This Post is a Symptom of “Chronic Political Correctness”. Whatever that means.

In a recent Huffington Post article, debate about the Canadian “Trans Bill” – or Bill C-16 – demonstrates the divide in progressive speech politics. You can read the full story here, but here’s a quote of my favorite part (and by favorite, I mean, the part that makes me want to throw up):

Fonseca, however, insisted that the [Trans] bill, rather than being a “shield” for those who identify as transgender, will instead become “a sword for militant radical activists to go after Christians and make them pay for opposing this ideology.

“If this dangerous bill is passed, we will see Christians’ lives ruined,” he said. “We will see them lose their jobs, their homes. Their reputations will be destroyed. We will see Christians be buried under ruinous financial debt as a means to silence them and send an example to others…. We will see people being jailed.”


Must be election season, because nothing screams “elect me” like fear and hypocrisy. 

How, I wonder, would this person (and other men who feel this way) react if they were called a woman? Would they not be “offended”? Would they not respond by overemphasizing their masculinity? Puffing their chest? Shouting from soapboxes,”ME, MAN!”

Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they’d be far more vulgar in their offense, spewing words that start with P and end in Ussy. Depends who you’re dealing with.

At the very least, would these men not simply and rationally correct the statement? “Actually, I’m not a woman. I prefer if you refer to me as ‘he’. Thank you for your respect.”

Why would trans folks not be afforded that same right to correct a false statement about their identity?

From stories that I’ve heard, few trans folks feel comfortable coming out or sharing their story because of fear of being ostracized or treated violently, which is (unfortunately) a valid fear. And you, Mr. Jack, are worried about the financial well-being of some of the most privileged people in the country?

The term “Chronic Political correctness”- and the ways in which folks like this have defined it all on their damn own – exasperates social conservatives as if other people’s lived experience is somehow a direct attack to their own lived experience.

I continuously fail to understand why people are so threatened by inclusivity and diversity.

I’m sorry, but folks wanting the same rights and respect as you, Mr. Jack, isn’t a threat to free speech. It isn’t a threat to Christians. You’re just a bully trying to earn support through fear. As BB says when I pester him in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep and he has been sleeping, “Get outta here!”



Trickle Down Feminism

Every day, I’m reminded that I don’t carry the same amount of authority, legitimacy, or credibility of a man.

Take a simple, ultra-Canadian example: Holding the door.

Every day, my male partner opens the door for me. He’s sweet. I appreciate his gestures. And nearly every day, my male partner will hold the door open for someone else and is greeted with appreciation. What a gentleman! How kind of you! And look at that cute beard and butt!

(He is so handsome, y’all. And yes, I get the feminism-irony. But I don’t care. HIS BEARD IS SO CUTE.)


For me, it’s a different story. I awkwardly try to hold open the door open, but most often, someone takes over and insists I go ahead. And by someone I mean an older white dude.

[Remind me to tell you about how much I love to make older white dudes uncomfortable by being overly chivalrous towards them. It’s honestly the best. Try it.]

Now in this scenario, I can either go on and prance through the path that’s been cleared for me. OR, I can stop and insist for them to go ahead. Because I’ve literally already gone out of my way to hold the door open. I’VE ALREADY COMMITTED TO THIS.

On the one hand, I accept the gesture and hand over the rights to the heavy door that’s already inconveniencing me. He gets the karma, I gets ta get outta there.

In this scenario, I feel entitled. I feel the perpetuated social message that modern women expect men to dote on them. To take care of them. This so called “women’s privilege”, filed next to free drinks, asking-for-it harassment, and sexpectations.

On the other hand, I decline the gesture. I insist they walk through the door.

In this scenario, I’m ungrateful. I just don’t understand how nice men are and I’m a “crazy” feminist who thinks I can do everything by myself, and I don’t need no man to do things for me. (We literally don’t.)

Walking away, I think: Yeah, dude. I deal with a bunch of stuff on the regular that’s annoying. That’s potentially dangerous. That’s almost always unfair.


Yet, let’s face it. Every day white cis-woman problems are nothing compared to what some other folks have to go through.

Not even close.

And I’m not saying that white, cis, straight women don’t face discrimination. I’m not saying we don’t face garbage scenarios. We do. (Sit down, Becky.) But it’s important to recognize that it’s not enough to talk about White Feminism. It’s not enough to treat men and women as the pillars of which we ought to equalize. There’s so many people who don’t benefit by mere gender equalization, whether they identify as something outside of “male” and “female”, or they have additional oppression such as race or class or ability.

Most people have come to terms with the fact that trickle down economics is bullshit. Yet, it’s kinda how first-wave feminists (and contemporary White Feminists) philosophize their own movement.

The movement started with white, upper class women earning the vote. Earning the right to own property. Slowly fighting for sexual liberation. High profile careers. (Thanks for that BTW.) Currently, the big fight is for wage equality. But when do we, as white women, stop and realize that all of those things we’ve fought for have not necessarily been resolved for non-white women, trans, gay, or disabled folks….

It’s no longer good enough to fight merely for women’s rights, because this inevitably neglects other groups. It’s not enough to allot social power to the top of our white washed social hierarchy and expect it trickle down. Because what happens is similar to trickle down economics. Those White Feminists cling to the power they’ve desperately fought for, and it’s like they won’t step down off their soap box to make room for other bodies and their voices. (Again, the irony. I get it. Don’t worry, you’re probably the only one reading this. Well, and my mom.)

White Feminists continuing to being vocal for their own issues isn’t the problem, but their loudness inevitably mutes many of the other issues that haven’t been given the same mainstream validity. Often, these White Women discredit those who fall below them on this social hierarchy, because they’re likely scared to lose their place. They believe they’ve earned their freedom by pulling up their boot straps, and others must too fight to climb up to their accomplished level. With this mentality, they may as well be shouting from the rooftops: “Social equality should not be a handout.” 

Alternatively, and sometimes, this power is handed out. Though sparingly and with conditions. Power is redistributed to how those with the power see fit.

“Sure, you can have a little space on my platform, but you better be polite. Well mannered. Appreciative. You’ll dress and behave and wear/dress your hair in a way that I deem appropriate. In ways that I deem are not oppressive.”

Equality occurs on White Feminist terms, based on White Feminist ideals, White Feminist culture, and with the concept of gender-alone bias at the forefront.

But can we just like, point out something here…


We’ve had nearly a century of this trickle-down garbage philosophy, and guess what, we haven’t achieved full gender equality for white women. Something’s not working here (because patriarchy), so why do we continue to act like social power is going to trickle down to those whose stories are barely legitimized? Why insist on holding the door to equality for folks who are already actively holding it open themselves? 

Call It What You Wanna Call it, I’m a Canadian Bern-Aholic

Human culture is fascinating. Over a period of thousands and thousands of years, we as a species have congregated and made extraordinary advancement in art, technology, and science. Thinking about the fragility of our very existence – and the existence of all that we’ve created – is perplexing. Each step of the process of our cultural evolution was dependent on the last. Even the horrendous events of history brought unprecedented scientific advancements. I do not applaud – nor will even cite – these advancements, but we benefit from them regardless.

I find this even more incredible because it’s actually really difficult to be human. It’s difficult to remember. And to think. And to feel – to feel both hope and shame; love and loss. It’s difficult to know what’s coming next, and it’s difficult to know there’s an end. Yet, it’s just as difficult not to remember, not to think, not to feel. And just like it’s a burden to know it all, it’s difficult not to know just the same.

A friend of mine and I used to spend our weekends on top of small business’ roof tops asking philosophical questions to each other while we sipped on sugary ciders bought by strangers, or travel mugs with Baileys because that’s all that was ever in our cupboard. (Sorry mom.) We asked all types of questions that teenage women never get credit for asking.

What exists out past the stars?

Is there objective truth?  What if your “purple” is my “green”, and no one would ever even know or think to contest their reality? 

Do you think once you learn about the meaning of life, that’s when you die? 

These days, I’m so exhausted the most interesting thing I can ask myself is why did we think it was a good idea to sneak out of our warm homes to sleep on asphalt in the freezing cold after we spent literally all our money on 2Ls of ice cold Growers?

But that’s what we did. And now I look at both of us and we’re in the final stages of our Master’s degrees – me in Arts and she in Architecture – and it makes me so proud how far we’ve come. It makes me proud that our kid selves conjured these wild questions and spent the last 10 years or so really trying to answer them.

So far, what I’ve discovered is this: time passes regardless of the questions we ask or try to seek answers to. Time goes on and will go on forever, whether we are here to track it or have long used up our share. So, human culture is evolving and changing (and hopefully growing) with or without your conscious effort. And here we are, at the most evolved stage of human life that we ever have been (until tomorrow, of course), and we have the opportunity to be an active member in the change that’s going to happen regardless.

From my perspective, human evolution has always been and will continue to be about social equality, in which natural forces of human nature of greed and jealousy and gluttony have created barriers to it’s fulfillment throughout history. Yet, I feel hopeful that goodness really does prevail in the end. And I am hopeful that together, we will truly be the change we want to see in the world. (Thanks, Gandhi. Your citation score must be wicked.) And sure, this is the same kind of hope that I feel when I wish that Ben Affleck won’t be re-cast as Batman ever, ever again. Which, of course, is naive hope surrounded with a lot of doubt in those with the power to actually do anything about it.

So, my preachy moment of the day is this: Don’t watch the clock, be the Time.

Be engaged in your community and your culture that has and will continue to evolve. Accept newcomers. Reject hatred. Speak what’s on your mind. And love who you inevitably love. Because your life is going to be difficult regardless if you’re compassionate or you’re selfish- if you’re patient or you’re irritable – if you’re curious or ignorant. But when it’s all over, there’s going to be a moment when you’ll be forced to look back and remember your life: the events you participated in, the propositions you thought, the emotions you felt. And in that moment (many years from today), you’ll ask: How does the essence of me, and all that I’ve done for the world around me, fare with what my culture has (by then) accomplished? Will you be on the right side of history? Or will you be stuck in the past bitter and shameful? Because, surely, by then, we’ll all just f@cking get along.

#Bernie2016 #FeelTheBern #CanadiansForBernie

*In no way is this affiliated with the real Bernie Sanders, although if he’d let me, I’d follow him anywhere.

BC for Easter: Rainy, cold, and slow drivers. BAD!

Recently, we took a trip to BC to visit family and friends.  Let me tell you, this place is hardly the “best place on earth.”

First of all, it rained basically the whole time AND it even snowed while we went over the Kootenay pass so we could hardly even see the mountains. Can’t anyone do something about this? Is this really where our tax dollars go? As if that wasn’t enough, they kept advertising wildlife along the highway but we hardly saw anything cool except a bunch of grumpy deer and some gross cows. There were deer LITERALLY EVERYWHERE. To be honest, it seemed kinda dangerous – they weren’t even enclosed. Like, are they friendly? I was too scared to try and pet them, but you KNOW I stopped on the narrow highway to take a bunch of pictures. I even almost got run-over! I dunno, I’d recommend that they put out more moose, though, because I’ve never seen one of those before. I feel like a lot of people feel the same way. Just something to think about.


When we passed the BC border we noticed that a bunch of BC drivers tailgated us through the windy highways. RUDE. The signs CLEARLY suggest going as slow as 30 km around the corners, and they’re like hella scary so I WAS OBVIOUSLY going to go even slower than that. I’m not a trained Nascar driver, okay. Are you? Besides, I made up for it on the straight stretches by driving even faster than all the BC drivers. So, I’m pretty sure it all evened out. Like, just chill, okay? I’m basically flourishing your economy by my presence, so you should probably be a little more hospitable.

Finally we made it to the Kootenays – a cluster of tiny towns in the interior of BC – and the people were super friendly. Suspiciously so, actually. They would just wave while I drove down the street. Like do I know you? It was weird. In restaurants, people would just come up to me and start chatting about their cat’s food allergies and how So-and-So’s cousin was back in jail. I mean, I totally took the bait and shared as much personal information about people in my world because of my social anxiety, but that’s weird right? Who does that?

We went to a few food-places that were pretty okay. Like the Rossland Beer Company, which served fresh brewed, rotating beers on tap and a cider out of the Okanagan. CaptureSure the beer was delicious, the vibe and staff were incredible (they even asked me how I old I was to make sure I was legal – um, THANK YOU for noticing how young I look), and the tasting room was in a funky old garage right off “downtown” Rossland… But they didn’t even serve AGD. And as Mindy Kaling would say, Exsqueeze me? How do you not serve premium Albertan lager?

We wandered around town with friends, we absolutely did NOT climb any buildings illegally, and then we played a game called “Neglin” at The Flying Steamshovel. The game is where you have a wood stump (i.e. from a tree) and you hammer nails into it. No, there’s no catch, that’s literally all it is.

The following day, we just “kicked back and listened to local radio” (as suggested by a local tourism website), because Kootenay Lake was too cold and too picturesque to swim in. Ugh, LAME.


Plus the clouds COMPLETELY ruined our view. And Ainsworth Hot Springs  was so successful and booming that we could hardly enjoy ourselves in the most unique and cozy hot spring experience of all of Canada. I mean, I know the caves are natural but it would just be nice if they were a bit more welcoming. Perhaps some track lighting, exquisite seating, or a no-children policy. Just sayin’.

Anyway, BC was okay. Like, whatever. I don’t miss it at all. I’m totally okay with being Albertan now. Totally.


Office Administration for Dummies

As I’ve alluded to, I have been a student for literally ever. Like, I was born, I waddled around for a few years because I was a toddler, I started Kindergarten, AND I HAVE NEVER LEFT ACADEMIA SINCE. So, when I started one of my first (albeit temporary) office jobs a couple of months ago, I had a couple of things to get used to. At first, I was all, “I HAVE TO DO THIS EVERY DAY?”  But now, I’ve got the whole work schedule thing down. This is what I’ve learned.


8:30 – Arrive to work. Be there 5 minutes early so it looks like you got there 10 minutes early. If you’re late, spend extra 5 minutes explaining how bad the roads were, which is likely not why you were late at all, but it’s Canada, so it’s always a reliable excuse. If it was the reason you were late, exaggerate the amount of near-collisions you witnessed so people believe you. Ugh, [Current Rival Province] drivers. They’re the worst.

8:45 – Morning meeting to talk about who’s doing what because So-and-So stayed home sick again. Do that for about 45 seconds. Spend remaining 9 minutes and 15 seconds talking about what you did the night before. This builds a strong sense of comradery.

9:00 – Complain about the office being too cold.

9:15 – Check E-mail.

9:45 – You know what, the office is actually quite warm. Encourage coworkers to wear a warmer sweater.

10: 15 – Go for coffee.

11:00 – Check E-mail. Respond to invite for Office Potluck, forgetting immediately what day it’s scheduled on.

11:30 – Complain loudly about someone wearing too much perfume or cologne in hopes to passive-aggressively remind them how allergic you are.

12:00 – Lunch. Leave packed lunch in the fridge and grab something from a nearby food truck, because you literally can’t even stick to your meal plan today. Have someone probably named Karen tell you how good your food looks while they pretend to be upset about eating their homemade salad packed in a mason jar. You know you’re not jealous, Karen. We both know I’ve given up and gained that 5 lbs back. Enjoy your sustainably grown and packaged lettuce.

1:15 – Check E-mail. Avoid tricky ones, because you can deal with it tomorrow. What are you, a robot?

1:45 – Head to meeting. Naturally, complain about temperature/humidity/lighting of the room. Do. Not. Fall. Asleep.

3:30 – Go for coffee.

4:00 – Scramble to finish all the work you were supposed to do for the day.

4:35 – Leave the office 5 minutes late feeling a humble sense of accomplishment because you stayed late. Again.

Good work, self.

My neurotic inner voice is telling me that I should end with a note to remind you, i.e. current or potential employer, that this is an exaggerated account because I think I’m funnier than I probably am. Regardless, my colleagues and I work very hard. Though we are concerned for our circulation when the building is consistently so cold, we are nonetheless committed to excellence. I assure you I have been regularly recognized for my work ethic, professionalism, and productivity. Thank you for your continued support or future consideration.

Not an adult, not quite a Millennial.

I’m not a millennial. But, I’m not NOT a millennial. Like, I’m too old (I think) to qualify, but then again, my perception of self worth is largely dependent on social media attention and whether or not people think my eyebrows look okay. (Like I don’t need them to be on fleek, because no one has yet defined this for me, but I ABSOLUTELY dread being around people who contour and perfectly fill in their brows and lips with pretty pastes that cost more than my car insurance, because that shit is bananas-serious and I know they are judging me. AND ALL I WANT IS TO FIT IN BECAUSE MAYBE WE COULD BE FRIENDS AND MY EYEBROWS DON’T DEFINE ME.)

See my dilemma? It’s a total circa 2005 Britney I’m not a girl, not yet a woman scenario.

I know what you’re thinking: what do my insecurities about my eyebrows being on or off of this “fleek” have to do with anything?

The short answer is, my eyebrows have literally nothing to do with anything.

The long answer starts back in the late 90s. See, I was among the first generation where parents and teachers wanted us to know we were special little superstars who could do anything we put our mind to. No rulers bruised our knuckles. No text books were thrown at our heads. And Unlike Biggie Smalls, we were never told, “[You’d] never amount to nothin’.” Instead, we were told to follow our dreams and to embrace our talents. We were told to go to University and pursue anything we longed to know more about. If we danced, we were encouraged to dance. If we wrote, we were encouraged to write. If we had no obvious talents, were encouraged to take Open Studies and “just experience University” as if it’s some kind of 4-year-long club for young adults who don’t understand what a T4 slip does. And, finally, we were told jobs would be plentiful because the baby boomers were soon retiring, and before they do they’d be grateful to train us to replace them.

Spoiler alert: this hasn’t really happened. 2-funny-job-interview-meme

In return, for those of us who took the bait and believed in ourselves enough to follow our dreams (and not labor market trends), our praise quickly turned to disappointment. No longer are there cheering noises and shiny participation ribbons being thrown at us. No longer are gold stars handed out for putting on pants and leaving the house. Instead, we are bombarded with questions like this:

“Do you have a real job yet?”
“Ok, but how much have you put away in RRSP’s?”
“Do you have a real job yet?”
“What do you mean you don’t know what an RRSP is?”
“Do you have a real job yet?”


The point is: I am that sucker. I have spent nearly a decade in and out of school trying to find a way to be creative for a living. So, finally, after years of dedication, I’m happy to announce: I am now blogging for a living. And by “now” I mean “still”. And by “for a living”, I mean “for exactly zero dollars.” 

For those of you who have followed along with this strange little hobby of mine over the years, you know how many times has changed, disapeared, not made any sense, or became an outlet for my passive aggressive revenge towards ex-boyfriends (okay, that was like one time, and I’m sorry but I’m not sorry). Moving forward, I’m going to write about the adventures I take, the restaurants I indulge in, and other memorable experiences I probably shouldn’t share. All in sassy, awkward Kala fashion.

So, stay tuned, share, and let me know what you think. But please don’t comment on my eyebrows, because honestly I am already dealing with this RRSP thing and I DON’T HAVE TIME TO HAVE COMPLETELY IRRATIONAL PANIC ATTACKS ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE.

An Open Letter to #NotAllMen //TW: Language & Violence

Dear #NotAllMen,

You think you’re being sincere. You think you’re proclaiming your innocence and the innocence of the men you deeply know to be just as virtuous as you. These words pour out of your mouth or your fingertips because you want to be heard and you want to be seen as the good man that you are. You do not want to be seen as some violent stereotype, because you are a “real man” and a “nice guy”. I hear you when you say you don’t deserve to be labeled a sexual offender if you tell a woman she is pretty on the street. And that you don’t see the problem with gendered derogatory language. Or the jokes you tell to your buddies “all in good fun”. I understand you think you’re being sincere.

It’s just, I don’t.

I don’t think you’re being sincere.

Don’t misunderstand my frustration, I believe you when you say you would never rape a woman, or you would never abuse a woman. I believe you when you say you love and cherish women. But when you say things like “Not all men”, you undermine every courageous person who has come forward with their story of abuse and you have turned it around and made their struggle about you.

All feminists are accused of hating men at some point in their lives. And, you know what, some feminists probably do hate men. To be honest, I think back to the interactions I’ve had with many men, and I frequently question why I don’t hate ’em. I’ve been abandoned, sexually assaulted, emotionally abused, lied to, called stupid, mansplained to, frequently interrupted by, etc., etc. all by (some times really important) men in my world. Yet, with special thanks to #NotAllMen, I remember that I shouldn’t make a vast generalization based on gender or ideology or race or sex…


Oh wait, no. That was feminism. Feminism taught me that.

Feminism has even taught me that there are virtuous men, and I’m lucky enough have fallen in love with one. But let me tell you, those men don’t say things like, #NotAllMen.

Regardless, is it really that difficult to believe some women hate, or at the very least deeply fear men?

Imagine you were attacked by a neighbor’s dog. For years, it came up to you and sniffed your butt and gave you wet, slobbery kisses right on your face. You were buddies, and you packed around treats in your pockets just in case you saw him on your evening jog. He remembered you and he came loyally when you called him over to the fence. He was gentle and fun and you really cared about him. And then one day, out of nowhere, he lunged at you. This spunky little dog you loved fucking attacked you. It ripped open your jeans with it’s sharp teeth and tore into your flesh until he drew blood. His jaw clenched to your leg, you couldn’t get free. And when you screamed for help, no one was around to tear the dog off of you and no one was around to witness the attack at all. Finally, he let up his fierce grip, and you informed the owners and the police and you shared your story with your family. You insisted the dog be put down, and it was. To this day, that breed of dog triggers something in you that you can’t shake. Seeing one makes your heartbeat quicken and your fingers feel numb and you distance yourself as quickly as you can. That’s called fight or flight.

Can’t you see, then, how women who have been victims of violence and sexual violence might fear men? How some women might even hate men? Can’t you also see the power dynamic here? If a dog attacks you, a human holds more credibility. Your scars are enough evidence. You are believed. The dog is put down. No questions. Yet, when women are attacked, their male attacker still holds more credibility. Victims’ scars are often invisible or require invasive procedures or are even accused of being self-created. Victims are rarely believed, even by their loved ones. And their attacker is often let free. Victims are forever questioned, and they forever question themselves.

Take a look at these statistics drawn from the Canadian Women’s Foundation:


I’ve read elsewhere that nearly 60% of aboriginal women have been sexually assaulted in their lifetime. SIXTY per cent. As seen in the figure above, 60% of women with a disability have experienced some form of violence. What interests me – and actually deeply disturbs me – is that already vulnerable groups are seemingly targeted. Children, women with disabilities, aboriginal women, homeless women, trans folks, women of colour, sex workers…. The list goes on. So, not only are men abusing women and young girls at astounding rates, but they are abusing women who are already struggling; who are already disadvantaged; who are already far less powerful in comparison.

And on top of this, all y’all are shouting #NotAllMen from your omnimous social media accounts creating LESS safe and accepting spaces for victims to actually come forward.  LESS THAN 10 PER CENT of sexual assaults are reported in the first place, and you stomping your feet and pounding your fists about something that doesn’t involve you is absolutely making that worse. When you say things like #NotAllMen (or #WhiteLivesMatter, because I just know y’all are the same people) you are not only disrupting victims’ stories of courage and survival and requests for support, you are actively turning attention to yourself for literally no reason with zero benefit to anyone.

Consider the following dialogue:

Judge: You, Mr. Smith, have been accused of 3 counts of sexual assault. How do you plead?

Mr. Smith: Guilty.

You, spectating from the gallery: NOT GUILTY.

Like, we know, buddy. You weren’t there. You didn’t do it. You “love and cherish women” (until they friendzone you, of course, then they’re “sluts”, “teases”, “whores”, and “prudes” somehow at the same time…) But, until then, you definitely love and cherish them.


I want you to know that I hear you. Of course not all men are rapists. Of course not all men are violent. Of course not all men should be feared. But there are other ways of expressing your love and support for those who have been victimized around you – and it’s by shutting the f&#% up and listening to them.

Let me leave you with an example of how to appropriately respond to someone opening up to you about a potential assault.

Friend: There’s something I want to share with you, because I feel safe with you. A few months ago, I was at a party and I got really drunk with some girlfriends. I woke up in a strange bed and I have no memories of what happened that night, except I got a text message from a number I didn’t recognize and he told me I should get the morning after pill because apparently we had sex. I really don’t remember what happened, I was too embarrassed to ask anyone else from the party. I still feel on edge about everything, and some nights I can’t even sleep.

How Not to Respond to Someone Expressing Vulnerability:


How Also Not to Respond to Someone Expressing Vulnerability:

You: Honestly, you sound like you’re being a bit dramatic You really shouldn’t have gotten so drunk. Besides he was probably just as drunk as you were. Where were your girlfriends when this happened?

Why this is wrong: If someone is drunk, they cannot give consent. Let me repeat that. If someone is drunk, they cannot give consent. Sure, the dude she had sex with might have also been very drunk, but if he was coherent enough to send a text message about the morning after pill, chances are, he was far less drunk than she was. Further, by accusing her girlfriends of not being there for her completely denies any responsibility on the person who very likely sexually assaulted your friend.

How to Respond to Someone Expressing Vulnerability:

You: Thank you for feeling safe enough with me to open up like that. I imagine that’s been difficult for you. Have you considered talking to a counselor about how to best deal with this? I can go with you if you’re nervous.

Why this is right: You do not have to – and should not try to – be a hero. Your role is to be supportive, provide direction to resources, and to listen. That’s it. Don’t make it about you. Don’t give advice you don’t know to be true. Don’t make false accusations. Just listen to what she wants to share with you and what she says she needs from you, and respond accordingly.


Anyway, that’s all I have to say. And I really hope you actually took the time to read the whole letter, because so many of you have made it clear that, “if someone like [me] doesn’t teach me, then how will [you] ever learn?” So, consider that lesson one.



Feminists everywhere.