The Need

People call me brave

But I don't want

To be brave

I need to be safe

People call me strong

But I don't want 

To be strong

I need to be held

People call me quiet

But I don't want 

To be quiet

I need to be heard

People call me fierce

But I don't want

To be fierce

I need to be loved

People call me a lot of things

But I don't want

To be a lot of things

I need to be known 

Musings on Travelling While Female

I recently travelled to Chicago with my 19 year old daughter and I have some thoughts about it.  Lucky you, eh?  

If you have not recently travelled, while being female, in this rape culture, let me take a few minutes to fill you in on what I (we) did to attempt to keep ourselves safe.  
NOTE:  I say 'attempt' because, while we did a lot to travel "safely" and be "smart", we were at no time guaranteed that we would ultimately return home safely and without experiencing trauma.

We were staying in an AirBnB (our first time) once arriving in Chicago and to feel safe about doing so I...

• verified the hosts on AirBnB
• searched them on social media
• Google searched their names to verify that they did not come up in news stories, etc
• Google street searched the address given as the location
• read the host's reviews from past travelers 
• made sure that check-in would be mid-day to take advantage of daylight
• communicated with both hosts via their respective mobiles beforehand and asked questions to see if they would answer them differently/the same (I did this sparingly as I wanted to keep the majority of communication through AirBnB where it can be documented)
• texted my partner with the street address, names of hosts and listing on AirBnB 

That was all before even leaving my home!  Once we had travelled to the hosts condo I...

• made sure that we walked into the condo together AFTER making sure that there was no one else present in the hallway leading to the condo door
• I left my purse on my body so that I would have a defensive weapon of some kind
• I instantly looked for and took note of exit strategies (for instance, I noted that the windows were old and single pane glass, making it easy to throw something relatively small through the glass to draw attention to our location and being around the corner from UIC there was near constant foot traffic from students in the area)
• during a brief tour of the small condo I watched the host more than I looked at the décor

After receiving keys and verifying that they worked for both doors, our host left us alone in the condo and I...

• searched each and every room
• looked inside of every closet
• opened cupboards and drawers
• searched vents for cameras or other devices
• checked window locks
• checked door locks
• made another mental note of more/other escape routes and exit strategies

During our travels to Chicago by train I/we...

• sat near each other
• took note when each other used the facilities 
• went together to find the café car to get food
• noticed anyone sitting near us

While exploring in Chicago we...

• made sure our mobiles were fully charged before leaving our AirBnb (although mine did die while we were exploring on our last day there)
• purposed to stay to well-lit, heavily trafficked areas of the city
• purposed to not walk at night (we did end up walking to a restaurant one of the nights but it was 2 blocks from our condo and in a well-lit, busy with student foot traffic area)
• stayed together at all times
• discussed where we were going, and pulled it up on our Maps app, before leaving the condo, do avoid looking like dopey, lost tourists as much as possible

It was an exhausting 3 days, and all in effort to just feel safe!  At no time were we actually 100% safe.  

As women, just existing in this culture is exhausting.  We do SO many things on a daily basis to try to guarantee our personal safety just going about our lives; from locking car doors immediately after getting in, to not going out alone, to having some sort of defensive weapon at the ready when approaching our own cars in a parking lot... in broad daylight, to critically taking note of every single person that we interact with in public, to analyzing and over-analyzing everywhere we go and everything that we do.

Goddammit, I should not have to travel with a man in order to be safe(r) in this world!  Fuck!  

So, #ThanksMen, for creating a world for women where this is our reality.  Can you please help us fix it now?  

We are dying here...  

Sunday Sermon

#Sundaysermon

If you are a christian who claims to believe in the god "of the bible", we need to talk.  It would be grossly hypocritical of you to claim this and then choose to follow only the convenient portions of the bible, only the parts that can be wrapped in pretty, flowery wording.  You don't get to dress up your god to make its appealing parts more attractive, in hopes of glossing over its ugly parts.  Because, yeah, some of us have noted its ugly parts.  And we have an issue with that.

If your god is responsible for -

Matthew 19:14

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."

Then it is also responsible for -

Deuteronomy 22:28, 29

28 If a man finds a girls who is a virgin, who is not engaged, and seizer her and lies with her and they are discovered,

29 then the man who lay with her shall give to the girl's father fifty shekels of silver, and she shall become his wife because he has violated her; he cannot divorce her all his days.

If your god is responsible for "lovingly" sending its own self/son/portion of the trinity to die for all of mankind's shortcomings, then it is also responsible for causing one of its beloved followers to believe he needed to sacrifice his only, loved son.  With all of the horror that coming to that decision would have caused a human being.

Save your breath and all of your arguments.  I've heard them all before.  The "human error" one is prevalent when this topic is brought up.  That being, that it is taken into account that humans wrote the bible, it has been interpreted multiple times from its original languages, and that can account for some of the parts that we collectively find offensive/outdated now.

Nope.

You don't get to excuse your god's failings that simply.

Throughout this book that is its mouthpiece to its followers, we are told that, while humans were gifted free will, god is omnipotent.  Are we then to believe that an all-powerful being allowed the then ignorant and simple-minded people to misrepresent it so appallingly in its own book?  For example, slavery.  Did god know slavery was wrong and just forget to relay that to his followers way back then?  Did god know that slavery was wrong and just not care that it was practised?  Did god not know that slavery was wrong and human empathy and morality has since surpassed that of its supposed creator?  Does god still not know that slavery is wrong?

The options now are

1. that god isn't real and this book was written by ignorant peoples of ancient times to control other ignorant peoples

2. that god is real but it is not omnipotent and could not control how it was represented in its own book to its own people

3. that god is real, is omnipotent, and is also a summary of all of the ugly parts of the bible as well as the pretty ones (which means your god loves you a lot but is also okay with you having to marry your rapist)

The fact that these ugly parts of your god are in his divinely inspired instruction manual poses a moral dilemma for any who claim to follow the god of this bible.  You must unquestioningly support the god/bible, in all of its flaws, or you hypocritically pick and choose what you believe and which you will support and follow.  

FB Rants 07/01/17

This isn't my rant, these aren't my words, this isn't my personal experience.  But it could be ranted by so many women, it is so many women's words, it is so many women's personal experience.  We are every woman and these words are very important. 

I recently had a client come in requesting pelvic work because of injuries from her first birth.
In her words, she had torn significantly, and had been stitched... badly - she described something I’ve heard about from several other clients, the ‘husband stitch’, in which a doctor stitches the vaginal opening too tightly closed in order to supposedly make future sex with the birthing woman more pleasurable to an imaginary future male sex partner.
Which, alone, makes me want to punch these particular doctors in the nads. Hard.
Because - does this really need to be said? Sure seems like it does:
WOMEN’S BODIES DO NOT EXIST TO PLEASE MEN.
EVER. UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.
This practice, like so many others, is a vestige of a dark age in which women were the property of men.
Please observe, dear reader: WE DO NOT FUCKING LIVE IN THOSE DARK AGES ANYMORE. Not here. Not now. And any doctor acting as though we do should lose his or her license to practice medicine IMMEDIATELY.
Birthing women are generally not asked about this: “Would you like this dodgy procedure?” It is just done to them - in a supremely vulnerable moment, I might add. Sometimes with a grody wink to the male partner in the room. Or so I am told.
But back to the story.
This client tore again with baby #2, and was attended to by a different doctor, who was shocked by the terrible work of the first doctor, and stitched her properly.
She had been in pain for several years with the husband-stitch, and then was no longer in pain. But she felt that the tone of her pelvic floor had suffered, and she wanted to work on her “tightness”.
Upon actually meeting this woman, she further revealed that her husband had been cheating on her, that she was fairly sure they would be separated within the year, and that her desire for a tighter vagina had to do with being able to keep a future male partner. She attributed the cheating to her vagina not being tight enough to please him.
This made me turn some colors. The room is thankfully dim enough that I had some cover.
Once I had recovered my wits, I told her quite precisely the following three things. Mark them well, women of my heart.
1) Your vagina is not a sheath for anybody’s cock.
It is the core of your body, the powerhouse of your pleasure, the holy portal through which you have, like a god, pushed two human beings into the world. It is not a fucking sheath for a DICK. So please, take the checkout magazine stands full of 1980s Cosmos that apparently line the aisles of your mind, and set them on fire, because that is a bunch of fucking nonsense.
2) If your husband is a cheater, I GUARANTEE YOU that it has fuck all to do with the tone of your pussy. If he is cheating, it’s because he is a cheater. Please give credit where credit is due. If the sex you have been having with him has suffered since your first birth, perhaps that is because you were in excruciating pain whenever you did it, seeing as some idiot with diplomas on his wall gave you an unconscionable injury by stitching you badly and playing into this 1980s Cosmo complex you’re harboring. But please understand: cheating is not about vaginal tone. Cheating - sleeping with someone else and lying about it - is about being an asshole.
3) You do not want a tight vagina.
That is a myth.
When we use tight as a descriptor, we are discussing the pussy as a sheath. We are centering our entire experience in the pleasure of a male partner. And while we, of course, care very much about the experiences of our lovers, their perspectives are not more important than our own, and we do not take responsibility for anybody else's good time. Please keep your eye on the proverbial ball here.
What you want is a strong vagina.
A vagina that can grip, control, pulsate, and fully release a penetrating object at will - a cock, or otherwise - with a full range of sensation. A muscular vagina. A free vagina.
If you do not have this experience, it is very likely because you - like many many many of the other women who come to me for pelvic bodywork - are, in fact, too tight. Your pelvic floor is hypertonic - it is in a perpetual state of spasm, and doesn’t remember how to release.
Much like a hand, a vagina has to be able to both grasp and let go in order to do much for you.
If it is hypotonic, it is like a hand that is floppy and cannot grasp. If it is hypertonic, it is like a perpetually clenched fist.
Far more of the women I meet under these circumstances come to me in the latter category than the former.
A tight vagina is a PROBLEM. As a physical reality, and as a concept.
Get with me on this. Strength is the key. Across the board. Change your language and change your life. Please. Inhabit your body like you are the boss of it, like your experience is important, like you are the one steering your world, like your pleasure matters. Because it FUCKING DOES. Female pleasure is raucously, explosively powerful. It is what brings women of all ages and races and sizes and abilities and orientations home into our own blessed bodies. It is the lever which moves the world. Its power is such a treasure that billion dollar industries have arisen to manipulate women, throwing a glamour around our gaze that divorces us from our own sensations, focusing our sense of worth on our looks and throwing our lived physical reality under the bus.
It is up to us to STOP FALLING FOR IT.
We are not owned. We are not beholden. And our bodies are utterly magnificent, exactly as they are.
Please start fucking acting like it.
Love,
PCWS

http://embodyworkla.com/blog/

They Just Don't Know

I had an interaction with my oldest offspring the other day.  I was dropping him off at a festival with some friends and he wouldn't be home until late.  And, being his mother, I couldn't help myself to remind him to be careful.  I believe it went something like this:

Me:  What time will you be home?

Him:  Probably around 10.

Me:  Okay.  Be careful.

Him:  Yup.  (Rolls eyes.) 

Me:  No, seriously.  It's a festival, there is a crowd.  Statistically crime rates go up in heat waves and it's been really hot -

Him:  (interrupting)  BYE! 

I drove away feeling the sting that I usually feel when one of my offsprings shuts me down, seems to shut me out or doesn't pander to my desire to prattle on about how they should live their lives so that I can be comfortable and feel that they are safe. 

Because they just don't know.

They don't know that I worry.  They don't care because they don't worry.
They don't know that, every time they leave, I question whether I've prepared them adequately enough to face whatever they will be facing while away from me.  They don't care because they are only thinking of packing as many experiences into their adolescence as they can.
They don't know that if something happened to them to cause pain, permanent damage or death, that I would be shattered into too many pieces to ever be able to be put back together again into anything that resembles human.  They don't care because they are invincible. 

Being a parent is finding a precarious balance between being unbelievably brave and terrifyingly fragile.  Every.  Single.  Day.  It is heroically rising in the morning, not knowing what each day will hold, but consciously living with the reality that large pieces of our hearts reside outside of our bodies and inside of these other beings.  LARGE pieces. 

All of the pieces.

...And they just don't know.

Things That Just Aren't Real, Part 2: The "Need" to Evangelize

I am soooooooooooo tired of people in my life trying to evangelize me.  And my kids.  Ugh! 

Being raised in an extremely fucked up microcosm of a severely off-track Baptist church I completely understand that one of the Christian imperatives is to "win souls", share the word of god and perpetuate one's faith to others.  But, fucking christ.  It's old.  It's rude.  I'm tired of hearing it.  I'm tired of my kids being seen as an unclaimed soul that is prime for influence into the MLM of chistiandom. 

The best evangelizing is a decent person living a good life.  If you happen to be this person and your personal belief system includes a deity, let people come to you and ask.  Don't assume that they want to know or need to know.  When I see someone living a good life I do not assume that they are doing so because of a god.  Don't be an asshole and assume that your good life is somehow a billboard advertisement for an other dimensional being who needs help recruiting more followers.  A good life is a testament all its own.



Your beliefs don't make you a better person.  Your behaviour does. 

Things That Just Aren't Real, Part 1: The "Walk of Shame"

It is another summer weekend here in southwestern Ontario.  If you were out in a big city at all on Saturday or Sunday morning you might think that you saw something.  But you didn't.  Because what you thought you saw, doesn't exist.  It isn't true, it is not a real thing and if you imagined that you saw it that just proves that you are a misogynistic, sexist, damaging-myth perpetuating asshole.
This thing that doesn't exist is...

The "walk of shame".

Nope.  If you think you saw a person performing this act, what you actually saw was an abominable snow man, a yeti, or perhaps the Loch Ness Monster.  <----  This one would be true especially if you were by water.

This cultural stigma is almost always aimed at women.  Because there is a presumption of shame if it is suspected that a woman has - gasp! -  consented to sexual relations.  This is suspected when an asshole person sees a woman making her way back to her dorm room, waiting at a bus stop in the city, walking some city blocks, all in clothing that indicates that she wore them out to party the night before and is now making her way back home.  I am positive that we all pass a lot of the male species performing this presumed shameful walk, we just don't recognize it because they look like regular people, like their regular selves.  (This opens this discussion up to another conversation about society's pressure and expectations on women to look a certain way when "going out".  To present a certain level of aesthetically pleasing, appearance effort.  After all, a vagina comes with a requirement to look like you care about yourself, goddammit.  Pretty is the rent women pay to exist.
......................That should be a conversation in another post, because I could digress all.  day.  long.)  And these male species that we pass performing this certain walk?  Well, they don't even know they should be ashamed at all.  Because society hasn't told them that they should.

So, why do we pin all of the shame of a sexual encounter (even a supposed one!) on the female side of the equation?  Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!?!  Why do we hold women primarily responsible for the sexual morality of everyone in this fucked up Western culture?

STOP IT!  

This mindset is helping to create and perpetuate a horrible phenom that is referred to as 'rape culture'.  This is proving over and over again to be a deadly, dangerous thing for the daughters of our culture.  It is not doing any services to our sons, either.

Here is what we can do about this:  if you are out early on a weekend morning, and you see someone that you suspect is performing this so-called 'walk of shame', recognize that you are judging someone and presuming of their sexual morality solely based on their appearance.  Something that is absolutely none of your business.  Whatsoever.  Like, at all.  Once you've realized what a sexist fuckwit you are, you can do one of two things (or both, if you are really an asshole):  1.  crotch punch yourself and move on with your life, worrying only about your own morals, or, 2.  just move the fuck on with your life.  Drive away.  Walk away.  Carry on with your day exactly as you had planned.  Knowing that what someone may or may not have done the night before with their own genitals has nothing to do with you.  Let someone walk home from wherever they were, in whatever they want, in peace.
Women deserve to be left alone to make their own sexual choices, without the offer of patronizing hand holding from presumed morally superior asshats.  Let a girl walk without shame!




Special shout-out to celebrities that are using their bigger platform to bring awareness to these issues and not wallflower themselves in the face of a frightening culture.  Amber Rose is one that uses her voice for this cause and has started a movement for it.  If you know of others, feel free to post them in the comments.  :)  

  http://www.amberroseslutwalk.com/ 

 

My Sisters

I spent this past weekend with some of the greatest women on the planet...  My sisters.  All 7 of them.  We had a weekend together of celebrating one sister's upcoming nuptials.  We had adventures, alcohol and 2 whole packages of penis straws!  #baloneyb4Mahoney  We slept piled into a way too small hotel room, reminiscent in many ways of our childhood bedroom situations.  (Thanks for not peeing on me, Doodle!)  Ending the night with Daudle sharing a special ritual that she does with her family every evening.  It was beautiful.  We shed tears over our recently passed Aunt Sher, that was a very prominent organizer of all things celebratory in our family.  She would have been very involved in this past weekend.  We miss her presence in our lives.  It is palpable.  We had breakfast together the next morning, after way too little sleep.  We should have planned the whole day to ourselves to lounge and recover from a night on the town (some of us are feeling way too old for this shit!), but some had children and family obligations to get to.  But we were back together the next day for a pool-side bridal shower.  There was lots of food, love and mermaid tails.  Real ones.  (Deal with your jealousy over this.) 

I was reminded how lucky I am to have these women in my life.  We grew up to be very different people, but the bond that was made when we were children is still there.  Still drawing us back to each other.  Still pulsating with a life all of its own.  It is sacred space.  It is sister space.  

Kids might say the damndest things, but mine ask me the weirdest shit

I have 3 teenagers.  They can be weird.  They travel in herds of other teenagers.  They can also be weird.  I openly talk about about masturbation, sex, birth, patriarchy, society being a dangerous twatwaffle - you know, awesome stuff.  I am sure that I am the worst mother to ever embarrass her teenage offspring.  Oh well.  I am over it.  
With my frankness about so many "taboo" topics, my kids often tell their friends to ask me all of their weird questions.  Or, their friends just ask me without any prompting or permission from my womb family.  Sometimes resulting in my dearest rolling their eyes, huffing loudly or physically removing their friends from the same room as me.  "Ugh, don't ask her that!"  "The answer will be so long!"  And, my personal favourite:  "No."  With a hand held in front of my face as I start to spew my magical, knowledgeable words of wisdom.  I am sure that it is in an effort of love, to save me from feeling obligated to carve time out of my super busy life to pander to their friends.  This is what I tell myself anyway.  

I am going to try to preserve (here) some of the bizarre questions that I get from the revolving packs of children that wander their way through my home.  Here are the most recent ones:

I went upstairs to call 3 girls down to dinner (mine + 2 others).  I stood in the doorway of a washroom and was bombarded with this -

"What exact size is a baby's heads when they are born?"

"Why does my stomach hurt?"

"If I take an unused condom and fill it with something, like put things inside of it, can I put it inside of me?"  

This is my circus.  These are my monkeys.  Someone please check on me periodically to make sure that some shreds of sanity are still intact.  

Bathroom Wars Put into Perspective (aka, What the fuck is wrong with you, America?)

I'm sure you've heard about it.  The ridiculous, dangerous things happening in America's bathrooms.  Which have nothing to do with transgendered persons using them.  I came across some great words shared on Facebook by a woman named Stephanie Hunter from Denver, Colorado.  It was an epic rant that nailed the idiotic, paranoid, patriarchal panic-induced insanity over pee pee and poo poo rooms, and whose genitals look like what while they are in those rooms.  I shared Stephanie's post to my FB timeline.  Several times.  Because the post kept being reported, taken down for review, put back up, reported, taken down again.  I decided to preserve it here, to hopefully avoid FB's policing of words that need to be seen and my supposition of the kind of person that is doing this continual reporting.  If you are still under the impression that this is actually about bathrooms and who can/cannot use them in public, may I kindly suggest that you get your head out of your ass.  Or out of the sand.  Or out from under that rock.  It's not.  It is so, so not about bathrooms.  
Here are Stephanie's words:

I’ve stayed silent long enough.

Let me break this down for you.  I have a daughter.  She’s 6.  She has the loudest laugh and the spazziest dance moves you’ve ever seen.  I’m not scared by a bathroom.

In just a few years she may develop an eating disorder.  She may be pressured to suck dick, or spread her legs, or sext, or chug booze.  All before she is the age of 13.
Does this shock you?!?  Good.  That’s the point.  Statistically- all are true.  How does this happen???  Every second- every day- she is surrounded by images, songs, commercials, and more that mold her.

I have a 6 year old.  She swims in the bathtub with goggles.  Creates waves that create puddles all over my floor.  I laugh at her joy.  She asks to fall asleep in our bed.  She still snuggles me on the couch, and when she falls asleep I carry her to be bed covered in fairy lights.  She’s scared of the bogeyman.

He’s real.  He’ll rape her while she’s walking to her car.  It will be her fault- she shouldn’t have been walking by herself of course.  He’ll grab her ass while she’s serving him a drink.  She’ll smile and ignore because she needs the tip.  He’ll pay her less than her male counterparts.  He’ll make condescending remarks about how she will make “cute babies”- before he hands her his hotel room keycard.

Again, all statistically true.  Ask the female in your life if she’s ever been scared to walk to her car.  Had to hold her purse a bit closer, keys in hand, lock the door immediately. Ask her how many times she looked over her shoulder.  Ask your sister, or mother, or wife how many promotions she was passed over for, how many men have leered or cat called her, how many small concessions she’s made just to be seen as equal.

My daughter is 6.  She loves ponies, and swimming, and daddy.  She runs like the wind and rides her pink bike for hours.  Begs me for one more cannonball.  One more circling of the block.

She lives in a world that is built for men.  Rewards men.  Glorifies men.  A patriarchal world where men can make statements like “I need to protect my daughter from “freaks” in bathrooms” but that also doesn’t point out the hypocrisy of not protecting them from assault, gender pay gaps, objectification, and abuse.

I hate to break it to you.  Your daughter is less likely to be preyed on in a bathroom by a “freak” and more likely to be viciously raped before the age of 35.

By someone who looks probably a lot like you.  Completely normal.

Scare you?  It should.  It scares me.  My daughter's least worry should be the Target bathroom.

Because she needs to be prepared for the world we’ve made for her.  And it’s a terrifying one.

But by all means- go protest a Target.  Because that’s the real problem right?!?

My daughter is 6.  We have so much to do.  I have to raise a warrior.  To save her.  From you.

*mic drop*

I want to read this all day long!  And I want to scream, and cry, and applaud, and be empowered!  But I am fucking exhausted by it all.  This served as a reminder to me of who we are doing all of this for.  As Stephanie says, we have so much to do.  Still.  After all of these years of doing, and fighting, and changing, and talking, and screaming, and standing up for our rights in the face of the impossible.  We still have so much to do.  To fight for the next generation.  To raise warriors.  To fight for their next generation.  To save themselves.  To save us all. 

Storytime: When We Raise Men Like This, We End Rape Culture

Once upon a time... 

...I was talking to a young man and the conversation went a little something like this:

Him:  I was over at (redacted's) house last night because she said she wanted me to come over to talk about 'us'.  (Redacted is someone that this young man cares about and has been nurturing a friendship with for many months, being honest with her that it is in hopes of it becoming something more.)
Me:  And... how did it go?
Him:  Nowhere.  After being there for a few minutes I thought that she seemed 'off' so I asked if she'd been drinking.  She didn't really answer me so I looked around her room and found a bottle of vodka.
Me:  What did you do?
Him:  I left.

When we raise men like this, we end rape culture.  Even further - When we raise our children to view other people as fully human, and not objects, we change the world.  <3

It Smells Like Stale Sex in Here

This conversation happened in my kitchen yesterday between my partner and I...  (I just had to preserve this gem somewhere.  Ha!)  

Him:  *walks into the kitchen*  Are you ready to go?  Whoa!  What smells so weird in here?  It smells like - *sniffs* - something.  It smells like...  It smells like stale sex.  

Me:  Um.........................................  *blink*blink*blink*

Him:  Is it you?  *comes closer to presumably sniff me*

Me:  Yes, yup.  I smell like stale sex.  All the time.  

Him:  *slyly, sarcastically*  What did you do today?

Me:  Ha!  You know, in all of my spare time I had all the stale sex that I could.  

Him:  *still sniffing*  What is that?  

Me:  *still unsure if I want to help someone identify an odour that smells like stale sex, ever, in my life*  

Him:  No, seriously.  Where is that coming from?  

Me:  Um, I just emptied the garbage.  (Please tell me my kitchen does not smell like stale sex all the time?!?!)

Him:  No.  It's right here.  By you.

Me:  Great.  Do I just walk around everyday, smelling like stale sex?  That's fantastic.  Is it my hair?

Him:  *sniffs hair*  Nope.  But it's definitely right here.

Me:  Is it this?  *opens a bottle of kombucha that I'd been drinking*

Him:  Yes!  That's it!  Ugh!  How do you drink that stuff?  It smells like - 

Me:  Like stale sex?  *sigh*  Let's go.  

I am not sure what this says about the 2 of us as human beings but it made me wonder if 'stale sex' should be a new kombucha flavour.  I think yes.  

Virginity: As A Parent

We are so sex-obsessed in this culture.  And it's in all the wrong ways. 

Here is a statement for you...

You child's virginity is none of your business.  

How about this way?

Your child's virginity is NONE of your business.  

I had a woman in my life some years ago who, anytime she was talking about her teenager humans, would make sure to brag that she had gotten all three through high school without incidents of alcohol, drugs or sex.  Her attitude toward this whole theory baffled me.  I always wondered how she knew that that was 100% accurate, for one thing, and also, why that seemed to be her #1 parenting goal.  I hoped that when my humans reached teenagehood that my goals would be different, more centered on their personhood instead of meeting some socially mandated level of proof of morality.  The experience with this woman has stayed in my mind for all these years and is tumbling around a lot lately.  Maybe it's because mine have reached an age where this has faded from an unfocused event on the horizon to something that could be in sharp focus in their daily reality.  A presented option.  A suggested encounter.  A real life holy-shit-am-I-ready-for-this moment.  And I want them to be equipped to handle those moments. 
I don't know exactly what that picture will look like when we are there and living it.  I am assuming on my end there will be emotional devastation (that I am actually this old), copious amounts of chocolate consumption, leaning on my male counterpoint, propping up my male counterpoint and WHY THE HELL DO I NOT DRINK WINE!  ;)  What I do know is this - 

My children's intact virginity is not a merit badge indicating my worth as a parent.  I do not earn some sort of points or reward for "safeguarding" a hymen into "40 Year Old Virgin" territory.  

Here is another statement for you...

Your child having a safe place, a non-judgemental, non-opinionated, non-reactionary, soft, fluffy, SAFE place to hear medically accurate, evidenced-based facts, IS your business.  Interestingly enough, the only part that you can control begins and ends with you.  It is THE only aspect that you can control.  
You are responsible for creating that space for them.  And it starts long before they experience pressure to be involved in sexual activity.  And it starts with the tiniest, littlest everyday events that seem inconsequential, tedious and monotonous.  It starts with trust.  If you do not trust them, they will never trust you and, what's worse, they will not trust themselves.  And themselves is the only constant companion they'll have for their entire lives.  
If we shift from being singularly focused on "virginity" and instead broaden that focus to include happiness, safety, consent, maturity, bodily autonomy, ownership - now we've got a good conversation going.  Now we've got a focus that will extend and carry them into adulthood and the rest of their lives and not end the conversation when they are no longer "virgins".  Sexuality doesn't stop when contact is made between genitals.  By focusing on virginity and that alone, we give the message that they are their virginity, and that virginity is innocence; that once it is gone and the choice has been made the conversation ceases and they are on their own.  We do them a grave disservice with this mindset.  Sexuality, sexual choices, sexual options will be part of all of our lives for as long as we have life.  We should be equipping our children with the ability to make conscious choices, that are right for them, for the duration of their lives.  Your child, and their morals, should not be an extension of your belief system and moral code.  They are their own person. 

Your child's virginity, as a singular topic, is none of your business.  But your child's life, health, happiness and safety are.  

A Duggar Inspired Post (Didn't think I would ever utter those words.)

I am jumping on the bandwagon and addressing the Duggar sex abuse scandal.  It is incredibly timely to the conversations that I've been having lately, almost like a gift from god.  *drip drip goes the sarcasm* 
These conversations involve dress codes and the shaming message that they direct at girls (specifically).  You may agree (or not) that dress codes are damaging, sexist and filled with messages to girls that their bodies are distracting to boys and in need of being policed by someone other than the girl herself...  And then you add a 'but'.  "Oh yes, I can clearly see that that is the message of dress codes.  I agree with you, Hillary.  But, there HAS to be some boundaries in place - girls still need to dress appropriately.  I mean, I don't like to see these young girls with their butts hanging out of shorts.  That is inappropriate." 
Nope, nope, nope.  You do not get to be the moral police and decide what is appropriate for anyone other than yourself.  Period.  That's it.  Full stop. 
Here's why.
If girls dressing according to someone's version of appropriate and modest is the last line of defense against boys/men victimizing them, then WHY IN THE WORLD/HOW IN THE HELL did Josh Duggar even want to molest the innocent victims that he perpetrated against?!?!  After all, THEY ARE PERHAPS THE MOST MODESTLY DRESSED GIRLS/WOMEN/CULTURE IN ALL OF THE UNITED STATES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
I know.  I can hear your shock and surprise from here.  "Hillary, you mean that their godly, modest, appropriate, biblically aligned garments did not stop someone from helping himself to their innocence and abusing them?"  THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN! 
Everyone can and should be free to choose their own wardrobe.  Girls can and should be free to choose their own wardrobe.  Girls are people, too.  And they should be free to do this and not have to live in fear of being called names because of ignorant people's assumptions of what they may or may not do with their genitals solely based on their clothing choices. 
I know, I know.  I wish for an ideal world that's never going to happen.  At least, not as long as religion rules people's logic.  But, I can create an ideal world inside of my home for my offspring, and send them out to create ideal worlds wherever they land.  So it's not all hopeless.

This is a long one.  I appreciate you following along so far.  :)

So, to recap:
1.  First and foremost, sick perverts will victimize whomever they choose, regardless of what they are wearing.  We CANNOT teach our girls that what they wear will assure their safety or victimization.  That puts the responsibility of someone's despicable actions onto their innocent shoulders.  That's gross and it MUST stop! 
2.  You do NOT get to police your fellow people's morals.  You DO not.  You do NOT!  Stop it!  No! 
3.  Parents can and absolutely should allow their children to dress themselves.
4.  Parents can and absolutely should teach their sons impulse control and how to value girls (specifically, everyone in general) for more than their physical appearance.  How do you accomplish this?  By modeling it! 
5.  Parents can and absolutely should teach their daughters to value themselves way above and beyond their physical appearance.  If they value themselves, they will automatically be drawn to relationships that place value on more than their physical appearance.  They'll be empowered to take ownership of their own bodies and choices.
6.  Parents can and absolutely HAVE to teach consent!  And starting from a MUCH younger age than everyone thinks.  I would venture that consent starts at the very beginning - with circumcision, piercing a tiny human's ears, cutting their hair, doing "to them" and not acknowledging that they are fully conscious and fully whole people.  And then later - allowing them to choose their clothing/shoes, hairstyles/colours, when/if they hug someone in greeting.  Respecting their autonomy from the very beginning will set them up for a lifetime of being empowered over their own personhood.  (By the way, this is not at all how I parented when my offspring were young.  It is how I have parented for the last 5 years or so.  It is never too late to start fresh.  When we know better, we have an obligation to do better - especially for our children.)

The message that the Duggar scandal is sending is one that I am all too familiar with.  "God" unconditionally forgives the perpetrator and the victims remain voiceless and hidden, with no consideration afforded for their continued safety, well being and healing.  In this christian cult culture, girls don't matter.  Girls are not whole, real people.  Not like men are.  The sole purpose of a girl is to grow into a woman and serve the needs of the men in her life.  That's it.  It's no wonder that the repeating tone of these continued sex abuse scandals from this culture are all the same - it doesn't matter what happens to girls, it doesn't matter how they feel about it.  As long as they are virtuous virgins when they reach marriage and fully trained to serve their man then anything that they endured to get there is just more heavenly reward for their earthly suffering.  (Actually.  Do women get treasure in heaven?  I don't think that they are allowed to.  So scrap that.  I guess they get jack shit for their suffering and victimization.)  The overwhelming message that comes out with these seemingly unending sexual abuse stories is that anything that was actually done was always for the boy/man/perpetrator.  The victims were silenced for his sake.
Maybe that's how god's forgiveness works - it only comes at the expense of how overlooked, silenced and oppressed the victims can be made?

Who am I to talk about this?  Oh you know, just someone who spent a majority of my childhood in the same christian cult that the Duggars are in.  Just someone who was victimized in much the same way as Josh Duggar's victims.  Just someone who was told that forgiveness for being abused was mandatory.  Someone that was never acknowledged or offered any healing outlets for the trauma that I experienced.  Someone that was shown that my feelings about what I had experienced had no place to ever be discussed.  Ever.  (This is still true to this day.)  Someone who was silenced.  Someone who was a girl.  
But, I am not silent anymore.  I will speak my truth and tell my story.  Something that I believe will never be offered to Josh Duggar's victims.  There is no place in that culture for girls and their voices.  

Here's to the Daughters on Mother's Day

For some of us Mother's Day presents an unwelcome, unavoidable obligation to reflect on how we were mothered and our current relationship with our mothers and ourselves because of it.  Perhaps even, how we have ourselves mothered because of how we were mothered.  
A mother's role in the lives of tiny humans, young children, young adult children and beyond is pivotal.  Never have we been in a time in history where there has been so much science attached to the study and explanation of parent/child attachment.  And so many in the mental health community echoing those studies as vital to the proper development of a tiny human into a healthy, well adjusted adult.    

Some of us didn't get healthy mothering as tiny humans.  Some of us have had to reinvent ourselves and work incredibly hard to learn how this affected us and what behaviours it still causes in our lives - be they healthy or not.  This seems to be a lifelong exploration of oneself!  (In my experience anyway.)  

I came across this article on Facebook today and read through it twice.  I can relate to much of what is written here.  I'll leave you with it.    

Here's to the daughters that weren't mothered.  Here's to the women who work through unimaginable pain to discover what was lost to them.  Here's to the mothers who bravely face the unknown depth of a void created for them, in hopes that their daughters can leave childhood more whole.  
I am in this fight with you, right alongside you in the trenches of self-discovery.  I salute you.  We fight for our daughters, for all daughters, in the hopes that they never have to follow in these footsteps.  


 http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/05/the-mothers-day-taboo-when-mama-aint-so-great/

For My Daughter. Myself. All daughters. All people.

For My Daughter
A poem by Sarah McMane
"Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where you backbone ought to be." -- Clementine Paddleford

Never play the princess when you can
be the queen:
rule the kingdom, swing a scepter,
wear a crown of gold.
Don't dance in glass slippers,
crystal carving up your toes --
be a barefoot Amazon instead,
for those shoes will surely shatter on your feet.

Never wear only pink
when you can strut in crimson red,
sweat in heather grey, and
shimmer in sky blue,
claim the golden sun upon your hair.
Colors are for everyone,
boys and girls, men and women --
be a verdant garden, the landscape of Versailles,
not a pale primrose blindly pushed aside.

Chase green dragons and one-eyed zombies,
fierce and fiery toothy monsters,
not merely lazy butterflies,
sweet and slow on summer days.
For you can tame the most brutish beasts
with your wily wits and charm,
and lizard scales feel just as smooth
as gossamer insect wings.

 Trump muddy through the house in
a purple tutu and cowboy boots.
Have a tea party in your overalls.
Build a fort of birth branches,
a zoo of Legos, a rocketship of
Queen Ann chairs and coverlets,
first stop on the moon.

Dream of dinosaurs and baby dolls,
bold Brontosaurus and bookish Belle,
not Barbie on the runway or
Disney damsels in distress --
you are much too strong to play
the simpering waif.

Don a baseball cap, dance with Daddy,
paint your toenails, climb a cottonwood.
Learn to speak with both your mind and heart.
For the ground beneath will hold you, dear --
know that you are free.
And never grow a wishbone, daughter,
where you backbone ought to be.

In Memory... Watching My Children Grieve

I will never be okay with watching my children process loss and grief.  It is more painful than my own sadness.  
Watching them try to rationalize the loss, place the feelings somewhere so they are not so heavy, question the relevance of the tears that sometimes fall, search to understand the grief...
They give in and allow the sadness, authentically embracing all of the feelings.  Able to carry something that none of us will ever be able to understand.   Bravely facing the questions that will never have answers.  
With a gracefulness and maturity that the adult mind often lacks completely.  

Oh, my sweet, beautiful little offsprings.  
If I could carry this knowledge for you so that you could rest in a world that knows no loss or suffering, I gladly would.  
Shed your tears.  
I will hold you and wipe them.  
Willing that those tears carry away tiny bits of your pain.  
I will protect you from much in this world.  
Reality often carries with it stories that we don't want to know.   
Death is a part of living that we all must face.  
You do so with much bravery, realness and raw authenticity.   
I would be more like you.  

My loves.  

My hearts.  

We walk through this together...

In memory of Sher Kay Toburen 05/30/1952 - 12/03/2014
Cherished daughter, adored oldest sister, doting Aunt/Great Aunt, loving wife, generous friend

FB Rants 11/29/14

You guys. Raising teenagers is hard. I'll admit that. I feel it should come with 24 hour therapy, massage therapy, mandatory vacations, weekly maid service, sleep! and, for those that can hack it, lots and lots of wine. But, as I chauffeur my offspring and friends around, and I listen to the conversations and stories from my lonely front seat position, I have learned something. Teenagehood is difficult already (more so for them than us), but it is made infinitely more difficult for all involved when the parental units cannot get their shit together. When parents do stupid, hurtful things (to themselves or that directly affect the teenager) and then expect perfectly mature behaviour from that teen in response - they need to be junk punched. Hard. Teenagers FEEL everything. Just like young children. And they act out and react to what is happening in their lives. Just like young children. They just do it in more obvious, damaging and possibly dangerous ways. See it for what it is - a reaction to their environment. Couple that with the cascade of hormones flooding their bodies, peer pressure (that they may not be telling you about), teachers being buttheads, lack of sleep, their ability to find and destroy junk food, their rapidly growing bodies... and you've got the perfect scenario for immature overreactions.
This should be expected and acknowledged. Not judged and punished.
For being developing humans.
After hearing a particularly painful story from the back seat recently, I came away with one overwhelming thought: I will do my absolute damnedest to not be the reason or cause of unnecessary upset to my teenagers. There is enough shit happening in their world outside of home. The least I can provide them with is a safe place. It is my obligation as a parent.
It's yours, too.

So... This is Parenting

Ooof.

I've had some parenting moments lately.  Well.  More than some.  But some that have particularly stuck out and I've been dwelling on them trying to figure out why they seem particularly meaningful and important.  They've brought on tears during the interaction and also in reflection. 

These moments came in conversations with my 16 year old son who is having some troubles finding his way in high school.  His unhappiness is very apparent and breaks my heart.  In the past these situations have caused me to want to shut down and step away.  I don't know how to handle my children's feelings (since I was never allowed to express or safely have feelings in my childhood - see how that works?).  I feel obligated and guilty and it's easier to just cocoon.  But then that makes me feel even more guilt (even getting into shame here), then I resent that they even have feelings (because, how dare them, right?!) and then I try to engage from a place of duty (because everyone wants their authentic feelings to be handled like a fucking chore, right?!) and it just ends up ugly.  
 This time is different.  Maybe all the internal work I've been doing is starting to spill out?  About fucking time!  ;)
 I was able to come alongside him.  Involve him in the conversation and the solution.  Empower him.  Validate him.  And "breaveheartedly" face his feelings with love and compassion, instead of fear and guilt.  

I was able to parent.  I was able to fucking parent in the way that it is supposed to be done.  I was able to parent in the way that I needed to be parented (the way that everyone needs to be parented, really).  Which has led to these realizations:

Parenting has the ability to break you wide open in ways that cannot be understood, described or experienced in any other way.  
Parenting is a constant state of vulnerability. 
Parenting has the ability to hurt you deeper than deep can go.

BUT!

Parenting has the ability to heal you in ways that cannot be understood, described or experienced in any other way.
Parenting is a constant state of amazement and wonder.
Parenting has the ability to go deeper than deep can go, find those traumas and wounds that must be healed, expose them and offer you an infinite amount of opportunities to sooth them.

Again, ooof.  

Parenting:  (if done in a way that honours all parties) that amazing thing that can soothe wounds from your own childhood, while simultaneously breaking you wide open.  It is both healing and inflicting at the same time.  It is living in a constant state of juxtaposition.  (No wonder we are all so fucking tired, eh?!?!)  

The soul is healed by being with children.  ~  English Proverb 
(Seen on 'The Organic Sister' page on Facebook.) 

Here is where I leaned/am learning to be a Braveheart parent:
http://braveheartparentinghelp.com/
They are on Facebook, too.
 https://www.facebook.com/pages/Braveheart-Parenting/169976559781542   

FB Rants 10/2/14

I was passively/aggressively invited to an argument on FB this morning by a complete stranger, over a comment that I made that did not involve him in any way. I did not respond. I don't plan to. I will log off and go about my day and my life without it affecting me in any way.
See how easy that is, People? You don't have to respond to every ignorant invitation to an immature battle of wits. You don't have to blare your opinions all over the interwebs, all day long, every time you see something that you disagree with. Your time is better spent proving that your beliefs make you a good person to the people that see you and experience you every single day.
Bottom line, you don't have to be a dick on the internet.