- Feb 8, 2025
Yesterday I fully immersed myself in the Reclaim the Night march in my city.
It's not something I'd actually heard of which is sad, since it's been going since the 1970s.
The aim of the movement is to come together, unite as women and allies, and take a stand about the outrageous truth of violence against women and girls, not just globally, but even down to our own very streets. The roads that we live, our doorstep.
This year, the University offered sign making workshops, for free, ahead of the march, so ofcourse I had to sign up.
Attending any event alone is always at best daunting.
And it's funny how much of that is encompassed in exactly why we were marching.
But part of my mantra this year, is fuck it.
So
"Fuck it" I thought, I'm going all out.
I pictured a night out where I'd be safe, to not only walk the streets, but be myself, unapologetically, and loudly.
What would I wear if I didn't give a care.
How would I do my makeup?
Ever the maximalist I put together (if I do say so myself)
A phenomenal outfit, fishnets, a purple baby doll miniskirt, a fishnet long sleeve snood (I think there's that one woman on tiktok who coined that?) And my pink Bridgerton collection (primark) lingerie top.
I topped it all off with my coat which I've aptly named "The Bear", a faux fur coat that is truly giant, warm, and cosy. (Thanks Blue Banana)
It may be tame as to what I wear in the future, but it was the first time I left the house alone in such a garb.
I curled my hair in tight ringlets and backcombed it to death, and did a hugely dramatic makeup using all the colours in the coat for inspiration. All together, it looked so good, and I won't lie, I was feeling it.
The issue was, I had a the sign making workshop 2 hours before the march, so I decided to go down in full glam face, and comfy clothes, which felt super strange and I didn't feel very confident at all.
But as soon as I got there, I recieved such warmth, I was getting so many compliments, and the general feel was entirely different than I was used to, I could relax more, let my guard down, have fun.
All of the students who helped with the workshop were all smiles and the shared energy we all had to this cause was really special.
It didn't take long to screen print a sign, shockingly, but I stuck around, went into another room where people were sitting, designing their own signs and decided to join them, there was a really positive buzz around the room and I added some colour to my sign.
About half an hour before the march I whipped home and got into my outfit.
Some of the lovely ladies offered to keep hold of my sign there, so I wasn't lugging it back and forth (thank you!!)
And when I returned the cup of love doth overfloweth.
I was truly overwhelmed by the amount of compliments I was getting, and, being my awkward self, I was dreadful at taking them.
Taking this in my stride I was fully ready to direct all of the pent up adrenaline to take to the march.
Over 500 people showed up for the cause. Nearly twice as many as the previous year, and it was a bit slow getting together.
Feeling awkward I moved through the group and chatted with a few people,
I ended up in a conversation with a couple women who were also on their own at the march, and it was also their first year.
So, naturally, we were sisters that night. We all were.
2,4,6,8, stop the violence, stop the hate.
The march began, and over 500 people streamed down the road, emergency services stopping traffic and chants and cheers erupting from the group. Motorists beeped their horns in support, and recieved a big cheer in thanks.
I saw a fair few women who were onlookers, who, for one reason or another couldn't attend. I saw a truly soul shining smile wash over their faces as they saw us march by, happy, carefree, and safe.
A car had slowed beside the march, and this made my heart sing and my eyes cry (thank god for setting spray!) I saw a father, driving his two children alongside us, two little girls, they were waving so hard, and we were waving and cheering back at them.
Tearing up once more while I write this, it gives me such hope, to see a father bring his daughters to see, and to give them that experience of connection with us.
The route took us right up onto the coast, and the freezing wind battered the signs, and nipped at us, but we marched on.
We passed many groups of startled onlookers, received jeers from groups of lads, but, carefree, we went on.
When we reached the endpoint, speeches were made. Statistics were given, the shocking rise in violence against women and girls in the last year alone. A poem was read, and a minutes silence given for a local woman who was murdered in the last month on our very streets.
Following the march, many people remained, and there was laughing and joking, stories being told and memories being made.
Taking my leave I agreed to see the friends I'd made at the next one next year, and proudly I may have skipped merrily home, sign in tow.
Following the event, the obvious social media misogyny was a bore, but for me, this event has ignited a fire in me that will not snuff, and has erased the silence I have long held.
Make you a sandwich?
"I guess, some guys just can't hold their arsenic."
- Feb 5, 2025
I am writing this from a staunchly hot bath,
As even now there's a bulbous, semi sentient orange passing as a human man shouting horrific abuses and lies against a group of people I hold closest to my heart.
I'm not sure this is the 2025 that many pictured. Even in their wildest and most twisted nightmares.
Granted, I am oceans away,
Granted, I am lucky to pass as the gender I was assigned at birth,
Granted, its not on my doorstep.
But how long can one stay silent as their peers slowly wilt, fade and without word, disappear from the world, in front of our eyes.
How long can one pretend it won't be you next, yes, you pass as a woman, but what about when being a woman won't be enough.
There is very likely even a time where my being white might not even be enough, being Irish.
When should I start stitching shamrocks.
My own father grew up with abhorrent racism immigrating to this country in his childhood.
In my lifetime I've seen thorns of hate protruding from almost every marginalised community.
I cannot stay silent in this.
I will not.
I have the gift of articulation, I just have yet to aquire the gifts of a working knowledge on how these system work, and who champions them.
My eyes look to my own country, my own government, the country that has looked to the US with puppy eyes for far too long.
We are safe, for now, we don't currently have a system that allows for such stringent changes to the workings of the country.
This isn't just about trans and non binary, it's definitely not just about trade wars and stances on current genocides and conflicts, its not just about immigration and I.C.E,
And it was never going to be about fucking eggs.
I am choosing my moment,
And though I had hoped to come to grips with things a lot more before I made any sort of statement on it.
I'm choosing for it to be now.
Whatever closet it is that I'm in let's consider the doors blown the fuck off.
I was born a woman, though I never ever felt like it.
Even now, thirty years later, I still stand by my waking up every day, and choose to present as a woman.
But I never felt like one. As a child, I thought it'd change when I hit puberty, so I didn't let it bother me too much,
But when puberty started happening when I was about 10,
It didn't help, I still felt like I had to 'put on' being a woman.
My late teens and early twenties was spent perfecting the woman I wanted to be, I studied makeup, hairstyling, photography. How to walk how to smile, how to laugh, and be a lady.
I found Dita Von Teese, the icon of femininity in the 21st century.
I wanted to be her.
But here and there a dysmorphia was growing, only small moments but the more they happened, the worse things became.
Not in my being a woman.
But,
In my not being a man.
It's still a lot for me to say, and like I've said,
I wanted to be able to process this more, but fuck it, this is real, and this is now.
At this point in time, I identify as non binary, and I've had nothing but great joy in being able to not only vocalise, but express that.
My gender is not, as this point, a trans man, but I am certainly on the more fluid side of things, and being able to embrace the more masc days are a fearful but fulfilling feat.
That being said, how can I shout my joy at my own journey when all others are being cursed and called wretched.
I come out today, to stand with the Queer community.
You'll have to get through me too.
Even the bath did not satisfy, it was one of those baths where it is continually cold, so you keep topping it up with warm water to enjoy it for the brief moments it's warm enough.
If that doesn't reflect how life feels at the moment I don't know another analogy to draw.
Life is cold, harsh and disappointing at present. But one has to keep forcing the warmth back in even if it is only for the briefest moments of enjoyment.
I have not the answers, I haven't even the questions.
I do have a fully weaponised arsenal of words.
And I shall certainly use them.
I have always been fearful of being misconstrued, misinterpreted, or misunderstood.
Perhaps that's the autism.
(Hey look, another neurodivergent that knows not to "roman salute")
But I would rather say my piece, and have the words said,
Than forever hold my words close and revise them privately.
I am stepping forwards and up.
I am stepping up on a shakey leg, into an air of blistering uncertainty.
But by God more people of sense must speak, must act.
We've let this puppet show go on long enough.
But you will not come after my friends, my family, or those suffering under systems designed to snuff them, and those who are fearing for their lives.
I have had it with ancient white men shaking sweaty dirty hands with each other over the cries of human suffering.
This cannot be allowed to go on.
