The Trickle Down Effect

Inherited trauma, making ourselves smaller, and how it's all Ronald Reagan's fault.

One of my core beliefs is that every bad thing can be traced right back to Ronald Reagan. I’m unapologetic about that (core belief, after all), and no, I won’t be entertaining any questions right now. I do not have time to answer any questions, because I am busy taking up space, breaking generational curses, and saving everyone’s lives in here. The trickle down trauma that taught you to make yourself smaller is killing all the women. Don’t worry, I already cut the gas line. We’re in a gas chamber right now. You didn’t know? This is a concent—

I was recently suspended from another platform for using the term “concentration camp” - their AI moderators pulled it out of context, I just know it. I was persecuted, and I’m still not over it. I was not allowed to participate in any groups for 24 solid hours, basically a death sentence. Do I have to report this to my probation officer? The AI moderator probably thought I meant a camp for ADHD people to “learn” coping mechanisms so they gaslight themselves into thinking their executive dysfunction is just them being lazy. That’s not what I meant. As someone with crippling ADHD, that would be inhumane. I meant that men should be born inside a… never mind. I’m getting distracted again.

While Trickle Down Economics is akin to a gas chamber, Trickle Down Trauma is not as overt. By the way, none of this medical advice, and it’s probably not even scientifically accurate, but just trust the process. This article is for entertainment purposes only. Generational trauma might be woven into the our DNA, but we’re about to hot wire this bitch. We didn’t sign up for a life of second guessing our worth, and you know what? #MeToo. Get in loser, we’re petitioning The Court for full custody of our inner child. You’ll get to read your victim impact statement later, my attorney will make sure of it. Kristin, I’ll call you tomorrow.

Not only was our DNA fucked from the jump (not the hot wiring, that was different), we were taught to make ourselves smaller. We were taught to be quiet, to be seen, not heard. Stop crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about! Don’t be too loud, follow the rules. Respect authority, don’t ask questions. Big feelings? Keep them to yourself. Don’t tempt the boys, remain pure. Men are in charge, we’re just here as supporting characters. And we wonder why we’re all burnt out people pleasers who have to remind ourselves it’s okay to have needs of our own?

There is a culture shift happening in real time, all around us. Do you feel it? Because I do. Women are exchanging information in a way that hasn’t happened before. We’re comparing notes, and realizing that although we’ve completed all the training modules for how to navigate life as a woman, the modules were outdated. Now we’re up the creek with loaded firearms. The firearms are loaded with new expectations, not bullets. I am a liberal, I don’t fuck with real guns. You didn’t expect that, did you? Boom.

The millennials are in charge now, and you should be a little scared. Millenials have been preparing for this our whole lives. Our parents said, fuck a textbook, let’s skip right to on the job training, we didn’t sign up for this responsibility shit. If we were sick, Maury and Jerry Springer were there to babysit, because our parents had to go to work. We knew not to answer the door. We were taught what to do if we caught ourselves on fire, and we even practiced it at school. Pretty simple: stop, drop, and roll. Latch Key Kid 101, a skill as basic as breathing for most millennials, or so I thought. Until my starter husband set himself on fire while trying to boil water once, and come to find out? He did not know about stop drop and roll. Instead, he pranced and danced. Oxygen feeds fire, even I know that. He was never a Latch Key Kid. I knew at that moment he could never be the Provider and Protector that I deserved. How humiliating.

When we were in eighth grade, on a crisp September day in 2001, our teachers wheeled in a TV strapped to a cart, and we all watched that airplane fly right into a skyscraper live on the news. You see, back in our day, kids didn’t bring guns to school. It was a different time. Nobody gave a fuck about your mental health back then. That’s also Ronald Reagan’s fault, but you’ll have to read about that elsewhere, on your own time. We are busy right now.

Back to the creek. It’s a full moon, and I’ve hired multiple Etsy witches. The gun has gone off, and inside the chamber were expectations that come only with lived experience. Have you ever tried to reload a firearm with discharged ammo? Well, neither have I. Why the fuck would I be involved in something like that? There’s no turning back now.

We are changing the narrative, and rewriting the manuals. This time the manual will contain accurate information and emojis. It’s going to be uncomfortable, probably a lot of work (luckily, there are no men involved in this group project, so it’s not impossible) but it will be worth it. It’s worth it because we’re in it together, and because not only do we deserve better, so do our children. There’s a reason why there’s a “male loneliness epidemic” happening right now - women have realized pouring into men is just not worth it. They’ve weaponized their incompetence so well that women have discovered not only can they do it all, they can do it all without having to protect the fragile ego of a below average man.

I’ve talked about building a Mommune for as long as I remember. The women won’t need a translation for what that means, and if you’re a man that doesn’t understand, well, then that’s not for you. Go on. Get. You can join my starter husband, who told me that his desire to find his soulmate was the exact same as me wanting to start a Mommune. Interesting thing to say to your wife, who assumed she was your soulmate. Potato, tomato, I guess. Important context: he told me this while we were in the middle of a thirteen hour, two day road trip about two hours into the first day. Two years ago. That shit would never happen in a Mommune; I knew it then, and I know it now.

I’ve been a mom for a really long time, which is why Botox doesn’t last as long as it used to. With experience comes wisdom, and I can tell you this with full confidence: it’s much easier to be the mom you want to be when you are surrounded by people who lift you up. We’re all really tired though, so you’re going to have to help us with that. Sorry, we’re not pulling dead weight anymore. We already did that with the men, and that’s why they’re not invited to the Mommune.

While we were taught with outdated material, which is unfortunate, we were also taught by observing the behaviors and conversations of those around us. Would you take a course on integrity and honesty from a US Senator? Probably not. Why is that? The answer seems obvious, but when someone’s dialogue and actions aren’t aligned, they lose credibility. They’re also busy matching with other closeted government officials on Grindr, so they don’t have time for your shit.

Your kids are observing you, always. Like tiny little corrections officers, but they don’t have tasers (if they do - that’s on you, after all, you are the parent) they’re watching everything that you do, and storing each observation into little filing cabinets housed inside their developing brains to use at a later time.

Hate is a learned behavior, we know that, but a child doesn’t need to learn the definition of the word for hate to be planted in their hearts. All they need to do is observe it, and observe your response to it. Will the seed of hate be planted in them, or did you bring the Round Up? Big on chemicals over here, keep that holistic shit to yourself, thank you very much. This is why we’re starting from the inside out; the instructions are right there on the Round Up label. So, that’s what we will do.

We were taught to love one another. Be kind to your neighbor, the golden rule, blah blah blah. But why were we never taught to love ourselves? Yep, that’s right. It’s all Ronald Reagan’s fault. But guess what? He gone. We’re in charge now. Girlhood, it’s our turn. There’s about to be so many disco balls up in this bitch.

Girl, I’m begging you to love yourself. Love yourself more than you love others. No, that’s not selfish. That was a lie, fed to us by the patriarchy. Don’t ingest the poison. Pick funner, better poisons that will result in a good time, but like, responsibly. It’s uncomfortable at first, like when you have to spray your taint after childbirth. They really don’t prepare you for that, do they? Lucky for you, I’ve come prepared. Not with a taint sprayer (I’ll grab one if you need it, though), but I do have some personal rights that I would like you to consider as you move about your days. And remember, your kids are always watching. And just like Flock cameras, I’m silently popping up all over your town, and girl, I’m watching too. What am I gonna find? I won’t even need a warrant, cuz this is America, and the rules are ambiguous as fuck, and subject to change with no warning.

Personal Bill of Rights

I. I have the right to ask for what I want, without apologizing first.

II. I have the right to say no, without an explanation.

III. I have the right to expect honesty from others.

IV. I have the right to determine my own priorities.

V. I have the right to love myself, and to put my needs first.

VI. I have the right to safety, compassion, and understanding from others.

VII. I have the right to change my mind.

VIII. I have the right to be LOUD about my beliefs.

VIIII. I have the right to be PROUD of who I’m becoming.

X. I have the right to take up SPACE. SO MUCH SPACE!

Now that we’ve downloaded the software update to your life, what will you do with it? You can’t just ignore it. Nope, I won’t let you. The update is downloaded; it took up space without even having to ask twice. Next step? Installation.

What does that look like for you? I’m right here, and I can’t wait to hear about your plans.