“Grab her pu***”

Ok, I am not a political person. If you know me at all you know this. I avoid the news like some people avoid horror movies, I have never voted for a candidate who was republican or democrat, I tend to either become silent or leave a conversation if it becomes political even remotely. My husband is the only person who knows many of my political leanings or ideas because I think it sours people and relationships to get into the kind of debate politics tends to spark. However, something came up in my personal life today that I just have to comment on. It is completely irrelevant in some ways because the conversation centered around Trump and whether he is good or bad he is in charge. In some ways, however, it is more than relevant, and will be at any time in any culture.

A person in my life and I were arguing today, honestly I’m not even sure what the argument was about. I thought it was whether or not I had reason to believe Trump was a bad person, but later she said she agreed he was bad but kept defending her side, so I have no idea. The important part of the conversation, however, was that I told her about what Trump said about it being ok for a man to “grab her pu***.” Her immediate response was to tell me that she saw a post on Facebook of women in plunging necklines and she couldn’t help but think “What did they expect?”

Ok. For those of you who already understand why this is an issue, I’ll let you just sit with that for a second.

Imagine the screams that wanted to emerge from me. Suffice it to say, that any true emotion(that disagrees with hers) is not accepted by this person, however, so I was required to keep my calm.

Here we go.

IT IS NEVER OK FOR A MAN TO SEXUALLY ASSAULT A WOMAN.

You may say, “well, duh of course not, but what did they think was going to happen?”

No.

“Don’t you think they are inviting it?”

No.

Just. No.

It is infuriating to me that this kind of ignorance is touted as a real teaching in Christianity. Modesty, which by the way does not mean “Cover every inch of your body, you are disgusting and a temptation,” is taught as if it does. Women are encouraged not to be alone with men, because then we are encouraging them. If a woman wears something too tight, too low, too loose, then we are tempting them. I grew up traditional Catholic with weekly if not daily lectures on modesty, do you know how often I heard men talked to about respecting the wfemale body? Exactly never. I don’t count anti-porn addiction because the way that is taught is really as just another thing for men to blame their bad behavior on.(Not saying porn is ok, in fact that is a huge post for another time.)

I never heard anyone talk about how to respect a woman’s body and boundaries.

[I should note, before I go on, that while I never heard this talk to men growing up, I did have a fantastic college professor who discussed how men should view women, and he helped me to understand what I am talking about in this post.]

Now, first of all, this is a teaching that is not really even necessary for most women, because women have not been taught that anything we do is excused by the clothes that men wear.

Second of all, the example far too frequently used “if you put a great dessert on the table, do you expect people to eat it?” is laughable and demeaning. A woman’s body is not food for a man to take as he wishes. I don’t care if I put cookies out on the table and you eat them. Cookies are not a part of a human being, they do not have consciousness, they do not (as far as we know) have an opinion as to whether or not they are eaten. I could go into the Christian argument that woman’s body is made in the image of God and is therefore sacred, but I’d rather simply say, a woman is a PERSON, not an object.

Those who talk about how women “objectify” themselves by dressing in a certain way, need to reflect on what they are saying. A woman who is a PERSON makes herself an OBJECT because she wears something that does not fit into your guidelines of what is appropriate.

Is that true? Can we accuse a woman of doing that? Women in Africa go topless everyday, are they objects now or still people? When a baby is born naked, are they only an object because they are not wearing clothes? No. And it would be ridiculous to say so. But, you say, these states of dress are appropriate in their culture, or their situation. Back to the Facebook comment, what is and had been for some time the culture of Hollywood? Revealing, provocative styles designed to make a statement are the cultural fashion if you will. A plunging neckline is frequently the mildest of these things, but even a piece that pushes boundaries farther still fits into the culture of that situation.

Those who argue that women are objectifying themselves, are basically saying that a man can treat this kind of woman however he wants because she has made herself an object. No matter what a woman is wearing she still has the basic reasoning and consciousness of self that is the typical way of recognizing personhood. She is and always will be a person, and can NOT be treated like an object.

The argument itself is actually degrading in a deeply sinister way if you think about it. No one argues that a man is compromising his personhood if he wears no shirt, but if a woman wears a deep v, she is no longer a person?

Take a second to think about that.

Why do women only possess personhood if you deem their outfit appropriate?

Honestly, I feel that there’s nothing I can add to that.

Why am I only a person, therefore deserving respect, if I wear what you say I should?

Note: This isn’t meant to be a philosophical essay, or I could have gone into the definition of personhood and argued more academically my points. My point is to say my thoughts on the issue today, and these are them, do with them what you will.

Motherhood DID Ruin My Life

I keep seeing all these posts from other women that are supposed to be jabs at “the liberals” for talking about how miserable having lots of kids makes them.(I know I know Stereotype but it’s not my stereotype it’s theirs!) Instead it just makes me feel like they are showing off how awesome their life is.

Now I know they aren’t doing this on purpose, but having kids has been the most miserable experience of my life. For 26 years I looked forward to being married. I was so excited for everything about it but a big part of how excited I was was the sex! So obviously hubby and I had sex every chance we got when we first got married. 9 times the first day, and at least once after that.

Until we lost Emma. Now, losing Emma was not as simple as it looks in the movies. I gave up a job I had been working for for 2 years to keep her safe, Hubby and I worried constantly and panicked about the insurance and taking care of her and where she was going to live, I was miserably tired and sick the entire time I was pregnant and SO fat. I gained a whole size the 9 weeks I was pregnant with her.

Then actually losing her was the most horrifying thing you can imagine. Huge blood clots, blood constantly steaming out of me, so much blood it just constantly streamed even when I was the shower, insane cramps, and panic attacks so severe you can’t imagine. Even most of the women I know who’ve had miscarriages don’t seem to have panicked as severely as I did. I was sure I was going to die.

Then she was gone. I did not even get to hold a beautiful baby girl at the end of it. I got nothing good, just loss and utter misery. And worse, now sex, which I looked forward to for 26 years, became a nightmare. Every time we are together it becomes about avoiding a baby, no simple love anymore. Charting, dating, recording, timing. All conspiring to make it really hard to just enjoy each other.

Then I got sick of it. We tried again. Lost Charlie at 3 or 4 weeks. I didn’t even get far enough to feel like I can grieve him. But I know he was there, and that was a miscarriage clot. I NEVER have clots at the time of the month, and that time of the month was way too early to not be losing my baby boy. That was followed by quite a panic attack.

Then, I find out that my religion forbids oral sex. I asked priests for 2 years if they did, but I don’t find out they forbid until it becomes the only way I survive our time avoiding. So my religion is in tatters and has become a weapon against my survival.

Now if I go to Church I have to listen to them talk about how great women are if they have lots of babies. And if I go to a Catholic young adults group my husband and I get stares, and glares, and other couples boasting about getting pregnant after “only 3 months” of being married. Well, I TRIED. I did not want to have kids, but I gave it a chance because I love my husband and my Church wanted us to have kids, and I did not want to do NFP. And only 3 months? We were pregnant within a week. And in that week we lost our chances for a blissful first year of being newlyweds.

And that is just a taste of everything motherhood has done to me.

So, motherhood didn’t ruin your life? Great. Good for you. I am glad you got so fucking lucky. But I didn’t. Motherhood ruined me. I am a completely different person now, and I don’t want to be her. This isn’t who I am. But now it is.

Meadows and Flame

I’m coming to you once again today,
Naked of soul in child’s innocence,
Robed in lavish scarlet of latent love,
And dying for just one moment of truth.

Years of whispering to the night sky,
Yield to the flit of a deer’s flaming tail,
Turning to defy bloodied hunter’s hands,
At the iminent threat to her romance.

The flames beyond beckon her forth
In fear and jubilation’s mysteried threat,
A monster or a dream far, far too perfect,
Driving her into the abandoned meadow.

Flit fair doe for flaws are waiting-
Faint, for the weary road you trod ends not.
It goes on, for the one not stout enough of heart,
The one not willing to sacrifice herself to either flame.

Writing to Write

The pen hits paper.

Metaphorically. No one uses paper and pen anymore.

I start speaking innermost thoughts, no feelings…no,
I start painting my inner landscape outside of my body.
The sadness of one day becomes a vicarious violent jaunt across a blood red sky.
The joy of another becomes a happiness medley, a fogue of smiling bays.

Mockery comes from some edges.
Only Romantics write their feelings.
But the Confessional Poets didn’t do too bad.
And I’m not writing feelings anyway. Weren’t you listening?

Anyway who cares what the captain of the Old Guard says.
He never liked you anyway.
Well, or he never was willing to act like he did.

He isn’t here though, and there’s more to do.
Don’t think you didn’t notice the jab of missing him,

but keep on.

I have something to say.

Writing is life in a way.
Speaking, promising, like in The King’s Speech, “I HAVE A VOICE.”
Proclaiming to the world that Yes, I, me, matter.
In the great grand scheme of things.
I, me.

So you continue writing
And don’t stop.
When the phantom chants to you of the Old Enmity,
Look at the blood red rose,
And breathe out.

The Long Lost Love

Penelope glides across a railing
As she watches the tumultuous sea.
Cloud masses rise above, pierced as lightning
Cuts across the night’s looming ebony.

As her blackened hair turns, sad eyes appear,
And gaze into the distance wistfully,
For the long lost love who had once been here,
But had sailed these long years restlessly.

She knew not what dragons came upon him,
Or what treacherous siren threatened,
But as she stood at end-of-the world’s brim
The monster’s taunt said she was sure-condemned.

New knights beckoned to the fair maiden within,
Begging her join frolick and debauchery,
But her gaze was fixed upon what had been
and what dragon must have made this quandary.

Sing sweetly, my beloved Penelope,
And wait while dragons fall, and I find thee.

Searching

Is it calling me home?
Are the lights that go astray my beacon?
To life do I come?
Or do I leave and give in, and then weaken?

She says the lights are shining,
Turn to stone,
But I am asking,
Are they calling me home?

If they are calling me, why?
And where, where is home?

For a Moment of Time

Weeks have gone by since this cup has flowed out,
And in that time i paced in paths unknown,
But carefully I came to ny aetern shout,
And waited at the feet to see what’s shown.

A figure passed whose form I nigh embraced,
Another met in heartrooms corridor,
The latter met and kissed my hidden face,
While the former brought my outward to fore.

While in the tenderness of one I wait,
The other kindled flame of soon to come,
Nerves within my heart, you, dear one, plait,
While he encompasses to bring me home.

May I find in him no satisfaction,
If you will be for me, for one fraction.

The Cross

There is a burden descended to my chest,
I will not lie and say there isn’t one,
But the comfort is what’s to come is best,
And so I’m singing the redemption song.

A Savior’s come to lead me to my home,
The one I’ve longed for since I was a child.
He’s told me the obstacles to overcome,
And offered me peace from others of the wild.

Hes asking that i bear my very own,
Instead of those I think may help me out,
He points to suffering that should not be a loss,
To show me what could come if I go now.

So I hope He comes as I approach Him,
And shows me His story, that I may enter in.

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