The Shadow

I promised you I would do the work.
I promised you that I would look deep inside the darkest, most depraved parts of my cavernous soul to shine the brightest of lights on how the circumstances of my life have created my black, degenerate shadow self.
I promised you that I would do this so that you wouldn’t leave me.

I try to ignore my shadow self. I literally banish my dark side into non-existence so I can pretend that she doesn’t exist. But here she remains…in all her dark glory…I tentatively search for her, walking into a dark cave whose depths are so deep and moist they have never seen the light of day. The lantern I have brought with me is not enough to shed light more than two or three feet in front of me.


I am shaking, terrified, I do not want to look her in the face…to do so gives her power.

She is a ferociously wounded animal who snarls with pincer like teeth that she files into distinctly sharp points in order to inflict maximum damage. She is fucking broken. Black with rotting decayed flesh and bloody matted fur. Her stench burns your nostrils if you get too close to her. Just under the surface of her skin the maggots roll and undulate in her infested wounds. She doesn’t want anyone to see her because she is ashamed of who she has become and whom she represents. But she remains there, lurking below the surface, huddled in the back of her barbed wire cage that she uses to cut her flesh to release the pain.

She lies on her side, legs drawn up to her chest, rocking back and forth torn between wanting absolution and wanting to eat everyone alive.

She is waiting for you to poke her and provoke her, inevitably they always do.

She is depraved. Out of her mind insane. Totally irrational and deeply manipulative. She knows exactly where to stab, which exact pressure point to use to render you completely paranoid and totally useless.

She is half human, half animal, entirely primal.

She is everything she hates about her abusers. She is the abuser. She wants you to be like them so she can say to herself, “I told you so. You are still as useless, unlovable, and pathetic as you always thought you were.” She knows that she is nothing more than a dirty, discarded animal that is meant to be beaten to the point of uselessness and unrecognizable to others. Raped and left destroyed on the bed like a rag doll riddled with bed bugs.

I can always feel her coming.

It feels like a rock smashes into the pit of my stomach, my hands get hot, I feel my face turn to stone.

My eyes become dead, they squint, my lips purse, I look your body up and down to see where the most tender spot lies so that I can cut your heart out with my words. I look into your eyes and I know you know she is there, you can see her, the demon inside of me. For a moment you think to run, but you never do.

I look at you on purpose to see if you will save me from her or if she can make your warrior stand up and attack so she can stand firm in the reality that has always been hers, you think she is shit and you have no problem telling her so. You always respond as expected of course, she knows exactly what to say to make your hackles rise. In her most venomous voice she hisses taunting barbs to make you come towards her. Beating her with your anger.

Recently you have not reacted as she expected so she took it one step further.

One step too far it seems, she crossed your proverbial line.

What is it about you that terrifies her so deeply? Is it that you refuse to beat and rape? Is it that she knows you are the bringer of the light and joy and so she is rendered even more invisible by your presence? She knows she can’t defeat your deep love so why does she try to break through?

What angers me most is that you will not act the way I think you are supposed to, the way they always do. What angers me most is that she is still there, my shadow demon. Lurking just beneath my skin, taunting me with her anger that felt like the sweet, seductive power she had craved for so long.

The anger tastes like succulent absinthe liquor on the tongue.
Decadent seduction that makes me want to masturbate in public.

I do not understand why she will not go away and receded permanently into the ether of the past. I am angry that I cannot diminish her stench. I cannot banish her into the nothing. I am angry that she is still my demon to call and I willingly do so even though I know it will decimate my one true love. How humiliating. How embarrassing. How pathetic and destructive. How laughably insane.

She rises up because I feel totally out of control.
She rises up because I want to intentionally and deliberately hurt you.
She rises because I can’t inflict pain on you when I feel like I am not being heard.
She rises because I want to hurt before I get hurt.
She rises because deep down, she does not believe she is worthy and she wants to destroy everything before you destroy her.
She rises because she is banished, ignored, invisible, unseen and she wants to be loved even in her immense, black, disastrous ugliness.

She is the result of 20 years of abuse and neglect. She is the keeper of the pain and for now, she is quiet in her cage, rocking back and forth in silence.

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The March

“Woman has to understand her role. Her role is not to worship god; Her role is to be the very self of God. Her oneness can affect and open every heart.” -Yogi Bhajan


Women. Tears. Overwhelm. Them. Us. Together. Labia everywhere. Women with their lovers, their friends, their grandfathers. Women with their babies, their grown children. Women everywhere.

Women holding and loving each other.

Women hugging and saying thank you, I see you, I honor you.

Women saying I am here to comfort you and fight with you. To #resist. I see you and you see me and we will not be defeated.

Women enveloping each other in empowering, divine, loving grace.

Marching towards the revolution knowing that our oneness is where the power lies.

Women kissing, praying, eating, nourishing our bodies and our souls as one. Engaging in compassionate surrender as we come together to recognize the joy in our collective hearts. As we create the physical manifestation of the knowledge that we are always held by the divine feminine and they will never be able to cut the very cord that ties us to the divine mother earth.

Women together in awe and strength from babe to crone.

Women united on every continent around our sacred earth from giant metropolis to one horse town, from sea to shining sea, north-south-east-west. Women converging in a mass of feminine power to share in their stories and wisdom.

To march in the united purpose of humanity and shared strength.


Together we are #TheResistance and we are united in #GracefulRevolution

I believe in a new brand of advocacy where we humble ourselves to our shortcomings and engage in acts of graceful revolution that bring light to the true reality of people’s lives. I believe that if we engage people in their own spaces, teach them to look at injustices as moments that touch their own lives, if we give them the knowledge of the power structure, if we give them the tools to infiltrate its membrane, then change will take place in America.

This is the Graceful Revolution.

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I Am Angry At America

I feel myself slithering up from the depths of only grief looking slightly like Golum from the inside out.

A demonic sinister look in my eye promising to eviscerate your soul.


Tank Girl

I am angry.
Ball busting violently angry.
I want to claw, gnash, tear out, slash and burn.
I want to beat and main and thrash and break and cut and filet your soul from the inside out.
I want to rip your heart from the middle of your body, hang you upside down and watch you drown on your own blood.

I am looking at you from inside myself seeing the hands that are not mine try to destroy you to the core.

I am writhing in a body that feels foreign and slimy and disturbed and vile.


I am angry at you for creating a world I am disgusted to be a part of. Angry that I am embarrassed to raise my children in this hell.

Angry that you have brought to the surface the darkness of a nation that I was just beginning to feel safe in.

You have destroyed all the faith I had in the road I was traveling.
It is vile, disturbed, depraved, disgusting.
It is horror and madness.


Gross, gagging bile of filfth running through my maimed and broken fingers.
Dripping like green snot onto a burned out mother earth.

As the South African mothers mothers used to say:


I am coming for you in all my vile depravity America.

Consider this your only warning.


“In 2033, justice rides a tank and wears lip gloss.”
Tank Girl

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A peaceful protest message

Today I was honored to be asked to close out a peaceful protest at the campus of CSUSB. It was a remarkable event with hundreds in attendance. Here is what I had to say:

Here are some badass photos:

We must continue to speak our truth, even if our voice shakes. 

Like my hero Eleanor Roosevelt said, “Do one thing every day that scares you.”

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I have thought about blogging about the presidential election potentially 150 million times since April, 2015.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t because of the death threats.
I didn’t because of the harassment.
I didn’t because I just didn’t want to deal with the drama that inevitably would ensue.

I found my secret “We Love Hillary” FB groups and I voiced my fears and excitements, my joys and my hurts there. I got saucy on Twitter and took the trolls vicious attacks because it was only Twitter.

Today there are 3 days until the election and Hillary Clinton has released a really amazing video about the last year.

And it made me cry.
And it solidified why I love her and her campaign.
And it reminded me that the level of harassment I have received is nothing compared to what she has endured.

It reminded me that I have volunteered for her in Kemmerrer, Wyoming (2008) and all over Utah (2008), Las Vegas, Nevada (2016) and San Diego, California (2016).

I have grieved her losses and celebrated her wins.

I have called my best Hillary friend Brenda on 200,000 occasions to scream in joy and anger.


I have gotten my formal portrait…


And my selfie…


I love Hillary Clinton because of her fierce advocacy on behalf of women and children. I love her because she understands motherhood, partnership, and friendship. I love her because we share a fond love of Eleanor Roosevelt whose signature I have tattooed on my arm.

I love her because no other presidential candidate in the history of this nation has ever served in EVERY branch of government. She has lived in the White House. She has been a civil servant. She has served in the Senate. She has worked in the Judiciary.

I love Hillary Clinton because when I look at her I see what I can become. Because when she walks into a room I am so overwhelmed by her that I spontaneously burst into fits of ugly crying because she inspires me to strive for a level of greatness I didn’t even know I was capable of.

I have met her. I have read her books. I have grieved with her and celebrated with her. I have been overjoyed at her successes as if they were my own. I have seen her humanity and realized that we aren’t that much different, we have both been hurt by those we loved the most.

My husband is a veteran who has benefited from her fierce advocacy on behalf of the women and men who have served our country.


My children have lived in poverty and benefited from her fierce advocacy that they enjoy the same level of health care and early childhood education as the rich children.

I have been so poor I needed free women’s health care. I have worked for Planned Parenthood and watched her fight tirelessly for our right to control our bodies.


I am queer…and I have watched her evolve into someone who is inspired by our fight towards equality.


Hillary Clinton represents me more than any other presidential candidate ever has. And I love her for it. She is my president. And I am fiercely devoted to her.

For all of these reasons and a thousand, million more – I.AM.WITH.HER.




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84 Backers

84 backers

84 people who are committed to women

84 people who are committed to research on women

84 people who believe in the power of storytelling

42 mothers

5 current or former elected officials

3 lobbyists

1 person who has known me since birth

1 person who has known me less than 6 months

6 PhD students

A couple of attorneys

3 professional fundraisers

2 badass coaches

84 people who believe in stories that speak truth to women’s lives.

They believe that the people who hold the power to talk about reproductive health should do so in a way that honors the entirety of women’s lives and sheds light on the rights that are missing.

They believe that this project challenges the normative nature of research and will give rise to a graceful revolution that moves beyond the binary structure of society.

They believe in the story of the modern virgin.

Be a part of this exciting adventure and join this campaign. Be one of my storytellers by investing in this project.

Donate today to join the 84 backers who believe in telling the stories of reproductive life in America.

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13 Days left in my 28 Day Cycle

28 Days

28 Days in a menstrual cycle

28 Days in this Kickstarter campaign

13 Days left in this campaign

August 28 is when we find out if we conceived so we can give birth to this project

My mother was adopted as an infant. She recently met her birth mother Joyce. This is why Joyce committed money to my Kickstarter project:

“My virgin days are long over but the book will give many people quite a bit to think about. When I was young and even a little older, abortion was something that was done with a hanger or a knitting needle except if you knew a doctor who would take care of you if, of course, you had the money to pay for it. There were, of course, back-alley people who would do an abortion but that was probably a terrible idea and one fraught with danger.”

This project is about the interviews of women who have EXTREME difficulty obtaining CONTRACEPTION and abortion.

This project is about the stories of women that have been ignored by the legislative and decision making bodies in America.

This project is about privilege, hope, justice, invisibility, fierce courage, strength.

Let’s get back to Joyce:

“Personally, I’m glad it wasn’t to be for me or else I would never have known you and your family or had a wonderful daughter but EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE A CHOICE to do as she sees fit without guilt or fear.”

This project allows me to finish my dissertation, obtain my PhD, and publish a book that will be used by politicians, activists, teachers, women, and men to change the dialogue about what KINDS of women have stories about contraception and abortion.

Like Joyce says:

“When I was on my own for a while I went to Planned Parenthood for personal care and couldn’t have done without it so my feeling is that your book must reach that broad audience out there who need to read and understand what is at stake.”

I tried to take the traditional academic route to funding and was told NO, we don’t have money for that sort of research. While my PhD gives professional credence to my voice, my research on reproductive health and justice is not valued by mainstream academia.

What I am called to do does not follow the narrow road of patriarchy.

Being told NO is not an answer I can live with.

Fund my Kickstarter today.

Say YES to women.

Say YES to research that affirms women’s lives.

Say YES to a book that has the power to change everything for women and girls in America.

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