Dear Shohreh: I'm ambivalent about having kids, and how do I respond to accusations of being "unprofessional" as a queer person
Dear Shohreh is an advice column where I draw on my years of lived experience—as a person at the intersection of several margins, a professional coach and consultant, a reigning reinventress, and a sought-after advice giver from friends and family—to answer the questions keeping you up at night.
Please note that my answers to Dear Shohreh questions never constitute medical or legal advice. Additionally, I craft my answers based on the information given and my own experiences and values, which may look and sound different from yours.
I’m so behind on Dear Shohreh submissions from the busyness of moving these last two months that I’m doing a couple of double features to get caught up!
Dear Shohreh: My husband and I are unsure if we want to have kids. I have friends that couldn't wait to be parents and friends that are absolutely sure they never want kids, and I'm envious of the certainty of both of those camps. I don't feel the pull to become a parent—pregnancy has always terrified me and having a newborn/young child sounds anxiety-ridden, exhausting, and incredibly laborious without the fulfillment or excitement to balance that out. But when I look down the road, I think I would enjoy more aspects of having a school-age kid, and I worry that I would have major life regrets in old age if we don't have kids.
My husband and I have talked extensively with each other, our friends, and family about this seeking clarity and advice but still feel as unsure as ever. How do you make progress on a huge, life-altering decision like this?
– On the Fence
Dear On the Fence: You are certainly not alone in your ambivalence about having kids (if the 66,000-member r/Fencesitter subreddit is any indication). The calculus of deciding whether or not to have children has only gotten more complicated in our lifetime, and many of my close friends are at the same crossroads as you are.
As much as I’d like to be the one to pass along sage wisdom to you on this topic, someone else has already done it better. Cheryl Strayed tackled a variation of your question in a beautiful, poignant way in her Dear Sugar advice column back in 2011 (and, in the process, turned me on to the magnificent poem, “The Blue House,” which I’ve kept a copy of handy ever since hearing her words). You can read the question and Cheryl’s response to it here.
Everything she says is pretty much everything I would tell you. If I were to add anything, it would be these small snippets:
The fact that you’re being this thoughtful about a decision many people take for granted says a lot about your character. Too many people bring children into this world only to regret doing so because they never thought much about the realities of parenthood. Thank you for not being one of them.
If you can imagine yourself happy and fulfilled on both paths—with or without kids—then I believe you’ll commit yourself fully to whichever road you choose. Remember that confidence comes by doing. Once you choose, you will gain more confidence in your decision as time goes on and you lean into living that choice.
That doesn’t mean you won’t wonder about the other option or grieve—maybe deeply—whatever it is that you’ve given up. It’s normal to grieve lost potential, even when you’re overall happy with your choice! But when it comes down to it, you can only build from the decisions you did make, not the ghosts of the ones you didn’t.
So think long and hard about Cheryl’s advice, and picture what it is that you most want to build with your one life. And maybe try to release the burden of there being a “right” choice, because there likely isn’t one.
Queerly yours,
Shohreh
Dear Shohreh: I have been out about being queer with my public massage therapy business now for a year, and I’ve been struggling with some of the responses I’ve received.
As much as I feel full of wonder and hope for the many queer and trans people who have said how wonderful it is to have a space they can come to and feel safe receiving massage, I’ve been noticing a lot of rage and burnout in myself that I didn’t honestly expect. I’ve been out personally for so long that I guess going really public just hit me in a new way.
I expected issues with clients, sure, as they wrap their heads around our vision and the plethora of rainbow pamphlet resources I put around the clinic for our queer clients to have support. It’s the judgment from other therapists, associations, and colleagues that continually mention how unprofessional it is for me to state my orientation, have rainbows on the door, our website and ads, and how I wear a “queer” haircut that really seem to get under my skin.
I know that “professionalism” is a term that white patriarchal societal norms have perpetuated to keep themselves in power and control anyone who is anything alternate to those in power (BIPOC, queer, disabled), but how do you respond? Again and again? And keep your cool?
If you have any advice on how to respond to these comments about how I am “sexualizing massage therapy by being openly queer” and how I should “hide it for my own safety,” I need some sound bites for responses that I can keep in the back of my mind to bring out when I’m trying to keep my cool and remain calm. Since getting angry is another “unprofessional” thing to do, especially when I’m responding to their oh so “well-placed” business advice.
- Out and Angry in the Business World
Dear Out and Angry: I am irate and annoyed on your behalf that other people in your profession are treating you this way, though I’m not surprised. Unfortunately, reactions to openly queer people like you described are common in practically every industry.
The justice-oriented fire sign rage monster in me wants to advise you to respond to the homophobic comments and unsolicited advice you’re receiving with one (or all!) of the following:
Why don’t you try minding your own f*cking business?
I hope you slip on your massage oil and break both hips on the way down.
Do you speak to your clients with that nasty-ass mouth?
Wow. If rainbows make you this upset, I’d hate to see you around sunshine.
Now that you’ve shared your feelings about my hair, I guess that means our relationship has finally reached the point where we can talk about your heinous wardrobe . . .
Go f*ck yourself.
It’s not as if angry retorts like those wouldn’t be justified! Because you’re right. The people who are “worried” about you being an openly queer massage therapist are perpetuating white supremacist and cisheteronormative ideals about professionalism (and acting like assholes).
But, justified or not, those kinds of comebacks will likely send the other person on the offensive and take things further downhill. So, here are some alternative responses you can try that are a little less . . . pointed:
“What did you mean by that?” A classic choice when someone says something objectionable. Ask it in a genuinely curious tone, then watch with amusement as they try to (over)explain themselves in an increasingly panicked way. If they double down, you can throw in a, “I’m still confused by your comment. Can you walk me through it?”
“I must have misheard you. Could you repeat that?” Invites them to have the audacity to say the bigoted thing twice and is often disarming enough for them to switch gears to, “Never mind.”
“I’m not soliciting feedback about my business at this time.” Simple, direct, and shuts down the conversation.
“When you said X, it felt like [insert whatever feels true to you].” Examples: “It felt like you don’t respect me as a professional,” “It felt like you don’t value me as a fellow human being,” and, “It felt like you were talking down to me.” Being honest about the negative impact of their words might help them realize their actions have consequences.
“I’m amazed you felt comfortable saying that out loud to me.” A great callout for inappropriate statements that gets right to the point.
For comments about your “safety”—“It’s sweet of you to worry about my well-being but rest assured that I take my safety seriously and feel confident in my own risk assessment.”
For comments about you “sexualizing” massage therapy—“Are you suggesting that my existence as a queer person makes me a sexual threat to my clients and is a form of professional misconduct?” or “Are you saying that being an LGBTQ+ person engaged in a profession inherently sexualizes that profession?” Forcing them to confront what they actually mean is a fast track to them jumping to (poorly) clarify what they were “trying” to say.
No matter how you choose to respond to microaggressions and blatant homophobia, the simmering rage and frustration you feel won’t magically disappear. Some things that have helped me process my angst when it happens to me are venting to my partner, friends, or therapist, journaling, and creating community with other queer people in my professional sphere who are dealing with similar challenges.
And in case you need to hear it, you being openly queer in your profession is a gift to your queer and trans clients as well as a gift to other queer and trans massage therapists trying to navigate the field. You shouldn’t have to endure shitty comments, but thank you for doing it anyway and not backing down. Your visibility is making a difference.
F*ck the haters.
Queerly yours,
Shohreh
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