There you have it folks!
Not only is Donald Trump a bigot, but now he is also a sexual assailant. (more…)
Posted in activism, behavior, bodies, body politics, culture, death, gender, loss of control, mental health, sex, sexual violence, society, Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, Body Violence, emotional health, mental health, physical health, Rape Culture, sexual assault on October 24, 2016| 4 Comments »
TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF RAPE AND SEXUAL ASSAULT.
Throughout my life, I’ve always had a core group of female friends. Of course, some friends have come and gone throughout the years, but my favorite memories with these women has always been nights during which we sit around and have intimate conversations. Last night was one of those nights.
Posted in body politics, culture, personal space, Self-Awareness, sexual violence, women's bodies, tagged bodies, body, body politics, control, Respect, society, violence, women on December 1, 2014| 2 Comments »
Bars are weird places for bodies, especially for me and my female body. In most other places there are standard rules about how it’s okay to touch someone, what to say to someone, how to interact with someone. But when it comes to the bar it seems as if this all gets jumbled, thrown in the air and mixed up. Of course people have different thoughts about what is okay when it comes to touching their body especially when drinking. But the bar is this weird social environment where things get a little tricky. There’s dancing, it’s crowded, there’s alcohol… and things seem to go wrong… a lot
I have to write once more for this blog for my grade. I’m highly motivated by grades, so despite feeling as though I have nothing to say, here I am, typing. I thought maybe I’d write about how we adjust to our unique bodily abnormalities (I don’t love this word, but I’m at a loss for another). I thought about sharing my husband’s experience of processing the bodies of fallen soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan, the forced emotional detachment he took on as body after body found its way on a table before him, waiting to be readied to head home in a plain wooden box, back to the states and no doubt a family that would never recover their loss. I thought about sharing the moment my friend, whose son died an hour after birth, told me she can’t bear to hold sleeping babies because it feels too much like holding a dead baby, and how that statement, so matter-of-fact for her, knocked the wind out of me and ripped a hole in my heart for her, right beside the one that grew as her belly swelled with the baby we both knew wouldn’t survive. Somehow, none of these felt like things I wanted to share. And as I stared at the screen, thinking, “I have nothing to say,” I recalled (with the help of some online diary entries) a time in my life when I had the reverse problem: so, so much to say, and no one to listen. And I knew. Despite how very little (very, very little) I want to share this story about myself, I need to. I owe it to my own slow recovery, the future of my children, and the potential readers who’ve maybe been here too. So, here we go.
*Deep breath* *Deep breath*
I don’t generally ascribe labels to myself (they are relentlessly negative), but most people who know feel comfortable placing “emotional” over my picture. It’s a fair assessment. As long as I can remember, I’ve been an emotional girl/woman. I cry a lot, sometimes for justified reasons (see above), sometimes because I’m easily overwhelmed by emotions. I hurt a lot, and for me, emotional pain is easily manifested physically. In times I’ve had my heart broken, I have felt an ache in my chest that made it hard to breathe. It is this essential truth about me that led me down the path of self-injury. And this truth that kept me under its weight for over 10 years. If you need a trigger warning, consider yourself warned. There won’t be images, but this will probably hurt. (more…)
(Possible trigger warning for rape subject/sexual assault)
Over the past few years I’ve been toying with the idea of joining the Peace Corps. So far I’ve received mixed reviews on whether or not it’s the right thing to do. Some say it’s a government funded semester abroad-a vacation for privileged white kids to fulfill whatever fascination or desire they have to dig wells and live in poverty for 27 months. (more…)
There was a time in my life not that long ago in which the only value or self-worth I had depended on others, men in particular. That was the only way that I knew that I had worth, was if someone else found me desirable.
*possible trigger warning for negative sexual experiences (coercion for example)*
Project Clothesline is a nationwide project that documents the experiences of survivors of sexual abuse and assault. Survivors and people who knew victims make T-shirts about their experiences. These shirts are then displayed publicly to highlight the issue of violence against women.
The Women’s Center at UMBC takes part in this project. The shirts are displayed twice a year. During relationship violence awareness month in October, and again for sexual violence awareness month in April. I saw the clothesline last year, and it really hit me.