How I’m Learning to Fall Back in Love with my Scars


I heard the click of the bic lighter, a sound I would later come to pretend to love and then I saw the flames.

It’s one of those cute stories I used to tell. That time I put a fire in a diaper out. At first I forgot about the lighter. I blamed it on a faulty furnace. I forgot where the burn scars came from, scars that only some of my more observant lovers would notice. They are actually all over my body and I remember now how I treated them myself. A cold shower flushed the plastic down the drain, but the scars remained.

I issued excuses, and then covered those up. It’s all a series of elaborate lies. I could lie so easily, my intelligence and respectability, my pale skin acting as a kind of alibi only I would ever have to live with.

Now it’s all of you who will need the alibis.

Only once did they ever ask questions, my body seems to know how to hide. My body knows how dangerous the truth can be, maybe that’s why I’d fall in love with the truth later as an adult. Maybe that’s why I went looking for it.

And so here I am today, thinking about how best to cover up defensive wounds on my wrist from that Christmas they tried to kill me. I remember how they got there now and I used to be grateful only those with the right background could see they weren’t self inflicted. Pretty clear defensive wounds, kids. I wasn’t kidding about some of my skill sets. I got them from the father in died in prison for selling the same drugs you are now all entrepreneurs for selling.

I lied because I had no choice and you can call that convenient but I know my brain is magic because the truth only came when it started to be safe. All right, I lied again. It came a little sooner than I would have liked but that’s the way my brain handles things. I’m not in control of it and that has turned out to be the greatest miracle of all.

Or so I thought.

Then I got reminded how much pain my scars could cause.

I could lie but the truth should be obvious now. I can play CSI on myself. I change the subject and pretend to be normal. Do the scars or the Stanford degrees come first?

No one seems able to process both.

So from now on you’ll have to listen to those stories about each scar because each and every single one of them is proof that I belonged at Stanford in the first place.

You did extracurriculars. I survived murder attempts and rape.

I’m not going to apologize for that. I won’t be backing down or lying anymore. I’m here because my own brilliance saved me from multuple attempts on my life.

My ability to get back up and laugh after rapes can be called madness all you like but it’s also why I’m an unstoppable force. I refuse to apologize for that either.

I’m going to stop apologizing for my pain. I’m going to start falling back in love with my scars. I know who I am and I’m not going to be told what to hide anymore. Choose to deal with it or don’t. I can’t help you there.

But if you want to know how to survive, how to thrive even, when everyone around you is mad enough to light babies on fire, I’m your girl.

The answer to the question of how I’ve survived seems to be jokes, music and love. Little acts of kindness made by people who didn’t have the power, fallen soldiers in a war we lost before I was even born. I got conscripted before I even had a choice, like my ancestors before never, going further back than I even know. We come by our stubbornness honestly, because what other choice is there? They said give me liberty or give me death, and too many people weren’t given the choice at all. I’ve always been more of a lover but that’s a weapon too when the whole world wants war and the struggle is against anger, pain and hate. They called me stubborn, and I call that still being alive. That stubbornness was all passed down from ancestors who survived long enough to keep me alive.

My body is all the more beautiful because it has been marked by monsters that fell long before they could take me with them and I’m going to fall back in love with it even when no one else can handle it.

It’s not my concern anymore whether or not it hurts you because maybe you need to know discomfort. There is beauty in this kind of madness. I wonder sometimes how much beauty the rest miss out on because they are so afraid of being anything other than normal.

But I can’t make you see what is patently obvious to me.

This is centuries of the human condition. I wasn’t the first fire. I won’t be the last one sold. This isn’t an unfamiliar story, it’s just one that never gets told.

I’m almost bored by it these days. It makes you forget your social graces.

“Oh shit, was it just inappropriate to mention the murders I witnessed. My bad.”

That’s my mundane.

And I’m not sorry about it.

And the reason I’m not sorry is because despite this, I’m still standing, and laughing my ass off at this whole charade.

That’s a choice.

It’s always a choice you have.

So make that choice like your life and the lives of everyone depends on it.

Those scars, they aren’t going anywhere but if they remind you to love they are beautiful, and you should demand love for them.


You are working hard enough


I had a student that has fundamentally changed my outlook on life. I was working with the special education team in East Palo Alto before I went to get my masters. Our students were tough kids who were being fully included in the classroom, some of whom needed scribes, or couldn’t read. One kid came in right when I thought I had my found my rhythm, we’ll call him . It was October and we suddenly had a student on our hands that was incomprehensible in English and Spanish. He was a 16 year old freshman who couldn’t add. This is a near impossible challenge for a classroom teacher to meet when a student is that far behind in the curriculum. And lots of people and maybe some teachers did immediately label him “lazy” and “difficult.” For most classroom teachers a kid like this is often treated like a distraction you have to contain because kids tend to get bored when they have nothing to do for an hour and and then they get angry because they are embarrassed that they can’t do the work. But fortunately, this kid had an IEP so he was on our case load.

He was a real challenge in what was already a difficult roster, but I was determined to ensure that he was learning because I firmly believe that anyone can learn, and I’ve never been wrong about that. But work ethic is a whole different monster. I was raised in a house that treats work like it’s a religion. My mom was concerned that telling us we were special would ruin us and cause us to go down a foolish path, so she just valued our work. People praise this and I don’t blame my mom for it but there is a dark side to this. My earliest memory involves getting hit in the head for not scrubbing fast enough. People pointed to my work ethic and praised it at Stanford but my work ethic also has caused very serious permanent injury. The whole “hard work is all you need” mantra is also something I’ve long been suspicious of because no one in my family or friend group was lazy and yet we were all poor. But it was J that sealed the deal for me.

J worked just as hard, if not harder, than every other kid that year. Once we found where he was at, he started making real, observable gains and we continued to slowly let him build. James has been moved back and forth between Mexico and the United States his whole life and his parents were illiterate farm workers. In less than a full school year, James had the confidence to explain math applications in multiple steps, he was finally writing sentences and he was a generally confident and pleasant kid. I have never met a human being that didn’t want to learn if the material was accessible and interesting to them. Never

And then there was F. F couldn’t read but was outgoing and had been going to public schools in America since he was five. But he still couldn’t read and kept getting placed in ESL classes. He was great at math but would become so frustrated from hunger and not being able to read the instructions on his assignment that he would throw chairs rather frequently in the afternoon. It turned out that F couldn’t read because of a processing problem similar to dyslexia. Once he was treated, he was able to conquer the written word for the first time in his life. He made the most gains of any child in the school that year. He worked incredibly hard. I’ve had kids work full time, care their siblings and get on a bus for two hours at five in the morning to go to school. And I was one of those kids, my parents would often find me passed out on the living room floor with my books around me because it was only quiet at night in our house.

This is not to say that everyone will or can perform in our schools as they currently exist. Humanity is diverse in it’s capabilities and talents and it’s what allows us to be adaptive and thrive. Not everyone needs to or wants to go to Stanford. Going to Stanford doesn’t make you a better person, it just means you have a certain set of skills and talents that you should be contributing to the world, just like everyone else. The only reason that you hear people in the social justice circles say that “everyone should go to college” is because there is inequitable access to college for the poor. The problem is inequity in our education system. The wrong people end up in the wrong places for the wrong reasons. My great grandfather, five generations ago, had an 195 IQ and the only reason you don’t hear about him is because he was poor before the Depression even started and five generations of gifted minds later and I’m still having to ask for money to apply to PhD programs. If we had a level playing field, equal opportunity not equal outcomes, this wouldn’t happen. We need people that can do other things besides sitting around talking about Marx and getting high and playing golf while talking about Marx (note: this is not me, I would never play golf). We need people to do stuff and make things. And there are some rich people who should be doing those jobs too. But no one should have to be struggling to make it if they are contributing to the community.

The working classes are working profoundly hard in this country, but unless you are very privileged and extremely shitty, I’m betting you work hard regardless of your class background. But this belief that hard work is all it takes or that those who don’t succeed simply aren’t working hard enough is oppressing us. And have you ever noticed that it seems to be disproportionately applied to those who had the most institutional barriers to success? This isn’t to say that the kids that I went to school with at Stanford didn’t work hard, they did. Or most did. That’s the thing in this country is that we all are working hard but we blame ourselves if the system screws us over.

And for the record, this is not to say that I don’t think it’s ok to have pay differences and commercial goods, because I do think we should have that. Because talent should be rewarded and some people work to live while others live to work. But no one who has a full time job in this country should be living in poverty. And no one who has a full time job, or a disability should be told they aren’t working hard enough. If anything we work too much so we should maybe have a conversation about that. Be suspicious of anyone who tries to spur you into an action they want by demeaning you character, that’s abuse.

Just do your best and we can help each other out and build a better world together. And get some rest, America, and if you can’t because of your job start demanding more from your employer, they aren’t doing you any favors by hiring you. You are exchanging your labor for a living and they benefit far more than you do. Employers will try to fight for their bottom line, which means getting your labor as cheaply as possible. But employees should fight for their own bottom line, and doing that is not communism, it’s simply good business.

You are fine. And you deserve a happy life.

You Can Lecture on Grit Only if You’ve been Gritty As Fuck


Did you, in your childhood and against your will, ever go to school hungry for extended periods of time? If no, then you lack the qualifications to comment on whether or not it is possible to do that and you lack the qualifications to “teach” anyone how to do so. However for the sake of shutting this nonsense down I’m going to explain why this grit conversation is not a good use of time and resources.

I am a remarkably, unusually, insanely resilient individual. I grew up crazy (not Fox News poor) poor, I had a mother with a substance abuse problem, I was severely physically, emotionally and sexually abused for the first 13 years of my life, I helped raise my siblings, I grew up in poor, dangerous communities that lacked access to basic services, I have a very serious disability and I went to Stanford. There are very few people in the entire world that have a similar profile. There is no one in the world who would love it more than I would if it were possible to teach people to do that, but it is not. It is incredibly insulting and offensive for me to have people who grew up with privilege trying to argue with me about whether or not that is true. Would you go up to Harriet Tubman and argue that she proves that slaves should have just freed themselves? So then why would you tell me that anyone can overcome poverty like I did? Most privileged people can’t into schools like Stanford and getting into a school like Stanford is one of the very few, limited ways to escape poverty.

That would be fine with me if it served a larger purpose but the grit narrative is just more of the “poor people need to work harder” in cuter language. It is possible on an individual level to use my narrative to encourage individual students to do well, I do it very successfully all the time and I’m exceptionally good at it. That is fine, but that is very different from acting like it is acceptable education policy to promote that. It is not a policy position, it is something you use as triage to do your best to help as many kids as you can.

Some people are making this argument because they work with privileged children and have noticed that they don’t deal with challenges well. This is a problem for privileged children but that is a specific population and it’s an incredibly intellectually foolish thing to use that and apply it to the poor, which is why it is so important for us to talk about class explicitly in education.

“You did it, so they can.” Perhaps the thing that bothers me most is that the argument is basically: because an extraordinary individual was able to get past all our intentional barriers we are off the hook for removing barriers. It is basically, gee, sorry you had to suffer so much as a child but you know, I like shinies and it wasn’t so bad so I’m not going to do anything about it. I find it especially aggravating when people who work on social justice issues promote this and then say: well we can’t eliminate these problems so I guess we better teach some kids how to comply with their oppression. Calling that lazy would be generous. That is not good enough. So on an individual level, use my story if it helps the kids but “buck up and learn to comply” is not a policy. Policies would be things like raising taxes on top earners, increasing the minimum wage, helping workers organize, increasing funding to education or providing child care. I see very few people spending their time, energy and resources arguing and fighting for those things. There is no excuse for that anymore. You can give motivational speeches to my kids when you are using your platform to fight for policies that eliminate barriers. Until then, have a seat because, as my mom would say, grown folks is talking.