Sam Dylan Finch

Sam Dylan Finch

Bio

  Sam Dylan Finch is a transgender writer and queer activist based in the San Francisco Bay Area. He currently works as a Feature Writer and Social Media Associate at Everyday Feminism, and manages a magical blog called Let's Queer Things Up!. He can't stop talking about queer politics, body image, mental health, and pop culture. Find him on Twitter and Facebook so you can be best friends forever.

Sam Dylan Finch Articles

cello.

When Your Violin Is Supposed To Be A Cello: My Story Of Transition

A thousand Bach violin concertos swirling around my crib, imprinting those melodies on my brain, had not changed the fact that I was meant to be a cellist. And a thousand “she’s,” beginning from the moment that I was born, had not changed the fact that I had grown up to be a “he.”

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The reality is that no one deserves to do this alone.

Listen: I Don't Care If You're A Burden. If You Need Help, Ask For It.

I used to be the one that pushed everyone away out of fear that I was too demanding or too toxic or “too much.” But I’m finally at a place in my life where I understand just how important it is to lean on your support system — and so I’m committed to not running away anymore.

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Hey, baby.

I Read Dinosaur Erotica And I Have So Many Feelings

Imagine a scenario in which these highly-evolved dinosaurs, instead of destroying an entire village and kidnapping women (SNORE), were actually gentle giants that brought sexual liberation to a village of patriarchal, shitty human beings.

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For years, I didn’t know I was hearing voices. Image: Thinkstock.

When Your Abuser Isn't Real

For years, I didn’t know I was hearing voices. When it started to happen, it felt like someone else’s thoughts were being inserted into my mind, shouting at me, undermining my reality — impossible to control.

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It’s not just him — it’s me.

Gay Men Are Hitting On Me Now — And I'm Terrified

Dating while trans is scary, especially when you’re starting to “pass.” What are his expectations for my body, if any, and what if I’m not what he had in mind and he rejects me outright?

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“You will only be happy if you ‘get rid of’ your illness.”

6 Totally Awful Lies That Mental Illness Told Me

I used to think that I would only be happy if I came as close to being “neurotypical” as possible. I thought that I needed to be cured to live a whole, fulfilling life (which is one of the downsides of the medicalization of our struggles, but that’s a story for another day).

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I'm painfully bored, but I don't have the energy to do anything. Image: Thinkstock.

5 Contradictions That Folks With Mental Illness Know All Too Well

One thing I’ve noticed about mental illness is that it’s a mess of contradictions. It tells us one thing, urges us to do another. We have one desire, but then act totally to the contrary because… reasons.

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I didn’t understand how serious you were until they told me. Now I know that my life will never be the same. Image: Stock.io/Andrew Weber

An Open Letter To My Bipolar Disorder

You were on the back burner — I thought you were Type 2, manageable, no big deal — which goes to show just how deeply I’d slid into denial. But there’s no denial here anymore. Just statistics and medical terms floating around in my brain, reminding me that I can’t afford to forget you, that you’re too “severe” for that.

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You have no business throwing these words around as if they don’t really mean anything or refer to actual people. Image: Pexels.

PSA: When You Misuse The Word "Insane," I'm Going To Judge You

You can swear up and down that you meant it some other way, but the reality is that “crazy” and “insanity” refer to a lack of sanity, which will always circle back to and affect mentally ill people, especially when it’s used in ways that diminish or sensationalize our experiences.

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I shrugged off the red flags waving in my face, and I did what I could to hide the fact that I wasn’t as stable as everyone thought. Image: Thinkstock.

I Convinced Myself I Wasn't Sick — Until I Wound Up In A Psychiatric Hospital

What could trigger an episode? My life was perfect now. I took my meds (most of the time, anyway). I was a mental health advocate for a living, for crying out loud; I knew what I was doing. Besides, it had been so long since I’d experienced a real episode — I was practically cured. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to hit rock bottom, and really, was it ever THAT bad?

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