When I was first approached about being a candidate for President-elect for Division 44, my first thought was not “no,” it was “hell no.” I was relatively new to Division 44 leadership. I am an early-career psychologist, so new to my profession. I felt that I had nothing to offer. I worried if people would trust me as their leader. I worried that I didn’t trust myself as a leader. But instead of saying “No,” I said, “Let me think about it.” I talked to people that I trust. And most importantly, I thought about my mom’s words. When I was growing up, my mother used to tell me, “If you’re worried about what other people think, you’re not ready to do it.” I think she meant this as a way to help me navigate peer relationships. You know, sex, drugs, rock and roll; the usual. But her words have always held an important space in any decision I make. In that moment, I was worried about what people would think about me. I worried that they would think I was unqualified. I worried that they would think I failed them. I worried that I would fail them. So the obvious answer was “No, I was not ready to do it.” But that didn’t feel right to me. And my mother died eight years ago, so I couldn’t ask her for more advice. So then, I remembered when I attended the convention in 2018 and attended a meeting in the Division 44 suite focusing on women, trans, and nonbinary folks entering into leadership positions within the Division and APA at large. One of the discussion points was that we often think, “why me”; and we were encouraged instead to think “why not me?” And all of the reasons I worried I would fail became the reasons I thought I might just do okay. And then, I stopped worrying about what people would think and focused on what I thought I could do. So I said “Yes.”
Now, it’s time to reflect on my presidential year.
I stand here as a proud queer and genderqueer psychologist because of the elders who came before me to ensure that I had a place to stand. I often tell others the reason that I learned to love being queer and genderqueer is because I loved all of you first. I love you for your bravery, your audacity, your spirit, your fight, your queerness and transness, your love, your nuances and messiness, and your authenticity. Thank you for existing, so that I always have a family in this world. Thank you, thank you, thank you. To those who are still figuring out who you are, where you belong, and how to move in this world, you will always have a place to stand with me. You are forever my family. I love you.
And because I love us so much, I know we can do better. Our community has many issues internally and externally.
First, let me reflect on our internal challenges.
Like the rest of the world, we struggle with white supremacy culture, as a community and as a division. Our community is hierarchical, sexist, cissexist, racist, classist, ableist, and ageist. And because of that, so is our division. One of my presidential initiatives was to continue the work being done on anti-racism and dismantling white supremacy culture. White supremacy culture is pervasive and is threaded so perniciously in all that we do that it becomes a challenge to see it and tear it down. Throughout the past year, I worked really hard to engage in reflection, discussion, and practice to tackle this issue. If I were to give myself a review, I’d say I did “okay.” I have not been able to complete some of my goals, such as creating white accountability spaces, but I plan to continue this work in the upcoming year. I am not abandoning this goal.
Further, throughout the past year, I saw so many in division leadership work diligently on this topic. We had difficult discussions about our own actions and those of others, about what accountability really means, and who we want to be as a division. In all of these difficult moments, I saw a lot of beauty. I saw vulnerability, fear, and hope. I saw commitment to action and commitment to change. One concrete step we took was to enhance our parity rule for elected positions. Previously, certain elected positions (e.g., President, Secretary) had a gender parity rule where one year the nominees were male/nonbinary-identified; and the following year the nominees were female/nonbinary-identified. We made a change to this parity rule. Now, one year the nominees are BIPOC folks of any gender; one year the nominees are women, trans, and nonbinary folks of any race/ethnicity; and one year the nominees are open to any racial, ethnic or gender identity. Our hope is that by centering historically excluded identities, we will be more intentional about seeking and supporting more diverse leadership. We have so much more work to do in front of us, but I believe that we will continue to make this a priority. I am so incredibly proud of my team this year.
One thing I encourage Division 44 leadership and members do in the upcoming years is to consider who we want to be. At the midwinter meeting, I asked us to consider three questions: How do we envision the future of Division 44? How does white supremacy culture exist in Division 44 that prevents us from moving forward? How do we know when we are making progress?
Some of the questions that I have asked myself to help me understand the ways in which I uphold white supremacy culture through my action and inaction have been: How do I decide to use my time? When I speak versus when I don’t? What are the intentions of my words? What are the impacts? What is said versus unsaid? What choices do I choose to make of what I say versus what I don’t? Where do my biases show up? Where do my fears show up? How am I intentionally or unintentionally perpetuating white supremacy culture?
In my reflections on these questions, I grapple with my fear, worry, guilt, embarrassment and shame. I stand before you grappling with them right now. We must do this work individually and collectively. And today, I offer to do this work with you, beside you; and I ask that you do this work with me, beside me. I know that we will mess up and hurt each other. I ask for patience in learning, but also accountability for growing.
There are moments where I feel I effectively led the division to grow in this area; and there are moments where I feel I failed. When I failed, I failed our leaders, our membership, and our community of color. For that, I am sorry. I promise to continue to engage in this work.
Next, let me address our external struggles. James Baldwin wrote a poem that I would like to share.
Untitled by James Baldwin1
Lord,
when you send the rain
think about it, please,
a little?
Do
not get carried away
by the sound of falling water,
the marvelous light
on the falling water.
I
am beneath that water.
It falls with great force
and the light
Blinds
me to the light.
Y’all, we are standing under some serious falling water right now.
This year alone, we have had over 500 anti-LGBTQ+ bills introduced to federal, state, and local legislatures. Many passed.
From August 2022, to today, we have lost so many family members to the violence of others. Let me speak the names of the ones we know: Caelee Love-Light, Mar-Quis “MJ” Jackson, Destiny Howard, Diamond Jackson-McDonald, Daniel Aston, Kelly Loving, Tiffany Banks, Semaj Billingslea, Acey Morrison, Mya Allen, Dede Ricks, Camdyn Rider, Jacob Williamson, Chanel Perez Ortiz, Ashia Davis, Banko Brown, Koko Da Doll, Ashley Burton, Tasiyah Woodland, Tortuguita, Cashay Henderson, Maria Jose Rivera Rivera, Zachee Imanitwitaho, Unique Banks, KC Johnson, Jasmine “Star” Mack, Akira Ross, O’Shae Sibley. My heart breaks for these souls and their families. My heart breaks for us as a community. We are deeply hurting.
In our hurt, we must turn to love and hope. Love for ourselves and one another. Hope for a better tomorrow for us and those that come after. To combat this hate, we cannot let them come between us. Now, more than ever, we must be a family that supports one another, pushes one another to do better and be better, and moves forward when we are being pushed back. When they seek to divide, we seek to unite. When they speak hate, we speak love. When they try to erase us, we shine and uplift each other. When they go low, we go even lower because nobody is pettier than us.
In all seriousness, I am so honored to be part of a community that refuses to give up. Thank you to all of you engaging in public policy: to those fighting for progress in your governments, workplaces, and institutions, and to those helping create a better now and tomorrow.
I want to personally thank the Division 44 Public Policy Committee: Kim Skerven, Katy Trotta, Michelle Schlehofer, Ryan Flinn – and any others that I am forgetting – for all of their hard work and efforts. You have not gone unnoticed.
I want to thank Ron Schlittler and Leo Rennie at APA. I want both to thank and call out APA. I want to thank APA for many efforts to support LGBTQ+ equality, particularly related to collaborative efforts between Division 44, the Portfolio of Sexual Orientation and Gender Diversity, and APA Advocacy. And I want to call them out for taking too long, moving too slowly, and at times, hindering the work our division was doing. Behind the scenes, we had many efforts denied, edited so heavily that the message was lost, or just not prioritized. For an organization that wants to be viewed as a front-of-the-pack leader, they sure struggle to lead, especially on LGBTQ+ issues. Never let it be said that I’m not gracious and petty in the same breath.
Similar to the other efforts, I will continue into my immediate past-president year, I will continue to support Division 44 policy efforts.
And now, I want to spend a moment thanking so many people.
I want to thank my partner whose belief in me and love for me built a protective shield around me. I want to thank my communications co-chairs, Kristine Diaz and Bekah Estevez for helping Division 44 be front-facing, amplifying the work of our members and leaders, and navigating the new website (to be unveiled later this year). Thank you Kristine for recognizing when I was struggling and stepping up to help me. Your kindness and thoughtfulness are deeply appreciated. Thank you, Richard Sprott for also stepping up to help me during these times as well. I appreciate you. Thank you to Derek Phillips for providing compassion and empathy and laughter. I needed so much of that this year. Thank you to so many of you who held a moment with me whether that be a conversation, a laugh, a hug, or even tears. When I think of this past year, I think of the shared moments that were only made possible by me being in this position. I look forward to so many more shared moments.
Earlier I said that I am a proud queer and genderqueer person. All of that is true. In recent times though, I have struggled with internalized stigma in other aspects of my identity. In particular, I struggle with internalized ableism. White supremacy culture teaches us that our value is based on how we can contribute to producing capital, output, and productivity. Academia and our field reinforce those beliefs.
My biggest regret, sadness, reflection is how I feel that I did not do enough. I was really proud of the first seven months of my presidential year. And then, in February of this year, I decided to move ahead with my doctors’ recommendations and schedule a series of surgeries. I spent two months in and out of doctors’ offices preparing for surgery and being medically cleared. I then spent the next two months undergoing surgery that included about 60–70% of my body. And in between surgeries, and for months following, I spent a lot of time in physical therapy and follow up. I feel so frustrated and ashamed that I was unable to do all that I hoped to do, that I was less accessible, less responsive, and so exhausted.
As I say all of this, I am battling internalized ableism that all of this is just an out-loud excuse for not being enough as President. I know, logically that I was and am enough. But white supremacy culture is powerful, and it is an ongoing battle to fight against demeaning messaging. I debated including any of this in today’s speech, but I promised myself a long time ago to be authentic to my feelings and myself.
To dismantle white supremacy culture, we have to be willing to be go against what we are taught.
So today, I share my vulnerabilities with all of you in hopes that it does something. What do I want it to do? I’m not sure, but maybe it will help me and you be more ourselves without holding onto the shame. In a class discussion this summer, our group was discussing what it means to be have self love; and I reflected that I think self love is an ongoing intention of centering myself in all of my messiness. I told them that I love myself enough to grapple with the shame of being human. So today, I do that with you.
Thank you for bearing witness to this process. The moments where I feel most proud of myself in this past year are the moments I was most authentic to myself.
I began the start of my journey to this moment with fear and thoughts of what others would think as I considered my next steps. I now end this journey with a bit of fear and zero care of what others will think as I consider my next steps. I hold my mother’s words close, and I am ready for it.
So to all of you, let me be your mother for a minute, “If you’re worried about what other people will think, you’re not ready to do it. But baby, we gotta do it, so you need to be ready. Be so authentically you that you cannot be denied. Head high. I will always walk beside you – sometimes behind you – as I push you forward; and sometimes in front to shield you. I will ask you to do and be better because I see that version of you. And baby, I love you.” Thank you.
1From Jimmy’s Blues and Other Poems by James Baldwin (Beacon Press, 2014).