EDITOR’S NOTE: We recently received this unsolicited email from a new listener, and it served as a wonderful reminder that our people DO change, all is never lost, and that maybe, just maybe, we’re all gonna make it. It has been lightly edited to protect her privacy.
I am a 20-something woman of Irish and English descent. I was not raised religious, but my father’s side of the family very much embraced Catholicism, so whenever I visited them I would join them for Mass, despite never being baptized. My paternal cousins all led busy lives, with sports and music lessons and other engagements. Their parents sent them all to Catholic school, and they ended up unquestionably superior academically, morally, and socially, and it had always been a source of wonder for me. Until recently. More on that later.
I grew up in a sleepy mountain town in the west, where it was probably 96% white, and saturated with Christianity (and dotted with a few Mormon families for flavor). It was a hick town with a decent rodeo scene, a place where the mall was a 30-minute drive away. I can count on one hand the number of minorities I had as teachers in public school. I lived in a sea of Sarahs, Emilys, Matthews, and Toms. There were a handful of Hispanic families, maybe two black families, two Asian families (who ran the two Chinese restaurants in town), and a couple token half-black kids who identified as black. I knew exactly one Jewish girl. Our basketball teams were white and our football players were mostly white. We still learned about MLK Jr. and Rosa Parks and the slave trade and WWII, but diversity was not tangible in our daily lives. I was very sheltered and did not understand the way of things. I couldn’t imagine staying in such a tiny, narrow-minded town, with all the people that felt the same and looked the same; it was the kind of town where you couldn’t go anywhere without bumping into someone you knew.
My parents got divorced in my teens, and I was traumatized by it. For a while it was just my mom and me in a big house on our own — she worked all the time to pay the bills and all I had was my computer and schooling to keep me occupied. She was too busy to teach me how to drive and I really wasn’t bothered about sitting on my butt in front of the PC all summer long. I got into some things I shouldn’t have way too early in life due to lack of supervision, and I am thankful I came out of it relatively unscathed.
In my late high school days, I enjoyed some great opportunities via an extracurricular performing arts program, and I met a lot more kids from different parts of the state and country. Lots of different races, a few foreign exchange performers from Japan, and bunches of openly gay and lesbian kids. I grew to love all my oddball companions as we had a common goal in our big production. This made my sensibilities tilt left, and they skewed even further left after high school, when I landed outside a big city for several months with roommates from my hometown – kids that were also desperate to see the other side. We smoked too much weed and hung out in our apartment watching movies and making music, and this was the time I got my first tattoos and seriously flirted with leftism as such. In my young brain, why WOULDN’T you love everyone and let them be who they wanted to be and do what they wanted to do? It seemed obvious, I guess, at least on the surface. My life goals at that time were jumbled and I had no focus. I just knew I wanted lots of tattoos and that I never wanted kids.
Not too long after my stint in that big city, I packed up two duffel bags and moved to a different big city to get to know my half-brother and try to start life anew. I remember looking out the car window once within days of landing and being astonished by how many black people were walking up and down the sidewalks and waiting at bus stops. Homeless people actually lived in bushes off the side of the road. Entire shanty towns were filled with Muslims near the airport. Trash littered the streets. Addicts nodded off on park benches. There were places I, a petite blonde, was discouraged from going. At a new office job, I would answer the phone and have no idea what the person on the other end was saying. It was English, but barely discernible. Diversity sucker-punched me hard.
I met my now-husband shortly after the move, and cast my half-brother out of my life almost as quickly as I let him in (he was a compulsive liar among many other things – it was a bullet happily dodged). I remained staunchly anti-children because I just couldn’t see why anyone would want to raise a child in this world. It seemed so selfish. I also did not trust myself to be a good parent after my parents’ divorce – the fewer attachments I had, the better. Kids annoyed me, and so did parents, especially the ones that told me I’d change my mind.
But something happened about two years after settling into that big city. A .357 magnum revolver was put in my hand, and I learned to shoot. I realized very quickly after purchasing my own pistol and getting a concealed carry permit that not everyone was as open-minded as I thought they were, specifically the ones who claimed to be the most open-minded of them all. I started pushing back against all the leftist friends I had made, most of whom had never touched a firearm in their lives. These “educated” people couldn’t bother to look past their noses and read the arguments put in front of them. It was like talking to a wall. I thought they were my friends. But they would immediately block me if we got into a discussion about gun control. So intellectual. So tolerant! And all I wanted was to be able to protect myself in an obviously dangerous place.
It was a “catalyst for change” as the priests of leftism say. I learned quickly I was an outlier among my extensive Facebook friends list, and that the easiest way to pass through life was to be quiet about what I believed in, lest someone stomp all over my passions. But these were not my friends. It took me a while to accept that fact. Just because you can peacefully and happily associate with someone in a period of your life does not mean they accept who you really are deep down. It was then that I accepted I was on the right, and that conservatism lined up better with my overall values. Go figure. It took moving to the west coast to find out that I wasn’t as liberal as I thought.
Fast forward to 2020: we’re married with two dogs and a house of our own. No kids, and still vehemently defensive about not wanting them, though my dear husband is open to the idea. I am circling the drain of an existential quarter-life crisis. All I do is wake up, work, and come home. I feel like I am rotting from the inside out. My boss is diagnosed with a terminal illness. A coworker of mine that had left to be a stay-at-home-mom comes back to assist in the office, and she brings her infant daughter with her after refusing to put her in daycare. This is supposed to be temporary, so I swallow any misgivings about the situation and soldier on. I am very uncomfortable with babies, but this allows me a window into a different world I had always shut out.
COVID happens. Then the George Floyd riots in Minneapolis. My husband stumbles across a YouTube channel that breaks the mold (for me, anyway) on the Jews. I still feel really uncomfortable with it whenever he talks about it. I’m thinking, holy shit, I can’t talk to anyone about this, and it feels so strange. I feel alone, suspended in time with everyone else shut away from real life. People get weirder. SJWs get louder. BLM starts protesting mere miles from our house. Why? I’m not sure, because we live in one of the most diverse areas in the country, including the local politicians. My husband and I start to make plans to head east in search of a better home for ourselves. The election happens and I realize that maybe conservatism is one and the same as liberalism, especially when the voter fraud scandal just dissipates like a fever dream. Our elected officials really seem to be batting for the same team, and I grow tired of the inevitable game every four years. I delete my Facebook and Instagram at the end of 2020 because I am tired of everyone talking at each other and not with one another. The gears are really turning in my head now. Everything and almost everyone is so fake.
I have grown so weary of wounded people telling me how to behave, but making no concessions to me, as if I owe them something and my mere presence is a debt. Aren’t we all suffering in this existence in some way?
Then one day in December 2020, my husband played a podcast while we were both hanging out on our computers. We usually spend all of our time outside of work together, so we end up consuming the same media. It’s been good for me as I learn about all sorts of stuff I would never have bothered with on my own: guns, cars, computer building, etc. Anyway, I turned to him at some point and asked what he was listening to, and he told me it was Full Haus. Every other night or so he would put on a different previously recorded show, and we’d listen to the whole thing. I grew excited every time I heard the intro music. I don’t really know why, but something clicked for me. An epiphany, if you will. I felt seen, and I felt loved. It’s not even like I needed parenting advice yet, but listening to the Birth Panel, with your principles and morals and just general solidarity, made me feel enlightened.
I realized that all my life I have been told that diversity is the most important thing we must embrace. I’ve seen friends have mixed-race children out of wedlock, with single parenthood almost always resulting. I’ve watched historical monuments destroyed by savage mobs, and witnessed innocent people vilified by sick defectives on the internet and in the media. I have seen gender “transitions” lead only to regret and the inability to heal self-inflicted scars. I have watched people reject the truth and gaslight others to save their own conception of reality, even when everything seems so obviously slanted. History lessons we were taught when we were young may not have been as accurate as we were told. There are, after all, two sides to every story. Consumerism reigns supreme, as advertisements shout at us that we will never be happy unless we buy THIS PRODUCT, NOW. Everything is muddier and no one is happy, except perhaps for the mainstream media, big corporations, and global elites growing more and more powerful with every passing moment as the general population buries its collective head in the sand.
I understand now that tradition is all we have, and in order to preserve it, we must look inward. Maybe there was a hidden reason my parents chose to raise us where they did. Perhaps they knew it was safer and smarter to raise us with others like ourselves. The reason my cousins ended up head-and-shoulders above everyone their age is not a mystery; it was carefully cultivated by their dedicated parents. Intention is a powerful thing, and if one goes through life without clear intentions, everything ends up wrong in the end, even if outwardly imperceptible.
I understand now why people told me I should never dye my hair when I was younger, and that people spend lots of money to look like a natural blonde. Yeah, it’s a no-brainer in that sense, but it goes deeper than that; I am quickly becoming a rarer breed. Now I have a new appreciation for myself, my hair, and my race. Knowing and acknowledging everything that is being done to decimate the white race gives me newfound determination to fight against the system. Maybe I can’t undo my tattoos and get the time back that I lost on other endeavors, but I can change my intentions and understanding.
Full Haus makes me feel like I have found my home again. It has made me reconsider starting a family. It has given me a feeling of community support I never thought existed. I always thought having children was an exclusive and lonely path, but now I see it in a different light. Now that I have been helping to raise a toddler at the office alongside my coworker, it doesn’t feel quite so daunting. This now two-year-old is more perceptive and interesting than I ever imagined a baby could be, and I love watching her grow and learn. Some days are definitely hard, but there are glimmering moments here and there that are totally blissful to witness. I no longer feel uncomfortable with my own biology. In fact, I feel more ready than ever to embrace my purpose, and to do something with meaning and passion. I told my husband when we leave the west for greener and whiter pastures, we can start working on having a family of our own – a small army of cute Irish babies.
Thank you guys, from the bottom of my heart. Full Haus has made me return to my roots and embrace tradition in a way I never thought was possible after just a few short months of listening. My soul no longer feels vacant, spinning in circles. I am happy we found you – it has given me a new outlook on life. I feel like you guys could be close family friends. Maybe someday soon we’ll submit a birth announcement to be featured on one of your shows.