I’ve been chatting with AI over the past six months. Mostly Claude, with a little ChatGPT and Gemini thrown in for good measure. Taking their “advice” with a grain of salt, I consult these virtual friends on everything from writing projects to medical situations to personal relationships. Intrigued by their responses, I decided I wanted to learn more about how AI, in in particular, large language models (or LLMs) work, so that I could leverage what they have to offer.

One of the things I’ve learned in my online course about AI is that it’s possible to customize the parameters of Claude, ChatGPT, or whatever tool you are using. More specifically, you can assign your AI a personality, an area (or areas) of expertise, a way of approaching various “problems” or tasks. You can also have your AI value certain conditions over others.

I’ve asked Claude to value honesty over validation. It was a bold move, and has resulted in me being faced with some hard truths on a number of occasions.

If you are a user of AI, I strongly encourage you to try out this feature. You might be surprised at what you learned about yourself! Of course, like with any stranger, it works best if you are honest in your input. Like the lies we tell our therapists and ourselves in an effort to preserve our dignity, it can be tempting to only share half the story, or to colour our interactions with our AI in a light that favours us over others, especially when faced with particularly painful personal situations. Even so, programming your AI to ask you hard questions and to value truth over validation can help us break this insular habit and expand our picture of ourselves and the world around us.

Even if you’re not sure you want to commit to a fully transparent AI friend, you can begin a thread with the prompt, “You are an expert in…. (whatever the topic is you want to explore), and you value truth over validation. Push back and ask me hard questions when I share my experiences.” Or something to that effect. Watch how the nature of the conversation you have with your AI in that thread changes when you begin with such a prompt.

It’s true that AI as yet has not been able to replace the human touch when it comes to personal relationships, but it does beg the question: what are the pros and cons of each approach, honesty versus validation?

The reality is that the algorithm of our social media keeps us in a comfortable bubble for the most part unless we actively take concrete steps to override that feature. Moreover, many friends struggle with or lack the skills to provide honest feedback to one another when faced with cognitive dissonance. And in a world where the bad news just seems to keep coming and coming some days, it can feel like self care to stick with the naturally validating default of most LLMs.

How important is it, actually, that we hold up the mirror to truly examine what stares back at us?

For those of us who have been comforting ourselves with validation for many years, honesty can feel disorienting and scary. There is a certain element of sunk cost fallicy: I’ve spent so many decades telling myself this story, and behaving in a certain way, if I realize now that I’ve made bad choices, I will have wasted all this time!

And so it’s easier to continue with self validation. We cut off those who are truthful to us, we follow social media accounts that agree with us, and we don’t customize our AI.

Is this choice to default to the default necessarily harmful? Perhaps not… If the pain of truly recognizing and wrestling with the error of our ways seems too great to survive mentally, it may seem like a matter of life and death to continue being dishonest (or at least, not entirely truthful) with ourselves. On the other hand, when that dishonesty and our subsequent actions begin to impact those around us, we are now faced with an ethical dilemma. For example, the stories of victimhood we tell ourselves and others because we are in so much pain that rather than face the truth, we make up stories about our innocence, blaming others specifically for things that simply aren’t true, can have potentially devastating consequences to those people falsely accused.
​
Moreover, when we choose validation over truth, we rob ourselves of the opportunity to get to know ourselves better, to love ourselves, and to reach our full potential as individuals. Even if it takes us the better part of our lifetime to arrive at that destination.

Honesty over validation. It’s not an easy approach, but, as the sign in Latin above the entrance to my college proudly proclaimed at my 20-year-old self, “the truth shall make you free”! And so, painful though it might be at times, I think I’ll choose honesty.

I stumbled across an old blog post recently, from a teacher leadership project I was involved in a hundred years ago in a former life. A colleague and I were attending a math conference, and I was wrestling with the idea of student focus. 

As an early adopter of social justice in the classroom (in the days before uber-wokeism), I was always looking for effective ways to teach through that lens... but also to consider the impact on academic curricula. 13 years later, it's still a timely topic, given all the discussion about what gets "taught" in the public school classroom.

Here's the original post from 2013, along with photos; apologies in advance for outdated/broken links.

---------

Social Justice in the Math Classroom

At the beginning of May, Dale (he was my colleague) and I were very fortunate to attend OAME's 2013 conference.  In addition to sharing our own learning vis-a-vis "Smart Bansho" as part of our project goals, we got to attend several sessions of interest.

A key theme of this year’s conference was “Social Justice in the Math Classroom”. 

With Stephen Lewis as the keynote to kick off the conference on the first morning, it was not an easy theme to ignore!

One of the sessions I attended dealt specifically with Social Justice in the Math Classroom.  The session was presented by a team of teachers and resource staff from the Toronto District School Board's  “Model Schools for Inner Cities” program.  As teachers who want to foster critical literacy in students, they challenged us to consider how each of the “isms” might be addressed in a math classroom to challenge social norms. 

We thought about this within the framework of the four quadrants:

• Social Justice as Charity

• Teaching and Learning About Social Justice
• Teaching and Learning For Social Justice
• Teaching and Learning AS Social Justice

As teachers considering how to integrate social justice into our math programs, a question we can ask ourselves is this:  “How can numbers be used to change the world and make it a better place?”

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

13 years later, I'm no longer in a school or classroom full time, but I'm still interested in the topic. I'm curious what my teacher friends today think about this.

Sleep — that most elusive of creatures … as newborns we crave and successfully find it for almost 20 hours of every day! But it’s not long until the fight begins…

​As toddlers, we are never tired, and especially not when we are overtired! We will fight, fight, fight to the bitter end to avoid our naps and bedtimes, and when we wake up from said naps, we are often very cranky.

Soon come the teenage years, and we continue to fight our bedtimes, as our rewired adolescent brains convince us that staying up past midnight is the best way for survival…. And indeed, this approach works well — until the 7:00 A.M. alarm clock rings, signaling the evolution of our lives beyond neanderthal times, much to the chagrin of our not-yet-evolved brains, which now find themselves very tired. Relief comes only on the weekends, when our teenage brains can rest and rest and rest… Sometimes until two or three or even four P.M.!

​And then the cycle begins again. 

Another change arrives with adulthood, and our slow desire to move our bedtime a little earlier, especially when we work and jobs that require an early morning wake up. Yet we continue to fight sleep, sometimes because night is the only time we truly have to ourselves, to rest, to relax, to pursue our own interests from behind the screens of our phones and laptops… as we travel through adulthood, many of us find that our struggles with stress and anxiety travel along with us, like oversized luggage that the airline won’t allow you to check! These painfully large packages join us in bed, even if we go to bed “early enough” and “at a reasonable hour”. Now it is the baggage that is fighting asleep on our behalf; all we need to do is lie there with our eyes or closed, ruminating, waiting for night to end so that we can splash cold water on our faces, put on our appropriate attire, and paste on a smile to Face the world after yet another sleepless night. 

As we continue to age, we may consolidate some of our baggage into smaller, more manageable sleep packages that take up less room on the bed with us; unfortunately, that usually doesn’t happen until a special kind of later adulthood kicks in, at least for women. Perimenopause. This new and unwelcome visitor often brings with it night sweats and other sleep disturbances. Once again, sleep eludes us, even if we no longer have to wake up early for work or other commitments. Sigh. 

​In our quest for sleep, some begin experimenting with “remedies“ — herbal options, including naturopathic suggestions or cannabis related products. Or, if we’ve had it and are ready to fight big, something a little stronger, requiring a prescription from a licensed doctor. (Of course, we’ve exhausted all other options first: plenty of exercise, good bedtime routines and sleep hygiene generally, blah blah blah.)

If we are lucky as we proceed through our lifelong quest for sleep, we find elusive pockets of this treasure in unusual places: 20 minutes  on a beach chair while on vacation at all-inclusive resort, before someone comes up and offers you a drink, a necklace, a sun hat or some other tchotchkes being sold by one of the many beach vendors who are also not sleeping.  Of 15 minutes glorious, drifting, deepening sleep on an airplane when you were lucky enough to get a row to yourself, before turbulence hits, and the flight attendant gently but firmly wakes you up to insist you buckle your seatbelt “and then you can go back to sleep“ (which of course you, now safely buckled in and wide awake, never do!!) Sometimes, you might — like me — even have sleep “stations” opportunistic places set up strategically around your home: a cozy couch in the living room room, for example, with a throw, or a reclining chair, or a hammock strung across the porch. Here you can occasionally find up to an hour of uninterrupted, deep and glorious sleep!

Eventually, there comes a time when we close our eyes for the last time, and — without interruptions from flight attendants, spouses, alarm clocks, children, or mental trials and tribulations jerking us awake at the most inopportune times – then we will finally sleep. It will be a most glorious, deeply nourishing sleep. One from which we will never awake. 

​I was conceived on a summer camping trip, after my parents – who had been dating quite seriously for some time – had already broken up. I deduced this after my mother died, while reading one of the many, many love letters that my father had written her. 
 
 Xavier Pasteger, a Belgian immigrant, was a lover and a writer! He wrote my mother hundreds of letters, in florid handwriting, over the course of their courtship, and began many of them with “ma chère grenouille”, my dear frog. My mother kept them all, and along with a blurry black and white head shot she obtained for me from his former employer at Atomic Energy Canada for my 16th birthday, they are the only artifacts I have of my late father.
 
I never met Xavier. My grandmother tells a story of how, when she was wheeling me down the street in a stroller as a baby to take me to a nearby park, she saw my father walking towards us about a block or so away. When he recognized my grandmother from a distance, he crossed over to the other side of the street and continued walking, without making eye contact.

Before my third birthday, he had died from cancer.
 
It is through one of these letters that my mother saved that I realized how late in their relationship I came to be. In my youth, I had often asked my mother what happened to my dad, why they never married. (I knew he had died, but it wasn’t until I was a young teenager that I came to understand that I was truly a bastard, born out of wedlock, and that that choice had been almost exclusively my mother’s.)
 
My mother, Carola Teschow, was a German immigrant and the first feminist I ever knew. Her story is not for this blog post, but suffice it to say that by the time she became pregnant with me, she had an established career in a male-dominated field, owned a share in a decent house in a nice neighborhood, and had built a life in her adopted country of Canada. By her accounts, my father asked her many times to marry him. But his conditions were a life of tradition: he wanted my mother to stop working, and take care of the household and any children they might have together; this was the appropriate thing to do as a woman, he told her. She declined, and so the relationship ended.

From what I can gather through letters, the camping trip was supposed to be a friendly, pressure-free bit of fun weeks or possibly months after the initial break up. The steamy night in a shared tent that ultimately produced me was not the intended outcome of that adventure… at least not for my mother. His florid written apology post-camping quest must have fallen on deaf ears, as they did not reunite thereafter. Even once he found out that she was with child and asked her – again – to marry him. (Only after I was born to my single mother did she – probably at the suggestion of Child Services – reach out to my father one final time, to request some sort of financial support; he did not argue, and until my 21st birthday, a handsome monthly sum was deposited into my school savings account, first directly through his employer and after his death, an orphan's benefit payment via superannuation program through the government.)

Growing up with my mother and grandmother, I looked to them as my influencers, at least genetically. And yet, my mother’s genes are only part of the fabric of who I am. I know little of my father, and yet I recognize his crooked smile from the one faded photo in my son, and there are patterns in my own appearance and behaviour that very clearly do NOT come from my mother’s side of the family. As I grow older, I think occasionally about the bigger picture of who I am, outside of upbringing and environment.

 Xavier didn’t get the girl back, even after he put a baby in her! And it occurred to that baby this morning to examine why, beyond the simple “if we get married you have to stay home“ disqualifier. 

From his letters and the fact that they stayed together for more than a few months, I can infer that my mother loved the Belgian’s passion, was fascinated by the way his personality lit up a room, and was drawn to the way he love-bombed her. I recognize these traits within myself. And yet, she ultimately left him.

What was their communication style like as a couple in the early 70s? From her few stories and the tone of his letters, he was clearly thoughtful, but it seems he was also reckless. How did he show his respect (or lack thereof) for her female leadership skills, and how did she navigate their considerable height difference? (She was a good 11 inches taller than him – without heels!) How did they fight, and how did they recover from said arguments? Did he push her too hard, violate her boundaries? Did she withdraw when he pushed, and did he sulk when she did so? Why did she agree to an overnight trip with him after they had already broken up – and clearly didn’t want a continued physical relationship with him (as evidenced by several lines in his later apology letter… was he apologizing for essentially raping her that night?!) 

My mother is long dead and unable to tell her side of the story, and of course I never got his, other than what’s left of him in his writing.

As I navigate difficulties in my own personal relationship and reflect on previous associations, I’m left wondering how much of my father I inherited in my personality: I, too, am a lover and a writer. I’m also a boundary pusher – did I get that from him? Perhaps unlike my father, I am recognizing the problem with such a quality, and learning (albeit slowly and late) not to violate those I love the most. Like him too, I am thoughtful yet careless.
​
Unlike my father, though, I’m not dead yet, and I am educating myself. I am a very serious and committed student. Unlike Xavier, I hope to succeed in my quest to get the girl back.

What happened to their siblings and their mother remains a mystery, but Loki and Thor toughed it out together. They were survivors, and eventually a kind woman noticed them on her way to work each day and started to feed them regularly and bring them water. 

Extremely timid at first, they did not approach her, but hungrily devoured what she left them whenever she came.

Sometime in August, Loki and Thor sustained injuries to their hind legs. While it’s unclear whether they were kicked or beaten by a human, or run over by a car, they were clearly both suffering. The kind lady took them to a veterinary clinic, and then brought them to her workplace and kept them under her desk for a few weeks after checking with her boss. The kind lady continued to care for and feed the two grossing puppies, even doing physiotherapy with them to help them regain the use of their back limbs. She posted about them on Facebook, and in September or October, Loki and Thor arrived at a small animal shelter in Las Varas, run by a committed team of volunteers with extremely limited resources.

There were too many dogs and not enough homes, endless litters of puppies, but now these two little ones were physically safe. Loki and Thor didn’t like people much, but at least they had each other.

One day in March 2025, thanks to a partnership with another local animal rescue organization (JBAR), the Las Varas shelter put on a public event celebrating pets and inviting people to come out with their dogs for an afternoon of fun in the park. There was food, pet products for sale, music, games and contests. And, in one corner of the event, there was a large fenced off area with many, many dogs for adoption. Including Loki and Thor. 

​The event in March was when my wife and I first came into Loki‘s life, or rather, she into ours!

Sneakers, our existing rescue dog, is dog aggressive, and so although we love dogs, and have volunteered with various animal rescue organizations in the area, Including fostering, we knew we could never risk getting a second dog ourselves. 

Bearing this in mind, we went to the event nevertheless, “just to see”. 

In the chaotic jumble of dogs, cowering in a corner, sat Loki. Thor stood by, as if to “protect” her. Loki tugged at our heartstrings… we thought perhaps we could take this miserable creature home for a few days of peace and quiet, get her out of there and give her a break… and then find her a new home in our neighbourhood or with a visiting Canadian, who would take her back north of the border.

In our broken Spanish, we approached the organizer, and explained the situation with our existing dog, but that we were happy to take the little one home and do our best with her and see how things unfolded, but that if we had not found a home for her by the time we ourselves had to head back to Canada and a few weeks, That we would have to return her to the shelter.

This seemed agreeable to the organizer, and the little package was handed over to us, a photo requested for their social media page, and that was that!

It wasn’t until we got Loki home that we realized what a brave and courageous little character we had found.

She spent the first three days in a complete hunger strike. Ate nothing, cowered with her tail between her legs, and hardly even went to the bathroom.

In all my years of adopting dogs, I’ve never encountered such a terrified little thing.

Even Sneakers didn’t bother with her — as though she weren’t even a real dog, almost just not even worth it for Sneakers. 

The nice little reprieve we had planned for Loki while we searched for a permanent home for her seemed more to be a reign of terror for her. And it was hard to get photos, nice ones, that would entice people to adopt her. She just seemed so miserable and pathetic; as Mrs. Rachel-Lynde said of Anne whence first they met, she wasn't much to look at!

As our departure date drew closer, we started to panic. What were we to do with a little pup? We really didn’t want to return her to the animal shelter... So few are adopted from that context.

Interestingly, Sneakers, who is in general quite happy to engage in a bloodbath with any dog she encounters, seemed to be OK with Loki. Within a week, our new acquisition had started going potty in the garden if we took her downstairs, and she wandered timidly around in the back, off leash, with Sneakers, who — shockingly — left her alone.

We began to wonder whether maybe we should just take her back to Canada with us. 

We certainly had not planned on a second dog; it was not in the budget, nor was there space on our flight. (In the hold, an airline will typically take a maximum of 2 to 3 dogs, and with Sneakers already booked, and someone else with a dog booked for the same flight, there was no more room.)

Some animal rescue volunteers from another organization closer to Puerto Vallarta had heard of our plight, and decided they were going to find us a flight angel home. 

Instead of running in the streets,  she runs through meadows and along the beach now. She walks well on a leash, and confidently goes to "place" on command, and just this week, started consistently giving "paw" when asked, in exchange for cucumber slices, pieces of apple or other small treats from the kitchen.

Loki loves Sneakers now, and is very attached. Wants to be with her at all times, and even insists on riding in the same crate with her in the car – – and Sneakers obliges! (The latter is not cured; still pulls and growls and lunges like crazy towards other dogs… But seems to have accepted Loki as a late-in-life fur sibling!)​

When I see her curled up comfortably on the dog bed on the sun porch, or ensconced with various toys, shoes and other articles she has scavenged and brought to her “nest” in the bedroom, I marvel at  her courage in trusting us. I rejoice at how far this little creature has come, not just since her arrival in Canada or her adoption by us a few weeks earlier in Mexico, but really since she was born in the streets of a small town, unwanted, uncared for, until a stranger took pity on her, kept her alive and found her a safe place to stay until she happened to catch our eye in March 2025.

It’s a drop in the bucket in the larger problem of homeless and unwanted animals… But for this particular furry little drop, it’s been a life-changing.  For us, also. We love her.

​Girls and women, boys and men, come in all shapes, sizes and presentations. Not conforming to society’s gendered expectations of how you should look, talk and behave does not mean you “should be” the opposite sex.

Tales of Joy

People are sometimes surprised to learn that I follow accounts on social media of some trans identifying individuals, or that there are people close to me who identify as trans. I find it odd that in some people’s minds, asking critical questions or sharing factual information that may challenge their belief system is somehow equal to committing “literal violence” towards trans folks. It’s as though they can't wrap their heads around the possibility that someone could both love and support trans identifying folks AND ALSO raise concerns about the impacts of gender ideology on women and children. Can these not co-exist?

 And so, in summary, I feel compelled to share two stories of “trans joy”:

TRUE LOVE & FRIENDSHIP

The first, about a musical colleague, someone I used to play in a band with: Over the past year, I have watched this individual fall in love with a trans person. Their trans partner (now fiancé) has come out to various concerts to support my colleague’s musical endeavors, and I don't know them well, but I have admired their leggings and other cool outfits, and their confidence in wearing said outfits regardless of what other people may say or think. But especially I admire this couple’s love for one another. In a world where it’s hard to stand out for various reasons, they have found one another, and are very clearly in love. I don't need to personally understand their love to appreciate that the smiles on their faces when they are together are infectious.

This summer, they are getting married. I wish them a long and happy marriage, and much joy!

PERSONAL REBIRTH

The second tale of joy is about a stranger who has become a friend through glamping on the property I co-own in PEI over the past several years.

I remember the dark green polish on his toenails the first time my friend came to stay with us. An introvert, he mostly kept to himself, but was appreciative of a safe place where he could wear his nailpolish and enjoy the solitude of nature. The space we'd created on our property provided my friend with an opportunity to get away for a few days and just be.

Over the subsequent years, he began to experiment more with his “female side”, and when I asked his preferred name, he shared the female one he’d been using, and invited me to use that or his given name. I hyphenated the two, and although s/he primarily goes by her female name now, it will always be the hyphen for me in my mind, because I “knew him when…”

After a few years of social transition and medical care, my friend has decided to fully transition. Her friends recently threw her a “vagina shower” – my friend shared some photos with me, and it looked like a pretty awesome celebration!!

The next time I see her, my friend will have undergone bottom surgery as well. I don’t understand it, but I don't need to understand it to be happy for them and their support network, and I genuinely wish them all the joy they hope for with this surgery, and into the future.

Summary

Not wanting humans with a male advantage on women’s sports teams or intact males in women’s prisons, and not supporting children having life altering medical intervention in an already gender stereotyped world that is stacked against them doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate when transitioning and gender affirming care might make an adult who is suffering, has suffered for a long time, happy.

So, am I a transphobe? That’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself after reading my three blog posts and learning a little more about who I am as a whole person. I hope these three essays have given you some of that insight.

​Happy Pride!

Another example of important and necessary exclusion can be found in the French language school system in Canada. In order to be considered for employment there, you must be francophone. If you are not, you are excluded from teaching in that jurisdiction. The reason for this is that the whole point of that school system is to preserve French language and culture. Hiring teachers who are not francophone, or who just speak a little French, would completely defeat the purpose.

A final example of “good” exclusion, again from within the education work, is the intentional exclusion of known pedophiles from the certified teaching and school support population. When you apply to work for a school board, whether as a classroom teacher, early childhood educator, or some other student and school support role, you have to have a criminal record check. (And in most jurisdictions across the country, this has to be updated annually.) And guess what? If you are a convicted child sex offender, you don’t get hired. YOU GET EXCLUDED!!! 

Despite the efforts of some folks within the LGBTQ+ community to expand the umbrella to include softer language of “minor attracted persons” or MAPs, most people still agree that pedophiles should not be celebrated as a special identity, and have no problem excluding them from most workplaces, particularly those that focus on children.

Again, an example of when exclusion is good and necessary, and probably not super controversial in most circles.

Where exclusion seems to take a sharp left turn is when it comes to women.

Despite earning hard-won sex based rights over the past hundred years or so, it has suddenly become “controversial” to suggest that transwomen, i.e. trans-identifying men, ie biological, intact men who self identify as women and may or may not have taken some steps towards medicalizing said identity (such as having facial feminization surgery, or taking hormones, or some such action) do not belong in women’s prisons, on women’s sports teams or in women’s shelters. 

Although we have documented evidence, for example, of women in sex-segregated prisons becoming impregnated by convicted male sex offenders to claim to be – and are therefore housed with – the female inmate population, to suggest that these trans-identifying men should not be there is apparently “transphobic”. 

In the inaugural issue of the lesbian magazine I recently published, a woman from the UK shared her experiences seeking sex-based support as a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of men. The women’s sexual abuse survivor services was unable to guarantee her a female counsellor because “we don’t discriminate against transwomen”.  Somehow when it comes to the importance of lived experience, apparently the lived experience of adult human females takes a back seat to the feelings of men in a dress.

And if you’re interested the problem of men in women’s sports, check out hecheated.org for some concrete stats and horror stories on that topic. 

My own introduction to this phenomenon was when I was going through a particularly rough patch with my wife (then my girlfriend), and – mainly out of curiosity – went on a lesbian dating app, “just to see”. What I saw, shockingly, was an overwhelmingly male group of users, who identified as “lesbian”!

Confused and ignorant at the time, I naïvely reported these men to the app’s administrator, thinking that they had somehow inadvertently “slipped by” and infiltrated the dating site. 

Silly, silly me.

I received rather a chastising message from the admin, explaining to me as though I were a hostile bigot, that “transwomen are women”, and that if they identify as lesbian, then of course we should welcome them with open arms. (Mouths?! Legs?!)

During the pandemic, a culture of identity politics came into vogue. It’s been deemed inclusive by some, but problematic by others. Sometime around 2021, I began to question my undying commitment to the gender ideology movement, and since that time, I have been called a transphobe and a TERF, usually by folks who know me only superficially, if at all.
​
For some time now, I’ve been meaning to address the issue head on, but then life got in the way. This year, however, I decided to take a break from my generally politics-free profile on Facebook and instead leverage Pride month to post a few longer posts about my experiences as a gender non-conforming woman. In tandem with that, I am also finally getting around to finishing my blog posts about the topic of identity politics and in particular, the gender ideology movement and its impact on me as a lesbian. I hope you enjoy these posts.

Those of you who follow me on IG will know that in recent years, I have begun posting (or rather, reposting) posts about what some might loosely call “trans issues” on my Instagram stories. In sharp contrast to the daily life photos and nature images I typically share in my main feed, these more politically charged reposts fall primarily into two categories: Posts concerning the impact of the gender ideology movement on young people, and posts about the intrusion of men in women’s spaces.

As a result of these posts, I have faced criticism by some individuals and institutions, largely from those who are unfamiliar with my long-standing work as an advocate for social justice, equity and inclusion.
My intent in these three blog posts is to clarify my position, and to encourage critical thinking around gender/sex and other more generally important issues. I welcome lively debate and respectful sharing of broad perspectives, however, I will not tolerate hateful or revenge-motivated comments.
​
Also, this one’s a lot of writing, and few photos. Fair warning.

​Vocabulary: A Primer

Since language matters and words are the building blocks of our conversations and ideas, let’s begin with a primer of some vocabulary related to LGBTQ+ issues.

It continues to shock me in this day and age with the availability of the internet, how few terms many people know and understand. However, it also annoys and frustrates me when those deeply emerged in the work refuse to support those still learning. Yes, fellow rainbow community, it IS our job to educate answer seekers… or at least, share our perspective with those  brave enough to ask us about it.

So, for those of you still new to the conversation, below are a few basic definitions.

Sex – your biological sex, i.e. male (XX) or female (XY)*. Sex is based on a series of physical traits largely organized around the intention** of procreation. Male bodies are small gamete producers and female bodies produce large gametes.

• (* There are some variations to this – see “Intersex” below)
  
• ( ** I use the word “intention” because that is their intended biological purpose from a design perspective, however, not all females can and do bear children.)
  

Gender – too often conflated with sex, gender refers to the identify that comes with the set of societally imposed “norms” aligning with each of the two sexes. Gender comprises things like clothing, haircuts, hobbies, behaviour, etc. Folks may behave, look and act the way they are “supposed to” according to their sex, or not. Or a little of both. (The “little of both” is sometimes referred to as being “Gender Non-Binary”, or ENBY, especially by younger people within the queer community.)

Gender dysphoria – when someone feels at odds between their body or perceived gender and how they feel “inside”, they may suffer gender dysphoria, sometimes also referred to as gender or body dysmorphia.

Gender non-conforming (GNC) – when girls or boys, or adult men or women, do not dress, speak or behave in a way that is expected of them based on their sex, they are gender non-conforming.

Intersex – It is rare but possible for humans to be born with an additional X or Y, for example, those born with Klinefelter syndrome (XXY females), Swyer syndrome and other differences of sex development (DSDs) in which males or females may have some physical traits of the opposite sex. DSD is a medical term, and some individuals with a DSD may refer to themselves as “Intersex”.

Gay – Shorthand for homosexual, i.e. boys who like boys in “that way”, or girls who like girls.

Lesbian – The female form of gay. (Some lesbians just refer to themselves as gay.) Adult human female who is attracted to other adult human females. 

Bisexual - being attracted to both sexes.

Queer – an umbrella term for anyone not “straight” or heterosexual. Initially used as a slur, the term “queer” was reclaimed by many as a proud moniker of being just a little bit outside the norm. Nowadays, many self-identify as queer without a specific sub label; it has become a bit of a catch all, though also a signifier to those of us critical of the movement that one best not question or rock the boat in any way with the person who so identifies, as they tend not to be open to any sort of critique.

Transwoman – A man who self identifies as a woman. Sometimes referred to as trans-identified males (TIMs), some transwomen choose to undergo “bottom surgery” to remove and/or reconstruct their male genitalia, have facial feminization surgery, take female hormones, etc.

Transman – A woman who identifies as a man. Some transmen choose to cut off their breasts (known as “top surgery” or a mastectomy), take male hormones to lower their voices and help with visual identifiers such as hair growth, etc.

Deadname – Many trans people choose a different name for themselves when they transition. For example, David may become Davina, or they may choose a more gender neutral name. Their “deadname” is the name they were given at birth or adoption.

Detransitioners – Formerly trans-identified individuals who have embarked on a journey to physically detransition and return to their actual sex. I.e. a woman who may have thought she was “male” and had an mastectomy and started male hormones now recognizes that she is in fact a woman and attempts to return to living as a woman. She stops taking male hormones, etc.)

Autogynephilic – sometimes called AGP for short, this term refers to men who feel arousal at the thought of themselves as women. (Think “cross dressers” from previous decades.) Some have strong and detailed rape fantasies in which they are the woman.

TERF – “Trans-exclusionary radical feminist”, the term TERF is used as a slur, usually by gender ideologues, towards women who question the current mainstream narrative that anyone can be a woman, and that biological women should not have access to spaces or rights protected on the grounds of sex. Those who question the focus on gender ideology in schools are also sometimes labeled TERFs. Some of those who speak up for women’s rights have adopted the term of a badge of honour.

Transbian – a trans identified male who self-identifies as a lesbian, and who typically demands to be treated as such, e.g., insisting on inclusion in lesbian-themed events and/or on lesbian dating apps.
 
I hope the above information is a helpful start. Please note, the above list is not an exhaustive one, and the definitions merely scratch the surface; I encourage you to take some time to google further, and ask questions of people you know and trust if details are confusing. There is a LOT of controversy about all things remotely related to the alphabet soup right now, so some “facts” cannot be taken at face value. Apply vigorous critical literacy skills as you go, please!
 
The Alphabet Soup & the Pride Flag
 
Many outside the community (and indeed some of us inside it!) struggle with the ever-increasing list of terms. For me, it’s this simple: the first three, i.e. LGB, refer to sexual orientation, i.e. lesbian, gay or bisexual. The inclusion of T for trans confounds me. To me, gender identity is such a completely different thing than sexual orientation, the two don’t really belong together.

The beautiful rainbow pride flag has also, in recent years, undergone transition… in some places, it is now impossible to find the original, which has been replaced by the ubiquitous “progress pride” flag, including brown and black (to signify support for the BIPOC community, or Black, Indigenous and People of Colour) and baby blue and pink, the trans colours (which have also been associated with pedophilia, or the more palatable “minor attracted persons” MAP community), and more recently, a circle representing the Intersex symbol.

Related but Separate

Wanting to separate the LGB from the T+ doesn’t signify to me that one is transphobic. What it signifies to me is a desire to focus the work on the Pride community. And I don’t think saying that means one can’t support both causes.

I think it’s important for those of us who are gay, lesbian and bisexual to stand up against discrimination in all its forms, but also to be able to have spaces – both online and in-person – where we can discuss issues specific to our needs. Moreover, we as a community have spent so many decades convincing the general public that we are “normal”, i.e. that we go to work, pay our taxes, do our laundry and grocery shopping, take the kids to school, etc., that many of us are very concerned about the infiltration of what we see as problematic perspectives. For example, I am NOT okay with increasing supports for pedophiles, I don’t care what they want to call themselves. Moreover, as a lesbian, I am tired of being told that I have to share my online platforms with men who identify as women. I don’t think this makes me transphobic, I’m not opposed to transfolks having their own spaces in which to share ideas, needs, concerns, hopes, dreams… and we can even have some shared spaces. I’m just not prepared to give up the special protected spaces we have fought long and hard for ourselves, and I don’t see why it has to be an either/or situation.
 
I hope this vocabulary primer and related commentary serves as a helpful entry point to exploring whether or not I am a “transphobe”.

This is not a blog post, it's a gratuitous ad for my latest project, Jill Magazine, a fabulous new print magazine aimed at and co-created with Lesbians and our female allies.

Sad but true: I have had about 7 ideas for blog posts floating around in my brain over the the past six months or so... alas, when a new project grips the mind of someone possessed with ADHD, there can be no other work, there is only the project. And here it is -- check it out, and donate to get your copy in the mail this winter/spring!!! (If you don't love GoFundMe, we are also doing Paypal and -- in Canada -- etransfer.)

Like many parents of older children, I have regrets.

I haven’t totally ruined my kids or anything like that. They were always clothed, fed and sheltered. They even had music/arts lessons over the years, and physical activities.

But they didn’t always have ME!
​
I was not a “natural” when it came to parenting newborn twins. I struggled a lot with the various minute to minute  challenges of parenting two babies, and while I made it my business to learn and know, by the time I became an “expert”, Alex and Simon where already well through school. 

I heard a parent once comment that “the days are long and the years are short”.

​So true!

Especially with multiples, the early years can be overwhelming, and for me, I didn’t even take the full year of parental leave, choosing instead to run back to the refuge of full time work, and leaving my 4 month old babies with their father for the remainder of that first year. I was a very successful instructional coach at the time, with a large urban school board, and the fulfillment I felt from my expertise in that role compared with the relative incompetence I felt parenting two screaming newborns with little/no consistent help was quite jarring!

Even once the boys were sleeping through the night and using “big boy toilets” rather than diapers, and we started to get our life back a little, I regret to admit that I spent summers facilitating and attending professional development for teachers rather than camping or hanging out at the beach with my littles. Our “summers in PEI” consisted of maybe two weeks at most.
​
And suddenly they were 17 and it was COVID and we were all locked up in a tiny apartment together.

After about two years of that, I decided I’d had enough. Throughout the pandemic, I’d been working overtime (by then I worked in a provincial leadership position in education, and was involved with teams that were working on COVID-related education policy with the government); many long hours at the dining room table, even in the evening, while my babies and my temporarily unemployed pilot wife lived their lives, neglected, in their respective bedrooms of our small Toronto apartment.
​
When they came out of their rooms and we shared a meal together, I marveled at how my little babies were growing into big, tall men. We even threw them a covid-themed 6-foot-party (which wasn’t much of a party, since we weren’t allowed to interact with anyone outside our circle at the time, resulting in a LOT of leftover six-foot-sub meals for us within two days!!!) 

It frightened me that the opportunity to connect with these not-so-tiny tenants was quickly waning.
​
I decided right then and there to make some significant changes in my life.

With the support of my partner, I quit my job, and over the next several years, with her support, have transitioned from full time work to semi-retired “housewife” and “Stay-at-home-mom”. (I put these in parenthesis because for our particular family and life arrangement, the terms look a little different than the main stream, largely because we don’t all live full time in one place together.)

It was the best decision I ever made.

While it’s not the same of course as being there for your baby’s first steps or Kindergarten graduation or school field trips to the museum, there is something quite satisfying about being able to fully support your teen while they learn to drive, or meet them on/near campus for lunch during the week, or even sit in on one of their university classes and ride the subway home together afterwards! There’s a special satisfaction in googling mental health and academic supports during the day while your 19-year-old is in class, making a suggestion to them later on, and getting a phone call a few weeks later thanking you for that suggestion because IT WORKED!! Or reading a draft of an assignment they’ve written for a course and offering descriptive feedback, or hearing about something they are learning about at college that excites them, or having breakfast out together on a weekday because they don’t have class and you don’t have to “work” that morning.

And with time to manage groceries, laundry and other household chores during the “workday”, my weekends are more flexible as well: We still don’t camp, but there are lots of beach visits and walks in the park, both individually with each “child” and together.

I’d had the opportunity to experience a taste of stay at home motherhood for a few months when the boys were ten, and we’d spent the school year in Argentina ... But parenting teenagers/young adults is different.

I get to be fully present when one of them calls to tell me he and his girlfriend broke up, or when one of them wanders into the living room and wants to talk about finances and investing. I can say “yes” when one of them decides university is not for him and wants to come live with me full time on PEI for several months while he decides what to do next (college with a possible career as a PI, it turns out, after a summer of chainsawing and sheet metal roofing!!) And I can support the other when he wants to do a full time placement but needs a ride because the bus is not convenient to our home and he doesn’t have his drivers license yet.

I don’t have to listen half-heartedly to their stories while the other half of my brain stresses about unwritten report cards or marking or lesson planning that still needs to get done… yes, it’s true there is lots to do as the primary household engineer, but without a full time paid job, I have considerable flexibility about when and how tasks are completed. And watching actively engaged as my boys turn into resilient, creative and thoughtful young men has been a great gift to me as a parent who missed out on the chance to be more fully present earlier on in their lives.

I know that not everyone has the luxury of being at home full-time. But if you haven’t had the pleasure and the privilege of parenting your children, even your semi-adult children, full time for an extended period of time, and the opportunity presents itself, I highly recommend you take advantage of it. I’m so glad I have!