Responding to: "What It Feels Like When It Finally Comes: Surviving Incest in Real Life" by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha
(page 97) "What was in all the zines and seven inch vinyl records was this: if we all said out loud how common the secret catastrophe was that all of us knew girls who'd been raped or fucked with, the 'every single person I know is a fucking survivor' feeling--what would it mean? If all the rage and memory and experience of what we'd lived through came screaming out, wouldn't the world split open? What would the world do with the reality that maybe more than one out of four girls and one out of six boys were sexually abused before we could vote? That the world was built on incest?"
There continues to be a stigma attached to victims of sexual abuse and assault. Victims are broken, never to be whole again. Victims are mine fields, always ready to explode or cry or react badly. Victims are basketcases. Being a victim is the entirety of your identity. Wrong. So very, very wrong.
Far too many of us have been victims, and there is a wide spectrum of responses. It's often easier to just be quiet. I was honest on a medical questionnaire, and the bumbling jerk of a nurse flipped out. He interrogated me, because if I was going to flip out on a doctor exam, he needed to know, and I better not do that. Because I desperately needed to see the doctor, I didn't complain. I should have.
I understand that hearing or reading stories of abuse, assault, rape, etc can be an uncomfortable experience. What do you do? What do you say? How do you act around this person after this revelation? Do you offer a hug? Do you say sorry? What do you do? What is proper?
I have quite a bit of distance from my experiences at this point. If I do tell you what happened, and I'm growing more casual in my sharing, I don't want you to treat me differently than you did in the past. Incest doesn't define me. Rape doesn't define me. I'm not a walking ball of insecurities threatened by every man I see. I never have been, not even when the experiences were new.
(page 99) "I came bit by bit back into my body through words that tell me stories that sound like mine, of how racism, violence, and abuse are all wound together; about how denial of childhood sexual abuse and denial of systemic oppression feel the same."
Victims have been othered, are seen as lesser. I fear being branded a victim, because I pass for normal. Aloof perhaps, but normal.
But what is normal? As I hear more stories from more people, I start to wonder if getting hurt is what's truly normal in this world. If this victim brand is naught but a tool to keep us silent, to keep us complicit. All of us, not just women. Who wants to be a victim? If we just pretend it's not happening, of course it will go away. Only, it hasn't. Nor will it.
(page 101) "Every time I have just the kind of sex I always wanted, every time I grow more into the fierce, fearless femme I have always wanted to be, I heal not like a cliche but like I can see new cells being made, the purple and magenta color of the outside of the skin cells, the bone being reknit."
My lovers want to please me, want to hear me moan and sigh and whimper with pleasure. My ecstasy makes them feel powerful. The power of pleasure is filling, lasting, awe-inspiring. It's divine. It's healing.
The more pleasure I receive, the more pleasure I want to give. I like the power of coaxing moans and sighs and whimpers from my lovers. It's good for my soul. The mere anticipation of great sex is enough to thoroughly silence the bad memories. The more great sex I have, the less power my bad experiences have. I think about them less and less.
Some men think they can own a piece of a woman through subjecting them to violence and abuse. That they will mark her forever. Brand her forever. Wrong. Want a place in my soul? Bring me screaming into orgasm.
I am currently working through my bad experiences, but the men who hurt me are not my true focus. I am. I am working to understand that it wasn't my fault. I am working to forgive myself. My mother's brother, JRS, JD, MZ, and anyone else who has hurt me are nothing to me.
(page 102) "A lot of people are waiting to be asked, silently screaming in their heads 'Ask me, go on ask me, can't you fucking see what's going on?'"
No one asks. They don't want to know.
I've started asking, but worry I'm just reopening wounds. It's hard to ask. Goodness, victim stigma as silencing mechanism really does work.
I think I'll just tell my stories and invite everyone else to also tell theirs.
Maybe someday I'll learn to ask.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Telling Our Stories
A reflection on "The Not-Rape Epidemic" by Latoya Peterson
(page 211) "No one escaped [not-rape] --all my friends had some kind of experience with it during their teen years."
When I was in junior college taking a creative writing class, I wrote a rape story. A male classmate scoffed, because just too many chicks wrote rape stories and he was tired of hearing them. They were "cliche."
Talk about privilege.
(page 216) "This is how the not-rape epidemic spreads--through fear and silence. Women of all backgrounds are affected by these kinds of acts, regardless of race, ethnicity, or social class. So many of us carry the scars of the past with us in our daily lives. Most of us have pushed these stories to the back of our minds trying to have some semblance of a normal life that includes romantic and sexual relationships. However, waiting just behind the tongues are story after story of the horrors other women experience and hide deep within the self, behind a protective wall of silence.
"When I first began discussing my not-rape and all of the baggage that comes with it, I expected to be blamed or to not be believed.
"I never expected that each woman I told would respond with her own story in kind."
Want to hear fewer rape stories? Work with men and advocate against rape and not-rape. Let men know that such practices as asking for sex multiple times an hour until at the end of the night she says yes just to make him shut the fuck up.
Silence quietly condones rape and not-rape. Silence allows it to continue. We need more rape and not-rape stories to circulate. The more we talk about it, in mixed company as well, the more awareness and less victim-shame there will be.
(page 217) "Not-rape comes in many forms--it is often known by other names. What happened to me is called sexual assault. It is not the same same as rape, but it is damaging and painful. My friends experience statutory rape, molestation, and coercion."
My first sexualized experience happened around the age of six, when my mother's brother began to molest me. My memories of it are scattered, snippets of this and that. I think I remember my mother spotting it once (on my sister, not me), telling her brother that she'd better not have seen what she thought she saw, but somehow convincing herself that it didn't happen.
An aside: at least two people I spoke to about my experience thought that because he was retarded--with perhaps the mental facilities of an 8 year old--that I should think of this as "playing doctor" between kids. However, when it was happening, I looked up to my uncle and did not comprehend his differences from other adults. If anything, this thoughtway has added to my confusion and difficulty in moving on. Like I should be ashamed for thinking it was molestation at all.
The molestation culminated in a single incidence of oral sexualization. It completely disturbed me. I did not like it. It felt Wrong. It gave me the voice to say never again.
Eventually I worked up the courage to tell my mother. I was nine. She went on warpath, furiously confronting him, and like any child confronted by a raging parent, when asked if he did that, he stammered no.
That was enough for my mother. She whirled back to me and called me a liar. This was something the neighbor girls and I made up, because we hated her poor, stupid brother. If I ever spoke of it again, I'd wish I hadn't.
(page 212) "My friends and I confided in one another, swapping stories, sharing our pain, while keeping it all hidden from the adults in our lives. After all, who could we tell? This wasn't rape--it didn't fit the definitions. This was not-rape. We should have known better. We were the ones who would take the blame. We would be punished and no one wanted that. So these actions went on, aided by a cloak of silence."
I buried that memory until I read a magazine while in high school about victims of sexual abuse. My stomach dropped, a chill down my spine, and I had a name for what happened to me.
And then the shame came. Why had I allowed this to happen to me? It ended so easily the moment I said stop. Why hadn't I said stop sooner? If escape was so simple, why had I not even tried? Worse, on a purely physical level, the touching had felt goo. We are wired that way. Had I WANTED it to happen? I wanted desperately to talk about it with someone, but is was ABUSE, so I couldn't, because it would be reported and would destroy my family. Didn't the shame belong to me, and me alone?
(page 217) "Internalized shame is what I experienced, that heavy feeling that was it was my fault for allowing the sexual assault to happen. So many of us are conditioned to believe that these actions are our own fault, that if we had made a better choice, if we had been smarter, then we wouldn't be in that situation."
Is it any wonder that I spent years wrestling with suicidal thoughts? Is it any wonder that I spent years plotting the murder of my entire family, which I'd hide by burning down my home?
The consequences remain even as I am an adult. I've had flashbacks during tender oral sex, tongue stroking me. Oral sex, especially spontaneous oral sex, got me flinching. It took me years to get up the nerve to express why I'd gone from loving to dreading oral sex.
I've nearly overcome this. I've requested my lovers ask/warn me before diving in. Even better, rougher, more frantic, enthusiastic, angular oral sex has allowed me to enjoy, and even love, oral sex again. Back to front gentle tongue strokes still give me problems from time to time, and my confidence in requesting a different approach sometimes wavers.
By the way, my mother's brother--he died. I learned about it on Facebook. That's how close I am to my family, and the sexual abuse is one of the biggest reasons why. I was never offered help, and when I was finally unable to continue coping with living with them, revealing my depression and suicidal thoughts led to my mother shaming me again. What would my neighbots and family think? I was weak. I needed to be silent (and go on medication).
And sometimes I still wish my family dead. But I forgive myself for that. I'm still working on forgiving myself for letting it happen.
(page 211) "No one escaped [not-rape] --all my friends had some kind of experience with it during their teen years."
When I was in junior college taking a creative writing class, I wrote a rape story. A male classmate scoffed, because just too many chicks wrote rape stories and he was tired of hearing them. They were "cliche."
Talk about privilege.
(page 216) "This is how the not-rape epidemic spreads--through fear and silence. Women of all backgrounds are affected by these kinds of acts, regardless of race, ethnicity, or social class. So many of us carry the scars of the past with us in our daily lives. Most of us have pushed these stories to the back of our minds trying to have some semblance of a normal life that includes romantic and sexual relationships. However, waiting just behind the tongues are story after story of the horrors other women experience and hide deep within the self, behind a protective wall of silence.
"When I first began discussing my not-rape and all of the baggage that comes with it, I expected to be blamed or to not be believed.
"I never expected that each woman I told would respond with her own story in kind."
Want to hear fewer rape stories? Work with men and advocate against rape and not-rape. Let men know that such practices as asking for sex multiple times an hour until at the end of the night she says yes just to make him shut the fuck up.
Silence quietly condones rape and not-rape. Silence allows it to continue. We need more rape and not-rape stories to circulate. The more we talk about it, in mixed company as well, the more awareness and less victim-shame there will be.
(page 217) "Not-rape comes in many forms--it is often known by other names. What happened to me is called sexual assault. It is not the same same as rape, but it is damaging and painful. My friends experience statutory rape, molestation, and coercion."
My first sexualized experience happened around the age of six, when my mother's brother began to molest me. My memories of it are scattered, snippets of this and that. I think I remember my mother spotting it once (on my sister, not me), telling her brother that she'd better not have seen what she thought she saw, but somehow convincing herself that it didn't happen.
An aside: at least two people I spoke to about my experience thought that because he was retarded--with perhaps the mental facilities of an 8 year old--that I should think of this as "playing doctor" between kids. However, when it was happening, I looked up to my uncle and did not comprehend his differences from other adults. If anything, this thoughtway has added to my confusion and difficulty in moving on. Like I should be ashamed for thinking it was molestation at all.
The molestation culminated in a single incidence of oral sexualization. It completely disturbed me. I did not like it. It felt Wrong. It gave me the voice to say never again.
Eventually I worked up the courage to tell my mother. I was nine. She went on warpath, furiously confronting him, and like any child confronted by a raging parent, when asked if he did that, he stammered no.
That was enough for my mother. She whirled back to me and called me a liar. This was something the neighbor girls and I made up, because we hated her poor, stupid brother. If I ever spoke of it again, I'd wish I hadn't.
(page 212) "My friends and I confided in one another, swapping stories, sharing our pain, while keeping it all hidden from the adults in our lives. After all, who could we tell? This wasn't rape--it didn't fit the definitions. This was not-rape. We should have known better. We were the ones who would take the blame. We would be punished and no one wanted that. So these actions went on, aided by a cloak of silence."
I buried that memory until I read a magazine while in high school about victims of sexual abuse. My stomach dropped, a chill down my spine, and I had a name for what happened to me.
And then the shame came. Why had I allowed this to happen to me? It ended so easily the moment I said stop. Why hadn't I said stop sooner? If escape was so simple, why had I not even tried? Worse, on a purely physical level, the touching had felt goo. We are wired that way. Had I WANTED it to happen? I wanted desperately to talk about it with someone, but is was ABUSE, so I couldn't, because it would be reported and would destroy my family. Didn't the shame belong to me, and me alone?
(page 217) "Internalized shame is what I experienced, that heavy feeling that was it was my fault for allowing the sexual assault to happen. So many of us are conditioned to believe that these actions are our own fault, that if we had made a better choice, if we had been smarter, then we wouldn't be in that situation."
Is it any wonder that I spent years wrestling with suicidal thoughts? Is it any wonder that I spent years plotting the murder of my entire family, which I'd hide by burning down my home?
The consequences remain even as I am an adult. I've had flashbacks during tender oral sex, tongue stroking me. Oral sex, especially spontaneous oral sex, got me flinching. It took me years to get up the nerve to express why I'd gone from loving to dreading oral sex.
I've nearly overcome this. I've requested my lovers ask/warn me before diving in. Even better, rougher, more frantic, enthusiastic, angular oral sex has allowed me to enjoy, and even love, oral sex again. Back to front gentle tongue strokes still give me problems from time to time, and my confidence in requesting a different approach sometimes wavers.
By the way, my mother's brother--he died. I learned about it on Facebook. That's how close I am to my family, and the sexual abuse is one of the biggest reasons why. I was never offered help, and when I was finally unable to continue coping with living with them, revealing my depression and suicidal thoughts led to my mother shaming me again. What would my neighbots and family think? I was weak. I needed to be silent (and go on medication).
And sometimes I still wish my family dead. But I forgive myself for that. I'm still working on forgiving myself for letting it happen.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Darkness
This post is another detour from Yes Means Yes, before I get into some heavy posts. Reflecting on readings from Dreaming the Dark by Starhawk.
(page XIV) "When we tell of the turning dark, the velvet dark, Hecate's birthgiving dark, the shadow listens to that also. And what we name feeds into the open imaginations that are listening. So their concept of what is narrowly called death can change.
"The dark: all that we are afraid of, all that we don't want to see--fear, anger, sex, grief, death, the unknown.
"The turning dark: change.
"The velvet dark: skin soft in the night, the stroke of flesh on flesh, touch, joy, mortality.
"Hecate's birth-giving dark: seeds are planted underground, the womb is dark, and life forms itself anew in hidden places."
This blog is about exploring the dark places: the scary, taboo, secretive places of my memories, my culture, and my life. It's about shining a light into the darkness, seeing what's there, and either bringing something into the light or leaving it in the dark.
Darkness has been associated with negativity for much too long. Sometimes darkness is nurturing, restful, protective, healthy, necessary.
My husband and I have different strategies for moving about the house in the middle of the night. Unless I need to read something (like a prescription label), I keep the lights off. Sudden light pains and blinds me. The bathroom has enough ambient light and I touch the back of the toilet to make sure the seat isn't up. I travel the stairs by feel. He turns on the light. I guess it's not as jarring for him. I go slower and more carefully, but that's all the changes I make.
The darkness I'm exploring with this blog is by far velvet darkness: that of carnality. The "dark side" I indulge is that of rough sex and non-monogamy. I strive for healthy non-monogamy in that I am honest and open to my partners about my partnerships. Because I am married, my consent is contingent upon my husband's consent. If he doesn't grant me the consent to be with another, then that would be cheating, which is wrong.
The downside to an open marriage is our culture's slut shaming. Because I don't conform to a narrow vision of sexual morality, those who do have a narrow view would say that I asked for it if anything untoward would happen to me again. Hell, I "deserved" it the first time for not waiting until marriage!
Happily, we live in a pluralistic society, and not everyone subscribes to a sex-negative perspective, which I find much "darker" ethically. My interest in in negotiating my sexuality in ways that respect me, my husband, my lovers, and my lovers' spouses.
Whether I adhere to mainstream expectations, I am not nothing/a slut/(insert insult here) because I enjoy sex. I am more than my sexuality.
(page 10) "The world itself is the content of the world, its true value, its heart, and its soul."
I recently had a spiritual discussion where I revealed that I don't believe in heaven and hell, that they are both states found in daily life. Sexually, heaven is orgasmic enthusiastic sex while hell is coercive sex, sexual assault, sexual abuse, and rape. Concepts of the afterlife require faith, and I'm not looking for spiritual debate. I'm not trying to proselytize, and I'd appreciate being given the same respect.
A girl in northern California was kidnapped at age 11, held captive, and raped repeatedly for almost two decades, forced to bear two children. That is hell. The man who kidnapped her is the devil. His wife, who did nothing to stop this, is the devil. All the people who failed to notice the compound (parole officers, etc) have sinned. Hell is of this world.
One form of faith is (page 11) "...choosing to take this living world, the people and the creatures on it, as the ultimate meaning and purpose of life, to see the world, the earth, and our own lives as sacred."
Sex is sacred. When sex is free from coercion, guilt, emotional blackmail, cheating, lies , and violence, when sex is freely shared and enthusiastically engaged in, sex is sacred, wholesome, wondrous, beautiful. The joy I get from sex fills me, refreshes me, makes life good. Everything I enjoy adds to life, bringing me heaven in this world: companionship, exploration, love, children, good food, cooking, trees, so many things. Seeing life and sex as sacred makes coercive, non-consensual facsimiles of sex even more horrific, the blasphemy that it truly is.
(page 35) "...our choices bring about consequences, and--we cannot escape responsibility for the consequences, not because they are imposed by some external authority, but because they are inherent in the choices themselves."
A long time ago, I dated a man who chose not to listen when I said no. That choice makes him a rapist.
I have healed greatly over the years, but pieces of me are still hurting. In order to fully heal, I have to reopen old wounds and risk hurting again. Not healing is also a choice, but not healing will mean that I'll continue to hurt for the rest of my life, that I'll have a frozen voice, that I'll find myself paralyzed with fear. I have instead chosen to speak.
(page XIV) "When we tell of the turning dark, the velvet dark, Hecate's birthgiving dark, the shadow listens to that also. And what we name feeds into the open imaginations that are listening. So their concept of what is narrowly called death can change.
"The dark: all that we are afraid of, all that we don't want to see--fear, anger, sex, grief, death, the unknown.
"The turning dark: change.
"The velvet dark: skin soft in the night, the stroke of flesh on flesh, touch, joy, mortality.
"Hecate's birth-giving dark: seeds are planted underground, the womb is dark, and life forms itself anew in hidden places."
This blog is about exploring the dark places: the scary, taboo, secretive places of my memories, my culture, and my life. It's about shining a light into the darkness, seeing what's there, and either bringing something into the light or leaving it in the dark.
Darkness has been associated with negativity for much too long. Sometimes darkness is nurturing, restful, protective, healthy, necessary.
My husband and I have different strategies for moving about the house in the middle of the night. Unless I need to read something (like a prescription label), I keep the lights off. Sudden light pains and blinds me. The bathroom has enough ambient light and I touch the back of the toilet to make sure the seat isn't up. I travel the stairs by feel. He turns on the light. I guess it's not as jarring for him. I go slower and more carefully, but that's all the changes I make.
The darkness I'm exploring with this blog is by far velvet darkness: that of carnality. The "dark side" I indulge is that of rough sex and non-monogamy. I strive for healthy non-monogamy in that I am honest and open to my partners about my partnerships. Because I am married, my consent is contingent upon my husband's consent. If he doesn't grant me the consent to be with another, then that would be cheating, which is wrong.
The downside to an open marriage is our culture's slut shaming. Because I don't conform to a narrow vision of sexual morality, those who do have a narrow view would say that I asked for it if anything untoward would happen to me again. Hell, I "deserved" it the first time for not waiting until marriage!
Happily, we live in a pluralistic society, and not everyone subscribes to a sex-negative perspective, which I find much "darker" ethically. My interest in in negotiating my sexuality in ways that respect me, my husband, my lovers, and my lovers' spouses.
Whether I adhere to mainstream expectations, I am not nothing/a slut/(insert insult here) because I enjoy sex. I am more than my sexuality.
(page 10) "The world itself is the content of the world, its true value, its heart, and its soul."
I recently had a spiritual discussion where I revealed that I don't believe in heaven and hell, that they are both states found in daily life. Sexually, heaven is orgasmic enthusiastic sex while hell is coercive sex, sexual assault, sexual abuse, and rape. Concepts of the afterlife require faith, and I'm not looking for spiritual debate. I'm not trying to proselytize, and I'd appreciate being given the same respect.
A girl in northern California was kidnapped at age 11, held captive, and raped repeatedly for almost two decades, forced to bear two children. That is hell. The man who kidnapped her is the devil. His wife, who did nothing to stop this, is the devil. All the people who failed to notice the compound (parole officers, etc) have sinned. Hell is of this world.
One form of faith is (page 11) "...choosing to take this living world, the people and the creatures on it, as the ultimate meaning and purpose of life, to see the world, the earth, and our own lives as sacred."
Sex is sacred. When sex is free from coercion, guilt, emotional blackmail, cheating, lies , and violence, when sex is freely shared and enthusiastically engaged in, sex is sacred, wholesome, wondrous, beautiful. The joy I get from sex fills me, refreshes me, makes life good. Everything I enjoy adds to life, bringing me heaven in this world: companionship, exploration, love, children, good food, cooking, trees, so many things. Seeing life and sex as sacred makes coercive, non-consensual facsimiles of sex even more horrific, the blasphemy that it truly is.
(page 35) "...our choices bring about consequences, and--we cannot escape responsibility for the consequences, not because they are imposed by some external authority, but because they are inherent in the choices themselves."
A long time ago, I dated a man who chose not to listen when I said no. That choice makes him a rapist.
I have healed greatly over the years, but pieces of me are still hurting. In order to fully heal, I have to reopen old wounds and risk hurting again. Not healing is also a choice, but not healing will mean that I'll continue to hurt for the rest of my life, that I'll have a frozen voice, that I'll find myself paralyzed with fear. I have instead chosen to speak.
So-Called Compromise
The quote for this post comes from The Osho Zen Tarot. Unless otherwise specified, and until I finish responding to Yes Means Yes, all of the essays I quote from are found within that book.
Compromise: "It is one thing to meet another halfway, to understand a point of view different from our own and work towards a harmony of the opposing forces. It is quite another to 'cave in' and betray our own truth."
Despite the fact that I of yet have no comments, I have decided to require my approval before they post. I don't need any readers I may eventually have encounter trolling. I want this to be an accountable place. I want sincere questions and insights.
I drew this card in multiple readings over the years. I enjoy Tarot and the thoughtways some of the cards have sent me on.
I'm still discovering my voice. It fades sometimes. I get heartsick reliving the past. I choke myself off, my words paralyzed within me.
I can't allow myself to remain silent. Silence is complicity.
Another thought: to be true to me, I am responding to works in the order I'm ready to talk about them. This blog is my journey, and it is not linear.
To relate this card to sex: if one partner whines, begs, pleads, hounds the other for sex, then giving in is caving. It is not true consent. It is settling. It is a betrayal of the self. It is not love. It is not pleasure. It is not sex. It is "not-rape." I hope the caving partner learns to leave. I hope the whining partner shuts the fuck up, because the whining partner is not a good partner at all.
Compromise: "It is one thing to meet another halfway, to understand a point of view different from our own and work towards a harmony of the opposing forces. It is quite another to 'cave in' and betray our own truth."
Despite the fact that I of yet have no comments, I have decided to require my approval before they post. I don't need any readers I may eventually have encounter trolling. I want this to be an accountable place. I want sincere questions and insights.
I drew this card in multiple readings over the years. I enjoy Tarot and the thoughtways some of the cards have sent me on.
I'm still discovering my voice. It fades sometimes. I get heartsick reliving the past. I choke myself off, my words paralyzed within me.
I can't allow myself to remain silent. Silence is complicity.
Another thought: to be true to me, I am responding to works in the order I'm ready to talk about them. This blog is my journey, and it is not linear.
To relate this card to sex: if one partner whines, begs, pleads, hounds the other for sex, then giving in is caving. It is not true consent. It is settling. It is a betrayal of the self. It is not love. It is not pleasure. It is not sex. It is "not-rape." I hope the caving partner learns to leave. I hope the whining partner shuts the fuck up, because the whining partner is not a good partner at all.
Friday, August 28, 2009
No, You DON'T Get to Touch Me
Responding to "Reclaiming Touch: Rape Culture, Explicit Verbal Consent, and Body Sovereignty" by Hazel/Cedar Troust
I was planning on responding to a different piece before I reflected on this one, but I was reminded last night once again why the assumption that it's OK to touch someone without asking is erroneous. Last night a co-worker decided to try to startle me by talking right behind me, and when I told him that it would have been successful, and would have been cause for a rather sharp reaction from me had he touched me instead, he looked puzzled. I reach out & touch people on the back all the time to make sure they don't run into me, he said. I encouraged him to warn me verbally. This isn't the first coworker to consider touching my back (shudder) without asking, and sadly I doubt he'll be the last.
(page 171) "...rape culture works by restricting a person's control of hir body, limiting hir sense of ownership of it, and granting others a sense of entitlement to it. "
I didn't realize just how invasive and demeaning casual touching can be until I was pregnant. Complete strangers feel totally comfortable grabbing a woman's pregnant belly without even asking. Don't. Don't do that. It's not your body, it's not just an unattached floating belly, and you need to respect pregnant women enough to ask.
Before becoming pregnant, I was relatively invisible. Sure, people would approach me and hit on me, and occasionally I'd get cat calls when walking by myself, but it was no where near as intrusive or constant as when I was pregnant. I miss that relative invisibility, though now I can relive it when I go somewhere people don't instantly recognize me and leave the kids at home.
Truthfully, I've never been the touchy-feely type, and some touches can panic me. A coworker asked why once, and for simplicity's sake, I told her I'd been attacked (true, but unrelated). My mother mentioned on several occasions while I was growing up that even as a baby I really didn't like cuddling much, so I was probably just born wired this way. Really, if I haven't given someone permission to touch me, even if that permission is stated only within the confines of my mind, I don't want to be touched.
When people touch me, especially "superiors," without making sure it's OK, then they deny me agency. It's difficult to diplomatically explain that I don't welcome being touched, and that no one is entitled to touch me without my consent, when inside I'm cringing. I flinch. No one is entitled to touch me (or anyone else). Not even doctors. I am not public property.
(page 173) "Practicing explicit verbal consent, I was able to decide first and then accept touch--or say no, which was much easier, because I was no longer breaking off contact and rejecting, but simply not beginning, that activity. I found that there was tons of touch that I accepted rather than wanted, even from people I really wanted to touch me--and to my surprise, I found the people I touched regularly were the same."
I rarely practice explicit verbal consent, though I've started asking to touch my friends, like asking if they'd like a hug when they're upset. It's a bit liberating, because asking permission is much more productive than standing there wondering if my crying friend wants physical comfort (a hug) or really doesn't want to be touched in that moment. Standing there is awkward, and I try not to assume permission to touch except with those I'm most intimate (and who regularly welcome my touch).
I've also realized that I do assume touch is OK, especially with my husband. I like to rest my legs on him or lean against him when we're sitting together because it makes me feel closer to him. I rarely think to ask permission, and it tends to make him feel like furniture, which is the opposite of closeness. When I remember, I move away and ask permission. It's not frequent enough yet.
Sometimes, usually when I'm fatigued, touch--normal, caress-y type touch--just plain feels bad. It's overwhelming and sets off a flight-or-fight response in me. I've stopped being embarrassed about that, which makes it easier for me to request firm touches at that time. I've called them massage touches, trying to allude to the firmness/pressure I need, but I keep getting told a variation of "I don't know that many massages," so I need a different term.
Until I was confident enough and direct enough to explain my physiology, it seemed that my rejection was about my partner, rather than about the touch. This wasn't useful, and led to hurt feelings. As I've become more and more practiced in asking for firmer touches, my touch panic has been greatly mitigated, allowing me to enjoy sex where previously I'd flee or flinch or resist without explanation.
The assumption that it's OK to touch unless told not to and that assumption that it's OK to have sex with someone unless told not to are on the same continuum of belief. Do not assume consent.
(from the notes section, page 330) "Rape is not always a deliberate attempt to harm, but it's never an 'accident.' Though perpetrators may be unaware that what they're doing is rape, non-consensual, or hurtful, if they took their victims' feelings and body sovereignty seriously, they would take more care to do only things that were wanted. Rape is defined by its effect on the survivor, no by what's going through the perpetrator's mind at the time of the assault, but the latter is relevant in analyzing how to stop rape."
Not much to add to this excellent insight beyond that I've said in previous posts. The same feeling of entitlement that allows people to touch without asking, the assumption that your touch is welcome can be hazardous and cause great harm. If you ever have to wonder if your touch is welcome--that you're not sure should be answer enough. I respect people too much to believe that the thought of sex turns anyone into slavering idiots incapable of stopping.
I was planning on responding to a different piece before I reflected on this one, but I was reminded last night once again why the assumption that it's OK to touch someone without asking is erroneous. Last night a co-worker decided to try to startle me by talking right behind me, and when I told him that it would have been successful, and would have been cause for a rather sharp reaction from me had he touched me instead, he looked puzzled. I reach out & touch people on the back all the time to make sure they don't run into me, he said. I encouraged him to warn me verbally. This isn't the first coworker to consider touching my back (shudder) without asking, and sadly I doubt he'll be the last.
(page 171) "...rape culture works by restricting a person's control of hir body, limiting hir sense of ownership of it, and granting others a sense of entitlement to it. "
I didn't realize just how invasive and demeaning casual touching can be until I was pregnant. Complete strangers feel totally comfortable grabbing a woman's pregnant belly without even asking. Don't. Don't do that. It's not your body, it's not just an unattached floating belly, and you need to respect pregnant women enough to ask.
Before becoming pregnant, I was relatively invisible. Sure, people would approach me and hit on me, and occasionally I'd get cat calls when walking by myself, but it was no where near as intrusive or constant as when I was pregnant. I miss that relative invisibility, though now I can relive it when I go somewhere people don't instantly recognize me and leave the kids at home.
Truthfully, I've never been the touchy-feely type, and some touches can panic me. A coworker asked why once, and for simplicity's sake, I told her I'd been attacked (true, but unrelated). My mother mentioned on several occasions while I was growing up that even as a baby I really didn't like cuddling much, so I was probably just born wired this way. Really, if I haven't given someone permission to touch me, even if that permission is stated only within the confines of my mind, I don't want to be touched.
When people touch me, especially "superiors," without making sure it's OK, then they deny me agency. It's difficult to diplomatically explain that I don't welcome being touched, and that no one is entitled to touch me without my consent, when inside I'm cringing. I flinch. No one is entitled to touch me (or anyone else). Not even doctors. I am not public property.
(page 173) "Practicing explicit verbal consent, I was able to decide first and then accept touch--or say no, which was much easier, because I was no longer breaking off contact and rejecting, but simply not beginning, that activity. I found that there was tons of touch that I accepted rather than wanted, even from people I really wanted to touch me--and to my surprise, I found the people I touched regularly were the same."
I rarely practice explicit verbal consent, though I've started asking to touch my friends, like asking if they'd like a hug when they're upset. It's a bit liberating, because asking permission is much more productive than standing there wondering if my crying friend wants physical comfort (a hug) or really doesn't want to be touched in that moment. Standing there is awkward, and I try not to assume permission to touch except with those I'm most intimate (and who regularly welcome my touch).
I've also realized that I do assume touch is OK, especially with my husband. I like to rest my legs on him or lean against him when we're sitting together because it makes me feel closer to him. I rarely think to ask permission, and it tends to make him feel like furniture, which is the opposite of closeness. When I remember, I move away and ask permission. It's not frequent enough yet.
Sometimes, usually when I'm fatigued, touch--normal, caress-y type touch--just plain feels bad. It's overwhelming and sets off a flight-or-fight response in me. I've stopped being embarrassed about that, which makes it easier for me to request firm touches at that time. I've called them massage touches, trying to allude to the firmness/pressure I need, but I keep getting told a variation of "I don't know that many massages," so I need a different term.
Until I was confident enough and direct enough to explain my physiology, it seemed that my rejection was about my partner, rather than about the touch. This wasn't useful, and led to hurt feelings. As I've become more and more practiced in asking for firmer touches, my touch panic has been greatly mitigated, allowing me to enjoy sex where previously I'd flee or flinch or resist without explanation.
The assumption that it's OK to touch unless told not to and that assumption that it's OK to have sex with someone unless told not to are on the same continuum of belief. Do not assume consent.
(from the notes section, page 330) "Rape is not always a deliberate attempt to harm, but it's never an 'accident.' Though perpetrators may be unaware that what they're doing is rape, non-consensual, or hurtful, if they took their victims' feelings and body sovereignty seriously, they would take more care to do only things that were wanted. Rape is defined by its effect on the survivor, no by what's going through the perpetrator's mind at the time of the assault, but the latter is relevant in analyzing how to stop rape."
Not much to add to this excellent insight beyond that I've said in previous posts. The same feeling of entitlement that allows people to touch without asking, the assumption that your touch is welcome can be hazardous and cause great harm. If you ever have to wonder if your touch is welcome--that you're not sure should be answer enough. I respect people too much to believe that the thought of sex turns anyone into slavering idiots incapable of stopping.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
An Enthusiastic Standard
A reflection on "Toward a Perfomance Model of Sex" by Thomas Macaulay Miller
(page 37) "Rape apologists argue that once consent is given it cannot be withdrawn; that acquiescence under the influence is consent; that women who do not clearly say no assume the risk."
This attitude assumes that once sex enters the picture, men become little more than drooling idiots unable to control their little heads, and can't tell when their partners aren't enjoying themselves (or that men shouldn't have to care whether their partners are enjoying themselves). While some douchebags simply really don't care about their partners' pleasure, most people want to be thought of as good lovers, which means they care that their partners ENJOY what's going on. If someone is too self-centered to pull his/her head out of his/her ass long enough to realize that his/her partner is, at best, tolerating what he/she is doing, then he/she is no where near a semi-adequate lover, let alone a good one.
Consent can be withdrawn at any time. "Ow" means "Stop!" unless pain was negotiated and consented to prior to starting. When enthusiasm stops, pleasure stops, and so should the activity. Why is this a foreign concept? Sex is supposed to be enjoyable.
Good sex takes two enthusiastic participants, and while enthusiasm may not necessarily equal pleasure, without it, one partner is masturbating while using someone else's body. That's not the kind of sex I want, for me or for anyone.
(page 39) "Under a performance model, ... sexual interaction should be creative, positive, and respectful even in the most casual of circumstances, and without regard to what each partner seeks from it."
Sex takes (at least) two partners who tune into what each other wants. A healthy and enthusiastic sexual relationship leads to exploring new things, communication, and pleasure. It may not start out with instant fireworks, but mutual fireworks tends to be the goal. It gets better with time.
Without respect and communication, it gets worse over time, not better. If sex with you means that we do what you want even though I hate it, how long do you truly expect me to continue sleeping with you? If sex with you means we both have fun and occasionally you ask me to do something that I don't really care for, but do anyway because you like it so much and I enjoy pleasing you, then I'll continue to want to sleep with you. Collaborative sex is fun.
And guys, if you want to hook up from time to time with various people, but only take what you want without caring if you give pleasure in return, I hope that you understand that you're earning your reputation for being a douchebag.
(page 40) "If our boys learn from their preadolescence that sex is a performance where enthusiastic participation is normal and pressure is aberrant, then the idea that consent is affirmative, rather than the absence of objection, will be ingrained."
The reason so many women have experiences like mine with JRS is because of a cultural attitude where sex is all about "getting some" and "scoring." When all you want to do is "score," then you don't really care if the sex is good or pay attention to the the signals that your touch isn't welcome. You are settling for terrible sex, and may even be raping someone. Is that what you truly want?
I have wonderful, mind-blowing, forget-my-name sex with my husband and lover(s), but even quickies are satisfying because we care about each others' needs. We listen. We watch. We give mutual pleasure, which in turn increases our own pleasure. Sex should be fun, not endured, each and every time, otherwise what's the point in having it?
(page 37) "Rape apologists argue that once consent is given it cannot be withdrawn; that acquiescence under the influence is consent; that women who do not clearly say no assume the risk."
This attitude assumes that once sex enters the picture, men become little more than drooling idiots unable to control their little heads, and can't tell when their partners aren't enjoying themselves (or that men shouldn't have to care whether their partners are enjoying themselves). While some douchebags simply really don't care about their partners' pleasure, most people want to be thought of as good lovers, which means they care that their partners ENJOY what's going on. If someone is too self-centered to pull his/her head out of his/her ass long enough to realize that his/her partner is, at best, tolerating what he/she is doing, then he/she is no where near a semi-adequate lover, let alone a good one.
Consent can be withdrawn at any time. "Ow" means "Stop!" unless pain was negotiated and consented to prior to starting. When enthusiasm stops, pleasure stops, and so should the activity. Why is this a foreign concept? Sex is supposed to be enjoyable.
Good sex takes two enthusiastic participants, and while enthusiasm may not necessarily equal pleasure, without it, one partner is masturbating while using someone else's body. That's not the kind of sex I want, for me or for anyone.
(page 39) "Under a performance model, ... sexual interaction should be creative, positive, and respectful even in the most casual of circumstances, and without regard to what each partner seeks from it."
Sex takes (at least) two partners who tune into what each other wants. A healthy and enthusiastic sexual relationship leads to exploring new things, communication, and pleasure. It may not start out with instant fireworks, but mutual fireworks tends to be the goal. It gets better with time.
Without respect and communication, it gets worse over time, not better. If sex with you means that we do what you want even though I hate it, how long do you truly expect me to continue sleeping with you? If sex with you means we both have fun and occasionally you ask me to do something that I don't really care for, but do anyway because you like it so much and I enjoy pleasing you, then I'll continue to want to sleep with you. Collaborative sex is fun.
And guys, if you want to hook up from time to time with various people, but only take what you want without caring if you give pleasure in return, I hope that you understand that you're earning your reputation for being a douchebag.
(page 40) "If our boys learn from their preadolescence that sex is a performance where enthusiastic participation is normal and pressure is aberrant, then the idea that consent is affirmative, rather than the absence of objection, will be ingrained."
The reason so many women have experiences like mine with JRS is because of a cultural attitude where sex is all about "getting some" and "scoring." When all you want to do is "score," then you don't really care if the sex is good or pay attention to the the signals that your touch isn't welcome. You are settling for terrible sex, and may even be raping someone. Is that what you truly want?
I have wonderful, mind-blowing, forget-my-name sex with my husband and lover(s), but even quickies are satisfying because we care about each others' needs. We listen. We watch. We give mutual pleasure, which in turn increases our own pleasure. Sex should be fun, not endured, each and every time, otherwise what's the point in having it?
Monday, August 24, 2009
Sex Negativity
Responding to "Offensive Feminism: The Conservative Gender Norms That Perpetuate Rape Culture, and How Feminists Can Fight Back" by Jill Filipovic In Yes Means Yes.
My response focuses on pieces of the essay, as it relates to me, and not the essay as a whole. This will be true of all of my responses. There is much that I've read that I am not including in this blog, whether I have a reason beyond space for that or not.
(Page 17) "The idea that women might want to have sex for pleasure without having to carry a pregnancy for nine months afterward and then raise a child is quite contrary to conservative values."
I don't understand the sex-negative, supposedly "pro-life," mind set, except at a reflection that women should be punished for having sex. If a girl doesn't know where or how to procure birth control (common with abstinence-only sex ed) and ends up in a relationship that leads to sex, even if that sex is coercive, she is then shamed as a slut for ending up pregnant (never mind that he should be just as responsible for birth control as she is). And despite the "pro-life" view that the fetus should have rights and be carried to term no matter what, the same people who protest abortions turn their backs on providing social services and financial support to mothers once the baby is born. How is that anything but punitive?
My focus, however, is not on conservative hatred of our so-called welfare state. This slut-shaming is why I am posting anonymously. A girl merely being sexually active is reason enough in too many minds for boys to go for the score instead of making damn sure that the girl they're with truly consents. Boys will be boys & girls should watch out, right? Wrong. Men who truly enjoy sex have a much, much better time with an enthusiastic woman. What's the fun in fucking someone who's scared stiff or just quietly lying there because it's easier than arguing? Sex should be fun.
(Page 20) "Men are rational human beings fully capable of listening to their partners and understanding that sex isn't about pushing someone to do something they don't want to do. Plenty of men are able to grasp the idea that sex should be entered into joyfully and enthusiastically by both partners, and that an absence of 'no' isn't enough--'yes' should be the baseline requirement."
Once upon a time when I was 18, I met a guy, JRS. JRS flirted heavily, and then never stopped. While I had grown up standing up for myself fairly often, I didn't stand up for myself that day. He ended up taking off my panties, lifting my skirt, leaning me against a table, and doing as he pleased. I froze. My response was nil. No sounds, no squirming, no delight. I just stood there.
And then he flipped me over and continued using my body by fucking me in the ass. It was excruciating. I yelped in pain. He said oops and kept on going.
Eventually he flipped me over yet again--which lead to my first yeast infection. And I was left wondering what the hell just happened --how had I LET that happen? Did he rape me? I never said no. What should I call this?
Sadly, this is a much too common experience, and shortly after I found myself in a relationship with a man who raped me repeatedly. But that's another story. I do wonder, though, how much my emotional disquiet from this "misunderstanding" and the emotionally abusive relationship I'd just left kept me from leaving that relationship more quickly. I was reeling.
My confusion as to how to name and understand my experience made it all the harder to process and grieve, remember my voice, and move on. I eventually labeled it a horrible misunderstanding, which I now find problematic, but I made myself re-learn how to say no forcefully before I allowed myself to date again.
Now my partners simply stop if they don't get an enthusiastic response from me. I have no worries that my husband or lover(s) will continue pushing unwanted attention when faced with hesitation from me. They get no pleasure from non-enthusiastic sex.
Last week a woman I work with explained that in the last weeks of their relationship, her ex-boyfriend continued with intercourse even though she locked her legs together against him, shielded her breasts from his hands with her arms, and even grabbed the bed to resist him. "I didn't say no," she told me. My response to her was "that's rape." She resisted, and he ignored her. A lack of verbal no is not an excuse.
I've committed to teaching my children that only yes means yes. Hesitation means no. Lack of response means no. Removing wandering hands means no. Admitting to being uncertain and neverous--all of it means no.
And my decision to teach enthusiasm as the standard is why "horrible misunderstanding" now seems inadequate to explain what happened with JRS.
My response focuses on pieces of the essay, as it relates to me, and not the essay as a whole. This will be true of all of my responses. There is much that I've read that I am not including in this blog, whether I have a reason beyond space for that or not.
(Page 17) "The idea that women might want to have sex for pleasure without having to carry a pregnancy for nine months afterward and then raise a child is quite contrary to conservative values."
I don't understand the sex-negative, supposedly "pro-life," mind set, except at a reflection that women should be punished for having sex. If a girl doesn't know where or how to procure birth control (common with abstinence-only sex ed) and ends up in a relationship that leads to sex, even if that sex is coercive, she is then shamed as a slut for ending up pregnant (never mind that he should be just as responsible for birth control as she is). And despite the "pro-life" view that the fetus should have rights and be carried to term no matter what, the same people who protest abortions turn their backs on providing social services and financial support to mothers once the baby is born. How is that anything but punitive?
My focus, however, is not on conservative hatred of our so-called welfare state. This slut-shaming is why I am posting anonymously. A girl merely being sexually active is reason enough in too many minds for boys to go for the score instead of making damn sure that the girl they're with truly consents. Boys will be boys & girls should watch out, right? Wrong. Men who truly enjoy sex have a much, much better time with an enthusiastic woman. What's the fun in fucking someone who's scared stiff or just quietly lying there because it's easier than arguing? Sex should be fun.
(Page 20) "Men are rational human beings fully capable of listening to their partners and understanding that sex isn't about pushing someone to do something they don't want to do. Plenty of men are able to grasp the idea that sex should be entered into joyfully and enthusiastically by both partners, and that an absence of 'no' isn't enough--'yes' should be the baseline requirement."
Once upon a time when I was 18, I met a guy, JRS. JRS flirted heavily, and then never stopped. While I had grown up standing up for myself fairly often, I didn't stand up for myself that day. He ended up taking off my panties, lifting my skirt, leaning me against a table, and doing as he pleased. I froze. My response was nil. No sounds, no squirming, no delight. I just stood there.
And then he flipped me over and continued using my body by fucking me in the ass. It was excruciating. I yelped in pain. He said oops and kept on going.
Eventually he flipped me over yet again--which lead to my first yeast infection. And I was left wondering what the hell just happened --how had I LET that happen? Did he rape me? I never said no. What should I call this?
Sadly, this is a much too common experience, and shortly after I found myself in a relationship with a man who raped me repeatedly. But that's another story. I do wonder, though, how much my emotional disquiet from this "misunderstanding" and the emotionally abusive relationship I'd just left kept me from leaving that relationship more quickly. I was reeling.
My confusion as to how to name and understand my experience made it all the harder to process and grieve, remember my voice, and move on. I eventually labeled it a horrible misunderstanding, which I now find problematic, but I made myself re-learn how to say no forcefully before I allowed myself to date again.
Now my partners simply stop if they don't get an enthusiastic response from me. I have no worries that my husband or lover(s) will continue pushing unwanted attention when faced with hesitation from me. They get no pleasure from non-enthusiastic sex.
Last week a woman I work with explained that in the last weeks of their relationship, her ex-boyfriend continued with intercourse even though she locked her legs together against him, shielded her breasts from his hands with her arms, and even grabbed the bed to resist him. "I didn't say no," she told me. My response to her was "that's rape." She resisted, and he ignored her. A lack of verbal no is not an excuse.
I've committed to teaching my children that only yes means yes. Hesitation means no. Lack of response means no. Removing wandering hands means no. Admitting to being uncertain and neverous--all of it means no.
And my decision to teach enthusiasm as the standard is why "horrible misunderstanding" now seems inadequate to explain what happened with JRS.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Introductory Reflection
The first work that I am reflecting upon is the collection of essays that compose Yes Means Yes! Visions of Female Sexual Power & a World Without Rape by Jaclyn Friedman & Jessica Valenti. My first reflection is on the Introduction of the book.
(Page 7) "The goal...is to explore how creating a culture that values genuine female sexual pleasure can help stop rape and how the culture and systems that support rape in the US rob us of our right to sexual power.... Until we start shining a light on all the dark corners of sexual shame and blame projected onto us by American culture, we're going to keep spinning our wheels."
My own goal in reading this work is to create a framework within which to reflect upon and understand my own sexual history and practices. While I have come a long way from the child and teenager introduced to sex too soon & learning first the ways in which sex can be abusive and humiliating, I still have trouble requesting that which I want.
Worse, sometimes my history haunts me, as I have had flashbacks or have been too nervous that I would have another flashback to truly have pleasure from time to time. This needs to stop.
I am ready to take pleasure in my own body and live my life on my own terms, which puts me at risks for, well, "douchebags." With the my personal situation, I also can't be loud & proud about who I am sexually.
This is, of course, a process as I balance pleasure, safety, freedom, and commitment. It involves unpacking & examining my past, understanding my current hang-ups & conflicts (as well as what's working well), and looking to quietly but confidently explore my urges, needs, & desires for the future. It's not going to be easy.
I plan to continue to reflect on Yes Means Yes, as well as blogs, web pages, & other books. I plan to reflect essay by essay, though a couple of the essays did not move me or seem to apply to me, so I'll skip the ones I don't feel like writing about.
(Page 7) "The goal...is to explore how creating a culture that values genuine female sexual pleasure can help stop rape and how the culture and systems that support rape in the US rob us of our right to sexual power.... Until we start shining a light on all the dark corners of sexual shame and blame projected onto us by American culture, we're going to keep spinning our wheels."
My own goal in reading this work is to create a framework within which to reflect upon and understand my own sexual history and practices. While I have come a long way from the child and teenager introduced to sex too soon & learning first the ways in which sex can be abusive and humiliating, I still have trouble requesting that which I want.
Worse, sometimes my history haunts me, as I have had flashbacks or have been too nervous that I would have another flashback to truly have pleasure from time to time. This needs to stop.
I am ready to take pleasure in my own body and live my life on my own terms, which puts me at risks for, well, "douchebags." With the my personal situation, I also can't be loud & proud about who I am sexually.
This is, of course, a process as I balance pleasure, safety, freedom, and commitment. It involves unpacking & examining my past, understanding my current hang-ups & conflicts (as well as what's working well), and looking to quietly but confidently explore my urges, needs, & desires for the future. It's not going to be easy.
I plan to continue to reflect on Yes Means Yes, as well as blogs, web pages, & other books. I plan to reflect essay by essay, though a couple of the essays did not move me or seem to apply to me, so I'll skip the ones I don't feel like writing about.
Introduction & Purpose
In the United States, the dominant culture is sex-negative, condones rape, and punishes women who enjoy sex. Because I have been on the receiving end of public censure for my sexual proclivities, and more than just me will suffer should my identity be public, I am writing this blog anonymously.
And yet my journey in examining the rape culture and how it has effected me, my life, the attitudes I've come across, etc. has just begun. I have much reflection to do, and sharing my reflections is of paramount import. And yet, and yet, and yet.
I cannot keep my silence. I must speak. But the consequences of sharing have been too high. Worse, nothing can change unless I speak.
I am a woman who enjoys sex. With multiple partners. At the same time. I am a victim who needs healing. I am a survivor who has moved on. My body and sexual relationships are sacred. Sex is a cause for celebration. Sex has been used as a weapon to name me nothing-no one-less than human. None of these are contradictions.
And yet my journey in examining the rape culture and how it has effected me, my life, the attitudes I've come across, etc. has just begun. I have much reflection to do, and sharing my reflections is of paramount import. And yet, and yet, and yet.
I cannot keep my silence. I must speak. But the consequences of sharing have been too high. Worse, nothing can change unless I speak.
I am a woman who enjoys sex. With multiple partners. At the same time. I am a victim who needs healing. I am a survivor who has moved on. My body and sexual relationships are sacred. Sex is a cause for celebration. Sex has been used as a weapon to name me nothing-no one-less than human. None of these are contradictions.
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