You’ll Be Loved If
I don’t believe in ghosts so why the fuck am I being haunted?
There are three words spoken at the beginning of every parent's life that are transcendent, metamorphic and spine chilling. If you’re a parent, whether at the ultrasound, at your (better not start a fucking forrest fire) gender reveal party or if you have the patience of Job and wait 40 weeks, once uttered, you’re never be the same again.
*Elevator music plays*
…………………………………………………………………….
Oh right, what are those three words? One of my kids interrupted my train of thought, probably or I had to doom scroll. Anyways, where were we? Oh right, right here:
“IT’S A BOY!!!”
Or
“IT’S A GIRL!!!”
Seven or eight fucking letters and lives are fucking altered for-fucking-ever. (And for what, four lame ass pumps from three inches? Jesus Christ. This game is rigged.)
Allow me to set the scene. A gentle fog transcends while Kenny G flows through the airwaves. Mystical, as time ceases to exist, with eyes locked, the jovial parents begin to shed tears. “I love you, no I love you, no I love YOU” is all the disgustingly happy soon to be parents can muster up. (Meanwhile the ultrasound tech is about to puke from the oversharing of pda.)
It is a shocking disappointment, no doubt, that I’m not about to tell you that “ And scene” are not the final words of this situation but a disappointment I have always been.
Here’s the thing, I’m not from this lovey dovey, goo goo gaga, cupid arrowhead in the ass world. I’m from cult world and in cult world, if you ain’t threesome fuckin’ to gain 30-60 pounds of fetus, placenta, amniotic fluid (and other elements that many men are ignorant too) you’re cultin’ wrong. (Come on now, Jesus is a creep and was in the bedroom with us at all times, hence, threesome.)
In cult world, those three transcendent, metaphoric and spine chilling ( HEAVY ) on the latter are:
“ MAN SPREAD!!!”
or
“ KEEP THOSE LEGS CLOSED!!!”
“BREANNA!!!!” Yes, that’s my name, what’s the problem? Do you find yourself disgusted? Horrified? In utter DISBELIEF?! I know you’re telling yourself that there is just no fucking way this is the gospel truth.
I want you to do something for me? Please? (with puppy eyes.) Blink twice and read it again and then, when you’re ready, take a deep breath and take my hand as I take you on a journey to my past.
Thirty-two years ago within four walls of a scientific construct, “KEEP YOUR LEGS CLOSED” recoiled through my 9.1lbs body and set my controlled and predestined fate in stone.
My soul was fucking sold. I was owned and I owed. Controlled with their hands, I was a ‘strings attached’ puppet.
The puppet training began before the vitamin K drops soaked into my amniotic sack gunked eyeballs.
The training was incessant and if not started at birth, you’d be an old spinster at the geriatric age of twenty-one. (Dentures and all.)
As a ‘KEEP YOUR LEGS CLOSED’ you’ll be loved if you:
identify as property. (“He (dad, husband) owns her”)
are a sex doll. ( A boy’s construction site sex tactics were pleasurable. 🙄)
raise your husband. (mmm man babies, yummy!)
stay home. (if she leaves the house, she just might figure out you’re a piece of fucking shit and leave.)
hate yourself. ( please, one has to remain humble)
turn your vagina into a cum bucket. (hand jobs, and oral, too much sperm loss. It could lead to a child of god spinning down the drain, or throat.)
are baby making machine. (abortion? you selfish bitch! It’s an honor to carry a fetus of god in your body, it’s your one and only fucking purpose in life. oh, fyi, adoption is forbidden.)
dress as Laura Ingalls. (dammit, your kneecaps will cause men to cheat.)
remain seen and not heard. (as a vagina owner, your opinion doesn’t matter)
smile constantly (gosh, how blessed you are to have a husband who works hard everyday. As you are his “stress release” it is your fucking responsibility to make sure it doesn’t get worse.) Not me, a 23 yr old, overstimulated mom due to 3 kids under two. Oops, see me now, I’m smiling. 🖕🏻 (cheeeeeese)
endure migraines. (uncut Rapunzel hair signified submission.)
wear an apron. (don’t let him lift a finger, your ‘child of god’ status will be revoked.
are cis, white & heterosexual. (whitewashing & denying human rights was done with great pleasure.)
With significant optimism, after being kicked out of my OG cult world, a construct where women’s rights are invisible and the members are incredulous about 2SLGBTQIA rights, I placed myself on a path of saying “yes' ' in the new world. I said yes to everything. And through this satanic piece of voodoo technology called the internet, I learned that I, a woman in this new world, had something called choice, leaving me shaking after experiencing a full body orgasm.
Abortion! Adoption! Pants! Sex for pleasure! Make-up! Body autonomy! Therapy! Malibu (rum)! Piercings. Tattoos. My opinion is heard?!? What do you mean I can have a career??? But there was one freedom (god, I hate this word, thank-you very much you fucking convoy truckers) that was an utter mind fuck; unconditional love.
What in the ever loving fuck is “unconditional love?” You’re telling me that I don’t have to be in a constant state of ‘mopping the floor fetus carrier’ to be loved? What do you mean that you want to help me without wanting anything back? Gender and sexuality are a spectrum?? Excuse me, pardon me, but what the hell do you mean that my children have rights??
I threw the list of “you’ll be loved if” to the wind and wrote my own.
“YOU’RE LOVED.” Periodt.
As parents, we have a responsibility to our children. The responsibility to support them, as they are and who they are. As parents, as much as those three words change our lives at the beginning of our parenting journey, it is our responsibility to be sure our children know that if they are born into the wrong body, we will support them through the process to be in the right one. It is our responsibility that they know that Love is Love.
It is our responsibility to show them unconditional love. It is our responsibility to provide them with a safe space to be who they are. They aren’t our puppets to further our agendas. As parents, you don’t have the right to control who they are. Children are not our property. We don’t own them and they most definitely do NOT fucking owe us.
The fact is this, some children don’t have a safe space. The fucking fact is that some children’s lives are at risk when being their authentic selves in the one place they should be safe. A mothers or fathers arms aren’t always comforting. Sometimes, it’s there where the most harm is done. Sometimes, it’s the arms of a teacher where a child is seen and accepted, where they are safe.
……. Now, I warmly welcome you (it’s +51F in February, cough cough, climate change) to the Canadian province of Alberta! (Oh, and Trump-ville too.) The land where Oil & Gas flows and our leader blushes, kicks her feet and giggles in the glow of American alt right loser Tucker Carlson.
Where, on January 31, 2024 (my fucking birthday) this “leader” made the human rights of our trans children a political issue. Where the identities of “man-spread’ or “keep those legs closed” are closing in and fast.
Before you know it, “you’ll be loved if’ will be the reality for all Alberta children and women.
We will be fighting back. That’s a guarantee!
However, if you find yourself needing any “you’ll be loved if” training … you know who is a pro. 😉
The pace of this piece, the brackets, the side tangents all gave me a headache! Oof , we don’t have to write the way you speak. And if you speak like this, you probably have a headache too. Edit is your friend.