u/Both_History5793

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It started in the bathroom. I walked in, head down, trying to be small, trying to be quiet. I locked the stall door and sat down, and that’s when the dysphoria hit like a physical blow. My body betrayed me, again. My shit came out hard and heavy, this dense, masculine expulsion that felt at odds with everything I am. In my head, I imagined the soft, almost delicate way I’ve heard cis women describe their own bodily functions. Little rabbit droppings, effortless. Mine felt like labor. Like my intestines were built for bulk, for density, for a biology I never consented to.

I could feel sweat beading on my forehead, tracing down the back of my neck, sliding over the coarse hair on my thighs that no amount of shaving seems to conquer. In that cramped stall, I wanted to cry. I wanted to have a body that matched my soul, one that didn’t feel like it was built for a different life. I wanted to have female poops, for god’s sake. Something quiet and unremarkable. Something that didn’t remind me, in such a visceral way, of the parts of me I’m still trying to shed.

Later, at the gym, I tried to change in the women’s locker room. I kept my eyes fixed on my locker, but I could feel the glances. The flickers of attention that linger a second too long. One woman caught my gaze—I was just staring blankly at the wall, lost in thought, and she tensed. “Can I help you?” she asked, voice sharp. I flinched.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I wasn’t staring, I swear. I just… I zone out sometimes.” I tried to offer her a smile, something reassuring. “If anyone ever bothers you in here, I’d… I’d stand up for you. I’d make sure you’re safe.” It was clumsy, desperate, an attempt to prove I belonged by being protective.

She didn’t soften. Her expression twisted from suspicion into something closer to disgust. “I don’t need your protection,” she said coldly, turning away. My offer, meant as solidarity, had been received as a threat. My heart sank.

On my way out, I passed a pregnant woman resting on a bench, one hand resting on her round belly. A strange, hollow ache filled my chest. I’ve gained weight on my hips and stomach from hormones, it’s soft, it’s mine, but it’s not that. Not life.

Without thinking, I patted my own soft stomach and said, weakly, almost as a joke to break the tension in my own chest, “Maybe one day, right?”

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. She just looked at me, at my shape, at my face, at the sincerity in my eyes that must have read as absurd, and her expression curdled into pure revulsion. She stood up and walked away without a word.

I left quickly, face hot, eyes stinging. Some days, it feels like no matter how much I change on the inside, my body is a language nobody wants to learn. And in spaces where I’m supposed to finally feel at home, I sometimes feel more alien than ever.

Reddit seems to love Ireland as a resistance against British Imperialism, critising Scotland as a false victim of English rule but forget the role Ireland also performed. Yes, Ireland was harmed by British rule, yet we should acknowledge it's role as an acting participant.

Start with the military. Irish recruits made up a large share of British forces overseas, especially in the 18th and 19th centuries. Those troops weren’t just present, they were active in some of the most violent episodes of imperial control. During the Indian Rebellion of 1857, Irish regiments and officers took part in reprisals that went far beyond battlefield fighting. Civilians were executed, villages destroyed, and punishment was often collective. Officers like Hugh Gough had already built reputations in earlier campaigns in India for aggressive tactics that prioritized crushing resistance over restraint.

Administration carried its own forms of harm. Irish-born officials weren’t passive bureaucrats; they shaped systems that extracted wealth and controlled populations. Frederick Lugard, for example, was a key architect of “indirect rule” in parts of Africa. While often presented as pragmatic, in practice it entrenched hierarchies, empowered select local elites, and facilitated economic exploitation under British oversight. In Ireland’s case, participation in governance abroad meant helping design and maintain systems that limited political rights and prioritized imperial interests over local welfare.

In settler colonies, Irish migrants became part of expansion that displaced Indigenous peoples. In Australia and Canada, Irish settlers joined frontier societies that pushed into Indigenous land, benefiting from policies that removed or marginalized native populations. Even when Irish settlers themselves arrived poor or marginalized, their position within the colonial system still aligned them with expansion and control rather than resistance to it.

The Caribbean shows another layer of direct harm. Irish-descended planters and merchants were involved in plantation economies tied to slavery. In places like Jamaica and Barbados, Irish families owned estates or worked within systems that depended on enslaved labor. That placed them within one of the most brutal economic structures of the empire, where profit relied on coercion, violence, and the dehumanization of enslaved people.

Even outside formal roles, Irish individuals contributed to the spread of imperial culture and authority. Missionaries and educators sometimes undermined local traditions and languages while promoting European norms as part of broader colonial influence. These efforts often went hand in hand with political control, reinforcing the idea that imperial rule was both normal and justified.

Focusing on harm means recognizing that Irish involvement wasn’t just incidental. It included enforcing violent repression, administering unequal systems, settling on dispossessed land, and participating in economies built on exploitation. The fact that Ireland itself experienced colonization doesn’t erase that record. It makes it more complicated, but the impact abroad remains the same for the people who lived under those systems.

I’ve been meaning to post this for a while, but I’m pretty anxious and tend to second-guess myself. Still, this has been on my mind since season 3.

I’ve been reading tarot for about 13 years, and during the scene where Tillie gives Fatima a reading, I was *so* curious about what card she pulled. The fact that we never got to see it stuck with me. But when the raven showed up, my immediate thought was: *that had to be The Hanged Man.*

Why? Because The Hanged Man is often associated with Odin, and Odin is deeply connected to ravens.

Then there’s Elgin. Even before anything major happened with him, I kept thinking his name sounds a bit like “Odin.” And later… he loses an eye. Who else sacrificed an eye? Odin.

“Knowledge comes at a cost.”

That idea lines up perfectly with The Hanged Man, such as sacrifice, surrender, gaining enlightenment through loss or suffering.

Another thing that caught my attention: the first thing Tabitha says when she sees Jim is “Oh, Jim,” which again *sounds* eerily similar to “Odin.”

Now, what Odin or Norse mythology actually has to do with From? I honestly don’t know. My knowledge there is pretty surface-level. But the symbolism feels intentional, or at least interesting enough to point out.

After the whole “47” theory, I even started thinking about the tarot significance of 4 and 7, but that’s a whole other rabbit hole.

At this point, I just really wish we had seen the card Tillie pulled. It would’ve been fascinating to know if it actually *was* The Hanged Man.