Last week, Elliot Page, the actor known for Juno and Inception, came out as a trans male. At first what I saw was positive. People sharing his Instagram post and articles, voicing their love and support, and generally showering him with respect and acceptance.

And then I read the comments.

Everything from flat-out hate and bigotry, to the more insidious “I disagree with the lifestyle, but ….” comments. Judgment, unkindness, and disrespect for this person who just …. what? Dared to live his life? Had the audacity to be true to himself? Allowed himself to be happy? What exactly did he do to earn or deserve your ire?

To those who are in the camp of, “She was born a female, so she’s a female, period:” you are not only being close-minded, you are scientifically incorrect. Sex and gender are two different things. Yes, you are born with a certain set of sex organs, but gender is a separate and complicated construct, one that does not always align with the organs assigned at birth.

To those who use religion as their shield: “God made male and female! He doesn’t make mistakes!” I would argue that if He doesn’t make mistakes, then Elliot Page and all of the other 1.4 million Americans who identify as transgender are not mistakes either. Also, if you feel it’s somehow wrong to identify as anything other than cisgender, then don’t. No one’s forcing you to do anything.

To those who are threatened or disgusted or otherwise freaked out because it is “different”: Life is full of people and concepts and identities that we may not understand. I can’t honestly say that I completely understand being transgender myself. I am not transgender, and I don’t know anyone in my close circle who’s transgender either. But I do know it’s not something to fear. It’s not something to be threatened by.

Because here’s the thing. Elliot Page coming out as transgender is not about you. It’s not about me. It’s about him, and his own life, and his own identity. Full stop. And you don’t have to agree with someone, or understand someone, or even relate to someone in order to respect them. In order to show them kindness, in order to show them compassion. His words and his actions are not hurting you, in fact are not affecting you at all. It’s not hard to just let other people be happy.

The way I see it, when we’re faced with news like this, we’re given two main options: To respond with distrust, bigotry, and fear; or respond with love, acceptance, and compassion. Keep in mind too that the issue at hand isn’t dealing with someone who’s murdered someone or robbed a homeless person. It’s not complicated. This is simply a fellow human, living his fellow human existence, and telling the world, “Hey, this is who I am.”

You don’t have to agree to be kind. You don’t have to understand to be compassionate.

When Elliot Page told the world he was transgender, he wasn’t asking for your approval. He was simply being Who He Is. It doesn’t matter if you don’t agree. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s wrong. It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand. It really, truly doesn’t. People are allowed to live their lives. All people. Famous people, your neighbor, your uncle, the guy that fixes your car or cuts your hair or does your taxes. If they’re not somehow hurting you (and they’re not) it’s their literal right as human beings to live their lives on their own terms.

One of the most beautiful things we’ve been given in this life is choices. For Elliot page, and other transgender individuals, he gets to choose how and when and for what reason he decides to tell the world that he’s a man.

We get to choose how we respond.

I’ve deactivated my Facebook account three separate times in the past couple of weeks, mainly because I got my feelings hurt. (If you’re new here, my feelings are hurt very easily. Let’s just make peace with it.)

In the bigger picture though, I did it because we’ve collectively forgotten how to be nice.

And I get it. I do. At the time of this writing, nearly 90,000 people have died. We’ve lost loved ones. People are worn down, and scared, and anxious, and staring at a whole hell of a lot of unknowns. People are losing jobs, businesses are going bankrupt, people are going hungry, our mental health is suffering. There are protests. There is violence. There are inequities.

We’re scared. We’re scared. We’re scared and we’re pissed off, a combination that is…. volatile, at best.

A few days ago, I posted a link to an incident at a Target in Van Nuys, California. There was an altercation over the requirement to wear a face mask, and an employee’s arm was broken. I guess the (positive?) thing is that the result was a broken arm, not a death like the case in Flint, Michigan. The truly terrifying thing, which I said in my post, is that I’m no longer surprised to see these headlines.

To say that tensions are high is a gross understatement.

In the course of ensuing conversation, I used the phrase, “lost their minds,” and I was promptly reprimanded. (Paraphased): You’re everything that’s wrong with the world today. We can disagree without name calling. We can be civil adults. What makes you think you’re better than everyone else?

Pot? I’m the kettle. You’re black.

Now, could I have used a softer phrase? Sure. Could he have been kinder in his response? You bet. But we’re skipping kindness in favor of being right, and it’s made me so, so tired. So tired that I immediately deleted his comment, deleted my post, and deactivated Facebook.

We’ve forgotten how to be kind.

And to be fair, there is a lot at stake here. Disagreements aren’t just regular disagreements anymore. These disagreements are quite literally about life and death. People have drawn clear lines in the sand, and whether the stance is a political one, a scientific one, a moral one, or just a gut-feeling one, we are all holding on for dear life.

But does anyone truly, truly believe that it’ll help someone else see our perspective if we’re beating them over the head with it? Because that’s really not how it works.

I am scared to click publish on this one, probably more scared than I’ve been on any post before. Both because of the, “did I say what I meant to say, and is it going to be completely misconstrued” fears, and because it is such a fragile, volatile time right now. More fragile and volatile than anything I’ve ever experienced in my 46 years on this planet.

But I’m going to publish anyway. And I’m going to hope against all hope that when we share/post/comment about our feelings about what’s going on (and to be clear, I do think we should be talking about it. It’s important.) that we can all – myself included – do so with a little more kindness.

*Warning: What follows is nothing more than a stream-of-consciousness, vomiting of words. It has no point other than to get some thoughts out of my head and onto the computer.*

Seventeen days ago (it was just 17 days!), I wrote about the Coronavirus. Don’t panic, I said. Let’s take a deep breath, I said. Let’s keep it in perspective, I said. While those things might very well still be valid, we are living in a very different world now, JUST OVER TWO WEEKS LATER.

Cases are rising. Rapidly. Schools are closed. Bars and restaurants are closed. Gyms are closed. Libraries are closed. Many retail establishments are closed. Events are cancelled. More and more states are implementing a state-wide “stay in place” order. People are being urged to cancel play dates, gatherings with friends, trips to the park, and to otherwise practice “social distancing.” We are living in a different world. Whether you agree with the restrictions or not, life is different now, and while this time will eventually end, none of us are coming out of it unchanged.

I’ll be honest. I’m about as big an introvert as they come, and at first the idea of self-imposed isolation sounded lovely. I get to stay home ALL THE TIME! I don’t have to see people! I can wear pajamas all day!

That elation was, however, short-lived.

This is surreal. I feel suspended in this state somewhere between reality and I-don’t-know-what. I’m scattered. I’m anxious. I’m depressed. (Note to those who read my Rock Bottom post: I’m okay. I’m safe. I’m just….. this is just unlike anything I’ve ever lived through before.)

I’m finding myself sort of wandering through my house, not knowing what to do with myself. I’m working my way through my current – and second to last! – college class, but I’m lucky if I can concentrate for 10 minutes at a time. I have books to read and projects to do, but for real, who can concentrate right now?? Even television, one of my favorite things, requires a certain level of attentiveness that I just don’t possess at the present time.

Mike is now working from home, which is weird in and of itself. It was one of the things that made this finally click into “real” for me. He was sent home under the edict of working from home “until further notice.” Not for two weeks, not for six weeks, just… indefinitely.

Paxton (19 at the time of this writing) is still working outside the house (which gives me its own sense of panic), because his job is considered essential. Tegan (12), our sole extrovert, is going absolutely stir crazy, and the other two boys seem to be handling all of this okay.

But none of this feels real. I feel like I can’t state that enough.

I think the hardest part, for me, is just the high level of uncertainty. There is just so much UNCERTAINTY. We, as a people, tend to like to be in control, and this is very much the exact opposite of being in control. We don’t know how long we’ll be isolated. We don’t know when the economy is going to get back to normal. We don’t know if we – or our loved ones – are going to get sick. We don’t know if the stores are going to be stocked. Some of us don’t know where our next paycheck is coming from. Some of us don’t know where our next meal is coming from.

I’m worried about my loved ones who are high-risk.

I’m worried about what this is going to mean for the economy.

I’m worried about the folks for whom this is a hardship, financial or otherwise.

I’m worried about the mental health of, well, everyone.

I’m just… worried.

And I get it. Some people say, “It’s not like there’s anything you can do about it. Why worry?” Yes. Sure. But that doesn’t change the uncertainty. That doesn’t change the anxiety. That doesn’t change the very real feelings of being out-of-control.

And so, I’m going to do my best to do the things I can control. It might sound silly, but today I put on jeans instead of staying in pajamas because I thought it might help somehow (the jury is still out). I’m going to keep writing, and journaling, and working on my class, and hopefully – if my attention span allows – being creative. I’m going to keep my nails painted. I’m going to keep listening to good music. I’m going to talk with my kids, and eat good dinners, and drink plenty of water. I’m going to take all my meds on time, and I’m going to try to make sure I get enough sleep. I’m going to keep checking on Everett’s garden, and playing with Tegan’s hedgehog, and trying to read good books. I’m going to make self-care a priority and an imperative.

And still, I’ll worry.

I just recently learned that Drag Queen Story Hour is a thing. It’s exactly what it sounds like: people dressed in drag reading stories to children at libraries, bookstores, and schools. I haven’t really thought about it long enough to have an opinion about it (and my kids are all well past story time hour age). But it did make me think of Provincetown.

If you’re not aware, Provincetown – also dubbed P-Town – is a tourist town on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. It’s known for, well, tourists, as well as its high population of local and visiting LGBTQ folks. We actually ran into our favorite bank teller there once, back when we still did our banking inside an actual bank. He was a very sweet gay man named Eric, and he was there with a friend or partner. We said a mutually surprised and friendly hello (doesn’t it feel weird when you run into people outside of your normal environment of interaction??) and all went on our merry way.

Anyway, growing up on the east coast, we went to Cape Cod fairly often, and always spent at least one evening strolling around Provincetown. It was the best place to go for salt water taffy, and it was fun perusing all the different shops selling everything you didn’t know you always needed.

One year, we were staying there with a bunch of extended family, and as we were about to embark on our customary trip down to P Town, the question was asked, “What are you going to tell the kids??” Meaning, what were we going to tell the kids about all the LGBTQ people, and/or people in drag that we were going to see.

First, let me say that parents tend to way over-complicate this question. It’s a very easy thing to say, “Those two men are holding hands because they love each other, just like your dad and I love each other.” Done and done.

Two, it’s not like people are having sex in the street. Fun fact: once when we were at a family friendly Rattlers football game, a young (heterosexual) couple directly in front of us was canoodling so hard I was about to offer them a condom. I’ve never seen anything remotely as overt at Provincetown.

But what about the people in drag?? It’s definitely true that there are a lot of people dressed in drag, especially in the evening. I remember they would stand outside their venue, greeting people, handing out fliers, and otherwise mingling with all the salt-water-taffy shoppers. A child would likely, and understandably, ask questions about that. They stand out. They want to stand out. But that’s also an easy question to answer: “Some men like to dress up in fancy dresses and wear makeup.” Full stop.

But it’s sexual! It’s a fetish! Maybe, maybe not. But that’s not something children need to be aware of. People fetishize (I’m being told that’s not a word. I’m keeping it anyway) a lot of things. Children don’t need to be aware of that either.

It’s only a big deal if we make it a big deal.

Children don’t care, nor need to know, about the ins and outs (no pun intended) of what adults may choose to do behind closed doors. Simply SEEING a gay couple, or a transgender person, or an individual dressed in drag, is not going to harm them. If we’re uncomfortable with it, that’s an “us” problem, not a “them” problem. No one is trying to recruit them. No one is trying to turn them gay.

I’m far more concerned about my children witnessing unkindness, or violence, or prejudice.

I’m not afraid of a man in high heels and a wig, and I don’t want my children to be, either.

Earlier this week, Always brand sanitary napkins announced that they would be removing a female symbol from their packaging, in an effort to be more inclusive of its transgender and non-binary customers.

The internet then proceeded to lose its mind.

“This has gotten ridiculous!

“The height of stupidity!”

“Men cannot and do not menstruate!”

This little symbol, which many people had probably never even noticed, suddenly became the harbinger of everything that was good and true in the world. Removing it would be tantamount to scourging the rights of menstruating women everywhere.

Let’s all take a collective step back, and look at what’s happening here.

Most – not all – women menstruate. We know this. Nothing is going to change it. If you’re a women who somehow feels threatened or minimized by Always’ decision, there’s no need. No one is denying your existence. No one is denying that you menstruate.

Some – not all – transgender men and non-binary individuals also menstruate.

“But! But! If they have a uterus they’re not a man!” I know. I hear your objections, loud and clear.

But here’s the thing, and it’s important: Intersex people exist. Non-binary people exist. Transgender people exist. It might make you uncomfortable. It might even make you angry. Heck, I’m fully prepared at the anger directed at me for even writing these words. But your discomfort, your anger, your disbelief does not change facts. And the fact is, those living outside of typical gender constructs are no different than you and I. They are human beings, just trying to get through the day like anyone else. Living, breathing, loving, learning…. and yes, dealing with all the messy and inconvenient aspects of humanness, which sometimes includes such things as having a period.

Your moral outrage at Always’ decision to help them feel more included sends a very real, very unsettling message. This already marginalized segment of society is literally being told :

You don’t matter.

You don’t belong.

You don’t exist.

If omitting a tiny symbol can’t hurt you (and it can’t), why on earth would its removal be anything but a positive step if it helped others feel more included? What harm is there in being more welcoming? What is the cost of affirming someone else’s existence?

It literally costs you nothing.

You may not agree with gender fluidity, you may not even believe it exists. But there are very real people with very real feelings who would beg to differ. Those people are being hurt, and the rest of us have a choice: We can add to the hurt, or we can extend a hand. We can ostracize, or we can welcome. We can shun, or we can include.

And listen, I am far from the person I want to be, and God knows I could use help in the loving people department. But this one seems like a no-brainer to me. If my actions, if my words, if my behavior can make someone feel more worthy, more accepted, more seen, then I’m going to do my best to make it happen.

We pay a price for outrage and anger. Kindness is free.

The other day, I was doing an exercise DVD. I prefer to get my exercise by walking or hiking outside, but that’s ill-advised when it’s 114 degrees out. So anyway, I’d dusted off this old HiiT workout I had, and started noticing something that bugged me. Our fearless leader in spandex kept talking about “zapping” problem areas. Let’s get rid of that muffin top, the saddle bags, the fat in front for your arm pits. It suddenly occurred to me to wonder, “Wait. Who am I zapping them for?” I’ll get back to that.

I’ve gained weight recently. A lot of it in fact. Mostly a side effect of a medication (Important note: you never know why someone’s gained or lost weight), I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still getting comfortable in my new skin.

I wasn’t always overweight. At various times in my adult life I’ve been underweight, an “ideal weight”, and carrying a few extra pounds. Here’s a fun fact: people can be just as cruel to those who are underweight as they are to those who are overweight. Because for some god-forsaken reason, people at large think they get to have an opinion on what our bodies look like. Spoiler alert: they don’t.

It’s summertime, so my news feed is inundated with ads for this program or that workout, this potion or that diet. Get the six-pack! Get bikini ready! Get sexy arms! Get a lifted butt! It’s like we collectively can’t handle fat, can’t handle variations in the ideal body type. Whoever decides what’s ideal, anyway?

We’re told things like, “no pain, no gain,” or “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” (What kind of a messed up message is this?) We’re told to work out more and diet harder so our clothes fit nicer, so we feel sexier, so we look better. Why does skinnier = better? Why are we so afraid of variations in body size? People are meant to be different sizes.

Believe it or not, my lack of a six-pack does not affect you. Nor does it mean I’m unhealthy, nor does it mean I don’t try hard enough.

In the past, I have starved myself – STARVED myself – into a size two. According to the world, I was “healthy”. But I’d never been more unhealthy. I’d never hated my body more. And make no mistake, for me to lose weight now, at a size 12, it requires the same thing: starvation. Starvation and obsessive exercise. For the time being at least, this is the size my body wants to be. Whether society says it’s okay or not, this is me.

But there has to be something in the middle right? Something between starving yourself, and leading a sedentary, unhealthy lifestyle? YES! Yes, there is. One can remain active without feeling the need for the six pack, one can eat a variety of nutrient dense foods without feeling the need to berate themselves for eating a bowl of ice cream. One can feel good about themselves without feeling the need to force themselves into a size 2.

I see a very odd phenomenon within diet and fitness groups when it comes to food. The all-out obsession with the points and the calories and the fat. People patting themselves on the back for resisting the cookie or the donut or the piece of pizza. I can’t help but wonder what the end game is. Do they think they’ll get extra points at the end of their life for turning down that piece of birthday cake? Orthorexia is real (look it up).

You may call it weak, but I call it living a happy life. If I want a cookie, I’ll eat a damn cookie. Cookies are not “bad.” Hate and war are bad. A cookie is just a cookie.

I think we’ve collectively lost sight of what we’re doing here. Collectively lost sight of the fact that bodies (healthy bodies, at that!) come in all shapes and sizes, and that it’s not our place to comment on them, ever. That eating and exercising are personal, and that decisions about such can only be made by the owner of said body. That the way someone carries herself or dresses herself is up to her, not up to society at large. That if we find fault in someone else’s body, that is an US problem, not a them problem.

We have to stop with the assumptions and the snap judgments. We have to stop with the mindset of having to “fix” everyone.

An overweight person can still run a marathon. An overweight person can still climb to the top of that mountain. An overweight person can still be strong and sexy and beautiful, and shame on us for creating a culture where that very fact is accepted as false.

Let’s change the narrative. Let’s focus on beauty at all sizes. Let’s focus on eating foods and including movement that makes us feel good. Let’s focus on health for health’s sake, not for fitting into a certain size or achieving a certain aesthetic.

Let’s remember that we are not our bodies. We are souls. Our bodies just give those souls somewhere to hang out. And that’s a beautiful thing, whether you’re a size 2 or a size 20.