Tag Archives: sexuality

Gender Journey

19 Dec

by Anonymous

This isn’t an argumentative piece or a politically correct one. Actually, I’ve just barely scratched the surface of gender variance in my life and wouldn’t know the proper words anyway. This is just a story really, or several, I guess. It’s my stories, of my life and my feelings. And that’s it. It’s a call to walk in my shoes for five minutes and see a different perspective than you may usually see.

I’m eight, and just starting to question everything. The great WHY. Why are there stars in the sky? Why are some people tall and others short? Why was my soul born in a girl’s body?

I don’t feel out of place in my female body, but I don’t feel attached to it either. If I had been born exactly as I am in a boy’s body, I would live my life as a boy with its privileges and downfalls and not think a thing of it. I mean, even the way I phrase it in my head “my soul……girl’s body” shows that what I consider to be “me” is ungendered, even at this age, even though my mom insists on forcing me into dresses and curlers for church. I didn’t like anything girly, and I think a lot of it was due to the stigma against women in society, so I felt more free to do things as a tomboy that are “unbecoming of a young lady.”

I’m seventeen and getting the hang of masturbation. Over the years, I’ve explored my body and fell in love with the responses I can cause with my own touches. I stop railing against everything feminine and let myself enjoy wearing an occasional skirt or some mascara. This is also the age I first fell head-over-heels for Laura.  From the closet, of course. But loving Laura showed me that liking girly things doesn’t make you less of a person in some way. Femininity isn’t a block you have to accept or reject as a whole. You can like what you like, hate what you hate, leave the rest, whatever.

I’m twenty and at university. As I pass a security guard, he says, “Good morning, sir.” I smile, but he quickly blushes, realizing his mistake. I liked it, though. I don’t even know why, but someone not seeing my gender correctly (according to society) really excites me. It’s like a glimpse of a future where no one really knows a stranger’s gender, but it doesn’t matter. I REALLY DON’T CARE WHAT YOUR GENDER IS. And I know that leaves me open saying to lots of possibly offensive statements, but I like my maybe/ maybe not gender, and I respect everyone’s right to define their own gender (or to purposefully not define it). Whatever floats your boat.

I’m twenty-one and at my grandparents’ house for Christmas. I know they disapprove of short hair for girls and so I wore a purple dress, my girliest clothes to struggle for their approval. I know it shouldn’t be this way, but it’s family, you know? Then my grandfather introduces me to one of his neighbors as “that boy.” This is not how gender fluidity works. I’m still upset about it. I hate when people purposely mess up a person’s gender identity, especially so they can use it as a way to insult them. I HAVE DIGNITY!! Okay, end of rant.

Thanks for sticking through my ramblings to the end. From talking to my friends and peers, I’ve learned that most of us don’t think or talk about gender as much as we should. I mean we talk about the bi-gendered world we live in, and male privilege, and the constraints on women in society, but we rarely talked about our gender, how we feel about gender, if we even feel the need for gender at all. So a strange point-of-view like mine may not be heard so often. So, I hope you got something out of this.

My Mad Fat Feminist

17 Dec

by Anonymous

There is a show (a British show—the best are always British) called My Mad Fat Diary. The title is fairly explanatory: Rae is a fat teenager who struggles with binge eating, depression, and self harm. There are only six episodes, but those six episodes are life-changing.

As someone who has identified as fat my entire life, I had never seen a fat character be a main character. She is no one’s sidekick. She is self-conscious and funny and just a little trite. It is a TV show with a fat main character and before I saw the TV show, I didn’t know why I needed it so badly.

Here’s the thing: people always try to hide my fat. It’s secondhand embarrassment; I am the living embodiment of something everyone around the world is afraid of being. My roommate freshman year said that fat people disgusted her. My friend said that fat people weird her out so much that she can’t even look at them. My classmates grimace as a fat person slips into the desk next to them. Being fat means I’m lazy and ugly and always relegated to the back of the photograph. Being fat automatically means I am unwanted because fat itself is unwanted. There is a reason fat people are known to be “jolly”: when we put up with your bullshit 24/7, we have to use humor as a coping mechanism, because otherwise we will literally want to tear our skin straight off.

I have found other ways of coping to get around being fat. I am the first one to every class, every day, every semester of every year because I have first pick of seats. When I choose where I sit and I sit down first, I don’t have to squeeze between desks and maneuver between gaps that I may or may not be able to fit through. It’s a defense mechanism. No one has to see how I angle myself to fit between the desk and the chair. When I eat at the dining hall, I go when the dining hall is empty so no one can see me eating alone. A skinny person eating alone looks different than a fat person eating alone. A skinny person eating alone is not a big deal; a fat person eating alone means they did not deserve to have someone sit with them. When I listen to my friends talk about how much they ate at dinner, about how fat they feel, or about the three pounds they gained over the summer, I stay silent. I am supportive in their quest to be skinny and I ignore the implication that what I am is undesirable. I smile at strangers on airplanes because I know they are angry they have to sit next to me during the flight and I avoid stares when I finish my Chipotle burrito.

Because I have been told my entire life that I am something that people do not want, I have believed it. I still believe it. But when I watch My Mad Fat Diary, I feel a little better about myself. Rae gets to be a main character. Rae gets to be interesting. Rae gets to battle binge eating. Rae gets to talk about her depression with a therapist and have it not be embarrassing. Rae gets to have a boyfriend.

Rae gets to have a boyfriend.

For the first time in my television-watching history, I get to see a fat person be likable and desirable. Rae’s visible sexuality (she masturbates to the fantasy of a Roman god in an early episode) is absolutely vital because I have absolutely zero idea what orientation I am; I have been conditioned to believe that I do not deserve sexuality. I am universally unwanted and, as a result, my sexuality is futile. So when every TV show, every magazine, every book and movie stars a skinny girl, my sexual erasure is reinforced. It doesn’t matter if the medium is alternative manga or reality TV; fat, sexual people do not exist, and they certainly do not exist as main characters who have entire stories and worlds revolve around them.

My Mad Fat Diary is a pioneer and a champion. It tells me that I deserve attention and that I deserve to be seen sexually, and what’s more, I deserve to have a choice. I do not have to settle for the first person who expresses any interest in me. I do not have to be flattered when I am harassed on the street because at least someone noticed me. When I am treated like a real person, and when I see myself as a real person, I can escape from oppressive structures that keep me meek and mild-mannered. I get to have a voice. I get to have self-worth. And yes, of course, my self-worth should be self-derived, but in the meantime, I get to walk through the world with the knowledge that there are people who think I deserve to be a main character. That I deserve attention and respect. That I, unlike my fat, am wanted.

(Note: I could write pages and pages and pages about how great this show is regarding issues of mental health, but that’s an essay for another day. Also, disclaimer: My fat experience is not the same for all fat women—WOC experience size very differently than white women.)

The Rituals of Gender Oppression

30 Oct

by Allyn Faenza

In two of my classes last week, the same conversation came up. Here in Ghana, males and females participate in class discussions pretty equally, but the males tend to be quite outspoken. Males command the room and propose interesting topics for discussion, even though I often disagree with their claims about gender and sexuality. While discussing common rituals between the ethnic groups of Ghana, the conversation that was on our minds was if females enforce gender roles through rituals: are women their own worst enemies?

It is an undeniable fact that gender oppression is a cultural norm present in a variety of cultures. The methods of oppression are different, but their strategic devaluing of one’s gender to establish a system of power that benefits the other gender economically, socially, or religiously is the same. The physical, emotional, and mental implications of the gender devaluing is devastating. “Women are their own enemies” is a phrase often discussed when considering how women could possibly be willing to subject other women to sexist oppression. With women enforcing gender expectations, they are often blamed for their own oppression. What this saying and my classmates here in Ghana fail to acknowledge, however, is how deeply gender roles have been rooted into a society’s culture and how those roles influence behavior despite its consequences for the women who enforce them. Females are often so oblivious to their own participation in gender roles forced upon them by society that they voluntarily force them upon other women, which can lead to psychological and physical trauma. Yet, this behavior by women is merely an action of habit and an attempt to avoid the label of “deviant.”

In my Gender Issues in Religion and Culture class, the class took an interesting turn when we discussed death rituals among the Ewe people who live in the Volta Region of Ghana. When a woman’s husband passes away in the Volta Region, the women of the towns are charged with performing the proper death rituals in order to honor the deceased husband and help the accused wife. I say accused because if a man dies before his wife, it is presumed that his wife murdered him even if there is no evidence of it. The other women begin a process of ritualization to ease his soul’s journey to heaven and restore peace in the community. First, the widow’s head is shaved. The people of the town then clean the husband’s body with water which the widow is expected to drink. The night before the funeral, the wife sometimes sleeps next to her deceased husband as an act of repentance for his death and reflection of their lives together. During the funeral, she is not allowed to shake hands, smile, or eat in public since these behaviors would lead the community to believe she is celebrating her husband’s death and this celebration is a result of killing him. For the next year, she should wear black every day, wear a padlock on her belt to prove herself sexually chaste, and marry her husband’s nephew. In Ghana’s matrilineal society, the husband’s sister’s male child is the rightful heir of property and wealth upon his uncle’s death. Considering that the deceased’s wife is part of his property, she is expected to marry his nephew.

While most of these examples are egregious to Ghanaians from larger cities like Accra, some of the death rituals from Volta are present among the Akan and Gaa peoples. After a woman’s husband dies, the widow is expected to wear black for a year, she may not remarry for a year, and if she does not cry at the funeral, she may be called a witch. Are these women their own enemies? What cannot be underestimated is the power of the label of deviance. No, women are not their enemies, but they are terrified of breaking social norms, being labeled “deviants” and therefore being ostracized by their culture. They are not just following societal norms to keep peace, women are trapped in a cycle of control created by men, and the only way they know to validate their roles is to separate genders and enforce roles upon their families and communities.

Patterns of oppression and fear of deviance are the enemies of women. In the case of the Ewe people, the women are not to blame. They have been conditioned to follow cultural norms in order to keep peace and follow the cycle of male control in their homes and greater community despite the trauma these rituals cause. The death rituals are dehumanizing, but they are in no way uncommon among many cultures around the world. Learning about these rituals has made me keen to observe common rituals in American culture. And even though we have gendered rituals that are preserved despite their psychological and physical repercussions for males and females, I was so quick to condemn the death rituals of the Ewe.

What this discussion about death rituals in the Ewe ethnic group has taught me is to be observant of how rituals can either lead to a society’s progress or decline depending on whether the rituals honor events like birth, education, puberty, marriage, or death or create a stigma around life events to perpetuate gender inequality and shame. Believing our rituals have power on our personal and cultural growth is the only way rituals can be addressed with respect and changed to end the perpetuation of gender inequality.

This post is part of a regular series that will be posted every Wednesday.

Queera Personalis: My Journey From Rejection to Reconciliation to Celebration

9 Oct

by Thomas Lloyd

The last few months have been a whirlwind for the LGBTQ community at Georgetown.

We elected our first openly gay student body president and had our LGBTQ history pushed in to the spotlight by outlets like The New York Times, The Huffington Post, and my personal favorite, The Cardinal Newman Society Blog. Those who oppose our advance deride our community as Catholics and Catholic institutions abandoning their values.

I’ve had to answer the same question in dozens of conversations: how has this change come about despite Catholic doctrine?

Having been at Georgetown for over two years now, and having been a gay Catholic my whole life, my answer is simple: It doesn’t. Advancement of LGBTQ issues is critical to the fulfillment of the Catholic mission. These changes are necessary because of Catholic doctrine.

I’ve made this argument before, citing Catholic social teaching, the catechism of the Church, and (unsurprisingly) the Jesuit concept of Cura Peronalis.

But to be honest, I formulated those arguments well after I had made up my mind on how Catholic doctrine fits in with the LGBTQ rights movement. The real game changer for me is my experience. In a way, this is the ultimate form of Catholic argument. As the Universal Church, Catholicism is ultimately about its people and their stories. So for this Coming Out Week, rather than rehash theological arguments I’ve made here and here, I’m going to out myself again, but by sharing my personal faith journey.

Growing up, before I knew that my limp wrist and love of offering my aunt fashion advice meant that I’d be labeled “gay” or “homosexual” (or anything “sexual” for that matter), I never thought that what made me “different” would somehow negatively affect my relationship with God or with the Church. My high voice and flair for the dramatics actually made me an asset at many a church basement musical production of Jesus Christ: A Life (no Jesus since has been able to give Judas the appropriate one-eyebrow raise during the last supper scene).

The Church was the way I connected to my neighborhood. I never went to school near my house. So I made local friends through Sunday school. I joined our boy scouts chapter (however briefly) and taught Sunday school for years. My supervisor, a nun who I affectionately referred to as Sister Gene the Dancing Machine (in a reference to the campy 80’s Gong Show) seemingly embraced my “unconventional” personality.

It wasn’t until I was at the most vulnerable moment in my life that the Church became an “obstacle” to be “overcome”. In high school, my gay mental dam of cognitive dissonance began to break down. My heterosexual identity, built up by years of bullying and abuse from other students, was crumbling under the weight of my real sexual orientation. I starting to think that I might just be “gay,” or that thing that I’d denied being for years because people laughed at me, excluded me, and fought with me.

These conversations with myself about my identity were conducted in the deepest segments of my person. I could feel them as series of tugs in my chest, right next to where I had (usually joyful and joking) conversations with God. There, in my most private and sacred space, I never felt a tension from God related to my identity. If anything, God was a central player in that discussion. I remember the first night that I asked God to change me, to hide the thing that made me a target. I lay awake and silently begged as my eyes burned up. But I never thought God disapproved, just that a bunch of assholes did. God was on my side, right?

Unfortunately, at the same time that I grew increasingly conscious of my sexuality, I also grew increasingly aware of the American political attitudes towards gay people. The debates over LGBT issues were, and still are, imbued with religious arguments against the acceptance or inclusion of gays and lesbians, with almost no religious (let alone Catholic) voices on the other side. Even more unfortunately, the increasingly insecure and paranoid closeted me was very prone to internalize those voices. These included voices of my family members, whose political discussions I began to understand more. I let them pollute my personal and longstanding relationship with my faith.

I would go through what was a painful coming out process, thinking that I couldn’t lean on the support system that had given me community, confidence, and meaning. Further, I was afraid to engage some individuals closest to me because of their association with that same community. At first, this just made me anti-social. But becoming more and more alone in ever-more profound ways led me to moments where I considered and planned suicide.

It was with the support of very loving (and sometimes pushy) friends and teachers that I emerged from my coming out process unscathed. By the time I felt comfortable to come out to my parents and school, I had all but given up on trying to bring together my LGBTQ and Catholic identities. In the same way that I lived with a mental wall between my “heterosexual identity” and obvious homosexual orientation, I erected a new wall between my values and my private life. For some, this could prove dangerous. (un)Luckily for me, I was high school debater with acne, so this didn’t become a concern.

I would go on for years with a simple answer to “How can you be gay and Catholic?”  I would answer with a pithy cop-out, “The Church is about more than sexual orientation.”

At Georgetown, the Jesuit education lived up to its reputation and called me out on my bullshit. My (at the time) conservative roommate lived up to his political affiliation, ordering me to tear down the wall between my identities and engage the questions I had effectively been postponing. There was no getting around the fact that if I wanted to keep identifying as Catholic, I had better get a damn good reason. After all, I would be engaging my orientation (and others’ orientations…) with an octogenarian Priest down the hall.

My reason came as I started to re-understand Catholicism in the way I had as a child: as a sum of individuals from all backgrounds, working together to achieve spiritual fulfillment and salvation by living a life of service, advocacy, and love, just as Christ did. I was a part of that equation, as are a whole host of queers, commies, radicals, republicans, democrats, feminists, NRA members, whatever, even if I had been told for years that we all fell on opposing “sides.”

How did I come back to this understanding? Simply by engaging all of those people that truly make the Catholic Church Universal. Was the Jesuit who told me masturbation made one not a virgin more Catholic than the one who affectionately nicknamed me “a wonderfully irksome shit” because of my work with Pride? Are the ministers behind Love Saxa more Catholic than those who show up at the LGBTQ Resource Center open house or who run the LGBTQ prayer group? Who is anyone, any human being, to answer these questions?

When one lives in a Universal Church, it becomes impossible to view someone’s unchangeable and loving identity as disordered.  It’s impossible to think that there is one ideal Catholic, or any set of absolutes that can apply to a universal institution. Its impossible to do anything but CELEBRATE the fact that such diversity exists.

To those that disagree, say an alum who graduated 10, 20, 30 or more years ago (Hi, William Blatty, Class of 1950!), I have this to say:

Georgetown is a more Catholic place today than ever before because gay students no longer live in the same fear of being the victims of hate crimes when walking to their dorms.

Georgetown is a more Catholic place today than ever before because gay students needn’t feel like their faith tradition is against them.

Georgetown is a more Catholic place today than ever before because through being more welcoming, our community saves more students from self-harm.

Georgetown is a more Catholic place today than ever before because we are finally “universal” enough to encourage multiple trans* students to make themselves visible.

Georgetown is more Catholic today than ever before because LGBTQ students, with or without faith traditions, have made this university truer to its Jesuit commitment to community in diversity, to social justice, and to Universality.

In the same way that I stopped letting those who didn’t understand the LGBTQ experience pollute my relationship with God, I refuse to let similarly antiquated beliefs taint the conversation of what makes us a Catholic University.

I am gay and I am Catholic. Accepting my identity enabled me to be more Catholic. My University is Catholic, and it is only becoming more LGBTQ-friendly, making it all the more Catholic. This is more than acceptable—this is our motto: Utraque Unum.

Fisting

7 Oct

by Anonymous

‘Aight. Let’s talk about fisting. I know it’s scary (hell, I was a fisting virgin once too),  but that shouldn’t stop you from doing what you want or doing it SAFELY. That’s the thing, once I did my research, no more scariness. So hopefully this gives you some relief if you start thinking about logistics.

Also, fisting isn’t just for woman on woman. If you’ve got a hand and a partner, you’re good to go. I won’t speak specifically to the wider world of fisting, so hopefully some of the links in here can give you a starting place.

First things first: don’t do it alone. Not that you could. Fisting is more intimate than any other sexual act of which I know. We’re always being told not to be intimate with people unless we trust them, but let’s be real, things happen. Fisting cannot be one of those things. Fisting can produce some of the best sexual experiences, but you must be completely open and trusting of your partner whether giving or receiving. Constant communication is key. What makes fisting so amazing for both partners is the muscle involvement. Orgasms resulting from fisting usually involve the kegel muscles, the muscles along the vaginal wall, creating wave sensations. These muscles are treasures, but they are very sensitive to emotional states. If the receiver is anxious or uncomfortable, they can close off making the vagina “tight.” Let’s just say this is unpleasant for everyone. So talk to each other.

Second is that it will take time. It’s like poker. Don’t expect to go all in during the first hand. Play each round. Add more to the pot each time. You’ll get there. And when you do, there’s a big payoff. For some people (and realize this varies for everyone) it takes about two to three weeks to work up to. Like I said, talk. If ever either partner starts to feel pain, stop. Rapid expansion of the vaginal walls can cause tearing and bleeding. Going slowly can prevent this from happening.

Third, and most important, is safety. Ladies and gentlemen, hands with nails have no business between anyone’s legs! I don’t care how much you love to scratch your partners or how great your manicure looks; neither of those things matter when your hand is inside another person. That said, most doctors recommend wearing gloves when fisting (be careful with latex allergies). They can somewhat protect against nails, but not very efficiently. Gloves do protect against various other things your hands may have on them. You never know.

Most important to me, which is why it gets its own paragraph, LUBE. There is no fisting without lube. It just doesn’t happen. Ever. Most sites and stores will recommend a water-based lube, as do I. You may think getting the small bottle is a good idea. It’s compact, cheap. For your first buy, the small bottle is good. But when you’re getting into fisting, honey, you Costco that shit. There isn’t enough lube in the world for fisting. Even when starting out and working your way up, add lube. Then, add more. Then, when you feel like your hand is swimming in a sea of lube, add more lube. Receiver, you will probably feel like slip’n’slide, but trust me, you need it. If you’re using enough, you’ll end up with lube all over your bed (or whatever location you chose), and, receiver, don’t be embarrassed—you will leak.

Fourth, don’t worry about it. Fisting is seriously fun, so try and relax and enjoy. As long as you’re in control and aware you should be loving life (not to mention being more aware can heighten sexual response).

If you want more information, doctors are a good go-to. As awkward as you think the conversation might be, taking any issue of this nature to an OB is not that big a deal.  Always refer to professional health caregivers with questions of sexual health or activity or anything really. For less serious advice, this is a great video on intro fisting, and they pretty much bring up all the points I could possibly think of. Get ready for International Fisting Day on October 21st! You can also find a handy diagram here for your introduction to fisting.

How Should a Feminist React to Miley Cyrus?

10 Sep

by Johan Clarke

This past summer has seen Miley Cyrus fall into infamy as she tries to pull herself away from her clean image and give herself a new identity. In our Madonna-whore complex obsessed world, this is incredibly difficult for a woman, especially a child star. The question is: has Miley crossed a line this summer or are we as a society just enforcing the patriarchy?

I had problems with her music video for “We Can’t Stop,” but not because of her sexual energy or the weird direction that the music video took. I am fine with someone trying something new, and if Miley wants to go up there and show off her body, we as a society have no right to tell her otherwise. It is her body, and she can do what she likes with it. Society sexualizes her body. Just because she wants to wear less clothing when she dances does not mean she is a slut, though there is nothing wrong with her having as much sex as she wants.

No, my problem with that music video is her cultural appropriation. Amy LaCount put it very well in her article when she said to Miley, “you grew up steeped in white privilege; with your father’s name, you’ve been wealthy your entire life. Because your simultaneous appropriation and stereotypying of black culture is harmful and oppressive. You can twerk and pretend to be ‘ratchet’ but it only lasts for the three minutes and 34 seconds that you’re on screen, and then you can take it all off and live life as the privileged white girl that you are. Other people of color can’t do that. They have to deal with the awful stereotypes, the racism, the discrimination that comes attached to their non-whiteness.” Miley is using this dance not to promote a part of her culture but to “rebel,” which garners much attention and therefore more money. She is selling out something she has no right to sell out because it does not belong to her.

Now Miley has come out with another music video for her latest song “Wrecking Ball,” which is a lot less racist but possibly more risqué. The music video begins with a close-up of just her face and a tear rolling down her cheek, setting the tone for the rest of the video. The song is very personal and about heartbreak, which is even sadder when you think about the constant torment she must get from America’s obsession with knowing everything about celebrities. For her, she does not get to grieve any loss by herself. Her tragedy simultaneously becomes a show that she must tip-toe through as the entire world watches, waiting for any “mistakes”.

This could explain why by the end of the first minute we see her swinging on a giant wrecking ball completely naked. Male sex organ symbolism aside (we will discuss that soon enough), Miley’s naked body could symbolize her nakedness in front of the American public. Any time she has suffered heartbreak, she has had to do it with everyone watching her. Not to mention, in this video, Miley shows off her tan lines, her creases, her tummy, her everything. Nothing seems overtly airbrushed as Miley only hides her nipples and her shoes (she oddly wears a large pair of boots, possibly to protect her feet from the large piles of cement). Her body, like her private life, is out there for your consumption. As I stated earlier, if Miley wants to show off her body, it is her body to show off, not society’s. She can do with it as she likes, and it is not society’s job to sexualize it or demean it.

However, the overt phallic images in this video cannot be ignored. In between nude shots of her hanging from a giant ball, she licks the head of a sledge hammer, something that seems incredibly out of place for a song about heartbreak. If Miley were trying to show her sadness like she was at the beginning of the video, then why does she now sensuously lick the end of a dirty tool? Terry Richardson, the director of the video, has faced much controversy in the past with things like this, notably in his GQ photoshoot with one clothed male and two scantily clothed females from Glee.  Could this be a continuation in his misogyny? It does fit with the aesthetic of many of his other works.

Could the fact that this was filmed by a notorious sexist and not by someone trying to promote female positivity hinder its power? Should Miley be allowed to portray her sexuality, empowering white women while not allowing a dialogue for the unfair sexualization and fetishization of women of color who would be scorned much more severely? If Miley fits into the westernized ideal for beauty, will this video harm notions of body positivity and enforce more fat shaming?

This video highlights the difficulties of what it means to be a feminist in this day and age. It is hard to make an opinion and stick to it when there are so many sides and so many different ways to be a woman. At this point in time, there is no right answer, and there may never be a right answer. There is no right way as a feminist to respond to Miley’s sudden character change. The only thing we can do is to start a discussion about it.