Kimmie Jones

It's frustrating, and even more so because I know I'm not alone in this awkward pee-pee waltz with propriety. Ask any cross-section of people with disabilities, and you will hear a choir of amens — and, likely, some amusing stories.
Inclusive restrooms could be a welcome respite for a huge population of people beyond just those with disabilities and those who don't identify with the gender they were assigned at birth.

Last week, my grid was swept away: My iPhone went berserk and crapped out on me entirely. What followed can best be described as a tsunami of anxiety. Sure, a tech detox seems great theoretically, but on my own terms. This was 100% involuntary.

"I just don't want to box myself into being a feminist because I get really irritated by how some misrepresent the message.” And my friend Rae very simply stated, "Just do what you’re doing and that's what feminism will look like to people."

To the man taking the wheel in this country: as a person with a disability, I feel like I’m nothing and THAT terrifies me.

When you hear the buzzwords “body shame” or “body positivity,” it's common to think those phrases only apply to those who have a little extra junk in the trunk, but a huge demographic is excluded the conversation when it takes that cliché Christina Aguilera “We are Beautiful” turn.

Having been born in 1982, I qualify as a member of the millennial generation, but just by a hair. Often, I feel like an old lady, sometimes the last to catch on to to the fads claimed by this group — and when I do, I fall hard. (I’m looking at you, leggings-as-pants.)

Volansky decided to create Boss Babes as an accessible exercise in female empowerment. “I was seeing all my friends and family receive adult coloring books as presents last holiday season and remember flipping through one thinking: ‘Michelle, you have to try your hand at this. You would be stupid not to.’ My dream job would be getting asked to draw portraits of bad-ass, contemporary feminist heroes so why not take matters into my own hands and hire myself for the job?”

Most nights I rely on trashy reality TV to unjumble my thoughts and get centered. To some, that logic is a little fuzzy, but to me, focusing on someone else’s preventable drama seems far preferable to obsessing over my own.

However, these seemingly innocuous stories are, in a very subtle way, reducing the subjects to their base level, judging them solely on their disability, and assuming that they are incapable of the same things as their peers, like hobbies or love.

October is now officially kaput and we are all starting to get the stench of burning pumpkin out of all those newly unpacked sweaters.