into prescribing Tramadol instead, which doesn't work perfectly, but provides some relief if I don't overuse it.)

So do not believe that an adverse reaction is as rare as the company says it is if and only if it's an adverse reaction that medical professionals are eager to explain away as having nothing to do with the medication, one they're eager to jump to conclusions and blame on age or weight or sex. Because in those cases, you're not measuring the adverse reactions, you're measuring the number of people with those reactions who fought to get them counted.

You have to have noticed by now that we tell people (or at least the white college-educated people) that they have to be "their own health advocates," but how in the hell is that supposed to even work, when we're not the ones with degrees in medicine and years' worth of experience with these conditions?

So, please pass this advice along to anybody who's on any medication for a chronic condition, anything they're going to have to take for years or forever to manage the symptoms of some supposedly incurable condition:

Any time you develop new symptoms, google-search each medication that you are taking, one at a time, followed by the symptom you've just recently developed. If you find any matches, no matter how rare it says they are, ask the doctor who prescribed that earlier medicine to suggest an alternative and try that before you let them add another medication.

Because otherwise you could end up one pill that treats your symptoms, but creates a new illness, so they give you another pill to treat that illness, and it causes a third illness, until you end up on so many pills that you're a walking biochemical disaster site. In fact, any time you meet someone (or if you are someone) who's taking, say, four or more separate medications for symptomatic relief, swap out the oldest medications for alternatives, the ones they've been taking the longest, until you rule out iatrogenic illness. Do not, not, not let them add a fifth, a sixth, whatever medication until you have ruled out adverse reactions. Your very life may depend on it!

And for whatever god damned reason, I wish I knew why, neither your doctor nor your pharmacist will think to recommend this if you don't.

[authormahimistry]

Tempting Rebel Princess

3

Zara

“I want to have sex with you,” I whispered in his ear, his expensive musky cologne wafting in my nose when I leaned back to see his expression. 

My breath got caught in my throat when I looked at him. There was handsome and then there was… him. Hayden. 

Being a Princess, I had met several handsome princes, sheikhs and rulers, but their beauty came from expensive procedures, surgeries and regular care. Not like Hayden, whose rugged features made my thighs clench. His broad nose slightly crooked as if someone had dared to punch him. His stubble peppered over his sharp jaw, his cheekbones high, his wavy sandy-brown hair styled perfectly, matching perfectly with how sophisticated he looked. 

His blue-grey eyes widened, only for a fraction of a second, before they pinned me to the spot. My heartbeat slowed and increased. I felt hot all over my body. His gaze was hot. The heat radiating from his powerful body made me squirm on the chair, a shiver rolling down from my body to the spot between my legs. 

Hayden noticed it. 

He came closer, his handsome face, his deep eyes pinned on me. “Are you playing with me, little Princess?” He purred. The deep rumble in his voice made me clutch the hem of my dress in a fist.

I started stuttering because he made me nervous and excited. “I… I am not playing with you, Hayden. I want to have sex.”

I whispered the last part, looking around to see if my brothers hadn’t noticed my absence, and called the guards and police to search for me everywhere. I hoped that Zayed would take care of them. 

“With a stranger?” 

His voice made me look at him. He was watching me as if I was a piece of a puzzle, assessing me with his intense eyes that seemed playful just a few seconds ago. Even though he was a stranger, I felt I could trust him. Trust him… to have sex with. 

“Yes. I know your name is Hayden and that you like me—”

“I never said I like—”

I raised my chin, “I wasn’t finished.” He stared at me for a few seconds and nodded for me to continue. “You didn’t say it, but the way you look at me says otherwise, Mr Hayden.”

“It’s Knight,” he replied. 

“What?”

“My last name. Hayden Knight. But I prefer Hayden.”

“Hayden Knight…” I said out loud, my cheeks turning warm.

Hayden sighed as if he was frustrated. “Zara, I’ll be honest. I want to fuck you.” I took a sharp breath when he continued, “But you are nineteen. I am a decade older than you. Why not ask someone who is of your age?”

There it was again. The men around me wanting to remind me how little and small I was.

“What’s with that judgmental face?” He asked, raising his brow. 

“I already tried asking someone my age, and I didn’t like it.” I looked away from him, remembering the time in the shed with the stable boy. I hated I asked him, of all people. Shaking my head, I paid the bartender with tip and stood up from the stool. 

“It was a mistake to ask you. Apparently, you are too much of a pussy to talk to a nineteen-year-old. Have a good night, Mr Knight.”

I walked away from him, his musky cologne that reminded me of the ocean, strutting towards the crowd dancing on the stage hoping that I can enjoy a few more minutes in the club before I go back to The Golden Palace. 

What a Birthday Night it was turning out to be. 

Hayden

What a feisty little Princess.

I smirked, enjoying the way Zara had riled up and walked away, leaving a trail of her sweet perfume. I wanted to follow her, hold her dainty wrist, drag her to the nearest alley and fuck her before taking her back to my suite and spend the entire night pleasuring, using and fucking her lithe body until she passes out. 

But I held back. She needed some time to cool off. I was as feisty as her when I was nineteen, if not more, and I use that in training and occasional sex. 

“Can I ask your hotel room number?” The cute bartender asked, her eyes averting to my muscled forearms when I rolled up the sleeves of my light Armani blue shirt. It was one of my favourites. 

I noticed the previous group of men who looked more like a group of frat boys following my Princess with a wolf whistle into the crowd. Looking back at the bartender, I gave her a hefty tip. 

“Sorry, darling. Not today.”

Looking at her wide eyes when she took the tip, I knew she didn’t mind it one bit. She seemed really nice to spend the night with, but I was curious about Zara. When she had entered, I figured it might be her first time at a club. She seemed innocent, naïve, sweet, but the way she talked with me with her flustered face and sharp tongue, I knew she was anything but that. I wanted to know her. Especially her body. 

Was her innocence an act or was she really a poise, sweet girl? 

Only one way to find out. 

I walked to the center of the dancing crowd, unbuttoning the top two buttons of my shirt when the DJ lowered the sound of music to announce that New Year’s countdown began in a few minutes. I eyed the people, ignoring the glances of women in short skirts and dresses to look for a certain vixen. 

It was easy to locate her with a group of frat boys trying to circle her. Clenching my jaw, I was ready to step in, but paused when I noticed the Princess didn’t need my help. She stayed calm and collected, talking to them as their faces fell, some turning angry and calling her names as they turned and left her alone. 

That’s my Princess. 

Staking claim already?

Ignoring my thoughts, I walked to her, watching her body move to the rhythm of the music, the light smile on her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. 

Was she sad? That I rejected her? 

I wasn’t looking forward to spend the night with an innocent girl who just wanted some experience. I was ready to sleep alone in the bed that night, but the way Zara dared me, wanting to rile me up made me curious about her. 

“Hey, pretty Princess,” I crooned in her ear, my breath tickling the shell of her ear as she shivered, turning to face me in the small space. 

Someone pushed her while dancing, her front body flushing against me as I protectively wrapped my arm around her waist, her wide eyes blinking up at me. 

“What are you doing here?” Zara asked, licking her lips and trying to straighten up when people started cheering. 

“Tonight’s your lucky night, Zara.”

“Why’s that?”

I smirked, pressing her body against me and noting the way her pulse increased. I trailed my hand down to her lower back and held her close, whispering in her ear, 

“Because I am going to fuck you, Princess.”

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[nickgerlich]

Cart Attack

An important birthday passed by relatively unnoticed earlier this week. It wasn’t that of a pop culture icon or superstar athlete. It wasn’t the birth of the internet, Amazon, Netflix, or any of the things and companies with which we interact on a regular basis.No, it was the lowly shopping cart, a device we take for granted, but as soon as we go shopping and there are none in the corral for us to use, we immediately panic. They are as important a part of our grocery shopping experience as having a means of payment to make our exit.

It was in 1937 that Sylvan Goldman, an Oklahoman who owned the Humpty Dumpty grocery chain, envisioned a four-wheeled buggy that shoppers could use as they strolled the aisles of his stores. He commissioned his employee, Fred Young, to make that vision a reality. Whether the 4th of June was the precise date of its unveiling is irrelevant. It’s the day we commemorate in the modern era as Shopping Cart Day.

The rest, as they say, is history.

The late-1930s found us trying to crawl out of a horrific economic depression, but for two decades the trend toward self-service shopping had been growing. It was in 1916 that Piggly Wiggly opened what is considered the first self-service supermarket, whereby shoppers selected their merchandise and proceeded to the cash-wrap stand to settle the bill. Prior to that, shoppers gave their shopping list to an employee, who picked the order while you waited.

Having a cart makes it easy for shoppers to add more items than they had on their list, which, of course, is every retailer’s best possible dream sequence. And we all know how some stores (I’m looking at you, Walmart) love to use gigantic carts in hopes that we will fill them up. After all, who can stick to only their shopping list?

I find it interesting, though, that initially shopping carts were not received with open arms. Men thought them to be effeminate, while women thought they resembled a baby carriage. What no one realized initially was a resistance fueled by cultural norms and expectations. Of course, culture is a funny word, defined best as “the things we all know.” There is no right or wrong culture, I suppose; it just is what it is.

That said, culture does evolve, and what was once a norm is now a quaint memory. Remember when women were expected to stay home and have babies? Wait. Didn’t we just hear of a footballer extolling that virtue? I digress.

Obviously, we got over our initial apprehensions and came to embrace the cart—known as a trolley in England—for the convenience it provides. Adding a child seat was brilliant. Offering miniature carts for children to push was Mensa-level intelligent, because they could start learning consumerism at an early age, not to mention pad the bill.

There was still a period through at least the mid-century in which women were assumed to do the majority of the “marketing,” a word used to mean “shopping.” In my family, my Dad, who was an accountant, loved to do the shopping, and Mom let him have at it. He kept track mentally of who had the best prices on everything we used. He perused the weekly adverts in the newspaper, and pounced on deals. There was method to his madness, and our household benefited from him.

More recently, though, especially with an increase in the number of adults living alone, or alone with children, shopping is something that men and women alike do. All cultural stigmas have been erased. God help you if you ever bump into me while making my rounds, because I push that cart around as if it were a Formula-1 race car. I shop with ruthless and reckless abandon.

The advent of the internet also produced a time ripe for metaphor. Where do you put your selected items when you are shopping online? In a cart, of course, even though we all know there really isn’t one. Some sites use “basket” or “bag” as well, each being metaphor more than anything.

Most recently, we have smart carts that are slowly but surely appearing in stores. Amazon, having ditched its “Just Walk Out” technology whereby shoppers could quite literally grab and run without so much as a quick bar code scan, is rolling out carts that allow shoppers to scan and check out from within the buggy.

There’s a dark side to shopping carts, unfortunately, as they have become convenient mechanisms for our nation’s unhoused to contain and transport whatever worldly possessions they may have. Those carts don’t just roll themselves off the property; they have human assistance. That’s a social problem for another discussion.

I must also point out that what goes around comes around, evidenced today by online grocery ordering for curbside pickup or home delivery. We are basically doing what shoppers did before 1916, handing over our list to someone else who picks the order.

Lastly, so accepted are shopping carts today that we have also developed new norms of behavior and social expectations. Recently a woman shopper with children became a viral sensation of sorts, when she started cursing people who called her out for not returning her cart to the parking lot corral. She argued that it was too hard for her to manage it all. I’m not buying, because I had no problem shopping with my kids, returning the cart, and never leaving them unattended. Not. That. Hard. It’s a social contract, and how we act reflects our moral character. YMMV though.

I have to think that Sylvan Goldman and Fred Young are smiling down upon us, content that their invention is still around, has been extended to the digital realm, and is evolving into a cash register on wheels. It’s all about making the sale. I mean more sales. Happy Birthday, Shopping Cart. You have served us well.

Dr “What’s In Your Cart?” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[chicwishblog]

Chicwish Review: Discovering Affordable Luxury in Fashion

In today's fast-paced world, buying things has never been simpler and affordable, especially with the increasing use of online fashion portals. But it can also be challenging for customers to select the best product or service due to the large number of suppliers and the intense competition. This is when product reviews are useful as an accurate way to judge the quality of the product or service particularly when they are available at affordable rates.

Online reviews are crucial since they boost a business's visibility in search engine results pages, sales, and reputation. Reviews are significant since 59% of prospective buyers read two or three reviews before making a decision. A majority of customers these days would like to visit a physical retail location, try an item on, and then buy it. Nonetheless, the rapid rise of internet stores has fundamentally altered how people explore and buy clothing. Many online clothing stores boast that they offer the best products at the most competitive costs. Chicwish is one among them that offer quality clothing in an affordable way.

Since its introduction, Chicwish has made it possible for fashion fans to select from a large selection of clothing at reasonable prices. Without a doubt, Chicwish offers everything you could possibly need, including lingerie, dresses, loungewear, shirts, bottoms, and swimsuits. Chicwish is dedicated to providing exquisite, one-of-a-kind designs while upholding moral principles. The company's goal is to lower the cost of luxury for those who value style and the environment.

The greatness of the store's domain is demonstrated by the large number of Chicwish reviews that can be found online. These testimonials confirm Chicwish's reputation as a pioneer in the online apparel industry, which it works hard to uphold by providing stylish goods at reasonable costs to everyone.

Let's look at some of the most-read Chicwish reviews on the internet at verify brand’s commitment to offer the best possible combination of quality and affordability.

1. “I just have to see how your clothing fits first! This was a gift for a very special friend for her birthday and she is going through treatments next week for cancer. This pink sweater/coat in PINK will be special in more ways than one. I hope to come back for more. Love your advertising and the pieces that I've looked at. LOVE. There's a lot to consider with all the sizing in different countries and want it to fit another person I am buying for. The reviews didn't have enough information in them to tell anything about sizing to be sure. I know you are targeting a younger age group but don't forget us older ladies like to look just as good!” – Stanetta C.

2. “Since discovering Chicwish, my mother and I have made at least 5 orders between the 2 of us, and they have never failed to reply quickly and efficiently. I love their designs and their quality is solid, as long as you know what to expect based on the pictures.” – Aria C.

3. “Finally a skirt that fits great! Not to mention gorgeous. It's beautiful for spring and carries right into the summer for brunch, weddings, etc., or just because. Dress it up or down.” – De B.

4. “I discovered this website last year and I fell in love with its products, but while reading the reviews on the internet, I wasn't very sure how it would turn out. I eventually decided to order one dress and set myself up for no expectations. I ordered before the holidays and during the vacation time, I didn't check the order status at all. The order arrived at my door in about a month (I live in Finland) and I had to pay customs for it, so please take that into account when ordering. But I must say, I was very impressed with the dress, the quality, and the fit. It became very fast my favorite dress and I will definitely be ordering more from Chicwish :)” – Claudia J.

5. “At first I was a little cautious, didn't make good experiences with Asian online shops. But the clothing is not only *really* cute (been looking for something like this for ages), the quality and fabrics are awesome too! Takes a few weeks to deliver, but I think it's worth it.” – Kerstin E.

The Conclusion

Whether you are looking for casual clothes or formal wear, Chicwish is one name you can always trust upon.  Chicwish is a top-rated clothing store where you can explore all types of clothing at affordable rates.

[capableism]

Bar/Bat Mitzvah Parties and Teenage Brains

I am not Jewish. Therefore, I cannot pretend to know how antisemitic  rhetoric and and violence feel.I am not part of that community that has a long history of discrimination and systemic barriers different from those of disability rights or racism that affect me more personally.

Popular media has shown non Jews for decades that Hanukkah and Bar/Bat Mitzvah must be the most  important celebrations for Jewish Americans.

Photo by Samantha Grades from Unsplash

This Americanization of Bar/Bat Mitzvahs has caused there to be a drop off of  Jewish children continuing their education in Jewish traditions and faith after the age of thirteen. 

Many bar mitzvahs in pop culture are viewed through the lens of a Christian protagonist. For example, 

The Wonder Years depicts Kevin and Paul's birthdays as only a day apart. When Paul needs his Bar Mitzvah on Kevin's birthday because a Bar Mitzvah happens on the Saturday after turning thirteen, they argue over whose party is more important. 

Kevin disregards Jewish traditions and is instead focused on money  and extravagance. In reality, this sets up 7th graders with unrealistic  expectations.

While working at Youth Education at Temple Beth Shalom, Amy Bernson  noticed a "sharp drop-off" of students after they had a Bar/Bat Mitzvah. 

"I had  parents tell me that their parents made them stay until their Bar Mitzvah, and  they still remained Jewish…

Other parents would leave messages on my  voicemail explaining that religious school had been the priority for years. 

Still, now  that their daughter has become a Bat Mitzvah, it was time for non-religious  activities—dance or cheerleading—to take priority so Sara wouldn't resent being Jewish. (Bernson 1-2)

The adolescent brain goes through a growth spurt of connections, making teens  distantly different from children. For all the strength and size gained, there are conflicting opportunities for recklessness in adolescence. 

"Adolescence is strongly associated with an increase in risk-taking, sensation-seeking, and  reckless behavior. In most measurable ways, adolescents have developed better reasoning and decision-making skills than children" (Dahl, 3).

Culture and religions have marked ages from thirteen through eighteen as significant in society, often featuring a celebration to mark the start to adulthood. 

Bar/Bat Mitzvah is one of these occasions that can be  tied to adolescents' need for social acceptance, with high expectations leading  to emotional behavior patterns.

 13 the Musical focuses on Evan Goldman. "My name is Evan Goldman, I live at 224 West 92nd Street in the heart of Manhattan, and my life just went to  hell." 

In the opening number of 13, Evan's parents are going through a divorce. Evan is forced to have his Bar Mitzvah in Indiana, away from all his friends. 

Throughout the Musical, he goes to extremes to receive validation from the popular kids in school who he invites to his ceremony, which  he calls his Jewish Super Bowl.

References Berenson, A. (n.d.). Bar Mitzvah phenomenon. History of Jewish Education: From Talmud Torah’s to Learning Communities, 1-6. http://tartak.huc.edu/guide/docs/08/Final%20CTF%20Berenson%20Amy.pdf Dahl, R. E. (2004). Adolescent brain development a period of vulnerabilities and opportunities. Annals New York Academy of Science, 1-22. https://edisciplinas.usp.br/pluginfile.php/5740503/mod_resource/content/1/Dahl_Adolescent_brain_development.pdf

[just-a-wondrous-wanderer]

"Before the coffee gets cold..."

Just three days ago, I turned 25, and out of all the years, this one had me the most excited about my birthday. Perhaps it's because I've read that our frontal lobe is fully developed when we reach the age of 25, and I am genuinely looking forward to finally making sound decisions, as many years were spent being indecisive. HAHA, for real!

This year also marks the first time I celebrated it outdoors. In previous years, my birthday was always during an exam week, and when I graduated, the pandemic hit, forcing us to stay at home. Considering it's my silver year (25-ish, tehee), I was truly ecstatic. I received gifts from my friends and countless birthday greetings.

On the first day of being 25 years old, I made it a goal to finish the book "Before the Coffee Gets Cold," a gift from Danica. At the beginning of the year, I had written down my goals, one of which was to finish four books. I had four books on my list, but I hadn't found the energy to finish them all. However, this book given to me felt like a good omen, assuring me that I could still achieve that goal. Maybe my inner self is healing, haha.

The book was fantastic. Though I got the impression that some might find it boring, if we truly absorb its message, it isn't. In a nutshell, the book is about making the most of the present moment and not letting fear of the future or regrets hold you back, which is very relevant to what I am experiencing right now. The days following my birthday felt okay. It wasn't as lively as I had imagined, as there were moments of vibrancy followed by stillness and solemnity. But the thing about being 25 years old is that if I were to compare it to my younger self, I might have found myself in a pity party, defeated by loneliness. But now, I am fully aware of what triggers me, and I know exactly how not to be defeated.

A thing… Well, a person who once made me happy now turns to making me sad. Out of all the birthday messages I received, the one that my mind always wanders to is nowhere to be found. The one that my mind remembers so much did not remember me. And I don't complain so much; instead, I validate my feelings that I am experiencing. If this had happened before, I would probably be questioning myself, and the growing insecurity would have flourished. But now? There's a shift. I realize that I am capable of so many things to give. I have so much love to give. My intention will always be pure, and there's nothing I have to change just because the other person cannot meet me halfway, thus giving only mixed signals when I am certainly centered.

"If you could go back to the past, who would you want to meet?" My younger self would probably have a lot of options, and the number one thing that she'd do is the thing she thought she could have done. But the version of me now? I won't force myself to change a thing. Maybe I will try to see what would happen if I said or did a different thing. I will also be intrigued about the future, but the difference now is I know I won't weep and blame myself. I will now move on and remind myself of my worth. I know fully now that there are things that are beyond my control, and if something is meant for me, it will never pass me by. I just have to focus on bettering myself, making my goals real, and increasing my faith in God.

I hope that this… this new era of myself will be wiser. I hope I won't get back down by my old mistakes of self-doubt. I hope that I will have the patience to wait for things to happen. I hope I will be the person that I always long to be. I hope my intention will never hurt anybody. I hope that I will still have the love I pour into people. I hope I will always have the courage to stop things that are no longer serving me or the courage to continue when things get tough, or even in the simplest things… even after the coffee gets cold.

Here's to another year!

[fatopiaplus]

Aida Johannes

Greetings. My name is Aida Johannes and this is my tale. I come from South Africa and have lived here all of my life. This is me at two hundred and thirty comfortable pounds at the age of eighteen. I had just graduated from high school and was getting ready to enter the university.

In the summer of my 19th year, I met a friend in the university and she, in turn introduced me to a group of people who called themselves "The Children of Dionysus." It was their goal in life to live well and grow into extreme corpulence. As I love to eat, it was natural for me to join the group. I was one of the smaller members, but I was given an award for the most weight gained within the year, seventy-two pounds. We wore togas and clothing that allowed for comfort. It was a satisfying group of which to belong. I was a weight of three hundred and two pounds.

I have been a member of the Children of Dionysus for two years now and my weight has climbed steadily to four hundred and twenty one pounds. I have risen to the rank of high priestess and it is I who guides the Feasts of the Gods and welcomes new members. Our clan has risen to forty-three members and our ranks are increasing. By day, I am a valued student teacher. By night, I am the priestess Aida. I've noticed a new member and his growth is nothing short of delightful. I would like to see him as my husband.

I have just turned twenty three. We number one hundred and five members. My weight is five hundred and one pounds. With Alain's help, I am attempting to stretch my stomach to house more food. I am disappointed with my lack of steady gain. I should be closer to six hundred pounds than I am. If I do not reach seven hundred pounds by my twenty fifth birthday, then I must step down as high priestess.

I am now twenty-four and my weight is six hundred and nine pounds. Alain has been instrumental at helping me grow larger than ever. With him at my side, I will remain high priestess for a long turn. His own growth is incredible. He is now over six hundred pounds himself and I do believe he will be a mammoth high priest himself. He gives the other men in the clan encouragement.

[twatkcox]

[TWATKRant 19]

This post may not be for everyone. Read at your own risk. Just don't sue me for blasphemy, all right?

It's bad enough that I was born into an extremely dysfunctional family, but putting me through the worst challenges and having to deal with a toxic family is just way too much. My anxiety increased with each passing day, and God doesn't really care much about it, as long as he's enjoying seeing me suffer. Makes me want to raise my middle finger to him and tell him to disappear. If I have those religious items (luckily, I have none), those would end up in the trash. I have no regard for those.

Yes, I officially did become a misotheist, because God keeps putting me in an extremely difficult situation, without any sign of hope or restoration. All he does is put people in the most difficult situations and won't do anything. See, that's the reason why some people hate God.

Yeah, the good things that happened in my life are basically just flukes. In reality, God is nothing but a bully.

So I'm about to turn 33 in a couple of months. I'm not really excited about this since I couldn't enjoy the things I used to. Again, middle finger to God.

Is it really necessary to celebrate birthdays? Well, I don't feel like celebrating it. I don't need your f***ing birthday greetings. Just leave me be.

Adding another number to my age makes me want to curse this life. I'd had enough. I'll just treat my birthday as an ordinary day from this point forward. After all, my life isn't worth celebrating. I'm tired of it already. Besides, I won't probably last long, anyway.

I hate myself, I hate my family, I hate God, I hate the Catholic Church... and of course, I hate my life. Oh, and that sign of the cross thing whenever I passed by a church? It's just for show.

I don't understand how some religious people are more judgemental than those who aren't. I mean, posting bible quotes and anything related to God or that JC doesn't make you a good person after all. You guys are more than hypocrites, in fact, you are all disgusting.

Is it bad enough that I keep suffering like this? To hell with whoever is making my life miserable. You f****ing inconsiderate people should be put on trial for emotional and verbal torture.

I'm proud to be irreligious, and I'll keep it that way. Who needs a (fake) savior like God, anyway?

That said, I'm hoping for the passage of the divorce bill (f***ing Catholic Church always gets in the way despite the separation of church and state), and I support the LGBT+ community. I've probably been excommunicated anyway, so there's no need for me to hold back.

Having my say, I guess I should just take some time off from all of the negativity in life. And no, I don't need your birthday greetings less than two months from now. Just f*** off already.

My life totally sucks. It's just that I was born into the wrong family, still living with an unrepentant old fart who should've died a long time ago, and my brother who doesn't seem to care about my well-being and treated me as a worthless slave. I'm not sure about my sister-in-law, though, but I'll just believe what my mom says about her. Besides, I trust my mom a hundred times more than the ones I'm living with right now. I wish I could've lived independently from them, that should make things a whole lot better.

I should've just killed myself years ago, but I couldn't. Something tells me that wasn't the right time yet. Maybe soon. Maybe not. But I can only say that I absolutely hated my life as much as I hate God or the Catholic Church. Or my f***ing dad who is nothing more than a bad influence on my brother and is a real bother to everyone in the house. If something happens to me, I hope I wouldn't wake up. F*** it all, I'm done with this bull**it!

P.S.: My life is too messed up to come up with such disturbing thoughts. I hope what you've read won't compel you to seek help for me. I'm doing fine, at the very least.

[sukajunin]

28 club

As I approach the cusp of my 28th year, I find myself in a familiar contemplation, attempting to rack my head for the perfect summary of the last 365 days. It’s as if I’m striving to construct an intricate mosaic, each fragment representing the lessons learned and the things experienced. Instead, the process feels more comparable to completing a puzzle where I have lost the guiding picture on the front of the box.

Every year I turn older, I try to do this - at least for the latter stages of my twenties - and I inevitably find myself at a dead end. I’m not entirely sure why I put so much pressure on myself to recount the past year, but perhaps the impending anniversary of my birth beckons me to ponder not just the present, but the past in particular. This inbetween connects me to the years gone by, a time when anything was possible, and life’s tribulations were yet to reveal its ugly truths to me. 

Birthdays always remind me of my fleeting youth, which is why I don’t find myself celebrating it much. Even though 28 is still considered a young age, I can’t help but to observe how life’s subtle changes accumulate. Every year, there is always something that puts my aging body and soul (gosh, I’m so dramatic) into perspective. From the obvious increase of the number of candles on the cake, to the decreasing number of birthday messages (because only the true OGs will remember your special day when you finally turn off the Facebook Birthdays feature). 

This year, I’m reminded that it has been a decade since my high school graduation. I’m struck by the passage of time and I started to believe that, for some reason, life was much better then. But more than that, I recognise that the fondness I feel for that chapter isn’t about yearning for the past - it’s a reminder that life is a fucking complex work of mosaic that requires both joyous colours and colours of hardship. 

Of course, only some small parts of the past were better because it wouldn’t be life if it were not met without its share of struggles. The absence of adulting responsibilities like paying rent and bills was great, but it was nicely balanced by the weight of familial turbulence (nothing like a good divorce in the family to really humble yourself).

Because the truth is, life can only be understood backward; but it must be lived forward.

This decade has been more than a journey - it’s been a metamorphosis, like Hilary Duff’s greatest album of all time. Each year, each step, has contributed to a deeper understanding of who I am and where I’m headed. It’s natural to linger on the past, to find solace in its known contours, but I’ve learned that true growth lies in embracing the unknown future.

Now that I’m closer to 30 than I am to 20 (damn, wow), the rearview mirror reveals a landscape of memories. There’s an allure in nostalgia, like seeing a Discman in a museum, which is crazy to say the least, but it can sometimes paint a rosier picture than reality. Remember: objects in the mirror may appear closer than it seems. Or rather, the past seems brighter than it actually was. 

But amid all this, I realise that the present often demands more attention than I grant it. It’s tempting to compare my trajectory to others’, especially in the age of “transparent” social media, but I’ve come to accept that my journey is uniquely my own. People like to tell me: “Can you believe it’s been a year?” And because I enjoy self-deprecating jokes, I add: “I know, what have I even done with my life?”

I’ve had moments of achievements and even self-discovery in the last few years, but it’s still human of me to question if this is progress and to wonder whether I’ve done enough. I have to remind myself that I’ve written a narrative that’s distinctly mine and what I consider as being “behind” might be different for someone else. Where are we going anyway? Is there a chequered flag with free-flowing champagne waiting for us at the end of this race that we call life? 

In a few days, I’ll gift myself not just another year, but a reminder to be present - to appreciate the beauty in the here and now, as banal as it sounds. No one is keeping track of what I have done or haven’t done, except for me. Even the setbacks have contributed to the bigger image of the mosaic of my life. The measure of my worth isn’t confined to societal markers; it’s a reflection of the person I’ve become, the lessons I’ve learned, and the thoughts and actions I’ve been exposed to.

So, as I pen this chapter and embrace another revolution around the sun, I offer a piece of advice to my younger, more stupid self: Trust the journey, for it is yours and yours alone. Embrace the open road of existence with curiosity and resilience. Happy birthday to you, and may you learn to love the future, and appreciate the present, as much as you do the past. 

[cpblaylock-blog]

TAKING TIME TO REFLECT @ 50.

A half-century, 5 decades, 600 months or however you chose quantify my age. In reality, it’s just a number and I certainly don’t act my age nor do I plan on it anytime soon. I have never been one to go over the top with birthday celebrations (except for my kids) for as long as I can remember. As I mark the 2nd anniversary of my 25th birthday, I have had some time to reflect on a few things I’ve learned, value, and can appreciate at age 50.

To travel is to learn.

Traveling (for work or pleasure) has provided me with an amazing opportunity to learn about people, cultures, communities and traditions of places I have dreamt about visiting my whole life. It has blown open my appreciation for diversity and lit the wick of curiosity in me, which I hope continues to burn for a long time.

Being kind is infectious.

I’m often times told, “you are too nice” most times in reference to my tendency to give people the benefit of the doubt. Sure, I have been burned and made to look like a fool as some people have earned my mistrust. However, those instances are pretty rare and the result / outcome of my intentional kindness serves as fuel for my soul as people light up with love, appreciation and gratitude for even the simplest of acts of kindness. It’s selfish, I know but it has been one of my favorite lessons to teach and demonstrate for my boys throughout their adolescence and into adulthood.

Generosity is an extension of God’s blessing.

Being generous is not exclusive to donating money. Yes, it is nice to donate money and in some cases a huge blessing to those on the receiving end but generosity can also include time spent with someone who needs a friend, efforts to make connections or contacts to help someone on their path to success, offering wisdom and perspective to those who come behind you to help them avoid the pitfalls they may encounter along the way or just doing something nice for someone anonymously. As I get older, I find myself becoming more intentional when these opportunities arise. It’s almost like God whispers in my ear something as simple as “make a phone call, Caroline”, “send them a note” or “offer them some encouragement today”. It may seem weird but I try to listen to that voice in my head, to what it says and it usually results in something that fills my soul with joy and goodness.

Love will always win over hate.

I’ve experienced some pretty difficult things in 50 short years. The seed of bitterness and hate could have been sewn into the fabric of my being a long time ago but thankfully I made the conscious choice to love. It certainly was not easy at times and the devil is quite cunning in his ability to manipulate my mind and thought process to try and stoke the fire of resentment and hate. As I look back, I am grateful for obedience to forgiveness and the grace extended to me in the darkness of times which have led me to a place of peace and happiness.

Life is Good

Many people have asked me recently, “how are you doing?” (Mostly in reference to my divorce last year). Last month, I was again asked this very question by a friend I had not seen in a long time who was genuine in her query. As soon as the last syllable rolled off her tongue, I could feel myself smiling, my heart rate increasing, and a glow emanating from my soul. “I AM HAPPY.” I didn’t have to think about it, contemplate the positive vs the negative, or give thought to things that are usually the source of stress before I responded. My response that followed was unrehearsed and instinctive and it was only after I said it that I truly appreciated what came out of my mouth. “I will be 50 in March. I’m educated, have a great job, have raised two remarkable young men, have a supportive family and I have found the love of my life in a man I have known since I was 8 years old. I could not be happier. Life is good.”

At 50, I still mountain bike, play golf, hike, exercise 3-4 times per week, fly and travel when I can. As my good friend GKC says, “I’m 29 and holding” and there is so much left to do, see and explore. So if you see me in the coming days, weeks and months, know that I expect a hug and that I’m am happy.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Helena

Published: Feb 20, 2022

My name is Helena, and as of this writing I’m a 23-year-old woman who, as a teenager, believed I was transgender. In the years since detransitioning (stopping testosterone treatment and no longer seeing myself as transgender), I’ve become interested in exploring why, in the last decade, nearly every English-speaking country has seen a meteoric rise in adolescents believing they are transgender and pursuing cosmetic medical and surgical interventions. Here, I’d like to go over how and why I came to see myself as transgender, the process of transitioning, and the events leading up to and following my detransition.

The short version of my detransition story for those who want the bare details is that when I was fifteen, I was introduced to gender ideology on Tumblr and began to call myself nonbinary. Over the next few years, I would continue to go deeper and deeper down the trans identity rabbit hole, and by the time I was eighteen, I saw myself as a “trans man”, otherwise known as “FtM”. Shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I made an appointment at a Planned Parenthood to begin a testosterone regimen. At my first appointment, I was prescribed testosterone, and I would remain on this regimen for a year and a half. It had an extremely negative effect on my mental health, and I finally admitted what a disaster it had been when I was 19, sometime around February or March 2018. When the disillusionment fully set in, I stopped the testosterone treatment and began the process of getting my life back on track. It has not been easy, and the whole experience seriously derailed my life in ways I could never have foreseen when I was that fifteen-year-old kid playing with pronouns on Tumblr.

But what leads a girl with no history of discomfort with stereotypical “girl” toys and clothes, or even the slightest desire to be a boy in childhood, to want to be a “man” through hormonal injections as she approached adulthood? In a vacuum, such a profound confusion leading to such drastic measures sounds like it should be rare and a sign of some sort of severe mental disturbance. Was I a fluke? Was I some kind of idiot who mistakenly believed I was trans because I’m crazy or just downright irresponsible?

The truth is that there has been an extreme rise in adolescents, especially girls, believing they are transgender. UK NHS referral data shows a 4000% increase in pediatric gender service referrals (not a typo). So-called “gender dysphoria”, which was once a very rare diagnosis that described mostly prepubescent boys and adult men, is now most commonly diagnosed in teenage girls. Activists will argue that these explosive numbers are a result of increased societal acceptance, and that at long last trans people are coming out of hiding and living as their authentic selves. If this were true, one might expect to see comparable rates of transgender identity across all age groups and between both sexes, but its disproportionately adolescent females feeling that warm and fuzzy inclusive acceptance. Considering “acceptance” now implies supraphysiological doses of cross sex hormones and having healthy body organs surgically rearranged, it’s worth a deeper look into what kinds of factors are driving this population clamoring to go under the knife.

[ Continued on Substack... ]

This is a very long, very compelling, very personal essay by a woman who got caught up in gender ideology, but thankfully realized she made a mistake before doing any irreversible damage. It’s far too long to post here - a good 20-30 minute read - but well spending the time on.

I wanted to pull out a part of it that stuck with me.

How could I have been so stupid?

I couldn’t bring myself to tell Jamie what I was truly thinking. I knew that she would probably freak out and try to make me rationalize away these feelings, but it was too late for that now. The dam had broken. Instead, I silently berated myself and catastrophized internally until I mustered the courage to tell my very pro-LGBT therapist: being trans had been a massive mistake.

I remember her response clear as day: “But you always tell me about your terrible dysphoria!”

“I know, but I… I don’t think that’s what it is” I replied, and started to tell her my still developing thoughts on how I had developed the “dysphoria” after finding out about gender identities online as a teenager, when I had been struggling with so many other emotional issues for a long time, and that in retrospect I must have gotten carried away, thinking that being trans was the explanation and solution for all of my problems. She wasn’t really hearing me, and questioned the things I said from the angle of “you’re trying to talk yourself out of being trans because transphobia is making you hate yourself.” Ironic that nobody ever questioned my desire to be trans that way.

This was the first moment I started realizing something was off about the trans movement, and institutions in general. I had experienced this massive realization, and it was agonizing but at least it was finally something real, and here I was being met with all these rationalizations for why this of all things was a psychological symptom. Not the effects of the testosterone, not my belief that all of my problems would be solved by transitioning, not my aversion to being female, but the fact that I now knew transitioning had been a mistake.

I left this session feeling frustrated, and I don’t think I ever went back. Sitting in the car outside the building, I told Jamie that I was regretting my transition and questioning my trans identity in general, and predictably she was extremely upset. She reacted in anger, saying I must be confused and, like my therapist, accusing me of having these thoughts due to some underlying psychological issue, like only an insane person would ever regret being trans.

She was not being uniquely harsh here, this is a common occurrence in the trans community. In one direction, there’s a desire to encourage gender questioning in others who have not questioned their gender yet (some people call this “cracking an egg”). In the other direction, there is an intense fear of others changing their minds about being trans or wanting to transition. Once someone is questioning their gender, there’s a push to encourage them to take steps towards social and medical transition, which, once initiated, makes changing one’s mind more complicated and going back to living as they did before more difficult. I personally have gotten very angry and desperate when friends in the past would voice doubts about identifying as transgender, and I have also encouraged gender questioning and trans identity in friends of mine who did not yet identify as trans. I regret this very much now, as some of these friends have gone on to medically transition, and I no longer believe this was remotely in their best interest. But in the trans community, people cope with the inherent doubts and cognitive dissonance of pretending to be someone they are not by encouraging others to do the same. This is also why so many adult trans people advocate for child transition. If an innocent, pure child can “be trans”, that validates their identity and belief system too. An enormous amount of mental energy is devoted to the crowdsourcing of validation and firefighting of anything that triggers internal conflict, which is always nagging in the back of the mind.

When a person is at peace with themselves and expressing themselves naturally, they don’t desperately micromanage everything and everyone around them.

Consider someone who doesn’t hold a belief in a god, becomes a Xian, then deconverts. The Xians from the church they left might accuse this person of “having these thoughts due to some underlying psychological issue” and never spot the hypocrisy.

Apparently it’s relevant only when disparaging someone leaving the group, but is never a consideration when welcoming someone into it.

If we question the ethics when Xians do this, why other than reasons of activism, wouldn’t we do the same here?