Responding to “When Pregnancy Is Outlawed, Only Outlaws Will Be Pregnant” by Tiloma Jayasinghe
This week, I plan to expound upon abortion. A friend of mine just found out that she needs one. She feels that she can't tell anyone, because of the stigma involved. She ended up having to tell her boss, and was surprised by how supportive and helpful her boss ended up being. Actually, I'm surprised she told me.
I find that I'm more sympathetic to women who don't want children after having children than I was before I had children. Pregnancy sucks. Chosen pregnancy sucks, because people have rather exacting expectations of pregnant women.
(page 266) “Women are expected to suddenly become paragons of virtue and self-denial during their pregnancies, forgoing sushi, caffeine, nicotine, unpasteurized cheese, tuna, alcohol, cleaning the cat’s litter box, etc. Other members of society feel quite free to censure a woman who breaks any of these taboos.”
I still remember, and resent, the woman who argued with me about the soda I chose to drink. How dare I have caffeine? Didn't I know it wasn't safe? Actually, it's quite safe, and it's MY choice to make. It's my body, my baby, and my choice. I didn't ask for her permission, and she had no right to censure me.
(page 267) “Pregnant women are also affected by the war on abortion. If the fetus is granted rights of personhood, then a woman’s right to choose not to become a mother, for health or personal reasons, will be eliminated; she and the doctor who performs abortions could be charged with murder. When fetal rights are elevated over the right of a woman to choose when she wants to become a mother, to determine the spacing of her children, and to make a private decision about what happens to her body, then she loses her ability to control her own body and her choices are supplanted by those of the state—the state can pretty much tell a woman that she will be forced to carry her pregnancy to term.”
If the state has control over women's bodies because they are pregnant, then pregnant women are denied the liberty that everyone else has.
My experiences in the labor and delivery rooms have left me convinced that most women have at least one unnecessary intervention or something forced upon her, be it electronic fetal monitoring (still not proven safer than non-continuous non-electronic monitoring), rupturing of membranes, or overly-aggressive nurses, or something.
I was pressured into an induction that I wasn't ready for and didn't particularly want. Considering that my baby was born perfectly healthy, I think that over-testing was the true problem. I had to have weekly non-stress tests because the baby's heartbeat did not appear to be normal. My theory is that the baby was asleep for all of them, and that the heartbeat was reflective of that. There was one non-stress test that we had to schedule at a different time, and that heartbeat fit the normal parameters perfectly. The nurse administering the non-stress tests remarked that it was like a whole different baby.
I suppose that I could have refused, but it's difficult to take such a stand. Some doctors even take pregnant women to court to force them to undergo procedures, like Cesarean sections, because it's "in the best interest of the child." But doctors aren't always right, and it's not always in the best interest of the child. But it definitely puts women in their place, now doesn't it?
I have also been prescribed bed rest while pregnant, which I was unable to follow. I did not have the child care necessary to allow me to stay in bed. I had to care for a toddler and was not eligible for disability, having been a stay-at-home mom. Had my inability to follow bed rest resulted in miscarriage, could that have been considered murder if unborn babies had personhood? Was I, by caring for the baby I had already borne, in fact committing child abuse on the one I was carrying by not following orders? It was a risk I had to take. I really didn't have another viable choice.
(page 269) “He could not see that the idea of someone else’s paternalistically taking away her choice to have sex, or to forgo birth control, or to become a mother, renders her not mentally sound, less than human.”
In the essay, this refers to a lawyer who cuts deals for women that include agreeing not to have children. Parole can be contingent on regular pregnancy tests, and becoming pregnant can result in parole being revoked. Women can go to jail simply because they're pregnant. That's a scary thought.
(page 270) “Anytime you try to limit the procreative rights of a class of people because its progeny are considered doomed, or a burden, or generally unwanted, it results in a slow genocide of the poor.”
My own mother thinks that all girls should be fit with something like an IUD or hormonal implants to prevent pregnancy until they can be licensed to have kids. If I had waited until I was ready or could afford to have children, I may still not be a mother. I'm not sure I would ever have felt truly ready. Even now, I sometimes feel inadequate as a mother.
(page 270) “It is really about controlling who reproduces, prohibiting women from having sex, and starting with the easy targets—the vulnerable and the marginalized.”
Some people would say that my friend who needs an abortion is wrong. That she had sex and now needs to pay the piper. That she got pregnant, and to not carry to term is murder. That if she wasn't willing to have a baby, then she shouldn't have had sex to begin with.
I've been luck enough not to need an abortion. The one time that I would have (I hope) chosen to have an abortion, to not tie myself to the man who raped me repeatedly by the bond of blood, nature took care of the problem for me. I did not feel remorse. I felt relief. I was shaken by my close-call, but I was thrilled not to have to deal with the problem.
My friend is in a much better relationship than I had been in. She recently changed birth control methods, and statistically there is a much, much greater chance of getting pregnant when you change birth control. But having sex should not ever be contingent upon wanting to have a baby. I currently do not want to have a baby, and I have sex. Sex is about pleasure, about connecting with another person intimately, about passion, and sometimes about love. Sometimes it results in conception, but that should not be followed by forced birth.
(page 271) “Sexuality is a form of power, so if women own their sexuality and their ability to be sexual creatures, then they are empowered in ways that society does not want them to be. Punishing women for certain outcomes of sexuality (pregnancy and giving birth) is in effect punishing them for having sex.”
In some ways, I don't own my sexuality. I am not public about enjoying multiple partners at once because I fear the consequences. I fear being named slut. I fear that if I ever experience sexual violence again, that I will be told it's my fault. I fear that my children will be shunned or ridiculed.
(page 271) “Women are just as human as everyone else, and simply because women become pregnant or have the capacity to become pregnant does not mean that we lose our humanity or our right to fundamental human rights, which include the right to say yes, I want to have sex, without fear, without punishment, without judgment.”
I have nothing but sympathy for my friend. She is making a difficult decision, and she already recognizes that some people will see her in a negative light should they find out.
Showing posts with label Yes Means Yes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Yes Means Yes. Show all posts
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
On a Rowboat
Responding to: “An Old Enemy in a New Outfit: How Date Rape Became Gray Rape and Why it Matters” by Lisa Jervis.
Today is a better day than yesterday, and so I'm tackling a memory I've not wanted to tackle. But in the rough seas of my emotions, today I remembered to imagine a rowboat, and then I realized I needed oars, and the Room of Requirement in my soul provided them. Some people would believe that I have called out to a higher power, but whose metaphor is it? I've caught a glimpse of land, and I just have to make my way there. Yesterday it was all I could do to tread water, and all I saw was darkness.
(page 163) [Gray rape is] “…a disgusting, destructive, victim blaming cultural construct that encourages women to hate ourselves, doubt ourselves, blame ourselves, take responsibility for other people’s criminal behavior, fear our own desires, and distrust our own instincts.”
Once upon a time in my late teens/early twenties, I read an essay that described the trauma of another teen girl who had frozen up and not resisted the advances of some boy. She appealed to an older woman, asking for understanding that the girl had been raped, that the memories were crushing her, and the older woman said "you raped yourself."
(page 166) “This is how the language of ‘gray rape’ accelerates the victim-blaming cycle. The very concept the phrase relies on—that a supposed gray area of communication or intoxications means that you cannot trust your own memories, instincts, or experiences—is designed to exploit the stigma and fear that fuel the guilt, shame, and denial.”
And while I was reeling, trying to understand what had happened between me and JRS, I started wondering if I too had raped myself. Could it all have been some huge, almost cultural, misunderstanding? Was it only rape in my own mind, and I the perpetrator? And, because of that essay and the comments of a few others, that's what I chalked it up to: my failing.
(page 164) “…everything about so-called gray rape seems awfully familiar: The experience is confusing, makes victims feel guilty and ashamed, and leaves them thinking they could and should have done something differently to prevent the attack.”
Part of my misunderstanding is that I had enjoyed kissing and fondling with JRS before he bulldozed me into sex--sex I wasn't ready for, sex I didn't want.
(page 169) “But here’s the thing: flirting and hook-ups do not cause rape. Rapists and the culture that creates them—with its mixed messages and double standards—cause rape.”
It took more than a year to come to terms with my experience and to move past it. I buried the experience, never quite satisfied with it. I had an easier time recognizing what MZ did as rape. After all, I said no over and over and over with him. He just didn't listen.
(page 164) “…any therapist, sexual assault counselor, rape survivor, or close friend or family member of a rape survivor knows that feelings of guilt, shame, self-blame, and denial are common almost to the point of inevitability, no matter what the circumstances of the crime.”
But I didn't resist with JRS. How could it be rape? At least, that's what I thought at the time.
(page 165) “When the culture teaches you that lack of consent is measured only in active, physical resistance, when your actions are questioned if your date refuses to respect ‘no,’ you’re going to have a hard time calling rape by its real name.”
I've unburied those memories, and I am ashamed that I blamed myself. I betrayed myself in framing JRS as a colossal misunderstanding. It was JRS who refused to pull his head out of his ass and recognize that something was horribly wrong--that I was not willing, that I was not cooperating, that I was just enduring, that I was frozen, that his attention was not welcome.
(page 166) “Despite gray rape proponents’ eagerness to use their phenomenon to shift responsibility from rapists to victims, the fact remains that the reluctance in question is a symptom of the very social disease—sexism, misogyny, men’s entitlement to women’s bodies, and the idea that sexual interaction involves women’s guarding the gates to the land of the sexual goodies as men try to cajole, manipulate, and force their way in—that enables rape in the first place.”
JRS raped me. I did not rape myself.
And I've filed that essay into the "WTF? Lies people say to enable rapists" drawer in my head.
Today is a better day than yesterday, and so I'm tackling a memory I've not wanted to tackle. But in the rough seas of my emotions, today I remembered to imagine a rowboat, and then I realized I needed oars, and the Room of Requirement in my soul provided them. Some people would believe that I have called out to a higher power, but whose metaphor is it? I've caught a glimpse of land, and I just have to make my way there. Yesterday it was all I could do to tread water, and all I saw was darkness.
(page 163) [Gray rape is] “…a disgusting, destructive, victim blaming cultural construct that encourages women to hate ourselves, doubt ourselves, blame ourselves, take responsibility for other people’s criminal behavior, fear our own desires, and distrust our own instincts.”
Once upon a time in my late teens/early twenties, I read an essay that described the trauma of another teen girl who had frozen up and not resisted the advances of some boy. She appealed to an older woman, asking for understanding that the girl had been raped, that the memories were crushing her, and the older woman said "you raped yourself."
(page 166) “This is how the language of ‘gray rape’ accelerates the victim-blaming cycle. The very concept the phrase relies on—that a supposed gray area of communication or intoxications means that you cannot trust your own memories, instincts, or experiences—is designed to exploit the stigma and fear that fuel the guilt, shame, and denial.”
And while I was reeling, trying to understand what had happened between me and JRS, I started wondering if I too had raped myself. Could it all have been some huge, almost cultural, misunderstanding? Was it only rape in my own mind, and I the perpetrator? And, because of that essay and the comments of a few others, that's what I chalked it up to: my failing.
(page 164) “…everything about so-called gray rape seems awfully familiar: The experience is confusing, makes victims feel guilty and ashamed, and leaves them thinking they could and should have done something differently to prevent the attack.”
Part of my misunderstanding is that I had enjoyed kissing and fondling with JRS before he bulldozed me into sex--sex I wasn't ready for, sex I didn't want.
(page 169) “But here’s the thing: flirting and hook-ups do not cause rape. Rapists and the culture that creates them—with its mixed messages and double standards—cause rape.”
It took more than a year to come to terms with my experience and to move past it. I buried the experience, never quite satisfied with it. I had an easier time recognizing what MZ did as rape. After all, I said no over and over and over with him. He just didn't listen.
(page 164) “…any therapist, sexual assault counselor, rape survivor, or close friend or family member of a rape survivor knows that feelings of guilt, shame, self-blame, and denial are common almost to the point of inevitability, no matter what the circumstances of the crime.”
But I didn't resist with JRS. How could it be rape? At least, that's what I thought at the time.
(page 165) “When the culture teaches you that lack of consent is measured only in active, physical resistance, when your actions are questioned if your date refuses to respect ‘no,’ you’re going to have a hard time calling rape by its real name.”
I've unburied those memories, and I am ashamed that I blamed myself. I betrayed myself in framing JRS as a colossal misunderstanding. It was JRS who refused to pull his head out of his ass and recognize that something was horribly wrong--that I was not willing, that I was not cooperating, that I was just enduring, that I was frozen, that his attention was not welcome.
(page 166) “Despite gray rape proponents’ eagerness to use their phenomenon to shift responsibility from rapists to victims, the fact remains that the reluctance in question is a symptom of the very social disease—sexism, misogyny, men’s entitlement to women’s bodies, and the idea that sexual interaction involves women’s guarding the gates to the land of the sexual goodies as men try to cajole, manipulate, and force their way in—that enables rape in the first place.”
JRS raped me. I did not rape myself.
And I've filed that essay into the "WTF? Lies people say to enable rapists" drawer in my head.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Zen Minded
Responding to “An Immodest Proposal” by Heather Corinna.
(page 183) “This is a world where women still frequently are not asked for consent, are often raped or coerced, still engage in sex with partners out of feelings of duty or obligation, usually have our sexuality depicted in grossly inaccurate ways by men and other women alike, and independent female sexual desire and earnest sexual enjoyment are not only disbelieved, in some circles, but are even ‘scientifically’ contested.”
According to some scientists, the orgasms I have should come from clitoral stimulation rather than penetration, while other scientists would say that penetrative orgasms are the only true orgasms out there. Happily, enough real science has been done to recognize that there are trends, rather than absolutes, for what brings women to orgasm. Truth is, I'm not particularly fond of clitoral stimulation, though it generally feels better when I'm already rather aroused. If I'm not aroused enough, it's just an irritation.
The attitude that women get pleasure through a set script of movements while women who have a different route to pleasure (like enjoying threesomes) are aberrant is one of the reasons I remain anonymous. I don't want to be labeled a slut.
I'm contemplating expectations and their impact on my life right now. Some of my happiest moments have been when I've felt I've failed completely and it no longer mattered what anyone else's expectations may be. I relaxed and allowed myself to pursue my own desires. I don't have sex out of duty or obligation, because it isn't worthwhile. Have I ever had sex because it seemed expected? Yes. I'm an absolute failure at pretending to enjoy it.
(page 185) “In Zen Buddhism, we aim for beginner’s mind, a way of thinking in which we approach all we can with the freshest eyes and few preconceived notions. The unknown can make us fearful, but the opportunity to have an unknown, to be able to approach something completely anew, is a gift.”
I've recently decided to attempt a more Zen approach to life, though I worry that it will keep me complacent, accepting too much. I'm trying to be more content with whatever I'm doing, staying in the now. I also worry that it will make me dissatisfied, unable to stay content in the moment and wanting more to be an activist for things that I might be able to change. I'm not sure yet, but I think it's just nerves about trying something new.
Truthfully, I could be getting a Taoist and a Zen approach confused, as I have formal training in neither.
I've mostly succeeded in Zen laundry this week. The process of laundry is an unending chore, and I can't escape it. I could refuse to do it, but not having clean clothes to wear is just frustrating. Relying on others to do laundry for me hasn't worked, so I needed to step up and do it myself. I can't change it, so I've got to adapt to it.
Now my laundry frustration is once again solely the mismanagement of putting clean clothes away by my children. I hope I can continue in my acceptance of laundry, rather than getting involved in whatever else I may want to do at that moment, which just leads to resentment.
I suppose that I'm trying to be more conscious of what I can and cannot change, and refusing to expend energy fighting that which simply is not going to change, that I do not have the power to change. For example, I can't change anyone else. I can lead by example, changing myself. I can attempt to persuade others through the power of my words, building a bridge of commonality and hopefully getting them to question their own assumptions. But ultimately all I have power over is me.
(page 183) “This is a world where women still frequently are not asked for consent, are often raped or coerced, still engage in sex with partners out of feelings of duty or obligation, usually have our sexuality depicted in grossly inaccurate ways by men and other women alike, and independent female sexual desire and earnest sexual enjoyment are not only disbelieved, in some circles, but are even ‘scientifically’ contested.”
According to some scientists, the orgasms I have should come from clitoral stimulation rather than penetration, while other scientists would say that penetrative orgasms are the only true orgasms out there. Happily, enough real science has been done to recognize that there are trends, rather than absolutes, for what brings women to orgasm. Truth is, I'm not particularly fond of clitoral stimulation, though it generally feels better when I'm already rather aroused. If I'm not aroused enough, it's just an irritation.
The attitude that women get pleasure through a set script of movements while women who have a different route to pleasure (like enjoying threesomes) are aberrant is one of the reasons I remain anonymous. I don't want to be labeled a slut.
I'm contemplating expectations and their impact on my life right now. Some of my happiest moments have been when I've felt I've failed completely and it no longer mattered what anyone else's expectations may be. I relaxed and allowed myself to pursue my own desires. I don't have sex out of duty or obligation, because it isn't worthwhile. Have I ever had sex because it seemed expected? Yes. I'm an absolute failure at pretending to enjoy it.
(page 185) “In Zen Buddhism, we aim for beginner’s mind, a way of thinking in which we approach all we can with the freshest eyes and few preconceived notions. The unknown can make us fearful, but the opportunity to have an unknown, to be able to approach something completely anew, is a gift.”
I've recently decided to attempt a more Zen approach to life, though I worry that it will keep me complacent, accepting too much. I'm trying to be more content with whatever I'm doing, staying in the now. I also worry that it will make me dissatisfied, unable to stay content in the moment and wanting more to be an activist for things that I might be able to change. I'm not sure yet, but I think it's just nerves about trying something new.
Truthfully, I could be getting a Taoist and a Zen approach confused, as I have formal training in neither.
I've mostly succeeded in Zen laundry this week. The process of laundry is an unending chore, and I can't escape it. I could refuse to do it, but not having clean clothes to wear is just frustrating. Relying on others to do laundry for me hasn't worked, so I needed to step up and do it myself. I can't change it, so I've got to adapt to it.
Now my laundry frustration is once again solely the mismanagement of putting clean clothes away by my children. I hope I can continue in my acceptance of laundry, rather than getting involved in whatever else I may want to do at that moment, which just leads to resentment.
I suppose that I'm trying to be more conscious of what I can and cannot change, and refusing to expend energy fighting that which simply is not going to change, that I do not have the power to change. For example, I can't change anyone else. I can lead by example, changing myself. I can attempt to persuade others through the power of my words, building a bridge of commonality and hopefully getting them to question their own assumptions. But ultimately all I have power over is me.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Fantasy
Responding to "The Fantasy of Acceptable 'Non-Consent': Why the Female Sexual Submissive Scares Us (and Why She Shouldn't)" by Stacey May Fowles.
Last night I found myself unable to sleep because of a rather vivid sexual fantasy I couldn't stop thinking about. The kind of fantasy I had is considered a rape fantasy by the mainstream lexicon. It came complete with a safe word.
My fantasy involved my partner(s) trespassing boundaries that I normally hold as unbreakable, and doing so in a forceful manner. I may even ask for my fantasy to become true someday. Who knows? The vulnerability and trust required are enormous.
I even recognize that my fantasy may have more to do about destroying certain memories, but that's less important than the pleasure I hope to receive.
I would say that my fantasy is tiptoeing into the world of BDSM.
(page 121) "For BDSM to exist safely, it has to be founded on a constant proclamation of enthusiastic consent, which mainstream sexuality has systematically dismantled."
Something I've just recognized, more by accident than anything, is that I'm not sure MZ would consider himself a rapist. And yet, I clearly and repeatedly told him no. There is a cultural narrative that no is just a yes in disguise so the girl can think she's not a whore, and that men just need to keep going unless the girl puts up a fight. Never mind that she might be scared you'll just rape her more violently.
And here I am fantasizing about something that looks like rape from the outside, but because I'll be the one requesting the activities, it's not. I'll be asking for a mild degree of violence, for some of my normal needs to be ignored, and for me to be restrained and to submit to activities that could be considered degrading.
But I have full and utmost confidence that nothing will happen without enthusiastic consent.
(page 120) "...by it's very nature BDSM is constantly about consent. Of course, it's language and rules differ significantly from vanilla sex scenes, but the very existence of a safe word is the ultimate in preventing violation--it suggests that at any moment, regardless of expectations of interpretations on the part of either party, the act can and will end."
Ultimately, I would be in control the entire time, able to stop everything with a single utterance.
When I was raped, I had no control. I had no agency. I was violated. My humanity was rendered moot. I didn't matter.
Should this fantasy come to fruition, I will matter. I will have the power. I will have control and agency, despite appearances to the contrary.
And, in all honesty, I don't care if the rest of the world finds it acceptable. I do.
Last night I found myself unable to sleep because of a rather vivid sexual fantasy I couldn't stop thinking about. The kind of fantasy I had is considered a rape fantasy by the mainstream lexicon. It came complete with a safe word.
My fantasy involved my partner(s) trespassing boundaries that I normally hold as unbreakable, and doing so in a forceful manner. I may even ask for my fantasy to become true someday. Who knows? The vulnerability and trust required are enormous.
I even recognize that my fantasy may have more to do about destroying certain memories, but that's less important than the pleasure I hope to receive.
I would say that my fantasy is tiptoeing into the world of BDSM.
(page 121) "For BDSM to exist safely, it has to be founded on a constant proclamation of enthusiastic consent, which mainstream sexuality has systematically dismantled."
Something I've just recognized, more by accident than anything, is that I'm not sure MZ would consider himself a rapist. And yet, I clearly and repeatedly told him no. There is a cultural narrative that no is just a yes in disguise so the girl can think she's not a whore, and that men just need to keep going unless the girl puts up a fight. Never mind that she might be scared you'll just rape her more violently.
And here I am fantasizing about something that looks like rape from the outside, but because I'll be the one requesting the activities, it's not. I'll be asking for a mild degree of violence, for some of my normal needs to be ignored, and for me to be restrained and to submit to activities that could be considered degrading.
But I have full and utmost confidence that nothing will happen without enthusiastic consent.
(page 120) "...by it's very nature BDSM is constantly about consent. Of course, it's language and rules differ significantly from vanilla sex scenes, but the very existence of a safe word is the ultimate in preventing violation--it suggests that at any moment, regardless of expectations of interpretations on the part of either party, the act can and will end."
Ultimately, I would be in control the entire time, able to stop everything with a single utterance.
When I was raped, I had no control. I had no agency. I was violated. My humanity was rendered moot. I didn't matter.
Should this fantasy come to fruition, I will matter. I will have the power. I will have control and agency, despite appearances to the contrary.
And, in all honesty, I don't care if the rest of the world finds it acceptable. I do.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Sex Ed
Responding to "Real Sex Education" by Cara Kulwicki.
My recent illness has resulted in some discomfort for me, in that my immune system was not capable of handling sex, which I did not realize at the time. Now I'm struggling with bacterial vaginitis and a yeast infection, neither of which are fun at all. Sigh. I was thinking about when I first learned about yeast infections and bacterial vaginitis in an academic setting, and it wasn't until a college level human sexuality course that sexually influenced, but not transmitted, problems were covered. In high school, we learned about the STDs, but not more mundane infections.
I really don't remember much about what I learned in high school. It was a fairly short unit. I do know that we covered condoms, and I assume other birth control methods. My state did not accept abstinence-only funds.
(page 305) "Real sex education requires, in addition to teaching about protection, teaching sex as a normal and healthy part of life that is varied in terms of both preferred partners an preferred acts. Real sex education teaches that sex is more than heterosexual intercourse and should be consensual and pleasurable for all participants."
It was in college that the answer for "Why do kids have sex?" was posed in class, and the first respondent said "Because it feels good." That actually stopped what was supposed to be a lengthier discussion, as everyone just nodded and realized that no matter what other rationalization there may be, that was the most compelling reason to have sex. Because it feels good. There doesn't need to be another reason. It feels good.
At least, it should. If it doesn't, then something is wrong.
(page 307) "...Once you remove pleasure from sex, it has no purpose. Non-heterosexual sex cannot result in procreation, so what's the point? This is the only thing that religious fundamentalists and abstinence-only educators are right about--when arguing that sex is not or should not be about pleasure, gay and lesbian sex does indeed seem rather odd and even wrong.
"This thinking positions sex for pleasure as a waste of time, rather than as an activity that is itself often productive and important to those of all sexual orientations. Such limited education is invalidating to huge number of people, an erasure of their sexual desires and experiences. And the most-affected people are those who are no straight men."
Procreation is not the reason I have sex. I have children, but they are more a side-effect of sex rather than the intent. Which is not to say that I never intended to have children, just that no matter how much I may have wanted to conceive at the time, I did not have sex simply to conceive. No matter how much I may have wanted to conceive, I only had sex when I wanted to, because I wanted sex.
Gay and lesbian sex is not strange or abhorrent, it is about pleasure, and sometimes about love and intimacy. When sex is only about procreation, it seems bizarre that infertile or elderly people would indulge. It seems bizarre that I would use contraception, let alone get an IUD, with that logic. Sex is much more than procreation or even the potential to procreate.
(page 308) "Knowing that sex is normal, healthy, and not uniform also encourages people to learn what is most enjoyable for them, and how to establish sexual boundaries....Once women, who are most likely to be taught otherwise, know that they are supposed to enjoy sex and might not enjoy certain kinds of sex, they also generally learn to start asking for what they want and feeling more confident in expressing what they don't."
Establishing boundaries takes confidence and practice. I have boundaries, especially about touching. I have boundaries that are not concrete, but that change with my physical reality for the moment. What may feel good one day may not feel good the next. For the next week, my boundary is absolutely no vaginal sex while my body recovers. Might I have other sex? It's possible, but not definite.
Understanding that boundaries lead to a healthier relationship to both yourself and others is important. Understanding that boundaries may be fluid, but that no means no and only yes means yes, makes exploring and discovering boundaries easier on everyone involved.
(page 309) "Many men (and women!) don't understand what rape is. That doesn't mean that men who rape fail to understand when the woman has not fully and enthusiastically consented or when they're committing an act that is wrong--they simply fail or refuse to recognize that what they're doing actually falls under that scary word no one wants applied to them."
It's not a good feeling to realize that your advances were unwanted, though enough people in the world do in fact consent without wanting the sex, for myriad of reasons, including wanting to not reject their beloved. There is a difference between consenting despite not being enthused and not consenting.
(page 309) "The goal is that enthusiastic consent models will help to change the thinking from 'sex when someone says no and fights back is wrong' to 'sex when someone doesn't openly and enthusiastically want it is wrong.'"
So what about sex where one partner consents (without coercion) despite not really wanting it? I guess that all depends on why. Is the less-than-enthusiastic sex a gift? Is it some kind of sacrifice or payment? Is it a promise for better, more enthusiastic sex later? Is it a hope for more initiation from a partner who rarely initiates? Is it love? Is it comfort? Is it a struggle for conception?
Relationships are built on compromise and compassion, and sometimes sex can be a compassionate (rather than passionate) act.
But this whole exploration of non-enthusiastic but otherwise definite consent is dependent upon a lack of coercion and abuse.
(page 309) "...We do have a responsibility, particularly to young women, to give them the tools they need to recognize abuse."
And one of the tools to recognize abuse is to recognize the difference between consent freely given and coercion.
My recent illness has resulted in some discomfort for me, in that my immune system was not capable of handling sex, which I did not realize at the time. Now I'm struggling with bacterial vaginitis and a yeast infection, neither of which are fun at all. Sigh. I was thinking about when I first learned about yeast infections and bacterial vaginitis in an academic setting, and it wasn't until a college level human sexuality course that sexually influenced, but not transmitted, problems were covered. In high school, we learned about the STDs, but not more mundane infections.
I really don't remember much about what I learned in high school. It was a fairly short unit. I do know that we covered condoms, and I assume other birth control methods. My state did not accept abstinence-only funds.
(page 305) "Real sex education requires, in addition to teaching about protection, teaching sex as a normal and healthy part of life that is varied in terms of both preferred partners an preferred acts. Real sex education teaches that sex is more than heterosexual intercourse and should be consensual and pleasurable for all participants."
It was in college that the answer for "Why do kids have sex?" was posed in class, and the first respondent said "Because it feels good." That actually stopped what was supposed to be a lengthier discussion, as everyone just nodded and realized that no matter what other rationalization there may be, that was the most compelling reason to have sex. Because it feels good. There doesn't need to be another reason. It feels good.
At least, it should. If it doesn't, then something is wrong.
(page 307) "...Once you remove pleasure from sex, it has no purpose. Non-heterosexual sex cannot result in procreation, so what's the point? This is the only thing that religious fundamentalists and abstinence-only educators are right about--when arguing that sex is not or should not be about pleasure, gay and lesbian sex does indeed seem rather odd and even wrong.
"This thinking positions sex for pleasure as a waste of time, rather than as an activity that is itself often productive and important to those of all sexual orientations. Such limited education is invalidating to huge number of people, an erasure of their sexual desires and experiences. And the most-affected people are those who are no straight men."
Procreation is not the reason I have sex. I have children, but they are more a side-effect of sex rather than the intent. Which is not to say that I never intended to have children, just that no matter how much I may have wanted to conceive at the time, I did not have sex simply to conceive. No matter how much I may have wanted to conceive, I only had sex when I wanted to, because I wanted sex.
Gay and lesbian sex is not strange or abhorrent, it is about pleasure, and sometimes about love and intimacy. When sex is only about procreation, it seems bizarre that infertile or elderly people would indulge. It seems bizarre that I would use contraception, let alone get an IUD, with that logic. Sex is much more than procreation or even the potential to procreate.
(page 308) "Knowing that sex is normal, healthy, and not uniform also encourages people to learn what is most enjoyable for them, and how to establish sexual boundaries....Once women, who are most likely to be taught otherwise, know that they are supposed to enjoy sex and might not enjoy certain kinds of sex, they also generally learn to start asking for what they want and feeling more confident in expressing what they don't."
Establishing boundaries takes confidence and practice. I have boundaries, especially about touching. I have boundaries that are not concrete, but that change with my physical reality for the moment. What may feel good one day may not feel good the next. For the next week, my boundary is absolutely no vaginal sex while my body recovers. Might I have other sex? It's possible, but not definite.
Understanding that boundaries lead to a healthier relationship to both yourself and others is important. Understanding that boundaries may be fluid, but that no means no and only yes means yes, makes exploring and discovering boundaries easier on everyone involved.
(page 309) "Many men (and women!) don't understand what rape is. That doesn't mean that men who rape fail to understand when the woman has not fully and enthusiastically consented or when they're committing an act that is wrong--they simply fail or refuse to recognize that what they're doing actually falls under that scary word no one wants applied to them."
It's not a good feeling to realize that your advances were unwanted, though enough people in the world do in fact consent without wanting the sex, for myriad of reasons, including wanting to not reject their beloved. There is a difference between consenting despite not being enthused and not consenting.
(page 309) "The goal is that enthusiastic consent models will help to change the thinking from 'sex when someone says no and fights back is wrong' to 'sex when someone doesn't openly and enthusiastically want it is wrong.'"
So what about sex where one partner consents (without coercion) despite not really wanting it? I guess that all depends on why. Is the less-than-enthusiastic sex a gift? Is it some kind of sacrifice or payment? Is it a promise for better, more enthusiastic sex later? Is it a hope for more initiation from a partner who rarely initiates? Is it love? Is it comfort? Is it a struggle for conception?
Relationships are built on compromise and compassion, and sometimes sex can be a compassionate (rather than passionate) act.
But this whole exploration of non-enthusiastic but otherwise definite consent is dependent upon a lack of coercion and abuse.
(page 309) "...We do have a responsibility, particularly to young women, to give them the tools they need to recognize abuse."
And one of the tools to recognize abuse is to recognize the difference between consent freely given and coercion.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Looking Good
Responding to "How Do You Fuck a Fat Woman" by Kate Harding
(page 68) "...Women's first--if not only--job is to be attractive to men. Never mind straight women who have other priorities or queer women who don't want men. If you were born with a vagina, your primary obligation from the onset of adolescence and well into adulthood will be to make yourself pretty for heterosexual men's pleasure. Not even just the ones you'd actually want to have a conversation with, let alone sex with--all of them."
Once upon a time I gave a damn about being attractive. And then I had a baby and decided that it was much more important to sleep. I used to have a cosmetics and hair routine, would only wear clothes that fit well to show off my body, and worried when I looked less than perfect.
Back then, I used to read fashion magazines, even knew the names of the most famous ones. Now I don't. I got tired of the same articles on the proper way to remove leg hair, and articles that actually intrigued me were few and far between.
Now I don't put as much effort into being attractive. I try to find haircuts that will look good with the absolute least effort, own only lip gloss, and would actually benefit from a wardrobe update. Most of my clothes are fairly old. But now I refuse to wear clothes that are uncomfortable. I don't need the distraction. I have better things to do than to readjust my undergarments or shirts over and over throughout the day. I really don't care if men-at-large find me attractive. Unless I'm trying to look good in the hopes of attracting compliments, the only people I care find me attractive are the ones I'm already physical with.
Up until recently at work, there was a guy who made comments about the attractiveness of various female co-workers. It was obvious to everyone but him and the higher up men who simply couldn't wrap their heads around the absolute inappropriateness of this practice, that he was indulged in sexual harassment. Many of the women he harassed were in fact teenage girls. I was never an object of his harassment. I would not have let him get away with it. I was not at all intimidated.
Regardless, the guy was in his 30s, was a walking cliche of maintenance men in body type and ill-fitting clothes, did not take pride in his appearance, but still felt completely entitled to judge the women, mostly girls, I work with as to their attractiveness. No one was trying to be attractive for him; they were all doing their best to avoid him. I called him out for his comments on multiple occasions, and he would give me a clueless look, stammering that he was just giving out a compliment. I would just repeat that he wasn't allowed to do that.
(page 72) "Of all the maddening side effects of our narrow cultural beauty standard, I think the worst might be the way it warps our understanding of attraction. The reality is, attraction is unpredictable and subjective--even people who are widely believed to meet the standard do not actually magically become more objectively attractive."
There are a few ways in which I do not and never will meet the cultural beauty standard. Not only do I not have fake breasts, my natural ones are not large. I am not blond. My teeth aren't perfect. I wear glasses. I am quite slender, which actually intimidates some women who see me as competition. Most of them have far more generous breasts than I have, so their focus on my thinness confuses me.
Really, it is far more important to be comfortable in the body you currently inhabit, and to wear comfortable clothes. Once I stopped thinking of looking good as a competition and worrying who was prettier than me, it was easier for me to relate to and empathize with other women. I can look good for me, should I choose to, and that does not in any way have to effect any one else.
(page 68) "...Women's first--if not only--job is to be attractive to men. Never mind straight women who have other priorities or queer women who don't want men. If you were born with a vagina, your primary obligation from the onset of adolescence and well into adulthood will be to make yourself pretty for heterosexual men's pleasure. Not even just the ones you'd actually want to have a conversation with, let alone sex with--all of them."
Once upon a time I gave a damn about being attractive. And then I had a baby and decided that it was much more important to sleep. I used to have a cosmetics and hair routine, would only wear clothes that fit well to show off my body, and worried when I looked less than perfect.
Back then, I used to read fashion magazines, even knew the names of the most famous ones. Now I don't. I got tired of the same articles on the proper way to remove leg hair, and articles that actually intrigued me were few and far between.
Now I don't put as much effort into being attractive. I try to find haircuts that will look good with the absolute least effort, own only lip gloss, and would actually benefit from a wardrobe update. Most of my clothes are fairly old. But now I refuse to wear clothes that are uncomfortable. I don't need the distraction. I have better things to do than to readjust my undergarments or shirts over and over throughout the day. I really don't care if men-at-large find me attractive. Unless I'm trying to look good in the hopes of attracting compliments, the only people I care find me attractive are the ones I'm already physical with.
Up until recently at work, there was a guy who made comments about the attractiveness of various female co-workers. It was obvious to everyone but him and the higher up men who simply couldn't wrap their heads around the absolute inappropriateness of this practice, that he was indulged in sexual harassment. Many of the women he harassed were in fact teenage girls. I was never an object of his harassment. I would not have let him get away with it. I was not at all intimidated.
Regardless, the guy was in his 30s, was a walking cliche of maintenance men in body type and ill-fitting clothes, did not take pride in his appearance, but still felt completely entitled to judge the women, mostly girls, I work with as to their attractiveness. No one was trying to be attractive for him; they were all doing their best to avoid him. I called him out for his comments on multiple occasions, and he would give me a clueless look, stammering that he was just giving out a compliment. I would just repeat that he wasn't allowed to do that.
(page 72) "Of all the maddening side effects of our narrow cultural beauty standard, I think the worst might be the way it warps our understanding of attraction. The reality is, attraction is unpredictable and subjective--even people who are widely believed to meet the standard do not actually magically become more objectively attractive."
There are a few ways in which I do not and never will meet the cultural beauty standard. Not only do I not have fake breasts, my natural ones are not large. I am not blond. My teeth aren't perfect. I wear glasses. I am quite slender, which actually intimidates some women who see me as competition. Most of them have far more generous breasts than I have, so their focus on my thinness confuses me.
Really, it is far more important to be comfortable in the body you currently inhabit, and to wear comfortable clothes. Once I stopped thinking of looking good as a competition and worrying who was prettier than me, it was easier for me to relate to and empathize with other women. I can look good for me, should I choose to, and that does not in any way have to effect any one else.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Love Isn't Enough
A reflection on "Killing Misogyny: A Personal Story of Love, Violence, and Strategies for Survival" by Cristina Meztli TzinTzun.
The cultural narrative that we have is that love is powerful enough to heal all wounds, that if sacrifice and sacrifice, that our love is powerful to overcome anything, but like the concept of a single soul that completely complements your own, it's not a concept based in reality. Love is a catalyst. Love can be a stepping stone to healing, but you have to WANT to heal, and the love that can truly heal is self love.
Perhaps I should out myself as a non-romantic.
Love takes work. It takes effort and communication and compromise on the part of everyone in the relationship, or it will wither and die. It will warp into hate. It will become an unhealthy trap. Love is not easy.
(page 259) "I felt that if [he] could love me above all the other womyn he had abused, that would prove how unique and loved I truly was. I wanted my love for [him] to be my most sacrificial gift: I wanted it to be strong enough to heal us both."
This is a common theme in romance novels, that the heroine's love is so powerful and healing that it cures all that ails the broken hero. Love is hopeful and understanding.
But that is a fairy tale. Love should be a building block to a healthy relationship, not a sacrifice. If one partner is sacrificing and sacrificing while the other gains, then that is not a healthy relationship. That is a one-way street.
Once upon a time I wanted to find a lover to rescue me from my family, but it only led to more abuse. Until I decided to leave and make my own way, no one could rescue me.
(page 262) "...I have torn down my own image as strong and perfect to help in redefining strength as vulnerability and honesty. I have broken my silence and faced accountability."
I am in the process of being vulnerable and honest. So far, I have discovered a deep well of anger living and seething inside me. The past two weeks, I've cried more times than I remember crying all my life, as I work to remember the past and reflect on the present. It's not easy. As much as I celebrate the good parts of my life and sexuality, I am still healing. I still have a great amount of work to do before I become comfortable talking in real life about everything.
I don't like feeling vulnerable, but I recognize that it's something I need to feel before I become truly strong.
(page 260) "I will have to forgive myself for my mistakes and overcome the shame and embarrassment that come with knowing that the men who have most influenced me and whom I have let "love" me have been the most abusive, violent, sick, and selfish men I have ever known."
My first attempts at relationships were with sick and selfish men. Until I recognized that I had deplorable taste in men, that I allowed myself to be controlled and taken advantage of, and found the strength to respect myself, I was unable to find love. All I found was abuse.
I find myself wishing I had stayed the girl who was not willing to sacrifice myself for love. I gave up the strong, brash, brave person I was. I became weak and pliable. I was so afraid that I would never find love, that I mistook weak and violent men as heroes-in-the-rough. I don't know why I was so desperate. They were horrible people who I never wish to encounter again.
(page 260) "I want to challenge the shame and guilt our society creates out of myths about sexually transmitted diseases, sex, beauty, and love."
I hope to raise questions about sex and beauty and love. I want to help weave a narrative that love is not a gift, but a commitment between two (or more) people who want to truly help each other learn to be better people--it is not a sacrifice, and it cannot heal by itself. Sex is more than just a physical act, and beauty is so not depicted in magazines or TV or movies.
As for STDS, I recently discovered that I have an incurable one. I have HPV. I had to have a fairly common procedure, cryotherapy, to remove precancerous lesions from my cervix. Because HPV doesn't always cause symptoms, in fact the most high risk ones tend not to appear as warts, and can take years to develop into cancer, I have no way of knowing when I became infected. It could have been when I was 6 or 7 and my mother's brother violated me orally. It could have been when I lost my virginity. It could have been when MZ raped me. It could have been unknowingly passed on to me by one of the people I love now. I don't know, and I probably never will.
When I first found out, I felt terribly dirty and that no one who didn't already love me would ever want me. It disgusted me. I couldn't believe it. How could this happen to me?
While HPV means that I'll have to be more careful with any future partners I may eventually have, I am overcoming my shame. About 80% of adults are infected. It's typically passed along unwittingly, though there are definitely some people out there who know but just don't care that they're passing it on. I have a common, chronic disease that I have to continue to observe to make sure that it doesn't become dangerous and life-threatening. It doesn't define me.
Healing is a process, and while I have made many strides, I am now working on my most intimate wounds. It's not easy, and my anger is still at an overwhelming stage. I am doing my best to keep it from becoming a destructive force, but it's not easy. Healing isn't easy. It's hard work, and love is a catalyst, not a cure.
The cultural narrative that we have is that love is powerful enough to heal all wounds, that if sacrifice and sacrifice, that our love is powerful to overcome anything, but like the concept of a single soul that completely complements your own, it's not a concept based in reality. Love is a catalyst. Love can be a stepping stone to healing, but you have to WANT to heal, and the love that can truly heal is self love.
Perhaps I should out myself as a non-romantic.
Love takes work. It takes effort and communication and compromise on the part of everyone in the relationship, or it will wither and die. It will warp into hate. It will become an unhealthy trap. Love is not easy.
(page 259) "I felt that if [he] could love me above all the other womyn he had abused, that would prove how unique and loved I truly was. I wanted my love for [him] to be my most sacrificial gift: I wanted it to be strong enough to heal us both."
This is a common theme in romance novels, that the heroine's love is so powerful and healing that it cures all that ails the broken hero. Love is hopeful and understanding.
But that is a fairy tale. Love should be a building block to a healthy relationship, not a sacrifice. If one partner is sacrificing and sacrificing while the other gains, then that is not a healthy relationship. That is a one-way street.
Once upon a time I wanted to find a lover to rescue me from my family, but it only led to more abuse. Until I decided to leave and make my own way, no one could rescue me.
(page 262) "...I have torn down my own image as strong and perfect to help in redefining strength as vulnerability and honesty. I have broken my silence and faced accountability."
I am in the process of being vulnerable and honest. So far, I have discovered a deep well of anger living and seething inside me. The past two weeks, I've cried more times than I remember crying all my life, as I work to remember the past and reflect on the present. It's not easy. As much as I celebrate the good parts of my life and sexuality, I am still healing. I still have a great amount of work to do before I become comfortable talking in real life about everything.
I don't like feeling vulnerable, but I recognize that it's something I need to feel before I become truly strong.
(page 260) "I will have to forgive myself for my mistakes and overcome the shame and embarrassment that come with knowing that the men who have most influenced me and whom I have let "love" me have been the most abusive, violent, sick, and selfish men I have ever known."
My first attempts at relationships were with sick and selfish men. Until I recognized that I had deplorable taste in men, that I allowed myself to be controlled and taken advantage of, and found the strength to respect myself, I was unable to find love. All I found was abuse.
I find myself wishing I had stayed the girl who was not willing to sacrifice myself for love. I gave up the strong, brash, brave person I was. I became weak and pliable. I was so afraid that I would never find love, that I mistook weak and violent men as heroes-in-the-rough. I don't know why I was so desperate. They were horrible people who I never wish to encounter again.
(page 260) "I want to challenge the shame and guilt our society creates out of myths about sexually transmitted diseases, sex, beauty, and love."
I hope to raise questions about sex and beauty and love. I want to help weave a narrative that love is not a gift, but a commitment between two (or more) people who want to truly help each other learn to be better people--it is not a sacrifice, and it cannot heal by itself. Sex is more than just a physical act, and beauty is so not depicted in magazines or TV or movies.
As for STDS, I recently discovered that I have an incurable one. I have HPV. I had to have a fairly common procedure, cryotherapy, to remove precancerous lesions from my cervix. Because HPV doesn't always cause symptoms, in fact the most high risk ones tend not to appear as warts, and can take years to develop into cancer, I have no way of knowing when I became infected. It could have been when I was 6 or 7 and my mother's brother violated me orally. It could have been when I lost my virginity. It could have been when MZ raped me. It could have been unknowingly passed on to me by one of the people I love now. I don't know, and I probably never will.
When I first found out, I felt terribly dirty and that no one who didn't already love me would ever want me. It disgusted me. I couldn't believe it. How could this happen to me?
While HPV means that I'll have to be more careful with any future partners I may eventually have, I am overcoming my shame. About 80% of adults are infected. It's typically passed along unwittingly, though there are definitely some people out there who know but just don't care that they're passing it on. I have a common, chronic disease that I have to continue to observe to make sure that it doesn't become dangerous and life-threatening. It doesn't define me.
Healing is a process, and while I have made many strides, I am now working on my most intimate wounds. It's not easy, and my anger is still at an overwhelming stage. I am doing my best to keep it from becoming a destructive force, but it's not easy. Healing isn't easy. It's hard work, and love is a catalyst, not a cure.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Talking About Sex
Responding to: "Beyond Yes Or No: Consent as Sexual Process" by Rachel Kramer Bussel.
I have difficulty talking about sex, except in clinical terms. I have trouble initiating. I have trouble asking for what I want. I believe it's a reflection of the internalized virgin-whore dichotomy, and that if I ask for what I want, then I'm admitting I'm a slut. I'm trying to get past this, though many many years of habit are hard to break.
(page 43) "The issue of 'consent' encompasses the ways we ask for sex, and the ways we don't.... Without our speaking up and demanding that our lovers do, too, we don't ever truly know what they are thinking, which impedes us from having the sex we could be having."
I must confess, I like it rough most of the time. This is actually a fairly recent revelation for me, at least the degree of roughness that I like. I feel more emotionally safe when the sex is rough, knowing that it shouldn't trigger any trauma or flashbacks. The rapes and abuse were not physically rough. But my lovers like more of a variety and want to be tender with me. Great sex is a process, as if I focus only on what I want, then I'm doing a disservice to my lovers, while if I focus only on what my lovers want, then I'm doing a disservice to me. But we can also decide to focus on one partner for a day, or for an hour, and fulfill unmet needs graciously and lovingly; which is definitely worthwhile.
(page 46) "And if you have been sharing, or trying to share, what you want and aren't being listened to? That's a problem. Recognize that and make it a priority."
Communication is integral to great sex, but it's also integral to having a good relationship. Period. Communication isn't always easy. If one partner is afraid to be truthful, then there is something wrong. Of course, truth can be a weapon wielded bluntly and with force for maximum pain, and truth can be gentle, easier to hear, easier to listen to, easier to act on. I try, but sometimes fail, to be gentle with the truth.
(page 46) "There is a lot more that goes on during sex than simply yes and no, and in the silences, unspoken doubts, fears, mistrust, and confusion can arise."
I feel that this is especially the case when there are multiple partners at the same time. It can be difficult to give more than one partner enough attention, and it can be lonely to be ignored. Speaking up is a necessity, though it may be strange at first to ask who wants to go first or who wants to indulge which desire when.
And even when it's only one partner, saying that something isn't quite working can be intimidating. If this stroke isn't working, am I going to hurt my partner's feelings because it's incredible for him? Talking is a risk, but it's a risk that's absolutely important to take.
(page 47) "Getting more comfortable talking about sex in and out of the heat of the moment means there'll be fewer of those awkward silences and less chances of one person thinking they had the best sex in the world while the other wishes it never happened."
I'm still working on it, but I do believe that I'm getting there--asking for what I want honestly and directly. Of course, it's easier to ask for what you want when you KNOW what you want, and I've started exploring that too.
I have difficulty talking about sex, except in clinical terms. I have trouble initiating. I have trouble asking for what I want. I believe it's a reflection of the internalized virgin-whore dichotomy, and that if I ask for what I want, then I'm admitting I'm a slut. I'm trying to get past this, though many many years of habit are hard to break.
(page 43) "The issue of 'consent' encompasses the ways we ask for sex, and the ways we don't.... Without our speaking up and demanding that our lovers do, too, we don't ever truly know what they are thinking, which impedes us from having the sex we could be having."
I must confess, I like it rough most of the time. This is actually a fairly recent revelation for me, at least the degree of roughness that I like. I feel more emotionally safe when the sex is rough, knowing that it shouldn't trigger any trauma or flashbacks. The rapes and abuse were not physically rough. But my lovers like more of a variety and want to be tender with me. Great sex is a process, as if I focus only on what I want, then I'm doing a disservice to my lovers, while if I focus only on what my lovers want, then I'm doing a disservice to me. But we can also decide to focus on one partner for a day, or for an hour, and fulfill unmet needs graciously and lovingly; which is definitely worthwhile.
(page 46) "And if you have been sharing, or trying to share, what you want and aren't being listened to? That's a problem. Recognize that and make it a priority."
Communication is integral to great sex, but it's also integral to having a good relationship. Period. Communication isn't always easy. If one partner is afraid to be truthful, then there is something wrong. Of course, truth can be a weapon wielded bluntly and with force for maximum pain, and truth can be gentle, easier to hear, easier to listen to, easier to act on. I try, but sometimes fail, to be gentle with the truth.
(page 46) "There is a lot more that goes on during sex than simply yes and no, and in the silences, unspoken doubts, fears, mistrust, and confusion can arise."
I feel that this is especially the case when there are multiple partners at the same time. It can be difficult to give more than one partner enough attention, and it can be lonely to be ignored. Speaking up is a necessity, though it may be strange at first to ask who wants to go first or who wants to indulge which desire when.
And even when it's only one partner, saying that something isn't quite working can be intimidating. If this stroke isn't working, am I going to hurt my partner's feelings because it's incredible for him? Talking is a risk, but it's a risk that's absolutely important to take.
(page 47) "Getting more comfortable talking about sex in and out of the heat of the moment means there'll be fewer of those awkward silences and less chances of one person thinking they had the best sex in the world while the other wishes it never happened."
I'm still working on it, but I do believe that I'm getting there--asking for what I want honestly and directly. Of course, it's easier to ask for what you want when you KNOW what you want, and I've started exploring that too.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The Trouble with "No Means No" and Recognizing Douchebags
Using the word "douchebag" to describe those men who see women as sexual objects only, who seek to score, who seem to think that women aren't quite human, and so forth, is a recent development for me. I'm not generally vulgar in my terminology, reserving vulgarities for extreme emotion only, yet douche bag can definitely be considered vulgar. The douche bag is an utterly useless invention sold to women to "clean" their vaginae of foul odors associated with sex. Its use is actually far more harmful, leading to yeast and bacterial infections, dryness, and irritation. Vaginae self-clean. I don't think there really is another term that more accurately captures certain people I describe, how worthless they truly are, and how much contempt I have for them.
For this post, I am reflecting on three works. The first is "Who're You Calling a Whore?: A Conversation with Three Sex Workers on Sexuality, Empowerment, and the Industry" by Susan Lopez, Mariko Passion, and Saundra. The second is "On the Supposed Inability of Men to Understand Refusals" by Lauren O. The third is "Speak Up, I Can't Hear You" by Deborah Cameron.
(From "Who're You Calling a Whore?" page 274) "...I did not choose to be looked at sexually by the luring eyes of men and boys since my teens, I did not choose to learn the rules of the date rape game the hard way, and I did not create the conditions in the sexist and patriarchal world that I was born into. This world created me. This inequality was never a choice, and for me, too many times it was a hard lesson."
Obviously, I've had plenty of run-ins with douchebags. JRS was one. MZ was one. But they have not managed to poison my view of all of the male sex. There are men, there are douche bags, and there are boys still learning/deciding who they are. I have hope that douchebags can reform, but it would take a complete paradigm shift in their outlooks, as well as social censure for that to happen. (And, yes, women can be douchebags too.)
I was better at dealing with douchebags in junior high, between episodes of depression. One guy grabbed me, and when he refused to let me go, I clawed his arm off of me, leaving bloody trails from my fingernails. I stood up for myself, and he got the message loud and clear.
Unfortunately, this and my embrace of being nerdcore, made me invisible to boys in high school. And the few I later learned had been interested were much too scared to actually talk to me. Of course, I was too scared to talk to some of the guys I was interested in as well. High school sucks that way. Once I got out of high school, it was suddenly open season on me. I attracted far more attention than I ever had before, and I didn't know what to do with it. I was struggling with depression, learning to be semi-independent, and clueless about guys. Surely none of the guys I knew would be douchebags. Ah, how naive I was.
I still have run-ins with douchebags. I have to deal with customers where I work, and sometimes young men try to pick up on me. Usually my aloofness is enough to dissuade them, but sometimes it's not. For those, saying that I'm married or a snide "dude, I'm 30" is enough to dissuade them, but sometimes even that's not enough. I feel dirty even talking to the ones who "mishear" my telling them that I'm married as me looking for an affair. I'm working, not looking to score.
One of my male coworkers tends to be a nice young man, respectful and studious. He, like most nice people, has a tendency to try to couch and soften his NOs, which demonstrates consideration. Unfortunately, he knows too many douchebags, including his ex-girlfriend, who is stalking him. It doesn't matter how many times he tells her no nicely, until he fiercely stands up for himself, she won't hear it. Hopefully she isn't truly dangerous, as breaking up with stalkers can trigger violence. Stalkers aren't stable. They are scary and emotionally volatile.
It's hard to be direct with a no when you're scared of violence. I look fragile. I'm tall but almost a waif. If I were to take on a man, I'd most likely lose. Escape is my best option, not fighting. In the face of anger, I tend to swallow my own anger and hide my fear so that I can quietly walk away. I may even promise to return with goodies or to talk at another time. That's how I ended things with MZ. He was distracted by life, and I "gave him the space he needed to deal." I promised that after a couple of months, that we'd get back together. I lied. I shamelessly, confidently lied. Lied. Lied. Lied. I even assured him that I loved him. I hated him. I wanted him gone. I wanted him to leave me alone.
When I got home, I told my parents that I no longer wanted to talk to him, but not why (like they'd believe me anyway, and besides premarital sex was wrong, so they'd just call me a whore). Or rather, not the true reason. I asked them to run interference because he called me a bitch, and then did my best not to be home, just in case.
And that is the trouble with the slogan "No Means No." Douchebags refuse to hear the no, especially when it isn't a direct, loud, hostile NO!!! (which then makes you a bitch and why do you have to be that way, they ought to slap you for that, bitch.) You try to "let someone down easy" and they just keep on going, even if you pretend to be ill. You say no and they hear "a few more seconds of foreplay and it's an all clear." They just don't listen. They don't want to hear no, and deafen themselves to anything else. They warp "no means no" to include "and nothing else counts."
I prefer "Yes Means Yes" and the standard of enthusiastic consent. Will it help against douchebags? Probably not. But it will help those who are truly learning about interpersonal relationships, and who actually do want to learn. It will help those who have been told no-means-no and don't know what to do when they haven't heard no, but their date isn't all that interested, and they're supposed to be men (or girls who don't understand that a guy's hard-on isn't consent).
For this post, I am reflecting on three works. The first is "Who're You Calling a Whore?: A Conversation with Three Sex Workers on Sexuality, Empowerment, and the Industry" by Susan Lopez, Mariko Passion, and Saundra. The second is "On the Supposed Inability of Men to Understand Refusals" by Lauren O. The third is "Speak Up, I Can't Hear You" by Deborah Cameron.
(From "Who're You Calling a Whore?" page 274) "...I did not choose to be looked at sexually by the luring eyes of men and boys since my teens, I did not choose to learn the rules of the date rape game the hard way, and I did not create the conditions in the sexist and patriarchal world that I was born into. This world created me. This inequality was never a choice, and for me, too many times it was a hard lesson."
Obviously, I've had plenty of run-ins with douchebags. JRS was one. MZ was one. But they have not managed to poison my view of all of the male sex. There are men, there are douche bags, and there are boys still learning/deciding who they are. I have hope that douchebags can reform, but it would take a complete paradigm shift in their outlooks, as well as social censure for that to happen. (And, yes, women can be douchebags too.)
I was better at dealing with douchebags in junior high, between episodes of depression. One guy grabbed me, and when he refused to let me go, I clawed his arm off of me, leaving bloody trails from my fingernails. I stood up for myself, and he got the message loud and clear.
Unfortunately, this and my embrace of being nerdcore, made me invisible to boys in high school. And the few I later learned had been interested were much too scared to actually talk to me. Of course, I was too scared to talk to some of the guys I was interested in as well. High school sucks that way. Once I got out of high school, it was suddenly open season on me. I attracted far more attention than I ever had before, and I didn't know what to do with it. I was struggling with depression, learning to be semi-independent, and clueless about guys. Surely none of the guys I knew would be douchebags. Ah, how naive I was.
I still have run-ins with douchebags. I have to deal with customers where I work, and sometimes young men try to pick up on me. Usually my aloofness is enough to dissuade them, but sometimes it's not. For those, saying that I'm married or a snide "dude, I'm 30" is enough to dissuade them, but sometimes even that's not enough. I feel dirty even talking to the ones who "mishear" my telling them that I'm married as me looking for an affair. I'm working, not looking to score.
One of my male coworkers tends to be a nice young man, respectful and studious. He, like most nice people, has a tendency to try to couch and soften his NOs, which demonstrates consideration. Unfortunately, he knows too many douchebags, including his ex-girlfriend, who is stalking him. It doesn't matter how many times he tells her no nicely, until he fiercely stands up for himself, she won't hear it. Hopefully she isn't truly dangerous, as breaking up with stalkers can trigger violence. Stalkers aren't stable. They are scary and emotionally volatile.
It's hard to be direct with a no when you're scared of violence. I look fragile. I'm tall but almost a waif. If I were to take on a man, I'd most likely lose. Escape is my best option, not fighting. In the face of anger, I tend to swallow my own anger and hide my fear so that I can quietly walk away. I may even promise to return with goodies or to talk at another time. That's how I ended things with MZ. He was distracted by life, and I "gave him the space he needed to deal." I promised that after a couple of months, that we'd get back together. I lied. I shamelessly, confidently lied. Lied. Lied. Lied. I even assured him that I loved him. I hated him. I wanted him gone. I wanted him to leave me alone.
When I got home, I told my parents that I no longer wanted to talk to him, but not why (like they'd believe me anyway, and besides premarital sex was wrong, so they'd just call me a whore). Or rather, not the true reason. I asked them to run interference because he called me a bitch, and then did my best not to be home, just in case.
And that is the trouble with the slogan "No Means No." Douchebags refuse to hear the no, especially when it isn't a direct, loud, hostile NO!!! (which then makes you a bitch and why do you have to be that way, they ought to slap you for that, bitch.) You try to "let someone down easy" and they just keep on going, even if you pretend to be ill. You say no and they hear "a few more seconds of foreplay and it's an all clear." They just don't listen. They don't want to hear no, and deafen themselves to anything else. They warp "no means no" to include "and nothing else counts."
I prefer "Yes Means Yes" and the standard of enthusiastic consent. Will it help against douchebags? Probably not. But it will help those who are truly learning about interpersonal relationships, and who actually do want to learn. It will help those who have been told no-means-no and don't know what to do when they haven't heard no, but their date isn't all that interested, and they're supposed to be men (or girls who don't understand that a guy's hard-on isn't consent).
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Respect
Responding to "Hooking Up with Healthy Sexuality: The Lessons Boys Learn (and Don't Learn) About Sexuality, and Why a Sex Positive Rape Prevention Paradigm Can Benefit Everyone Involved" by Brad Perry.
(page 199) "Why aren't we all socialized to expect and proactively ensure that every sexual interaction is marked by mutual enjoyment and respect?"
Let's think about this question, let it simmer in our collective consciences, and stew on it awhile.
Sex should have mutual enjoyment and respect? Every time, no matter what? Really?
Why not?
Because sex really should be all about mutual enjoyment and respect every time no matter what.
Yes, ladies, sex really should be more than submitting to your husband and procreation.
Yes, men, sex should be more than scoring or getting off or punishing someone.
Envision better. Act Better. Expect more.
Even when sex is a casual hook-up one time only thing, it should come from a place of reciprocity. "All about me" sex may satisfy a physical need temporarily, but giving someone an orgasm is better for the ego.
Even when sex is paid for, there should be respect. Another person, a human being just like you and me, has negotiated certain services for a particular payment. They have limits, and those limits need to be abode. Non-payment, violence, and going beyond the agreed upon limits are all wrong.
And even in a marriage, NO must be heard. And when one spouse is deeply asleep, it is not acceptable for the partner to do sexual acts without their knowledge.
Violence is unacceptable.
Coercion is unacceptable.
Rape is unacceptable.
Every sexual interaction MUST be marked by mutual enjoyment and respect. Or it doesn't belong in "The Number." It doesn't count, and depending upon the circumstances, it deserves a name other than sex.
(page 199) "Why aren't we all socialized to expect and proactively ensure that every sexual interaction is marked by mutual enjoyment and respect?"
Let's think about this question, let it simmer in our collective consciences, and stew on it awhile.
Sex should have mutual enjoyment and respect? Every time, no matter what? Really?
Why not?
Because sex really should be all about mutual enjoyment and respect every time no matter what.
Yes, ladies, sex really should be more than submitting to your husband and procreation.
Yes, men, sex should be more than scoring or getting off or punishing someone.
Envision better. Act Better. Expect more.
Even when sex is a casual hook-up one time only thing, it should come from a place of reciprocity. "All about me" sex may satisfy a physical need temporarily, but giving someone an orgasm is better for the ego.
Even when sex is paid for, there should be respect. Another person, a human being just like you and me, has negotiated certain services for a particular payment. They have limits, and those limits need to be abode. Non-payment, violence, and going beyond the agreed upon limits are all wrong.
And even in a marriage, NO must be heard. And when one spouse is deeply asleep, it is not acceptable for the partner to do sexual acts without their knowledge.
Violence is unacceptable.
Coercion is unacceptable.
Rape is unacceptable.
Every sexual interaction MUST be marked by mutual enjoyment and respect. Or it doesn't belong in "The Number." It doesn't count, and depending upon the circumstances, it deserves a name other than sex.
Friday, September 4, 2009
More Than Appearances
Responding to "A Woman's Worth" by Javacia N. Harris.
(page 64) "I'm not advocating that women ignore or hide their bodies. A woman's feeling good about her body and learning to enjoy it can only help her in the journey toward a healthy and satisfying sexual life."
The magazines regularly edit models and celebrities to depict bodies impossible to achieve in nature. Teeth are whiter than the most bleached ones out there. Absolutely no fly away hairs. Blemishes are nonexistent, and skin tone is magnificently even. I guess we're all supposed to be plastic mannequins, both thoroughly anorexic but somehow curvy, and then we'll all be perfect and happy.
Is it any wonder that even the highest paid, most fabulous supermodel may be completely insecure about her looks? No one can ever measure up.
Like many, if not most, American women, I often feel unpretty. I have stretch marks, mommy breasts, and a slighted rounded belly. I'm also practically anorexic. I shock people when I admit my weight, because they always forget to take my height and "childbearing" hips into account. Yet I fear I'm fat. I constantly get carded, yet I fear I may look old.
The impossibility of American beauty "standards" (perhaps fantasy is a better word) makes me want to hide beneath overly-large t-shirts and jeans. I feel ugly far more often than I'd like to admit.
(page 64) "My focus shifted from what my body looked like to what it could do, and I finally felt fabulous."
It's not always easy to focus on what my body can do, especially once I derail myself by spotting my flaws. But once I get started, I can accomplish many things with my body. My hands produce art. My arms hold and comfort my children. My feet can walk forever and not give up.
And while I may not always like the way my body looks, I love the way that it feels. My hair is soft. My nails are strong. My skin is soft, smooth, and velvety. My joints are very flexible, allowing me to move in surprising ways.
I'm not so hung up on my body that I can't enjoy myself in the light while I'm nude. The occasional acne or ingrown hair (aka blemishes) sometimes make me long for the dark, but that's fairly rare.
(page 64) "I have fun when I dance because I am enjoying my body, not putting it on display for someone else's pleasure."
Whenever I do stop worrying about how I look, relax, and have fun, I seem to draw attention from the male gaze. Supposedly, it's quite complimentary (according to men, at least), but I got over being told I'm cute a long time ago, about the same time I got over catcalls and guys honking and yelling when I happened to be out and about walking. Now it's just obnoxious. I'm more than eye-candy, and I prefer to be complimented on my accomplishments, not my face and body. Beauty fades and standards (fantasies) change.
My body is amazing, and that's what I need to remember. I'm not a mannequin. I'm not plastic. I'm flesh and blood, and I love it.
(page 64) "I'm not advocating that women ignore or hide their bodies. A woman's feeling good about her body and learning to enjoy it can only help her in the journey toward a healthy and satisfying sexual life."
The magazines regularly edit models and celebrities to depict bodies impossible to achieve in nature. Teeth are whiter than the most bleached ones out there. Absolutely no fly away hairs. Blemishes are nonexistent, and skin tone is magnificently even. I guess we're all supposed to be plastic mannequins, both thoroughly anorexic but somehow curvy, and then we'll all be perfect and happy.
Is it any wonder that even the highest paid, most fabulous supermodel may be completely insecure about her looks? No one can ever measure up.
Like many, if not most, American women, I often feel unpretty. I have stretch marks, mommy breasts, and a slighted rounded belly. I'm also practically anorexic. I shock people when I admit my weight, because they always forget to take my height and "childbearing" hips into account. Yet I fear I'm fat. I constantly get carded, yet I fear I may look old.
The impossibility of American beauty "standards" (perhaps fantasy is a better word) makes me want to hide beneath overly-large t-shirts and jeans. I feel ugly far more often than I'd like to admit.
(page 64) "My focus shifted from what my body looked like to what it could do, and I finally felt fabulous."
It's not always easy to focus on what my body can do, especially once I derail myself by spotting my flaws. But once I get started, I can accomplish many things with my body. My hands produce art. My arms hold and comfort my children. My feet can walk forever and not give up.
And while I may not always like the way my body looks, I love the way that it feels. My hair is soft. My nails are strong. My skin is soft, smooth, and velvety. My joints are very flexible, allowing me to move in surprising ways.
I'm not so hung up on my body that I can't enjoy myself in the light while I'm nude. The occasional acne or ingrown hair (aka blemishes) sometimes make me long for the dark, but that's fairly rare.
(page 64) "I have fun when I dance because I am enjoying my body, not putting it on display for someone else's pleasure."
Whenever I do stop worrying about how I look, relax, and have fun, I seem to draw attention from the male gaze. Supposedly, it's quite complimentary (according to men, at least), but I got over being told I'm cute a long time ago, about the same time I got over catcalls and guys honking and yelling when I happened to be out and about walking. Now it's just obnoxious. I'm more than eye-candy, and I prefer to be complimented on my accomplishments, not my face and body. Beauty fades and standards (fantasies) change.
My body is amazing, and that's what I need to remember. I'm not a mannequin. I'm not plastic. I'm flesh and blood, and I love it.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Burning Rage
Responding to "Shame Is the First Betrayer" by Toni Amato.
Today I am filled with Rage. I've been filled with Rage for a few days now. I believe that I've finally admitted to myself that the guilt and shame that I've felt for most of my life is not mine to feel. It belongs to those who willed themselves blind, most especially my mother.
Over and Over again I heard my mother profess how trained she was to recognize symptoms of abuse in children, how well she was trained in uplifting self esteem and strengthening the confidence of the kids she dealt with on a professional basis.
But what about me? What about your daughter? Did you not see the multitude of symptoms? Did you not recognize the so very typical behavioral patterns? How fucking blind did you have to be? You even SAW it. I remember your statement. You SAW it!
Over and Over again, when I would cry myself to sleep, I was told to stop feeling sorry for myself. Over and Over, when I detailed the actions of the bullies who preyed on me, I was told to ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away. I want to punch people who say ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away, they are fucking delusional. Bullies don't go just go away. Over and Over again, I would complain about my brother's song of Anon-is-retarded, of how he would call me fat and stupid daily, and nothingNOTHINGnothing would happen. Over and Over and Over and Over.
(page 225) "The willing assault and violation of another person's most intimate self is an act devoid of love and devoid of compassion. To survive such a terrible thing is to know in our skin the effect of cultural shame and hatred, and for LGBTIQQA folks especially, that violence has yet to be fully named and fully confronted. Without naming, there is no healing, without healing the shame will continue to burn."
But the shame isn't mine. I owned it for most of my life, but it shouldn't have belonged to me. The shame shouldn't have been laid upon my shoulders. It was not my burden to carry, and I don't want to carry it anymore. It was never my responsibility to save my family from the horror of its secrets. I was just a kid.
And the shame crippled me. If my own mother would name me liar instead of dealing with abuse, was it any wonder that I fell prey to more abusers? That I had trouble escaping them? That I froze? That I was powerless?
The shame isn't mine.
But this anger sure is.
Today I am filled with Rage. I've been filled with Rage for a few days now. I believe that I've finally admitted to myself that the guilt and shame that I've felt for most of my life is not mine to feel. It belongs to those who willed themselves blind, most especially my mother.
Over and Over again I heard my mother profess how trained she was to recognize symptoms of abuse in children, how well she was trained in uplifting self esteem and strengthening the confidence of the kids she dealt with on a professional basis.
But what about me? What about your daughter? Did you not see the multitude of symptoms? Did you not recognize the so very typical behavioral patterns? How fucking blind did you have to be? You even SAW it. I remember your statement. You SAW it!
Over and Over again, when I would cry myself to sleep, I was told to stop feeling sorry for myself. Over and Over, when I detailed the actions of the bullies who preyed on me, I was told to ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away. I want to punch people who say ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away, they are fucking delusional. Bullies don't go just go away. Over and Over again, I would complain about my brother's song of Anon-is-retarded, of how he would call me fat and stupid daily, and nothingNOTHINGnothing would happen. Over and Over and Over and Over.
(page 225) "The willing assault and violation of another person's most intimate self is an act devoid of love and devoid of compassion. To survive such a terrible thing is to know in our skin the effect of cultural shame and hatred, and for LGBTIQQA folks especially, that violence has yet to be fully named and fully confronted. Without naming, there is no healing, without healing the shame will continue to burn."
But the shame isn't mine. I owned it for most of my life, but it shouldn't have belonged to me. The shame shouldn't have been laid upon my shoulders. It was not my burden to carry, and I don't want to carry it anymore. It was never my responsibility to save my family from the horror of its secrets. I was just a kid.
And the shame crippled me. If my own mother would name me liar instead of dealing with abuse, was it any wonder that I fell prey to more abusers? That I had trouble escaping them? That I froze? That I was powerless?
The shame isn't mine.
But this anger sure is.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
What Counts
Responding to: "The Process-Oriented Virgin" by Hanne Blank.
Reading this essay led me to reflect upon my "number" and change it.
Even in the ancient world, when it was obvious that women were property and bargaining chips, women from cities that had been invaded, resulting in mass rape, were still considered virgins and marriageable.
(page 289) "What happened to you sexually was not necessarily what you were as a person."
Most people seem to agree that rape, especially in children or by strangers, is an assault and not sex. It doesn't count, especially when the victim has no other sexualized experience.
(page 290) "This didn't just broaden the spectrum of what might be understood to constitute virginity, as a (at least potentially) contextual quality. It also placed, at least in some cases, the determination of whether someone was or wasn't a virgin in a place where it almost never rested otherwise: namely, in the virgin's own hands."
So why should it count for those of us who are sexually active, married or not?
I was a full participant in "losing" my virginity. My motive was more curiosity than anything. There was a guy I knew, attractive enough, very flirtatious, an outsider like me. I gave him my number. He called, asked me when I'd come over. We were both clear that I'd be coming over for sex. I didn't have any illusions that we'd start dating. I got directions, lied to my parents about plans, and one Saturday we got together.
I'd read enough romance novels to understand that there might be some discomfort, but that if I was excited enough it would be enjoyable anyway. All in all, I had a very positive experience. Wish I could say the same about the rest of my experiences.
(page 294) "As an assertion of unconscious, psychological truth, the statement that a given woman's virginity ends when the individual says it does, for the reasons that she says it does, is unassailable. It destroys the historical relationship between authority figures and virginity by cutting out outsiders--anyone from priests to parents to virginity testers--out of of the picture entirely, divesting them of any voice in regard to what virginity is and what it might or might not be worth."
I think post-virginal sex should also be defined by ones experiencing it.
I've revised my number--or, more accurately, I now have two numbers. One is the number of people I've had sex with; the other number is relevant only for medical inquiries. I've shed some experiences, recognizing them for the garbage they are.
(page 293) "The sex that counts for these young women is sex in which they are involved and invested."
JRS does not count. I wasn't involved. I was a masturbatory aid, nothing more that day. That was not sex. It was "not-rape," though with the "surprise" anal sex, I've begun to shift it into the rape or sexual assault category.
MZ does not count. MZ was my "boyfriend" for far too long--a few months. He raped me six times and coerced me into sex about weekly. Over and over I'd tell him no. It was like hitting pause on a busted remote where the moment you lift your finger, it continues playing anyway. I found out he'd gotten me pregnant when nature too care of that problem for me before I'd realized I had a problem at all. I stupidly told him even though we'd broken up, thinking it was The-Right-Thing-To-Do. He raped me again. That entire "relationship" doesn't count.
One more experience doesn't meet the involved and invested requirement. It doesn't count either. There really wasn't anything bad about it; it just doesn't measure up. I didn't seek it. I didn't NOT want it. I just went along with it. Not good enough. Not sex.
The mischievous part of me wonders how the douches I excised would react if I told them that they don't count, but that would make this retaliatory, rather than being true to myself. I don't care to encounter any of them again, so I won't be seeking them out. I'd prefer to focus on the enthusiastic sex that does matter, that does count, that fills me with joy.
Reading this essay led me to reflect upon my "number" and change it.
Even in the ancient world, when it was obvious that women were property and bargaining chips, women from cities that had been invaded, resulting in mass rape, were still considered virgins and marriageable.
(page 289) "What happened to you sexually was not necessarily what you were as a person."
Most people seem to agree that rape, especially in children or by strangers, is an assault and not sex. It doesn't count, especially when the victim has no other sexualized experience.
(page 290) "This didn't just broaden the spectrum of what might be understood to constitute virginity, as a (at least potentially) contextual quality. It also placed, at least in some cases, the determination of whether someone was or wasn't a virgin in a place where it almost never rested otherwise: namely, in the virgin's own hands."
So why should it count for those of us who are sexually active, married or not?
I was a full participant in "losing" my virginity. My motive was more curiosity than anything. There was a guy I knew, attractive enough, very flirtatious, an outsider like me. I gave him my number. He called, asked me when I'd come over. We were both clear that I'd be coming over for sex. I didn't have any illusions that we'd start dating. I got directions, lied to my parents about plans, and one Saturday we got together.
I'd read enough romance novels to understand that there might be some discomfort, but that if I was excited enough it would be enjoyable anyway. All in all, I had a very positive experience. Wish I could say the same about the rest of my experiences.
(page 294) "As an assertion of unconscious, psychological truth, the statement that a given woman's virginity ends when the individual says it does, for the reasons that she says it does, is unassailable. It destroys the historical relationship between authority figures and virginity by cutting out outsiders--anyone from priests to parents to virginity testers--out of of the picture entirely, divesting them of any voice in regard to what virginity is and what it might or might not be worth."
I think post-virginal sex should also be defined by ones experiencing it.
I've revised my number--or, more accurately, I now have two numbers. One is the number of people I've had sex with; the other number is relevant only for medical inquiries. I've shed some experiences, recognizing them for the garbage they are.
(page 293) "The sex that counts for these young women is sex in which they are involved and invested."
JRS does not count. I wasn't involved. I was a masturbatory aid, nothing more that day. That was not sex. It was "not-rape," though with the "surprise" anal sex, I've begun to shift it into the rape or sexual assault category.
MZ does not count. MZ was my "boyfriend" for far too long--a few months. He raped me six times and coerced me into sex about weekly. Over and over I'd tell him no. It was like hitting pause on a busted remote where the moment you lift your finger, it continues playing anyway. I found out he'd gotten me pregnant when nature too care of that problem for me before I'd realized I had a problem at all. I stupidly told him even though we'd broken up, thinking it was The-Right-Thing-To-Do. He raped me again. That entire "relationship" doesn't count.
One more experience doesn't meet the involved and invested requirement. It doesn't count either. There really wasn't anything bad about it; it just doesn't measure up. I didn't seek it. I didn't NOT want it. I just went along with it. Not good enough. Not sex.
The mischievous part of me wonders how the douches I excised would react if I told them that they don't count, but that would make this retaliatory, rather than being true to myself. I don't care to encounter any of them again, so I won't be seeking them out. I'd prefer to focus on the enthusiastic sex that does matter, that does count, that fills me with joy.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Jumping at Shadows
Responding to "In Defense of Going Wild or: How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Pleasure (and How You Can Too)" by Jaclyn Friedman.
(page 314) "I hereby declare my right to be wild and still maintain my bodily autonomy."
I know a couple of women who drink beyond the blacking out point on a regular basis. I am scared for them. Don't they know that it only takes one creep to abuse them in their vulnerable state? I hope for their safety, but know it's just a matter of time before they get hurt (or hurt again). I find myself struggling not to slut-shame one of them, but I have to make a conscious effort not to.
(page 315) "Sure, there are plenty of ways drinking and/or sexing can be bad for you--any pleasure can be manipulated or abused for any number of reasons. But there's nothing inherently wrong with either, and when you force women to choose safety over pleasure in ways men never have to (and when you shame them for choosing 'wrong'), you teach women that their pleasure is not as important as men's."
All my life I've been hearing about the dangers of daring to be female in public after dark. It's sad really. Walking after dark in a quiet area is so very peaceful. I enjoy the night sky on clear or partly cloudy nights.
Recently, my best friend and I went out to a bar, no men attached. With loving concern, my husband cautioned me to be careful and not drink too much. After all, there are predators in every town. Turns out that in the early hours of morning that very day, a woman took a short-cut home, and someone attacked her, raping her.
I was relatively safe in a low-key bar, walking on well-lit streets to find one of the plentiful taxis. The extent of misconduct I experienced was a single inappropriate comment, by the cab driver of course.
The night life doesn't scare me. Even as a foolish teen I took precautions. I had extremely sharp pencils in my purse. I drove myself instead of trusting some guy to see me home safely (strangely, this upset my parents--that I'd insist on driving myself. Weren't men chivalrous enough to pick me up? Was I ashamed of them?) While I occasionally found myself the lone girl at an athletes' party, once anyone seemed more than tipsy or I got a bad feeling, I left. No harm done.
No, being female at night in public left me unscathed.
It was my "boyfriend" who told me to "put out or get out"--in my own car. The "surprise" anal sex happened in the afternoon--at work.
(page 316) "If we want to raise awareness about the links between drinking and rape, we should start by getting the word out to men (who are, after all, the overwhelming majority of rapists) that alcohol is likely to impair their ability to respond appropriately if a sexual partner says no."
Yes, the nightlife can be dangerous--especially when men have been drinking. The cases of questionable sex or date rape that men I know have told me about involved their drinking alcohol in all but one case.
When I go out to enjoy myself, I don't want to jump at shadows or contain my joy. I want to be free to celebrate. It's up to everyone to exercise the restraint to be sure of their welcome, no matter how tipsy or drunk or wasted their object of desire is.
(page 319) "If we spent even a fraction of the time we use to teach girls to fear for their bodies teaching them to use their bodies for their own protection instead, there'd by a hell of a lot less for any of us to worry about. Because the most practical way to reduce the risk of rape for all women is to create a culture in which the rapist has to worry that he'll get hurt."
A distant cousin of mine one tackled me and threatened to rape me. I didn't know how to get him off me, except by threatening to bite him. I knew I couldn't take him in a fight, but it worked. I'm not sure how serious he was, even to this day, but a simple display of my backbone stopped him. So in addition to teaching our sons that only yes means yes and that alcohol may hinder their ability to recognize that a yes shouldn't count, we need to teach our daughters to hear and use their voices. This world could be a better place.
(page 314) "I hereby declare my right to be wild and still maintain my bodily autonomy."
I know a couple of women who drink beyond the blacking out point on a regular basis. I am scared for them. Don't they know that it only takes one creep to abuse them in their vulnerable state? I hope for their safety, but know it's just a matter of time before they get hurt (or hurt again). I find myself struggling not to slut-shame one of them, but I have to make a conscious effort not to.
(page 315) "Sure, there are plenty of ways drinking and/or sexing can be bad for you--any pleasure can be manipulated or abused for any number of reasons. But there's nothing inherently wrong with either, and when you force women to choose safety over pleasure in ways men never have to (and when you shame them for choosing 'wrong'), you teach women that their pleasure is not as important as men's."
All my life I've been hearing about the dangers of daring to be female in public after dark. It's sad really. Walking after dark in a quiet area is so very peaceful. I enjoy the night sky on clear or partly cloudy nights.
Recently, my best friend and I went out to a bar, no men attached. With loving concern, my husband cautioned me to be careful and not drink too much. After all, there are predators in every town. Turns out that in the early hours of morning that very day, a woman took a short-cut home, and someone attacked her, raping her.
I was relatively safe in a low-key bar, walking on well-lit streets to find one of the plentiful taxis. The extent of misconduct I experienced was a single inappropriate comment, by the cab driver of course.
The night life doesn't scare me. Even as a foolish teen I took precautions. I had extremely sharp pencils in my purse. I drove myself instead of trusting some guy to see me home safely (strangely, this upset my parents--that I'd insist on driving myself. Weren't men chivalrous enough to pick me up? Was I ashamed of them?) While I occasionally found myself the lone girl at an athletes' party, once anyone seemed more than tipsy or I got a bad feeling, I left. No harm done.
No, being female at night in public left me unscathed.
It was my "boyfriend" who told me to "put out or get out"--in my own car. The "surprise" anal sex happened in the afternoon--at work.
(page 316) "If we want to raise awareness about the links between drinking and rape, we should start by getting the word out to men (who are, after all, the overwhelming majority of rapists) that alcohol is likely to impair their ability to respond appropriately if a sexual partner says no."
Yes, the nightlife can be dangerous--especially when men have been drinking. The cases of questionable sex or date rape that men I know have told me about involved their drinking alcohol in all but one case.
When I go out to enjoy myself, I don't want to jump at shadows or contain my joy. I want to be free to celebrate. It's up to everyone to exercise the restraint to be sure of their welcome, no matter how tipsy or drunk or wasted their object of desire is.
(page 319) "If we spent even a fraction of the time we use to teach girls to fear for their bodies teaching them to use their bodies for their own protection instead, there'd by a hell of a lot less for any of us to worry about. Because the most practical way to reduce the risk of rape for all women is to create a culture in which the rapist has to worry that he'll get hurt."
A distant cousin of mine one tackled me and threatened to rape me. I didn't know how to get him off me, except by threatening to bite him. I knew I couldn't take him in a fight, but it worked. I'm not sure how serious he was, even to this day, but a simple display of my backbone stopped him. So in addition to teaching our sons that only yes means yes and that alcohol may hinder their ability to recognize that a yes shouldn't count, we need to teach our daughters to hear and use their voices. This world could be a better place.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Beyond Victimhood
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.
(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.
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.
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.
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