Diagnosis: Patriarchy

Preface:

I took this photo of myself the morning after the 2016 election and sent it to a group of friends with the caption, “I don’t know where to exist in my body today.” I still don’t exactly know what I meant. I was just…uncomfortable, dismissed. There was no refuge, no safe space to turn inside my own physicality.

When I look back at this photo now, what stands out to me is how wacky my outfit was. I’m not usually a fashion icon or anything, or even particularly concerned with matching, but I do have a style, and this is not it. It wasn’t until recently that I recognized that each of the items I was wearing had been a gift from another woman in my life. It was as if I knew I needed to be draped in their existence to make it through that day.

As we moved through the “presidency,” my physical health started to get complicated. Symptoms moved from body part to body part. Some days I had a migraine, other days a stomach ache or knee pain. Often, I had pelvic pain.

My pain, like me, did not know where to exist, how to be seen, how to be safe. In the evenings, I would lie on the couch wailing to my husband in jest, “Kyle! I’ve got it bad! I’ve got a real bad case of the patriarchy!”

Turns out, I was kind of…right.