In a World of Suppressed Sexuality

The song "Too Sexy" was quite popular when I was in elementary school. I heard it on the radio one day, and asked my mom what "too sexy for" meant. She smiled very awkwardly and said it meant "too good for." Later, I was singing what I remembered of it with another young gal on the playground and goofing around. We both got in stern trouble (it was a strict Christian school), and disciplined. I was confused, but was only told it was inappropriate.
My mother cried when I sheepishly asked her for a pad for the first time. It was on Thanksgiving day, and my family was visiting my grandmother, and I immediately learned in hushed tones that I was to disguise any and all evidence of menstruation. I was terribly ashamed. Around the same time frame, after we arrived back home, we had the roof of our house redone. My mother warned me to be extra cautious of hiding used napkins, so the roofers wouldn't see the incriminating toxic waste products in the trash can through the skylight.

Later experiences were much more unpleasant and suppressive in my sexual education and experiences, and not really necessary to elaborate on for the idea I'm moving towards.

This culture sexually repressed. The messages towards women, men, and others manifest differently, but the end result is this: people are currently discouraged in celebrating their beautiful, natural, curious sexual selves.

Those in the "female" gender role find themselves expected to keep secrets about exploring a variety of partners, or to find one single partner and hold on to them for eternity. We're called "slut" and "whore" if we talk about multiple sexual experiences. Those who menstruate are essentially told to deny it happens by using "sanitary" products, disposable and designed to not get any "icky stuff" on our fingers or anything else. Commercials use blue dye so our prudish senses aren't offended by the morally reprehensible (*gasp!*) process that roughly 50% of the earth's population experiences every month for several decades. Our trash cans fill up with these single-use products after they've vacuumed out all the moisture and healthy bacteria from our most sensitive parts, often causing yeast infections, irritation, and cramping. And don't get me started on all of the chemicals in these things. And deodorizing? Really? If these weren't industrially absorbent chemicals on adhesive saran wrap.... sigh.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRf35wCmzWw ...A nudge in the right direction, but still talking about periods in a negative light. Granted, I don't have a spiritual connection with mine, it just happens. But now I don't pollute the environment and resent my body for doing its thing.
Divacup, gals. And Lunapads. Done. Saves you TONS of money over years. The Cup is silicone (hypoallergenic), leak-proof, and reusable. And doesn't dry you out, which is a very cruel thing to do to a vagina! The reusable pads? Don't say ewww. You wash them, the same as you'd wash a shirt that gets a food stain on it.
So... what's with all this "down there," "feminine parts," "female organs," and other evasive terms? Or worse, the horrible derogatory terms that are for some deranged reason preferable to just calling it what it is?
Vagina. From the etymological standpoint, it's admittedly an unfortunate word. I prefer the Hindi word, "yoni." Still calling it by one of its actual names, just a touch more mellifluous.
It's had a long and difficult journey through history, and in today's society, it still suffers pointlessly. I'm all for decorating oneself with sticky rhinestone tattoos on waxed bare skin (ouchie!!) if it's from a stance of playful adornment, but the vagina is beautiful just the way it is. And it can produce new little humans, too! Women today (myself included, though I'm making progress!) are in denial about the vagina and its fascinating attributes. We have a little part of ourselves (the clitoris) that is 100% for pleasure! To me, that's a biological marvel, something to be celebrated and embraced.

Those in the "male" gender role, I can only speak to from observation, and hearing from those men in my life courageous and self-aware enough to speak of their struggles with society's imposed expectations. This goes deeper than just "boys shouldn't cry," or that men should brag about their sexual conquests. Or view women as objects. Often when men get naked, these facades slip away, and the real man comes out of hiding. And often he's been focusing on building his macho facade for so long he's a very uneducated lover. The solution that society presents is to be MORE macho, thrust harder, enlarge your penis, be more dominant. "JUST BUY THIS STUFF because you aren't adequate just the way you are," is the message that society imposes on all sexes/genders. The male form is idealized in its angular form, with distended muscles and rupturing veins. When I see body building magazines, I feel horror about the immediate health of the person posing for the photo. Is he having a stroke??

But regarding our sexual selves, men are beautiful. It's degrading, in my mind, for us to think of the penis as something ugly, comical, or perverse. Along the same line, it's quite toxic to have an aggrandized, arrogant attitude about one's penis. Penises are another part of anatomy, and they have a wonderful role in reproduction providing pleasure. They deserve to be appreciated as such. Not deified, nor repressed, just recognized as pretty darn cool. Just as cool the vagina! <3

Musings in a Tempest

"It was a dark and stormy night" sounds I guess a bit better than "It was an incredibly windy afternoon," but it's not as accurate. As I'm writing, I'm watching leaves skitter down the street faster than the residential speed limit for cars, and feel like an old woman yelling, "HOOLIGANS!!!" at those ne'er-do-well leaves. In my head.

I'm pondering the fight/flight/freeze response, and the new information I was given yesterday. Did you know that the fight or flight response is an automatic response, governed by the limbic system, but the freeze response is even more primal than that? The freeze response comes from the most primitive part of our brains, the Reptilian Complex.
When life-threatening, or perceived threatening situations arise, our brains instantly choose what it deems as the most appropriate response to the given situation. It's more likely to respond with a fight response, though, if that has been a common response for a person in less overwhelming instances. In my case, given my upbringing of being physically barricaded in my room by my screaming mother, and unable to exit without pushing her out of the way, my only option was to shut down, to freeze. And this was very, very often.
Given that, it's completely understandable that when I have been faced with life-threatening situations, or sudden emergencies, my first response has most often been to freeze.

It's very important for people who have experienced trauma to be aware of this: when a person's system is completely overwhelmed, the cerebrum shuts off! It just goes offline and lets automatic responses take over. In other words, all those thoughts of "why the hell didn't I fight??" or, "Why did I do that?" or "Why didn't I do that?" or "Why did I just stand there??" are answered by this simple, yet profoundly validating fact. Your, and my, mind and body did their absolute best in the moment, instantly and automatically.

Explosion of Healing

It was entirely by accident, or more aptly put, lack of foresight. Either way, I unintentionally signed up for THREE therapy activities that happened to coincide. So, therapy boot camp for lil' ol' me! :)
Mondays are my group that I look forward to the most. The Women's Sexual Assault Centre's "Skills" group. I wish this group went longer than 4 weeks, it's been a beautiful, informative last 2 sessions.
Tuesdays or Wednesdays, I ramble a stream of consciousness to my counselor, a large, extremely intelligent man with a great laugh and a lot of insight.
Thursdays, I meet with an extremely diverse group for "art-as-therapy." Very important not to call it "art therapy," or you'll get the "there's a huge difference between the two!" lecture. I do my best to avoid a certain stereotype of blonde, looking-at-the-ceiling-while-enthusiastically-saying-"ummm, wellllll, it was, like..." females. Sadly, in this group that particular self-protection is impossible. It's a source of humour, though, to hear in a very standard ditzy voice, "Well.... I chose these colours because I just REALLY LOVE  colours! :D"
Apart from the occasional vapid drivel, I really have been getting a lot of wonderful things from my self-imposed therapeutic boot camp.