I want my body back.

It's been awhile since I've processed in this space. I have a list of blog-worthy topics, but little time for the labor and delivery necessary to produce an actual post. But after taking some time to read a bit of Engendered Lives: A New Psychology of Women's Experience by Ellyn Kaschak this morning, I couldn't defuse the urge to write something on the topic.

"From the masculine perspective, women are defined by their bodies. Everything about a woman is both grounded in and defined by her female body and, in particular, its sexuality, defined in masculinist society as the ability to arouse, rather than to experience, desire. The measure of woman's sexuality is man's tumescence. What about her is arousing, and even whether she intends to arouse, is also designated by the male. It may be her legs for a 'leg man,' her breasts for a 'breast man,' her resistance or her nonresistance for a rapist. His feelings become hers, his desire her desirability, his admiration her measure of worth, his disdain her degradation, his ridicule her humiliation." ~Ellyn Kashcak in Engendered Lives

I recently conducted a workshop with the CCU women's soccer team where we discussed why it's essential that women reclaim their bodies for themselves. We live in a culture that perpetuates the pervasive myth that women's bodies are primarily for men. Statistically, 1 in 3 women are sexually abused by the age of 16. For these girls, it is not just culture that strips them of a sense of ownership over their own bodies.

A few weeks ago I read a news article reflecting upon the stigma of breastfeeding babies in French culture. The article highlighted the possibility that the low rates of breastfeeding are connected to the mentality that a woman's breasts are for her husband and not for her baby. What would happen if we declared that a woman's breasts are really for HER. What if HER breasts are for her and can be a part of her own experience of pleasure and intimacy in relationship to her lover. What if we viewed breastfeeding as a source of mutual gratification - for a woman to share her own sustenance with the child she brought into this world. Breastfeeding can exemplify the beauty of attachment and the power of being able to freely offer nourishment to another human being.

Just last night I heard the story of Eman Al-Obeidy, the East Libyan woman who reported being kidnapped and gang raped by Libyan soldiers just a few weeks ago. She has since indicated that the rape was a tactic by these soldiers to convey a message to the rebels about what they will continue to do to "their" women. Currently, CNN is reporting on the 9 or 10 women whose remains have been discovered in Long Island. It seems that no country is free and clear of the continued oppression directed specifically towards women and their bodies.

I have this new theory that all women are in some way indirectly traumatized by this cultural reality. Maybe someday I'll be able to conduct research and explore this hypothesis more academically. But for now, my own pondering is all that I can leave you with. Perhaps the trauma has resulted in a numbness or the dissociation of our own desire. Maybe the trauma has been so severe that we have nearly lost the ability to imagine an Edenic experience where men and women are free to feel grounded in their own bodies, their own ability to be aroused and compelled to use their bodies to create an experience of mutually honoring pleasure.

I'm left wondering what it is about female desire, feminine beauty, that is so threatening to this world. Why has it been so violently attacked for as far back as history allows us to explore?

Secret's out

My life is out of sorts right now. Though I'm not sure when it was ever in sorts, I am convinced that this is the most out of sorts it has been in a very long time. We are in an undeniable state of limbo right now. And I hate the limbo. It gives me a really uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. Apparently it is not wise to drink two cups of coffee in the morning when your stomach is already in a state of discomfort.

For the past three months Brian, the girls and I have all been living in one bedroom at my mom's house. It is a rather large bedroom in a rather large house. We have managed to fill this living space with twin bunk beds, a stand-alone twin bed, a queen size bed, an armoire, three small dressers, and a tower dresser along with a few makeshift nightstands. This living arrangement has triggered a variety of responses. There have been moments where I've felt like I should be thankful for the roof over our heads, for the willingness of family in sharing their home with us until we get situated in jobs and life out here. This is probably the thought that I hold onto most vigorously since we have seen firsthand how numerous people (the majority of the world's population actually) live in structures smaller than the size of this bedroom, without electricity or running water.

There have been moments of embarrassment, most-likely fueled by a sense of shame, during this season as well. Bailey is working on maps in her 3rd grade class and one of her assignments was to draw a map of her bedroom. I asked her if she would rather draw a map of her old room in Washington (out of my own sense of embarrassment) and she simply said, "Mommy...that's not the assignment." She wasn't embarrassed at all. But I, on the other hand, was panicked by what others might think of our family. No matter how much I tried to tell myself to take a deep breath, to accept that this is temporary as we are trying to get things figured out and to refute that sense of insecurity with the truth of how fortunate we really are...I couldn't shake this sense that we must appear to the rest of the world as failures somehow.

I'm still wrestling with this fear of how we appear to the outside world. I'm trying to figure out if it is just culturally-influenced or if there is something much more rooted in my personal sense of identity. I wonder if at the core I have a need for everyone to believe that I have it all together. This state of limbo has made it pretty clear - I definitely do not have it all together. Secret's out people. Actually, I think the secret was out long ago...but now I'm having to face the shattering of that illusion, and how it makes me want to cover up my vulnerability.

For the most part, this state of limbo, has left me feeling frustrated. I'm not a very patient person. We are in the midst of a waiting game - waiting to get my clearance from the state of Colorado to practice psychotherapy, then it will be a waiting game to see if I actually acquire any clients, waiting to hear back from any of the agency jobs I've applied for, waiting until we have some stability in our income in order to purchase a home...waiting, waiting, waiting. I'm not good at waiting. Oops...looks like another secret's out.