A Feminist Body: Ode to the Fuzzy Ladies

I love to be sexy

I love that this body is mine

But if you 

just sexualize me

you jeapordize a 

chance to dive down 

the depths of my mind

So don't.

Don't get me wrong

I said I love this body

but I'm not just some 

superficial hottie

or naughty 

or gaudy
This body is filled and covered with stories
tales of glamour and grit and glory

I don't shave my legs

or my armpits

or my mons pubis

My hair grows free as the grass

Long and fresh --

Why don't more people do this?

I've been braless

Bare and Braless

since I was barely sixteen

My boobs are my best friend

I'd never suffocate them

because someone says nipples are unseen

I love my body

From the shape

to the skin

to the brain

in the head

which my mane

grows in.

I love my scars

and the stories they tell

Times in paradise

Times in hell

I'm a patchwork person

Look at the stitch marks 

and the skin grafts

Like the many lands

which polka-dot a world map

The blemishes

The stings

The spots

The burns

You could look at me and sexualize me

or you could look at me and learn

and know

and grow

as the grass

in the air

Like my armpit hair.

  

Book Review: The Purity Myth (otherwise titled I'm so sick of the Clean Virgin/Unclean Slut Dichotomy)

Welcome to my first book review rant.

Sooo a few months ago, I read this book called the The Purity Myth by Jessica Valenti. The book takes a critical approach to the cultural narrative told to girls about their sexuality via media, family, and sex education in the United States. If I'm totally honest, it wasn't really a shocker because I come from a pretty conservative family and had to learn on my own that a lot of the religious teachings that constructed my views toward my sexuality were, well, bullshit. I thought Valenti took a harsh approach to these people, judging them just as severely as they judge sexually active women. Yeah, it's a frustrating situation, but when I think of my poor lost family members that gave me advice during my teenage years, I don't see evil puritans... I see people who only want to make their God happy and help everyone around them make it to heaven. It's backwards and wrong, but I think the solution is through empathy, not judgement. Isn't that what we're constantly demanding when we fight to end slut shaming?
Nevertheless, Valenti has good intentions, and to paraphrase The Perks of Being a Wallflower, read it with a filter, not like a sponge. Overall, I did learn some new things, she proved a lot of connections between culture, belief, and the damage of this Virgin/Slut dichotomy that is essential to fighting misogyny. 
Since reading this book, I feel as though I've been put on high alert. I see the dichotomy in movies (ESPECIALLY kids movies), music (I'm looking at you, mainstream!), and, sadly enough, the next generation of Americans.

In my family, I'm known as the open-minded one, and even though conservative families tend to frown on progressive hippies, I can tell you confidently that they don't hesitate to call ME when they're stuck in a pickle.
So this week, I got a call from my cousin who's having boy troubles. She's only in 10th grade, but we've been close since toddler days and so we still talk often even if I'm halfway across the world. She was telling me about her current beau and how actually she's over it. Wants to be single. It's the way of the high school game.
"But I've done stuff with him!" She said to me.
"So?? If you don't like him then... uhh... break up with him!" I told her. And that's when she said something I hadn't heard in years and was hoping to never ever hear again. "Yeah but if he tells, no one will want to be with me. Guys don't want a girl who's used."
I think I vomited a little bit in my mouth when she said it. My cousin is one of the most beautiful, intelligent, athletic people I know and for her to doubt her merit because of her sexuality made me so terribly sad and frustrated for her. And that's exactly what I told her, give or take a few words.
I basically replied that it's absolutely untrue that guys won't want to be with her anymore, and if some dont, they're prude assholes whose parents are obviously raising them with morals from the 18th century and who needs that anyway?

But it did have The Purity Myth alarm bells ringing in my head. I realized how spot on Valenti really was with how deep this dichotomy goes. First my cousin was the beautiful, smart athlete, but a little sexual exploration and BAM -- concrete slut for all eternity. It's not fair. And change only exists in education. We cannot let this mindset go unchecked. So I recommend the book whole-heartedly as a part of the fourth wave foundation.

The Other Night at Natalie's

I'm watching Natalie pace the room and bite her fingernails. I want to reach out to her, but she needs the silence right now. I can feel my heart beating and I know hers is racing twice as fast. I feel nervous and my hands are sweating, but my eyes are locked on her. Her face is pointed at the ground, eyebrows furrowed, still pacing, back and forth and back again. She's holding the phone in her hand. Her hands shake at the idea of pressing the buttons. There's one number, and it's calling her so strongly that one look at that phone and her fingers will betray her.

Natalie knows there is a girl on the other side of that phone line. Even though its wireless, she feels connected to her. This girl is in serious, serious trouble. No, she's not hurt or in danger. But she's standing at a cliff right now. It's a steep cliff and the wind is blowing really hard. Normally there's proper attire and equipment for this type of weather, but this girl has brought nothing, not even a sweater, and the wind has pushed her to the edge.

Natalie knows this girl is crying for help. And people are coming to her rescue! But her fate is being gambled in the hands of people with beliefs that are illogical, unfounded, and close-minded. Natalie knows that she could really help this girl because she's had the same experience. She's been to that same cliff and stepped back. Despite everything around her telling her to jump -- her family and the beliefs they instilled in her, her friends, her boyfriend -- Natalie knew she wasn't prepared to jump. No equipment, no training, no-go. Natalie needs to call that number and tell this girl that she doesn't have to jump either. The wind may be on her back, her legs may be ready to give in, but if her heart is not there yet, there's nothing wrong with waiting. Yes, it's the advice that no one else will give to this girl. But it's advice of empathy, advice of true love. 

I watch her eyes quickly dart at me. I suddenly feel stupid for lying on her bed. Should I sit? Should I go? It's suddenly very hot. I clear my throat and look at her again. Her eyes have moved to the window. She walks over to it in sync with her pacing. Her hand still holds the phone, but she uses the other to wave at the curtain. In the sunlight I can see tears in her eyes. There's a hard lump in my throat and I don't want to swallow. It'll unblock all the tears inside of me. Natalie's fingers touch over the buttons of the phone. I know she wants to call, I know she wants to help. But if she helps, she may lose her own entire family. Suddenly, every relationship she's ever molded, cemented, cracked, fixed, loved, gone! in an instant. One phone call could do that.

But this girl has her whole life in front of her! She's about to graduate college, and almost completely debt free! Why? Because she worked her ass off all through high school AND college to pay off her loans. Yeah. But this girl is even smarter than that. She moved to America from Sierra Leone at eight years old and can now speak both English and Spanish fluently on top of her native French. She wants to go back to Sierra Leone one day and give back everything she's gotten in her life abroad. She wants there to be a future in Sierra Leone like the present she enjoys here. She loves life. She makes jokes. She smiles. That big toothy smile that makes everything feel happy. She's beautiful. She's beautiful because she's worked so hard, and she knows it, and she's happy. And that same girl is now in distress -- serious, serious distress -- and Natalie might be the only one with real guidance to give.

Natalie needs to call that number, but the only thing stopping her is the one thing she cannot bear to imagine: Confessing her secret abortion. Because depending on how this girl takes something as "controversial" as that, a conversation like the one Natalie wants to have has the potential to get back to this girl's boyfriend. And this girl's boyfriend happens to be the cousin of Natalie.

I'm watching Natalie's whole body as it quivers. Her knees give a bit, but her feet are firm. I feel nervous and my hands are sweating. I can feel my heart beating and know hers is racing twice as fast.

This cousin isn't some long lost relative. This cousin isn't just a childhood pal. This cousin is the son of Natalie's Uncle Ben. Uncle Ben who is the older brother of Natalie's father. The best friend of Natalie's father. The mentor of Natalie's father. Uncle Ben who joked about running for congress during Thanksgiving and then bragged about casual lunches with Republican politicians at Christmas dinner. Uncle Ben who is the community pastor with the pious morale of a self-righteous priest. Uncle Ben who held a youth sermon called, "The Only Safe Sex is No Sex". Uncle Ben the passionate anti-choice activist. Uncle Ben whose son has gotten his girlfriend pregnant and is pressuring her into raising a child because anything else is "murder".

And if Natalie calls, she has the potential to end all of this madness.
And if Natalie calls, she has the potential to destroy her entire family.
And I'm watching Natalie pace the room and bite her fingernails.
And I want to reach out to her, but I know she needs the silence right now.

One phone call with the potential to save a life,
One phone call with the potential to destroy another.

What would you do?

Finding Your Feminism on the Feminist Spectrum

I was thinking about this while walking to the store today...

I think what I love most about feminism is that there's no structure to it beyond fighting individual and systemic gender oppression and working toward gender equality. Feminism is an ideology, and mindsets can't be worn or bought. They're believed. Feminism doesn't mean stop wearing your bra. It doesn't mean stop shaving. It doesn't mean to throw all your makeup away. I choose to do those things because once I learned about certain issues, that was my response. (Or wasn't my response -- I still have all my makeup).

I try to read as much as I can about feminism on a global scale, but in my day to day life in the first world, my little acts of feminism include explicitly telling a man "no" when he wants something I don't want to give, not giving that cute little disapproving laugh when someone makes a sexist joke, calling those out who make subtle stereotypical remarks that perpetuate oppressive mindsets.

One time I got catcalled and turned around, looked the guy dead in the eye, and said, "Really dude? I'm a human being." The look of shock on his face was so rewarding. Not because it was a "Ha! See I got him!" moment, but because his expression was genuine. Maybe he never realized women were humans and was now having that epiphany. Maybe he was simply linking the character-complexity he sees in his mother and sister to the random girl he was just catcalling on the street. I don't know. I don't care. As a feminist, these are the kinds of people who are keeping our world stagnate, but also have the potential to shift their perspectives and join the cause.

I don't think its fair to say that Western women shouldn't complain or fight the misogyny in our countries because it's "so much worse in other places". Because while that is true (for the majority of us, we don't have to deal with being a child bride, or being acid burned, or having our genitals mutilated), it's also not come far enough. Women in the first world are sexually assaulted on college campuses like its an extracurricular activity. And isn't it funny how when schools get shot up, everyone talks about making the schools safer for kids, but when a college woman is raped, everyone wants to know what she was wearing? That alone shows the mindset in the West (I'm talking more specifically about America) is not where it should be... and that's why I'm a first-world feminist.

My Feminism also doesn't mean that I want to cry and beg for change because, well, poor me! I'm not a victim just because of the genitalia between my legs. But that also means I'm not going to stay in my quiet, docile box or conform to any other social structure that's just not me.
I'm a human being, and that's all feminism ever articulated.

So the point is that the fight for gender equality has layers like an onion. Some may be more subtle, but it all stinks. If you care about the state of global womanhood, you're not crazy or militant or stupid. You just see things for what they are: That there are other human beings out here being oppressed by a failing system and that doesn't feel okay. If that last sentence is you, and you want to change things, you identify with feminism.

I'm saying all of this to say, let this blog be a place where one feminist is heard, but I don't speak for all feminists. What I love about feminism is that it's an entire spectrum. And being a feminist doesn't depend on where you find yourself within the spectrum, but more on what you can take from and give to it.

When finding Your Feminism on the Feminist Spectrum, start with some good books and videos. When I first learned about sex trafficking, I couldn't believe how real and common it is. The more I learned about what a massive problem this is, the more I also learned about the people who are fighting to stop it. Donate to them. Volunteer for them.

That's what I did when I learned about an NGO school for Cambodian refugee children in Thailand. Because of their status, they had been barred from public school. Many of the children were girls, who without education, could easily fall victim to the very sex trafficking I had been reading and watching documentaries about. I flew across the world, packed with books and supplies, and taught for 6 weeks at the school.

Beyond the day to day education they received while I was there, I showed everyone -- both girls and boys -- that a young woman (and a brown one at that!) can be educated and even teach abroad if she has the drive. Maybe that inspired them to stay in school. It's all I can hope.

But that's the thing about mindsets, they're in your mind. So only time will tell, but with the small fraction I have on this planet, I want to spend it on the paradigm shift. What about you?