Hmm?

There's a second layer to the niceness of people here.  I wonder if they would still be so nice to me if they found out that I am queer?

Last week I was the only one that was wearing a purple shirt, on the anti-homophobia awareness day.  I work in a public school!  I know that it's not such a big deal, but there are less than a dozen racialized students there, and no racialized teachers, and I am the only Black person at all.  I know I pass, but there was a presetation on the history of Jazz, by a band consisting of old white men, who referred to the origins of jazz as being call and answer field music from "the blacks" who came over from Africa.

I brought it up, and was told that it was just how people from that era talked, and it was no big deal.  It is a big deal.  Especially when the kids have no other exposure.

Sigh.

All kinds of trauma is coming up for me.  Right now, what's coming up is all of my fears from being in teachers college last time.  The homophobia of teacher's college, getting thrown out, and almost losing my year at school, and not having my mom.

I did OK, because I had friends, and I was so lucky to have a place to go, and I am a resilient person, and a survivor, but it still felt scary.  I had other relatives, and it was kind of exciting, but, as someone who went from completely being controlled, to being completely abandoned, it was petrifying.

It means such a lot to me to be able to call her up.

I know that things were really bad when I was a kid, but the fact that she loved me and kept me safe this past winter when J left, really repaid that debt exponentially.  I still have to deal with the after effects of my childhood, but the slate between us is clear.  I have to find a way to let her know it.

This winter I needed a Mommy, and I had one.  I know I am so incredibly lucky to get resolution.  We're still ironing out the rough patches, but it makes such a massive amount of difference knowing that I have that love.  I know that she always loved me, but my childhood experience was so inconsistent, and parts so terrifying, that it really wasn't like that.  Parts of it were really great, and I am finding ways to re-connect with those, as a way of re-connecting with my mom.

Being on my own is tough.  I'm the only one here, and I find myself waiting some nights for J to come home before making dinner.  It's not conscious, but like any habit, it's going to take time.

I had to give myself a talking to today about some work that needed doing in my crawlspace.  I needed to get down there, and put in the styrofoam blocks for the winter, and read the water meter, and change some light bulbs, and I had been avoiding it, but I did it finally.