Being a Feminist Didn’t Erase my Depression or Disordered Eating.

TRIGGER WARNING: Eating disorders, self harm.

I have never been diagnosed with an eating disorder. Words like “Disordered eating” (because somehow flipping the words makes it less extreme) have been thrown around (along with “Food Issues”, “Eating Issues”, etc.). I’m not skinny enough to look anorexic and I don’t binge and purge enough to be considered bulimic. I don’t think I have an eating disorder. I eat. I enjoy eating sometimes. And some days I look in the mirror and even think “Hey, I look skinny.”

But that is not every day. I started restricting calories in high school. My calorie goal was considered the lowest healthy amount of calories. But I would often eat less than that. I also was coming out of a period of being overweight. I lost the awkward preteen weight and just kept losing. I was never underweight, but I was really really skinny.

Then I got to college and was like “I’m not going to care anymore.” and I gained 30-40 pounds. But the weird thing was I felt good. I remember feeling happy and sexy, even if I was overweight. I was confident about my body. But junior year, I started dieting. And then I started starving. I tried to not eat anything for three days. I lost a lot of weight very quickly so it worked. But the thing was, the more weight I lost, the less confident I felt. I also was cutting out more and more foods. No breads. I went vegan after being vegetarian. I hated food. I hated myself.

This all came to a head in January when my friend made an emergency counseling appointment for me after I broke down sobbing after a night of drinking, admitting I hated myself and I didn’t want to be alive anymore. After that it was up and down. I had bad weeks but mostly it was a gray wasteland of not caring with occasional bouts of happiness or sadness.

But I’ve never gotten over the food issues. I haven’t gotten over the depression. I think about death and wanting to die at least once a day. Some days are worse than others. There is occasional self harm to deal (ineffectively) at stress. I’ve developed a nausea response to stress because I try and purge when I am angry or stressed out. Eating anything beyond a few hundred calories prompts me to want to purge. I often feel worthless when I eat. I buy laxatives and will take them when I feel like I’ve eaten too much.

The thing about not eating or purging is that it is the exact opposite of what your body wants to do and your body fights you in an effort to be healthy. Purging (which is what I struggle with) isn’t something you are supposed to do. You don’t just stick your fingers down your throat and vomit. Vomiting is an extreme body response to toxins, not to slightly too much food. Or when I take laxatives, at first I feel better because I am using it as a stress response. Instead of admitting that I am stressed/angry/feeling reject/sad, I pop some laxatives and know that any food I should be digesting from the day before and today will be shit out in a painful and day long cycle of self hate that I get to hide from my friends and family.  I feel like I pushed my body to do something other bodies couldn’t. It’s like running a marathon but instead of telling others and sharing your training stories and feeling proud and healthy and strong, you feel shame and self hate and weak.

Both are exhausting.

I’m exhausted.

I’m in counseling but that means that the few days after therapy are often my worst response days. Because eating disorders and disordered eating aren’t just about wanting to be thinner. I use destructive food behaviors when I am upset. Part of my counseling has been to identify when I am feeling negative emotions instead of suppressing them or taking them out in a self harming sort of way. When I am angry or very upset, I tend to scratch my arms; sometimes my fingernails just leave red marks, other times they leave long bloody scratches.  I don’t want to feel the emotion that was hurting me, so I feel the physical pain. And seeing the scabs allows me to put off feeling the emotion and just feel the physical pain. I don’t have to think about why I was upset or put a name to that emotion; I can just feel a physical manifestation of it.

Now I label everything. “I want to scratch because I am feeling rejected and that makes me feel alone and sad.” It doesn’t always work, because naming and experiencing feelings is a process; I can’t just get it out of the way. I have to allow myself to feel the emotion, see how it is effecting my day, try and find a solution that doesn’t involve harming my body. It’s the last part that is tricky.

Also, self harm, depression, eating too much and then not eating and taking laxative have become comforting to me. I know the range of emotions that I am capable of feeling when I place myself within in this box. I have recently gone through a short period of time when I was feeling happy. Days were intrinsically good with maybe some blah moments instead of intrinsically blah with few good moments. But instead of enjoying it, I felt extremely suspicious of the whole period. Yes, I loved feeling good all the time, but I was waiting for the feeling to go away, for the badness to manifest itself in a larger and worse way. And then yesterday on my way to class when I thought “I wish I was dead right now” a huge wave of relief and comfort came over me. This feeling was familiar, more so than the feeling of happiness, and I welcomed it.

Welcoming my depression back is badness manifesting itself in a larger and worse way. This is how people die from EDs or mental illnesses, because fighting is so damn hard. I can’t just address it in a counseling session and then be better all week. It is a constant battle with myself, for myself. I have to relearn which thoughts and feelings to trust. Don’t trust the thought that shouts at me that I’m a worthless piece of slutty fat shit. Trust the thought that whispers I’m upset because of that bad grade, or a fight with a friend, or because I was rejected by a romantic interest. Its fighting to remove all the negative adjectives around how I label my life and replace them with neutral or positive ones.

It’s hard to combat a culture of fat shaming when I can barely go a day without fat shaming myself. I’m living a very real case of “Fake It Till You Make It” and I’m not faking it very well and I’m certainly not making it. Being a feminist didn’t magically erase body issues for me. Body image doesn’t suddenly improve when I’m writing about patriarchy. Body image translates into many different feminist issues: self worth, culture, fashion, Women of Color body images, trans* issues. If you would like to write us a post for any of these issues, please let us know in the comments!

Also, check out these tumblrs. They personally help me through the rough days! http://edrecoveryprobs.com/ and http://humorinrecovery.tumblr.com/

Take America

Disclaimer: The following is a super awesome guest post/poem by one of our readers. You can listen to it in a link below.

Take America

by Jas Smith

 

Take America

Blacks were 3/5 of men

Minus the 40 acres, now what’s the difference?

Take the world

2 letters and Women are 1/2 of men?

Earning 77 to His, now what’s difference?

 

Ain’t this my land?

You told me I was free.

Or are we the new slaves and there’s a price on me?

 

When you consider me a dime

And just a penny for my thoughts–

You taking value in my looks–

But forget that make-up costs?

Make-up time– You know what? Your fault, your loss.

No time to ask because

Man, now I’m the boss

 

But for reals, you know how much you’re taxing me?

Really, she ain’t got time for just sitting in the

 

backseat.

 

Fuck that, she go’n’ take everything– no receipt.

Take care, she got a mind

Says “Man, I’m taking mine.”

Making my way, damn right– robbing you blind.

Man, I ain’t got time for a dumbass debate

That’s fucking with a system that WASPs manipulate

‘Cause, homie, better believe we the new aftermath

Woman Black, can yall handle that?

Listening to Yeezy then Fiasco’s Bitch Bad

Got reason enough, but you don’t understand

You won’t understand

You can’t fuck with that

You can’t fuck with me

My mind holds more power in it like you best believe.

3/5 and 1/2– what does that infer?

Add it up, sooner or later you’ll figure out my worth.

-Jas Smith

An Open Letter to Right Wing Extremists

Disclaimer: This is rated G for Guest Post

 

I got into a very good discussion this morning with a friend about all the political chaos going on right now and it just reminded me of how little extreme conservatives care about my opinion. I haven’t felt like I’ve had a voice or a say in anything going on, and sometimes that makes being a strong, confident, capable, independent woman a lot harder than it should be. So I wanted to write something speaking specifically to those extreme conservatives who don’t seem to understand:

 

Dear Right Wing Extremists,

 

For a group of people that seem to support Christianity so much, I find you all to be highly hypocritical. If you’re going to take the bible so literally then why don’t you pay attention to the concrete actions that your lord and savior did throughout his life time. First I want to address the Affordable Care Act and the government shut down. And to do so I need to give you a little background. I am a confident, intelligent woman. I work hard, I save my money, I study hard to earn an advanced degree in order to become a highly productive and contributive  member of this society. Yes, I have lived in other countries and spent time abroad but I love living in this country and all the opportunities that it affords me, most of the time. I am in no way ungrateful. I am the model of American success, but that’s not good enough because I have a vagina. I know you may be surprised by what I am about to say, but I menstruate each and every month. This is a very basic, very inevitable fact of life. I felt cursed when the first day of my cycle every month (if I was lucky enough to be regular) I would awaken to crippling pain. It was literally so bad that I could not walk and would sometimes pass out. I couldn’t go to school or work during the first day of my cycle, and I’m not even explaining all of my symptoms. If you would like to have a conversation some time I would be glad to go into all of the details of how heavy my flow was. The thing is, symptoms of this severity are not normal. Is this my fault? Did I ask to be born a woman? No. And did you know that there is a very lovely little pill that regulates female hormones that can bring these severe symptoms to normal levels for some women? This pill is most commonly referred to as birth control. When I am on this pill I don’t have to disrupt my entire life every month. And at age 15 when I had finally found this solution I was not having sex. So please tell me how your money was paying for me to have sex. I am very tired of hearing you complain about paying for slutty women to have sex when you don’t even know some of the basic practical uses for this pill. Am I a slut because birth control allows me to go to work on the first day of my cycle? No. If I’m concerned about not having kids I’ll use a condom. Birth control is about more than just sex, and if I want to use it to keep from having kids in a society that wants to give me no choice as to what to do with my own body and has such strict guidelines for what constitutes rape that is my own damn business. My body belongs to me and no one else and until you know what it feels like to have someone tell you otherwise, you get no say in the matter. You have no right to question me about what I do in my own bedroom (or the metaphorical bedroom at least, because let’s be honest, people have sex like everywhere nowadays). Do I come up to you Mr. Conservative and ask if you and your wife are doing it missionary style every Wednesday night or do you like BDSM? Do you use condoms or do you just “spill your seed on her belly”? It would be completely inappropriate for me to ask that and I highly doubt I would get an answer. It is disgusting an insulting that I even have to justify myself, or explain what rape is to you. The thing that really gets me is that you have taken this issue and made it your poster child. And that you were so enraged that I was given the chance to obtain this medicine through insurance, that you literally shut down the ENTIRE government, making many go without pay. My question to you is: How much do you have to hate a person, or how little do you have to think of them that you would shut down an entire government just to protest their rights. You make me feel like less of a citizen and less of a person. And you don’t deserve to have any power or say over me. Please tell me what I personally did to make you hate me so much.  Until then, I hope you can’t sleep knowing that you’re taking money away from hard working Americans and putting our country further in debt.

 

Uncordially yours,

 

-Scotch

 

The Cage of Patriarchy: Not Just For Women

My experience is not your experience. My reality in which I experience life is a vastly different reality than yours. This range of human experience is at once a means of learning and a means of self absorption, depending on how you look at it. For instance, I will never experience Onnissia’s reality. I will never know how I would be viewed as a black woman. My reality, even with its own set of problems and challenges, is granted a great deal of privilege. Because of this, I can either listen and ask questions and learn about how my privilege affects both my reality and others’ realities, or, I can tell myself I will never be able to experience another reality and so I refuse to care or to try and learn, resigning myself to the fact that I am stuck within my privilege.

It is tempting to equate Privilege with Ease. In some cases, they are the same. Life will be easier for me than for a woman of color. I will make much more money. I will never be followed in a store. I can buy makeup easily because they have my skin tone. Even when I am objectified, it is a more privileged objectification. I am not fetishized because of my skin color. I am just a white girl and there is a safety in that.

When we are talking about the privilege of the patriarchy, we sometimes fail to address the cage of that privilege. Women have always been trapped, in some way or another. The knowledge that there IS a cage is a sort freedom. We know we must escape. But what if you don’t have that knowledge? You are still trapped even if your cage is larger and comfier.

When we talk about patriarchy, the Patriarchy is sometime misinterpreted as “Men”. Men in general. Individual men. My friends, men are trapped like women. There is a social structure that is difficult to extract themselves from. But while women have acknowledged the cage and have been told to acknowledge the cage, men are only reminded of their privilege. It is like saying “You aren’t trapped! Look at all the room you have in your cage. I am the one that is trapped.” Yes, there are some realities that are given more challenges. But just because a man can never experience my reality does not mean that his reality is without challenges, or pain, or social expectations.

Do men have a judgement-free work experience? There is so much emphasis in women going into male dominated fields but there is little or no talk about men going into female dominated fields. “Girls need to be engineers!” but rarely are there essays on feminist blogs about how “Boys need to be teachers!”

Can a man not like sex? No, men are defined by their sex drive. If you are not super sexual, you are not masculine.  If a woman doesn’t like sex as much as her male partner, she is normal, a stereotype, a joke. But if a man doesn’t like sex as much as his female partner, he is weak, a failure, weird, gay. His strength in society comes from his apparent sex drive.

Can a man wear a skirt or a dress without wearing “women’s clothes”? As the comedian Eddie Izzard said, when a woman wears pants, she is just wearing pants, not MEN’S pants. But when a man wears a skirt or a dress, he is wearing WOMEN’S clothes.

Obviously, it is a more complex issue than this short post can delve into. But a man cannot experience anything that is considered feminine because it will lessen his masculinity. In a culture where masculinity is the source of power, the source of strength, the source of control, a lack of “masculinity” means that you are stuck in a cage.  Yes, manhood is privileged in our society and men should strive to use their privilege for good. But being a man does not mean that you are free of the effects of the patriarchy. It might just mean you are told you can’t complain about them.

Here is a relevant Spoken Word Poem that illustrates this. Please watch. It’s so worth your time. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNPaoszr11U

-F

Living the Life

The following is rated G for Great Guest post:

I woke up, tired and groggy as usual. It’s been difficult to sleep lately due to nightmares. Maybe my nightmares are sparked from a very intense class studying political violence, maybe last night’s terrors stemmed from a casual comment on the drive home. “Someone was roofied last night at _______ frat house.” Who knows, either way I pulled myself out of bed.

The first thing I noticed was how it was still dark outside. I naively thought 5:30 AM would yield some light, instead it was still starry. I quickly rummaged through my boxes from D.C. to find the pepper spray a friend gave me before I left, but abandoned the cause to get ready instead. By the time I timidly stepped outside, I had already given myself a few pep talks about the ride to campus. It’ll be dark and I’ll be riding alone along the bike trail that often sways away from the backs of apartments and through thick bush. I turned on NPR to get my mind off my silly fears. It was Ira Glass talking about an investigation on a woman who seemingly killed the man who was sexually assaulting her. Gee thanks.

I made it to campus, still riding in pitch black darkness. I cut across past Old Main along the lighted trail, idly remembering my tour freshmen year: “And this, ladies, is the most well lit part of campus. If you’re walking alone at night, you can walk on this path so you can see who’s around you,” said my chipper frat-tastic tour guide. Same tour guide who later said: “Oh, there’s my brother James over there. Everyone yell – James is a faggot! Okay, go!” A truly comforting welcome to my alma mater.

It was finally 8:30 and the rain had let up. Our manager gathered us around in a circle to introduce the guy who would be leading us. He was young, seemed nice. We’d by then now changed into our baseball t-shirts for girls and jerseys for guys. It was a half of a minute before I looked up to make eye contact with Chris, now giving us instructions on how to be outgoing. His eyes were locked on my boobs. Okay, well it’s a baseball t-shirt. Sorry and get over it. Nope, he continued to instruct my boobs on how to be outgoing. I glanced around, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. I tried to cross my arms to subtly get the point across – fuck off. Nothing deterred it, and I’m pretty sure his eyes didn’t look up to the latitude any of our faces a single time. Whatever.

There was an hour left and I had been laying it on thick to the crowd of passing fans. Nothing too bad, a few ‘sweeties’ – but it’s the South and I can take that without batting an eye. I smiled and talked to an old man – white hair, probably could be my grandfather if we did the math.

“Now, I know you’re South Carolina fan, but you could still get some free sunglasses or coozie, sir.”

“What’s that? Free stuff?” – he was suddenly standing very close to me. Right next to me, like longtime pals.

“Yeah, sunglasses or a shirt even.” I said, feigning a smile.

“Oh, I know what free stuff means, just wondered what kind.” He laughed and raised his eyebrows. I got uncomfortable again. Cool, an old man insinuating sex. This is a good time.

“Well, they’re all over there so go ahead and grab you something.” And go away.

“How ‘bout a hug for some sunglasses?” I realized he was stepping even closer. At first it seemed fine – whatever, just give the old man a hug. My friend Oni, thankfully shot me the – Are you fucking kidding me? side-eye and I felt uncomfortable again.

Then it dawned on me, breaking through the bullshit cloud I put up with- Oh right, why is this grown-ass stranger asking for a hug? It’s funny, he’s old – just let it be creepy and get it over with! Then I remembered, Oh wait, this is completely inappropriate. He’s not trying to hug the football toss workers, just you in your stupid tight baseball shirt. I didn’t step back, but I made sure to screw up my face with disgust and pointed to the sunglasses.

“You can just grab ‘em yourself, sir.” He laughed a jolly laugh, appeared to think about patting me on the shoulder and then walked off.

It was time to pack up and walk home. Oni and I discussed how inappropriate our boss was on the walk home, she had got the stare too. When we split paths, I took the bike path home again. This time it wasn’t scary, but I got catcalled. I considered pulling my hoodie over the tank top I was wearing even though I was already sweating, but instead cut to a side street to get away from everyone.

As I locked up my bike, I had to laugh and wonder how my day would have gone if I didn’t have boobs. If I wasn’t viewed as a sex object all day and even reminded of it all day. Wondered how it’d feel to not be blatantly disrespected and nervous to speak up about it. I wish it wasn’t my job to have to tell someone to respect me. I wish it was a given, not a challenge.

It haunts my dreams – the stories I read about women being sexually assaulted… 1 in 4 on a college campus? The casual mentions of women our age getting drugged on our campus by our own fellow students? Yes, guys can definitely be sexually assaulted and hurt very much from the after effects. But what if I were to get raped in my senior semester? Could I possibly handle having a child before I graduate? Could I even tell anyone? It controls my life from the moment I wake up – it surrounds my every moment even when I’m not seeking it out.

I didn’t do anything extraordinary today. I merely took a job to get money to visit my boyfriend… and yet every step of my day I was reminded how little my safety, comfort, and respect means to many men around me. This wasn’t the worst day ever. I’m going to eat some Popeye’s and get over it, but I wish I didn’t have to get over it. I just wanted to share what it’s like living a day in the life.

Six Steps on How to Save the Day

So this really neat video is floating around the interwebs about how this Black woman was spared public humility by her really white looking, but actually half-blackBsister-in-law.

Everyone’s like, “Yay! Save the poor Black people.”

And I’m like, “Nooooo, staph. This is bad.”

Black people don’t need saving. Help, sure, but not saving.

Saving someone can be good, but it’s also an easy way to look like a douche-bag with a White savior complex that is performing an act of charity. It’s also an easy way to get cussed out.

So now you’re probably wondering, “Well fuck, what am I supposed to do? Just sit there?”

Nope. You don’t have to. I’m gonna share with you six steps on how to intervene because nothing is worse than being silent. When you see something bad happening, but you don’t say something you are helping to perpetuate that behavior. By choosing to be silent, you have become social proof that that action is okay; you become a bystander supporting something you don’t mean to.

So what do you? I’m not really sorry about my language in this next part.

HOW TO NOT BE A MOTHERFUCKIN’ BYSTANDER

1. Notice what the fuck is happening.

Take a moment. Evaluate the goddamn situation. Is it even safe your ass to intervene? Is someone getting knocked the fuck out? Is someone going to knock you the fuck out? Are you outside or inside? Do you have a getaway car or escape plan in case things go south?

2. Realize that what the fuck is happening is a motherfucking problem.

Do you have a bad feeling your gut that is not from the spicy burrito you had earlier? If so, then you have a motherfucking problem.

 3. Grow a pair dammit! Be it a pair of ovaries or balls.

Being brave is serious shit, especially if you not a superhero and terrified of what could happen. Doesn’t matter now. Suck it up and grow a  damn backbone ‘cause things are about to get interesting.

4. Assume that you are the only fucking person that will do something about stopping the fucking problem.

Because everybody else is waiting to what’s about to happen. If you do have someone that is brave enough to help, consider them a godsend.

5. Know how to fucking help.

Nothing is worse than a dumb-ass trying to help that doesn’t know how to fucking help because that just makes the situation ten times worse. Please use common sense during this part especially. If someone is being held at gunpoint, you probably have to be a ninja to help them. If you are not a ninja, consider other options.

6. Actually start helping once you figure out how to fucking help

This is the part where you go in. Good luck.

-O

Honey, It’s Because You’re In Arkansas

This post is rated P for really personal.

I’ve been thinking about writing this for a while since I think it’s such a personal matter, but I feel the need to talk about it. There are days where I definitely wish I had companion (or a companion cube for all you Portal fans out there). I know that I have flaws and strengths, but  I am confident that I am a relatively decent human being that is pretty easy on the eyes.

So I can’t help but think, “What is the hold up?”

More often than not, my friends (both male and female) say, “It’s because you’re in Arkansas.”

What they’re really saying is, “Honey, it’s because you’re Black (in Arkansas).”

The reality of that statement hurts.

Like cry-yourself-to-sleep-at-night hurt.

And here’s why:

In this world in which we live, a woman is only as valuable as her beauty.

This is why there is a shit ton of  cosmetic products for women and almost none for men.

If what is valued in this region is whiteness, it easy to feel insecure about something that you have absolutely no control over. In most of my classes, I am the only dark and Black person present. For many of my friends, I am their only Black friend. I am a minority in many aspects of my life and I am valued less when compared to someone with fairer skin in regards to beauty.

Now before you start throwing around “racist,” I just want to say that I know that there is a difference between preference and racism.

But despite of all of that, it doesn’t matter how smart or silly or witty or awesome that I can be.

If someone sees that I am dark, right off the bat I am undesirable.

And when I am desired it’s because, “Well, I’ve always wanted to do it with a Black chick.”

In this case, it’s because I’m a check mark on someone’s list of things to fuck, which makes me feel more like an object than anything else.

In response to being Black in Arkansas, I just try to let it go. I know that I’d much rather be alone and happy with who I am over being in a shitty relationship. I’d much rather be celibate for the rest of my life than fuck someone that only wants to use me for my body.

But it’s not easy when I’m constantly bombarded with the value of whiteness every time I leave my own room. It takes a lot of strength to realize that in a place that values everything I am not that I must remember that I are indeed valuable. It’s like trying to use a gem for currency when most people only see a rock.

I am proud of who I am and I am unwilling to negotiate myself in exchange for something that is cheap and un-fulfilling.

And you should know that you are valuable and you should be proud of who you are, too.

-O

I Don’t Know How to Deal with NOT Having It All

I was beginning to ask my friends if we could go on a road trip for the upcoming break earlier today when I stopped mid-sentence because I realized two things.

1. I don’t have that sort of free time because I have two jobs, I run a big ass organization, and I’m taking a grad course as an undergrad
2. I don’t have the money because I am excruciatingly poor.

The problem with poverty is that people caught up in poverty can only invest all of their time in satiating that poverty. I say satiate because very rarely does anyone rise out of the sad cycle that is poverty, so satisfying basic needs is as good as it gets. People living in poverty rarely have the free time to do anything else.

Who the fuck wants to go out and protest when you’re trying to find out if you’re even going to get dinner tonight or if you’re going to have electricity tomorrow?

NOFUCKINGBODY!

I say that because I’m living it now and I have lived it. Poverty has been my whole my life. And it’s not easy.

I can’t pay for health insurance because I’m too busy trying to pay for my education. I don’t have the time to write because I’m too busy working (I’m actually writing this at work). I’m too busy working because if I don’t work now, I don’t get to graduate or go to grad school and remove myself FROM poverty. If I don’t work now, I’ll be working like this for the rest of my life.

I can’t run to mommy or grandma or grandpa because they’re stuck, too. They don’t have trust funds because they’re too busy trying to make sure that they have the basics: Shelter, clothing, food.

And don’t ask me about daddy because he ain’t around.

I can’t go on a trip because if I do, I can lose more money AND my job and if I lose that then I am shit out of luck because then I can’t go to school.

I can’t have a relationship. I can’t have health insurance. I can’t fly home if there’s an emergency. I can’t protest. I can’t do anything.

Ask me about scholarships? I got a scholarship once. Wanna know what happened? I was penalized. Yah. The University ended up taking away more money from me (in government aid) than how much the scholarship itself was actually worth. If I didn’t fight to get that money back, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be back home with my mother in California doing what I do best–

Working.

Who makes those decisions anyway?

Our loving law-makers. Most of them are people that are born with privilege making decisions that keep the under-privileged and the impoverished exactly where they are. They don’t know what it’s like to not have to worry about the lights coming on tomorrow when they can’t afford it because they always have the luxury and privilege to not think twice about it. When we bring it up, they don’t listen to us because we’re under-educated and we don’t know jack shit.

Then they cut back on funding educational programs…

It’s a sick, sad, cycle and that keeps us here.

In the same place.

I. Am. Stuck.

Trapped.

Incapable of moving.

People with privilege get to have free time. They get to have hobbies. They get to have relationships and time to meet new people. They get hangout with their friends. They get to change the world.

Everything that is in my life right now is essential for my survival and my success as a student and no matter much it SUCKS, no matter how hard I work, no matter how deserving I am, I cannot and will not have it all.

It’s frustrating. It makes me want to cry. It’s makes me want to pull my hair out. It makes me want to scream.

I am a slaving myself away to things that I literally can’t afford to give up.

My only option is to keep working until I find a way out.

-O

HI! I’m a Virgin

I’m also a math student, a girlfriend, a Catholic, a sister, a college kid, a lover, a rock climber, and a coffee drinker. But I’m not embarrassed to admit to any of those classifications.

I’ve never been a fan of labels. I don’t label my friends, I don’t label religions, I don’t label relationships. If you’re friends with someone, you get along with them. If you believe in a god, you follow it. If you’re dating someone, you’re together. Simple.

So why have I always felt different about charging the label “virgin?” Why is sexual status so black and white?
I was raised in Southern Catholic private schools. I had an uncomfortable yet thorough sex education in 9th grade with my immature peers that ultimately revealed abstinence as the only guaranteed way to not get pregnant. I learned about birth control and STDs and started secretly reading Cosmopolitan with my girlfriends, so I entered the real world with a lot of sexual education and zero sexual experience. Virginity was always expected of me, and I assumed it was always expected of everyone graduating from my tiny Catholic junior high.

Later, I learned that the health teachers at my school were constantly stressed because they knew some of their students just wouldn’t listen, would go on to high school, get pregnant, and have to drop out.

I’m a virgin for a lot of personal reasons as well as the obvious religious reason, and my choices have always been respected, amongst my friends and men I’ve dated.

But when women’s magazines are locked in debate over whether to have sex with him on the second or third date, when women in movies always wake up delicately wrapped in white sheets at some point, when I get handed free condoms on campus, or when my own mother gives me the birth control talk whenever I bring a gentleman home, it’s hard to remain firm in this particular identity. Even in the Bible Belt, social pressure to have sex definitely exists, and it’s more overwhelming than the religious pressure to remain a virgin. Hanging on to my innocent reputation makes me feel more naïve than empowered at times.

Sex is a personal choice. It’s a choice that comes with a lot of emotion and responsibility. It’s a choice I can support for others, as long as it’s comfortable, healthy, and safe for everyone involved. I know sexual attraction and love are very real things. I’m not scared to address it and make sure my peers are being responsible and safe. The consequences are literally not worth not taking precautions.

My point is, talk about it. Don’t make sexuality a closed subject, because that leads to miscommunication and embarrassment (I learned this the hard way – apparently some guys don’t want to only cuddle after a night of drinking). Consent and communication are key. Whether you’ve had zero sexual partners or fifty, just be respectful and comfortable and open in a potentially sexual situation.

No one is required to have sex, and no one is required to not have sex. That’s two different brands of patriarchy talking that we need to get rid of. Just make sure it’s your own choice, and one you’re happy with.

-Anonymous

Music Review: Bow Down?

WARNING: Guest post follows

Pop culture shows us our standards. It reflects what we accept from others and the popular opinion of the world we have inherited. You may think that it doesn’t matter because that song is about her and not you, but it does. No woman should be seen as a lesser kind, because if we allow a hierarchy in the female world, then it is just as bad as saying we are the weaker sex. As a woman, I believe it is our responsibility to listen to the lyrics.

 

Beyoncé.

I’m a big fan of Beyoncé, but her single “Bow Down/ I’ve Been On” isn’t one I’m cheering on, and it’s mainly for one word in that song: “bitches.” I don’t dislike this song. The track has an edge to it that gives it that “Beyoncé-fierce.” Allow me to simplify my reaction through gifs.

 

I’m all dancing and feeling the swag of the song,

 

but then I hear that word and I’m like

 

Basically it’s not a word I’d expect a respected woman like Beyoncé to use– especially when it sounds like she’s talking to her fans. Her lyrics?

“I know when you were little girls

You dreamt of being in my world.

Don’t forget it, Don’t forget it

Respect that

Bow down bitches.”

It takes only the first two lines of her lyrics to realize that she refers to the people who looked up to her. But what does it mean when she is calling only her female fans “bitches”? Why put it in these terms? It is not hypercritical to ask why; but it isn’t good to just accept it. This song reflects a female hierarchy that is becoming more apparent and more explicit in our culture. Where do you draw the line?

She may not actually be singing about or to her fans in “Bow Down,” but she is still offensive. First off, talking down to other women/girls is demeaning. We can’t be respected as women if we’re putting down other women to make us “seem better.” We’re not better for it– because, ultimately, our words reflect back on our own character.

If she wanted to flaunt her status, she did it better in the song “Ego” where she says “I talk like this ’cause I can back it up.” Overall, the song is catchy but the lyrics send the wrong message.

Once we are aware of lyrics like this, we can ask more from our pop music. Besides, Beyoncé’s larger body of work involves female empowerment, confidence, and no-nonsense– and that’s worth celebrating.

 

“Run the World (Girls)”

the whole song is an anthem to women

+”Girls, who run the world? Girls”

 

“Best Thing I’ve Never Had”

a song about not letting a man get the best of her or manipulate her feelings

+”And I’m gon’ always be the/ Best thing you’ve never had”

+”It’s time to face the facts/ That I’m the one that’s got away”

 

“Listen”

a song asserting herself as an individual

+ “I’m more than what you made of me”

+ “Oh, the time has come for my dreams to be heard/ They will not be pushed aside and turned/

Into your own all ’cause you won’t/ Listen”

 

“Irreplaceable”

a song about respecting her own judgment and not letting a man define her

+ “In the closet, that’s my stuff/ Yes, if I bought it, baby, please don’t touch /

And keep talking that mess, thats fine/ Could you walk and talk, at the same time?”

 

“Single Ladies”

a song about not letting a man disrespect her or control what she does

+”I need no permission, did I mention/ Don’t pay him any attention/

‘Cause you had your turn, and now you gonna learn/ What it really feels like to miss me”

 

“If I Were a Boy”

a song admitting what type of behavior she doesn’t deserve to put up with

+ “It’s a little too late for you to come back (No)/ Say it’s just a mistake/

Think I’d forgive you like that (I don’t)/ If you thought I would wait for you/

You thought wrong (I’m better off)”

+ “When you lose the one you wanted/ Cause he’s taken you for granted”

 

“Ego”

a song saying she is worth it and she knows it

+”You can leave with me or you could have the blues,/ Some call it arrogant, I call it confident”

+ “I talk like this ’cause I can back it up,/ I got a big ego, such a huge ego”

 

“Beautiful Liar”

a duet about putting self-respect over break-up sadness

+”It’s not worth our time/ We can live without him/ Just a beautiful liar”

 

Just some food for thought.

-J