“Unless you start getting creative now, you are going to be in the waiting place your whole life. So grab a roll or duct tape. I hear it fixes everything.”

Just as the Earth circles around the sun, I am back in my Snoopy pajamas typing up a blog post at my parent’s kitchen table. Then a few hours later I typed out my stream of consciousness in the hospital waiting room. Life is just one big waiting room if you let it be. Each year I decide to wait less and less. 

If you are new here, it has become a tradition to write a blog post each year on my birthday. I completely forgot my birthday was rapidly approaching with the new year so here we go barreling into my thoughts about 2024. 

The theme of my year was “radical acceptance,” or letting go of everything not in my control. My therapist does not condone full “radical acceptance,” but instead always tells me that “approval is not acceptance.” With so many moving parts and sleepless nights, I held onto the bits of control I had. It could be the higher dosage of Zoloft, but I no longer cared about the spiral of what ifs. The plane landed at the wrong airport, may as well read some smut while we redirect. The train is delayed, so grab some coffee and stretch. Can’t afford it, buy a flight and vulva costume on the credit card. Money comes and goes. We are on a floating rock in space. We all end up in a waiting room at the hospital.

The year was mainly composed of the Lady Parts “Tour de South,” which was the start of our festival run. To our surprise the festivals that accepted and championed Lady Parts were all located in the south. We went from Orlando to Birmingham to Austin to St. Louis to Wilmington. That is 8,121 miles over 6 different states and well over 2000 condoms and friendship bracelets. I had made so many  friendship bracelets that I actually pinched a nerve under my left arm. It is my best and worst quality all in one. If I want to do something I will do it and nothing will stop me. It turns out my own body is the only thing that can stop me. A left hip out of place, a sprained neck, a tense pelvic floor, and now a left arm out of commission. Nothing could stop me from crawling to the finish line. 

The craziest part of the festivals was finally being able to show an audience the film. It was no longer my actual life, or a story I thought up, or even a film in production. It was on a screen and everyone had the chance to come see it. What started as my story was no longer mine. I know it’s giving “The Manuscript” by Taylor Swift. Lady Parts now belonged to the audience. It became a character of its own and I watched as it took flight and flew from the nest. 

No longer was my vestibulectomy a reserved story for those closest to me. Strangers in a packed theater knew more about my vaginal history then most of my closest friends in a matter of minutes. After screenings, audience members would approach me and tell me all about their vaginal trauma, strange health problems, or awful medical gaslighting stories. I realized I knew a lot about these people’s vaginas, but I never got their names. I had become so open (pun intended) this past year that I sometimes forget not everyone is speaking in front of hundreds of people about all their trauma every week. I was able to go talk about my vestibulectomy, medical trauma, sexual assault, toxic relationships, and more without blinking an eye, but most people weren’t at that stage.

It was only after an 18 hour day of working my full time job while being at the festivals all day that I’d have a moment staring at my hotel ceiling taking in what just happened. Deep breaths and slides of the pelvic wand. A happy baby stretch. Make 100 more bracelet bags at 3am. Go. Go. Go. My arm is on fire. Keep going. In the moments between moments I’d have the realization over and over. I was doing exactly what I set out to do 8 years ago and it is better than I ever imagined. I can do this. Bloody and dismantled I’d be at the finish line no matter what. 

Audience Choice Best Narrative Feature and the Special Jury Award for Screenwriting from Florida Film Festival. I used to fly to Orlando every year at this time to visit my ex and his family. Now my film not only premiered there, but won 2 awards there. 

Two sold out screenings and an Audience Choice Best Narrative Feature at the Sidewalk Film Festival. I used to live in Birmingham and actually was stuck there most of the pandemic. A job there told me I was unrelatable. Then how was this film the audience choice? 

Jury Award for Best Comedy Feature at Austin Film Festival. I submitted this script back when it was a TV pilot in 2018. Spoiler alert: it did not get in or even become a quarterfinalist. Instead the feedback said to focus more on the relationship with the parents and that it would do great as an indie film. I took it to heart. Then it won in 2024. 

Full circles all around. 

After the award luncheon, it was another Monday in Austin. I sat at breakfast with my parents with my laptop out working my day job and trying to remember the interview schedules and which bathrooms needed a restock of menstruation materials. Then I felt something in my butt. I jolted to the bathroom and alas at 30 years old I had shat my pants. No better way to be humbled after winning the jury award than this. With an in person, on camera interview in 15 minutes, we made a CVS stop for underwear, wipes, and pepto. “Lights, camera, bitch smile.” I shit pants. Nothing I could do now, but throw on my pink glitter crop top, sip a ginger ale, and trauma dump into a microphone. Radical acceptance am I right? 

But that was the name of the game. I ended the year with bones and skin held together with tape and gum. I had accomplished the goal I set out and even more. People told me it was impossible. I didn’t care. They told me it couldn’t be done. I didn’t care. They told me to just wait. I did not. It’s never going to be the perfect time. You are never going to have enough cash. Unless you start getting creative now, you are going to be in the waiting place your whole life. So grab a roll or duct tape. I hear it fixes everything. 

It was all worth it when someone would tell me they related to the story. I remembered sitting on my pee-pad covered bed, staring at my ceiling, wondering what was so wrong with me? Why am I alone in this? Is it just me? I wish that girl could’ve watched a film like this. Even just a scene of the sitz bath would have made a world of difference. 

As a white woman with loving parents who had the financial means to help me travel to specialists and get the care I needed even when not covered by insurance, I come from a huge place of privilege. I am so thankful that I am healthy and able to tell this story. There are so many stories like this that won’t reach the screen, so it’s so important that I do everything I can to get the film out there and into the discussions. 

On top of all the festivals this year, I became a part of the grassroots advocacy organization, Tight Lipped, composed of vulvo-vaginal and pelvic pain patients such as myself. Not only was this year the first time I ever met another person who had a vestibulectomy, but it was the first time I’d seen a group of people fired up to make actual tangible change. Not only could we make a film about these conditions, we could actually make a systemic change! I’m so excited to get more involved in 2025. May even have to break out the vulva costume again. 

This year though feels so different from the rest. Although it is typical for my Capricorn ass to work myself dry, travel around each month, and bite off more than I can chew, the way I reacted to it changed drastically. I used to think medication was not for me. I used to believe my spiraling thoughts were just how everyone thought and it only helped me be more productive. I was somehow just part of the “gifted program.” Then I swallowed my pride, accepted help, and wow did it make a difference. Now when the laundry machine goes out in my building, I don’t feel as if I am 2 weeks behind. When my flight landed at the wrong airport, I didn’t freak out. I didn’t panic. As I faced a slew of problems at festivals, which is inevitable, no part of me felt like I was in fight or flight. Not that the stress just blew away, but I was in charge of what I could be in charge of and the rest I let go. 

Let go or be dragged. I finally put my money where my mouth was (in pill form). 

I have no fear going into 2025 and turning 31. I’ve accepted it all. Everything that happened or will happen. The only thing I can control is how I react to all of it and if this year was just the precursor, then I know it can only go up from here. 

Unclench your jaw and pelvic floor. I just had to unclench mine. 

Acceptance is not approval. And this year please remember, don’t get combative, get curious. 

Until next time please enjoy me dressed as a vulva to see Teeth the Musical…