Assembly

As an autistic person with ADHD, I need my structure, and I need everything in my home to have its own place; without staying organized, my executive dysfunction becomes exponentially worse. So I spent the afternoon assembling an Ikea serving trolley to help keep my hallway and gym stuff more organized, and put together a cute little footstool in case I want to watch movies from my ancient laptop with someone cool. Speaking of someone cool, I´ll be venturing far outside of my territory this Saturday. I´ll get to meet his dog, and we plan to bake a cake. It´s exiting, in a cozy way.

When I was assembling the reluctant trolley, and eventually decided to leave a couple of bolts out because I couldn´t figure out how they could fit in the big picture. I was reminiscing the many strange features of the Finnish reproductive healthcare which I´ve mentioned in my writings from last summer. If that system is built on the presupposition that only healthy and working people ought to reproduce, it´s one thing, still somewhat based on the idea that only people who actually can care for their children should have them. But the practice that donor gametes must come from a donor of the same racial group that the recipient represents is honestly kind of unforgivably racist, and this practice is defended by the notion that the resulting child could be bullied if it´s a different shade to the parent. No matter how I mince it, I feel like these regulations are not based on the benefit of the child, but rather, on ideas about what kinds of children deserve to be born.

Of course, ableism is baked into the system as well. The fact that my sister had a brain aneurysm at 11 was a factor in me getting denied from treatment at the private sector, despite there being no know genetic defect that caused the aneurysm. So was the fact that my brother drank himself to death, even though alcohol abuse is not a genetic fate but rather something people may be predisposed to, but also need to actively submerge themselves into in order to end up dead from the drink. And while I have a higher education, as I´m not part of the workforce, I was considered too fragile for parenthood. I do get that parenting is costly, and takes a lot of organizing and executive function, but I still feel that when it comes to one´s capacity for nurturing and raising a child to hopefully become a functional adult, the parent´s career trajectory is less of a factor than their ability to be present for the child and meet the child´s needs as they progress through the stages of growth and maturation.

The whole idea that only ”functional” adults are true humans who deserve to continue their lines is eugenicist in a very black and white way. It begs the question: would it be right for me to participate in such a system even if I got what I wanted from it? I understand that sometimes we need to be diplomatic and put our politics aside in order to reach desired goals, but to what extent should we engage with systems of oppression, and at which point this playing along turns into silent support?

As I was toiling away, I was moving my chest out of the way and feeling the softness of my lower belly from the fat protecting my innards as Nature intended. My dream of parenthood is the only thing still standing in the way of me booking an online gender clinic appointment, hopping on hormones, and beginning my transformation without the trans clinic being able to do anything to stop me. I was watching my forearms, thickened by years of rigorous training at the gym, and experienced a great deal of comfort and joy about the hair covering my arms, now thickened by my use of Minoxidil which I started in October to help thicken my eyebrows and reverse some minor thinning of my head hair due to years of stress. It´s undeniable that any change in my body that veers towards masculinity or even androgyny is bringing me constant joy and calm. Even the odd whiskers I´ve started to sprout don´t bother me in any other way but in how sparse they are. And on the other hand, going off the IUD and having to suffer the misery-go-round of a full blown female hormonal cycle has been destabilizing to me both mentally and physically.

So why do I keep myself imprisoned in this body when my current financial situation would allow me to transition via the online clinic? It would require rigorous financial planning, but it would be doable. And still, I sometimes wake up to a feeling of having a baby sleep on my belly, or experience as if a child was standing behind me or tugging at my sleeve when I go through the day. These experiences have gotten more intense after I got off the IUD. I do understand that actual parenthood is not about the celestial harmony which these ghosts provide me with. Real life is messy and loud, sticky and stressful, full of dealing with other adults, teachers, parents, bullies and ear infections, allergies and material whimsies the child would crave and I would have to explain we can´t afford. I could find happiness in my body if I could only let this dream go. But is still feels like a hard bargain.

The hardness of it doesn´t come from my psyche, it comes from my body. After coming off the IUD I feel less like a person and more like a werewolf, this thing, primal and angry, not lustful as in horny, but still driven by unspeakable needs and urges. When I ovulate and walk past a sweaty cis man at the gym, I get intrusive thoughts of hunting him down, sapping his juices and eating his heart in order to claim his power for myself. Sometimes I have waking dreams of wanting to put myself through the pain and brutality of childbirth and wearing the damage to my body as a badge of honor. I want to curl up in my den and feed my small one. I want to take them for walks in the woods and marvel at the birds and the trees together. I want to teach them the names of the planets, and my knowledge of plants and herbs, and make sure they brush their teeth diligently so they´ll grow to be strong and sharp.

My right hand wisdom says that parenthood is years of mustard diapers and tipped over houseplants and never-ending buying of supplies the child will grow out of. It´s about refused meals and having to be the asshole who denies chicken nuggets and provides salmon and broccoli instead. It´s about tantrums at grocery stores and constant vigilance when it comes to not subjecting the child to things it can´t handle yet, but also not coddling it to the point where it can´t function in a world full of boo-boos. It´s about putting your own needs aside for years in order to provide. It´s eye bags and cleaning up vomit and having to have perfect control over your own emotional reactions no matter how tired you are at any given moment.

My left hand wisdom says I could handle it with the sheer motivation of my primal self. the wolf is restless and doesn´t understand how else it could fulfill its animal instinct. I could go and say that my job is to parent myself; that my greater purpose could be my own happiness; but why don´t I see it as a fulfilling goal, at least not right now? I don´t want to have to carry this grief with me for the rest of my life, but at the same time, I don´t think this society I find myself imprisoned within would want me to breed. And perhaps knowing this is one of the reasons that childlessness feels such a bitter pill to swallow. When my status changed from student to disabled, it no longer matters that I graduated. The word ”invalid” is accurate as a descriptor to what I am to this society. It´s no longer widely used, but it´s surely thought of me, and I am surely defined by it.

Snow falls slowly behind my window. Everything in my house is in order. And I stand in the anteroom of life-defining decisions.

EDIT: the evening arrived with an answer. It´s an unusual one. But it´s workable with. I may not be able to get everything but I am able to get progress, with proof.

Time to take a leap of faith!