Sex::Tech 2012

Posted: April 12, 2012 in Uncategorized
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On April 2nd, I had the privilege and pleasure of presenting at the 5th Annual Sex::Tech Conference, hosted by Isis, Inc. alongside Scarleteen’s Founder and Executive Director Heather Corinna.  Our presentation was titled “Countering Sexualization; Supporting Sexual Expression,” and was one of the few at the conference that focused not on new technologies with which to deliver education about sexual health to young people (of which there are an impressive array), but on the potential for nuanced content of comprehensive sexuality education, with an emphasis on navigating media.

Heather and I first met at last year’s Sex::Tech Conference, where I presented on behalf of Hardy Girls Healthy Women.  I was highly impressed by her multiple presentations that year, and found my eyes and mind opened to the importance of educating young people and the diversity of sexual expression.  For reasons beyond explanation (except, I suppose, that she began following me on Twitter), Heather took note over the months that followed that she and I share a passion for this work and think in similar ways.  She calls us the wondertwins!  Me, a wondertwin with Heather Corinna?  I can hardly imagine a higher compliment!  When she invited me to co-present with her I jumped at the opportunity, not only because of my immense respect for her work and perspective, but because this was finally my chance to critique, reinforce, and elevate the work with which I have been heavily involved since the SPARK Summit of 2010.

We began our presentation with a look at “Healthy Sexual Development,” as defined by Alan McKee and a multi-disciplinary team of colleagues in an article published in the International Journal of Sexual Health.  Heather breaks it down in an excellent post here, and I highly recommend you read it in full.  In our presentation, we highlighted specifically that healthy sexuality should include self-acceptance, and that it should be free from coercion.  Although all of the attributes of healthy sexuality are important, it is these two characteristics which, we argued, are threatened by “sexualization,” a word we then sought to define.

To define “sexualization,” we turned first to the working definition in the APA Report on the Sexualization of Girls.  The four-point definition has been the backbone of anti-sexualization work since the report was published in 2007.  While it highlights some seriously damaging trends in the way sexuality is portrayed in mainstream media (narrow definitions which hinder self-acceptance among us real people, and promotion of gender stereotypes and rape myths which reinforce messages that coercion is okay,) it also rests on oversimplified notions of media, youth, agency, and their relation to one another.  The working definition of “sexualization,” the tone of the report itself (as critiqued here), and the activism that has evolved in response to it is both productive and flawed.  At its worst the activism can fall into a sex negative trap that shames young people for sexuality, thereby hindering healthy sexual development rather than supporting it.  In our presentation, Heather and I sought to delve deeply into both the pros and the cons of the anti-sexualization movement in the hopes of unlocking its potential to make positive change in the lives of young people.

You can check out the whole presentation here, and I am always happy to chat more about nuance we seek to explore.  We examined specific images with attention to their production, studies about sexualization in media, critiques of those studies, and the words of young people themselves.  We posed questions about un-noticed sexualization of boys and different sexual cues of queer-identified people, beginning a more deliberate effort to be inclusive in conversations about sexualization and sexual expression.

There was a thread of tension underlying the Sex::Tech Conference as a whole, tensions among feminism, adultism, and sex positivity.  It was felt during certain moments at the conference (Dr. Marty Klein being redirected from a discussion of youth consuming pornography, for example) as well as in the subtle contradictions between various workshops.  I am proud that our presentation addressed the tension explicitly and recommended that folks working with youth do the same.  It was easier to discuss various sides of the issue because Heather and I were not there to provide concrete answers about sexuality, youth development, and media.  We were there to guide people who work with youth to ask them the right questions rather than give the right answers.  Young people have the capacity to negotiate messages they receive from media, and our prompting to help them widen their lens is the best service we can provide in countering sexualization and supporting sexual expression.  Heather knows more about working directly with adolescents and teens than I do, and her wisdom confirmed my instinct.  It is not our place as adults to impose our opinions on the next generation, but to support them as they explore for themselves the forces and tensions that define their world.  What role they can claim within it is a work in progress, as is their sexuality.

Thank you to Heather, to Isis, and to all of the wonderful professionals and young people I met at Sex::Tech.  It was a great experience.  Seeds were planted, new partnerships discovered, and new project ideas launched.  More details to come!

Daddy

Posted: April 10, 2012 in Uncategorized
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As a curious new (half) lesbian, I decided to do some research into lesbian cultures by reading lesbian erotica.  There is much to be learned about gender performance and pleasure, although one must remember that erotica, like pornography, is fiction not fact.  Still, from the stories hidden under my bed I am discovering the sensibilities of queerness, and there is one theme whose repeated presence in stories of women surprises me: the longing for “Daddy.”

I guess I vaguely knew that “Daddy” can be a sexual word.  Straight couples might like it for its power implications.  Queer men use it too, as in “leather daddy.”  But it surprised me to see how prevalent this word is within stories that feature only women.  This gendered, parental word can describe a woman with a masculine gender presentation, a woman who calls the shots, and as it clear from the frequency of its use in these stories, the word carries quite a charge.

It certainly makes me react.  My response to the word is so potent, in fact, that I have felt compelled to examine its meaning in my life.  What accounts for this word’s power?  Why does its use in erotic contexts make me feel simultaneously excited and resentful?  Why is the “longing for Daddy” so common and so deep?  This has been on my mind for some time, and I must admit that, for me, it is a difficult subject about which to write.  As a feminist, I feel like admitting I like the word is a betrayal of my dedication to women’s empowerment.  But as I explore my own psychology in preparation for graduate studies in human psychology, I think I finally have some clarity about this that is worth sharing.

I would like to propose that the longing for Daddy in our culture is a direct result of the absence or scarcity of compassionate fatherhood in most of our lives.  Even if a father or father figure was not entirely absent, an emotional distance often characterizes the father/child relationship because of the social constructs of gender and parental roles.  So in my life, for example, my father was present but his tenderness toward me was limited due to boundaries established by my mother and by accepted cultural standards of men’s roles in families.  (Dad, in case you’re reading this and dear God I hope you’re not, I don’t blame you.)

Examining the “Daddy” phenomenon in this way allows me to move away from the vulnerable and child-like place where the word can bring me and into my comfort zone: feminist theory.  The personal is political, after all, and I know my life does not exist in a vacuum.  My experiences of both childhood and parenthood are shaped by the notions that we as a culture perpetuate about the roles of men and women in families.  And for all the progress we women have made by entering the “public sphere,” equality of the sexes still feels like a distant goal because things are so slow to change in the “private sphere.”  In homes across America, children are growing up without fathers, or with partially absent fathers, or with fathers who consider their parental role to consist of providing rather than emotional connection.  Mothers, even with our participation in the workforce, are still most often the primary givers of engaged and compassionate nurturing in children’s lives.  Like me, we have to become Superwomen, capable of juggling all of these responsibilities while our children’s fathers are praised to the heavens for “helping around the house” or “babysitting” their own children.

I’m sorry; do I sound a little resentful here?  My bad.  I am a single mom so this subject hits home quite literally.  Even in two parent households, though, this trend is upheld by both men and women, as this offbeat mama blogger discusses.

I don’t want to come across as hostile toward men because in all honesty I am not.  My diligent efforts to find and cultivate relationships with good men have been and continue to be successful.  I know men who “get it” and I know wonderfully devoted and attentive fathers.  Thank goodness for those good men I know.  They have restored my faith that we, as a people, are getting closer to that place where we all recognize one another’s humanity with compassion.

Nonetheless, I believe examining the impact of society’s undervaluing of fatherhood is of fundamental importance to the feminist movement and the wellbeing of all people.  I cannot state strongly enough, in fact, that I believe this is the missing piece of the feminist revolution.  As problematic as the label “feminist” can be sometimes, I will never call myself or this world “postfeminist” until fatherhood is valued equally with motherhood.  And in case you haven’t noticed in your own life, the lives of those around you, or in the cultural narratives of our time, we aren’t even close to achieving this goal.

*Spoiler alert*

Let’s take the cultural narrative of Six Feet Under, for example, which happens to be one of my favorite shows of all time.  I tend to think of this show as uniquely realistic, featuring complex story lines, multi-dimensional characters, and a spiritual message about appreciating life.  I have watched the entire series many times over simply because the characters are so real to me that I actually miss them!  Brenda especially always intrigued me because she is brilliant, empowered, and “unapologetically sexual,” three qualities you rarely find in female television characters.  While I praise the show’s producers for the diverse cast of flawed but loveable characters, I realized recently that Brenda’s story line throughout the series is one of pathology, punishment, and sacrifice.  Her “unapologetic sexuality” becomes a story of sex addiction that ruins her relationships.  Meanwhile, the Nate character impregnates another woman, and upon learning of it gets to decide whether to be a present father.  After much soul-searching, Nate chooses fatherhood and, thank goodness he does, because the child’s mother dies.  Nate reunites with Brenda and she unquestioningly inherits the motherhood role and then she and Nate have a child of their own.  When Nate dies in season five, the show’s dramatic climax, Brenda is left a single mother with two children, one of whom is not biologically her own.  The sexual woman is now the sole provider of care for two little human beings.

In reflecting on this in finally hit me: Devaluing fatherhood upholds the virgin/whore dichotomy that keeps women’s sexuality oppressed.  Women are expected to be chaste, virginal, the gate-keepers of sex while men are expected to constantly seek sex.  This tired construct just won’t break down even as women in droves and even men too try to dismantle it and illuminate its absurdity.  But the fact remains that when pregnancy results from sex, it is most often the woman whose life is forever dramatically altered, and not necessarily the man’s (or at least not to the same extent.)  Do you see what I’m saying here?  Until pregnancy means for men what it means for women (i.e. A LIFETIME OF ENGAGED PARENTHOOD), society will continue to place the responsibility of sexual inhibition squarely on women’s shoulders.

I guess I am a lot like Brenda.  I am smart (brilliant?), empowered, and I do not apologize for my sexuality.  When I conceived my daughter, it was on purpose and it was a mutual decision with her father.  But her father, for reasons I will not disclose here, has not yet chosen to be a present, engaged, and compassionate parent in our daughter’s life.  He is not entirely absent, but he is not taking ownership of the parental role in the same way that I am.

So let me tell you a secret.  I believe whole-heartedly that this is his loss.  Granted, I have moments of resenting how hard I have to work to maintain all that is on my plate.  But those moments are far outnumbered by moments when I realize that having a child makes my life make sense.  I am showered with more unconditional love than anybody I know, and my sense of purpose is stronger than ever.  As my daughter grows up, I am awestruck at the wisdom she brings to my life.  I see her personality develop and I relish in my role of providing a safe nest for her from which to embark on adventures, a framework from which she can understand her world, a cheer of support as she cultivates her numerous talents.  While people around me struggle with depression and existential crises, and even while I have my ups and downs, my grounding in motherhood never falters and I am, at my core, profoundly happy.

Undervaluing fatherhood is a spiritual loss for men.  It is nothing short of tragic that so many are deprived of the responsibility and accompanying privilege of engaged and compassionate parenthood.  We need to do better.

Undervaluing fatherhood is a deep, painful loss for children too.  I bear witness to my daughter trying to understand why her father is not more present, and it makes my heart ache.  She longs for her daddy because, in her fragile developing psychology, he holds the power to validate and comfort her.  Deprived of the emotional connection with him that she craves, she must learn to live with unmet need, a hole in her heart.

That place of vulnerability, craving for validation and approval, desire for affection and connection from the person who represents authority and love… that’s where the word “Daddy” can take me.  It can make me feel the unmet need, the hole in my heart that started in childhood and is masked by an extensive array of defenses in my adult mind.  Used in a moment of submission, it can cut through the armor and touch a nerve that, I believe, is shared among many across our culture as a symptom of an endemic scarcity of compassionate fatherhood.

Does knowing this make me feel less conflicted about the word “Daddy”?  Yes and no.  The word still makes me very uncomfortable because, frankly, I feel a whole lot safer with my armor on.  But at least I can allow myself freedom from feminist guilt now that I understand the word’s power as a symptom of a not-yet-postfeminist society.  I can appreciate how erotica conjures the contents of our deepest psychological impulses and plays with them, flips them around, and harnesses them for pleasure.  And since I am smart, empowered, and unapologetically sexual, I can enjoy it if I want to.

Growing Pains

Posted: February 17, 2012 in Uncategorized
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I think it’s fair to say that I have undergone a pretty drastic metamorphosis over the past couple of years.  Just look at this blog chronologically for evidence of the shift, the gradual move from emphatic critique of sexualized media to a call for more exploration of healthy female sexuality.  Those of you who know me will understand that this transformation has affected me on many levels, creating changes in my relationships, my living situation, and my career.  Though disruptive and painful, I believe these changes to be positive as they are bringing me closer to my true identity and calling.

I do have regrets, though, about moments when leaving pieces of the old me behind unintentionally disappointed others.  Often, it was engaging in projects based on values different from my own that allowed my own value-set to truly crystalize in my mind.  During work with allies, a certain dissonance would emerge as I realized that I wanted to do the work differently.  There were moments when I did not address these tensions with the clarity, self-assurance, or courage that I wish I had, and instead retreated into passive resistance.

This is not who I am.  My call for more attention to development of healthy sexuality in anti-sexualization work is a valid one, and I will stand by my perspective.  Turns out, it is shared among researchers who have critiqued the APA Report on the Sexualization of Girls, as well as among activists for comprehensive and accessible sex education.

Realizing that my voice does not always fit in with those who got me started in my activism has been difficult.  Today, I realize that the most productive approach to working through my growing pains is to outline exactly what I have learned about my values and my path.

  1. I have learned that I will not work with organizations and projects which prioritize funding concerns over their mission.  These are tough times, and I have seen many a nonprofit in crisis put the cart before the horse.  “How can we make money?” they ask, rather than “How can we make a difference?”  Only when a project has the relevance, the attention to intersectionality, and the positive approach needed to make a difference will the project find the momentum and hence the funding to become real.
  2. I have learned that activists are more effective when they are proactive rather than reactive.  Jumping on every incident of sexism in media with a harsh and angry critique becomes tiresome fast, and reinforces the use of shaming to exert control.  Reclaiming what sexist media threatens to take from us girls, women, and allies is much more satisfying to me, and let’s be honest, much more fun.  If we want young people to get onboard with our activism on their behalf, we need to teach them skills beyond “femven” writing and calling out marketers.  We need to teach them all the good stuff about sexuality that mainstream media obscure.
  3. I want to see more, not less.  I have no interest in “protecting innocence,” “preserving childhood,” or any other such phrase that treats sexuality as a demon.  Stereotypes about sexuality I could do without, but in my opinion combating stereotypes means becoming MORE inclusive of complexities.  I want to see more diverse bodies, more attention paid to defining healthy sexuality, more nuanced considerations of how media messages are negotiated, and more girls and women valued for qualities other than conforming to narrow stereotypes.  Every project I work on from now on will promote these things rather than seek to silence anybody else.

I feel good about these lessons, and pleased with the opportunities ahead to put these lessons into action.  There was a piece I wrote for SPARK which expressed my hopes for where the anti-sexualization movement is headed.  The piece did not get published and so, in closing, I would like to share an excerpt of it here:

“Fighting sexualization in media is hard.  So many new examples of the problem appear in the mainstream daily that it feels at times like we are fighting a losing battle.  Will the authentic identities of girls and women (and boys and men and gender nonconforming people for that matter) ever be reflected by our media?  Will healthy development of sexuality ever be valued above the simplicity of enforcing narrow gender roles to create good shoppers?  I have had moments of fatigue where I feel like crawling back under my covers rather than fighting the seemingly unstoppable force of capitalism and its humanity-depleting side effects.

But my fire cannot be squelched.  Moments of fatigue pass and my senses awaken once again to the intense heat of the flames that compel me to be louder than the crap they try to sell to us.

Because guess what?  It turns out our authentic voices really can be LOUDER.

For me, the SPARK to Protest Sexualization through Action, Resistance, and Knowledge continues to grow.  It has grown in a very specific way.  It has become a FLAME of Freedom to Love the Authentic ME.

That’s right.  Given the opportunity and the supportive community in which to truly understand these media images that seek to define me, I have experienced in the past year a personal revolution!  I have, after three decades of feeling paralyzed by societal expectations, finally shed my hang-ups about the ways in which my gender identity, my sexuality, and my ways of moving through this world differ from all of the versions of them I have been sold.  Sexualization of girls and women in media had a profoundly detrimental impact on me, especially on my relationship to my sexuality, in ways that I am now able to talk about and define.  Having read the APA Report from 2007 many times, I can actually see my own story in its descriptions of sexualization’s effects on girls.  In seeing this, I can also see that more positive alternatives to my story are truly possible with media literacy education and comprehensive sexuality education programs giving young people the tools to understand the world in which they are growing and to find their true selves within it.

For me, enlightenment didn’t happen until my thirties… until my introduction to SPARK.  But as the constructs that masked my truths dissolved, more and more of my authentic self emerged.  As narrowly-defined impositions of female sexuality became demystified, I built a healthy relationship with my real sexuality.  As I dug deep and coached myself to dismiss the media messages that I had internalized, I unburied the treasures of my actual desires, strengths, and vulnerabilities.

Seriously, I am a new woman.  I am free; I am real.  And I love who I am.

Isn’t this what we want girls and women to feel?  This is what I want my daughter to feel, and I want her to feel it SO much sooner in life than I did.  I want her to have the SPARK of knowledge to resist sexualization right from the start so that it will ignite this FLAME in her heart, this freedom to love her authentic self.

So allow me to introduce myself, the new me.  My name is Renee Randazzo and I am a Healthy Female Sexuality Researcher and Activist.”

253 Epiphanies Later…

Posted: January 3, 2012 in Uncategorized
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On New Year’s Day, 2011, I made a resolution to write an epiphany per day for the entire year.  Believe it or not, I stuck to this resolution straight through to the fall until I found that my self-concept had transformed so dramatically that I couldn’t bear to break myself open any more.  I didn’t make it to 365, but come on… could you?  And if you did, who would you be on the other side?

As 2012 begins, I feel beyond blessed.  Not only have I figured out who I am, I have also transformed everything about my circumstances to position myself right where I need to be (efforts which comprised the work of 2011’s final months).  I don’t feel compelled to write resolutions, to break myself open, or to transform my life.  Instead I look at the year ahead with nothing but optimism and gratitude from the vantage point of all that is new.

I’d like to share just three of the 253 epiphanies that shaped my metamorphosis over the past twelve months:

Epiphany #50: Holy shit!  I am (half) lesbian!

I can pinpoint the moment that this dawned on me, a moment in mid February during my first of many trips to Boston.  I had attended a writer’s workshop and, feeling empowered and inspired, joined the women of the Op-Ed Project for drinks.  My chat with a fellow workshop attendee, Yarimee, was interrupted by the entrance of another woman who introduced herself as Spectra, Yari’s girlfriend.  Click!  The pure love of the gesture and look shared between them hit me like a wave, knocked me over with realization, and broke me through to what has been a life-changing epiphany.  It was at that moment I realized that my love of women, so strong that it had been spilling out into every facet of my life for years, could find expression in my personal life and bring me fulfillment.  Yarimee and Spectra, it turned out, are community organizers of a group called Queer Women of Color, which hosts incredible events ranging from enlightening panel discussions to spoken word poetry, creating safe space for the goddesses of Boston to learn, share, and celebrate with one another.

What continues to boggle my mind about this epiphany is not the reality of my lesbianism, but rather the depths of my psyche in which I had buried it.  What the hell took me so long to allow myself this blessing?  Even my mother knew it long ago, and perhaps had I embraced it we would have understood each other better and saved ourselves years of heartache.  There is no explanation other than the strength of my culture’s conditioning, the fervor with which I believed I had to live in a prescribed way, the certainty that to be a good woman I had to mimic what I was shown.  Even my undergraduate women’s studies classes didn’t shake me of it, and I wonder how much distance lies between young women’s performances of self and their true selves.  How many countless others are depriving themselves of the most beautiful blessing of authenticity?  How can I reach them and help them open the door?

Epiphany #105: Love is infinite.

This epiphany came in April, after meeting Dr. Charlie Glickman, a professional colleague and friend who continues to inspire me.  It still makes me nervous to disclose this epiphany, as it sets me apart from conventional thinking a great deal.  But all things considered it has been among the most transformative.

What I learned from Charlie’s words is something I have known but not known how to make room for, namely, that I can love many people in many different ways.  I am no stranger to falling in love and to experiencing shifts in the nature of these loves as relationships evolve.  What begins as eros becomes philia and gradually morphs into pure agape as I see the heart and soul of a person.  Whether any of the people I love are meant to play a role in my daily life or not, I continue to love them and I always will.  I will never run out of love and I will never hesitate to express it.

It turns out I am not alone in this understanding, and I am thankful for that.  Because of it I have more love in my heart and in my everyday life than I have ever had before.  Ever.  It just keeps getting better.  I see so many struggling with ownership and jealousy and my heart aches for them.  I hear pop songs on the radio and wonder at the messages of codependence that are fed to us as “natural” or “inevitable.”  Seeking one’s own wholeness in a partner is unfair to both the self and the partner, a lesson I have learned well from many years of unhealthy relationships.  Real love is not concerned with limitations.  Love thrives on love, and boundaries placed on it only serve to squelch its potential.  Every love is different.  Every love is important.

Epiphany #193: I can trust my power.

One year ago, I was writing from a home that no longer felt like home, lonely, unhealthy, and confused.  Today I am right where I am meant to be, surrounded by amazing people who see and appreciate the best parts of me, and ready to grow my activism and spirituality into a force that will inspire others.  You know who made all that happen?  I did.

Not that this work was done single-handedly by any means.  I have help, lots of it, from some of the most generous and wonderful people in the world.  But it was me who opened myself to these blessings, and I like to think I give back through the resources at my disposal: compassion, guidance, friendship, and love.  Sharing gifts of optimism and hope hardly seems a chore, but rather a unique and incredible privilege of its own.  If my power is show people their own beauty, so be it.  I’ll embrace the mission with gratitude and work diligently to expand my radius.  The coming year brings me opportunities to work with Our Bodies Ourselves, SPARK, Scarleteen, and Dr. Sharon Lamb, all of whom seek to provide young women with access to their own authenticity.  I may never be the Martin Luther King, Jr. of feminism as I dreamed I’d be in my younger days, but the impact of my activism and spirituality on those closest to me has ripple effects and may just help this tide turn yet.  I will encourage personal epiphanies and social change or spend my life trying.  If I can transform my self-concept and my life in a single year, who knows what else I can do…

In 2012, I begin finding out.

Women’s (and Girls’) March of Occupy Boston

Posted: December 5, 2011 in Uncategorized
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When I decided to bring my 5-year-old daughter to the Women’s March of Occupy Boston, I did not expect her to be a spectacle.  I brought her for two reasons: 1) As a member of the 99% and a single mom, I keep her with me as often as possible to minimize child care expenses and to maximize our time spent together, and 2) I wanted her to have her first activist experience.  I wanted to plant the seed within her psyche that she can and should always use her voice in support of social justice and human rights.

How does one explain this to a kindergartener?

We arrived in Dewey Square to find a festive and hopeful energy.  People played music, passed out buttons, put on costumes, and made signs.  My daughter immediately appreciated the solidarity of the people under the Boston sunshine.  I sat her down and explained, “All of these people are going to march through the streets because there are things about our world that are unfair.”  “Things are unfair?” she asked with a furrowed brow.  This was a poignant moment, the first dawning of this unfortunate fact.  “Yes, there are big problems because some people think that money is more important than love.”  This she understood because we discuss the value of love in our household often.  Daily, even.  “This march,” I continued, “is about women and girls in particular, and we are saying that women’s and girls’ voices are important and that we can make a difference in the world.”

With this information, she decided that she wanted to make a sign.  What a great opportunity!  Not only can she work on her writing skills, I thought, but on her understanding of the times in which she is growing up.  Allowing her agency over her message was my primary objective, so I asked her what she wanted her sign to say.  “Girls can help too,” she stated firmly.  To me, the word “girls” contains the implication of childhood, and I felt her sign demonstrated how children can have voices within the Occupy movement.  After all, it is their well-being as much as anybody’s that is affected by the disparity in wealth distribution.  I see no need to hide or obscure this.  The Occupy movement is based on principles and values that, as a parent, I seek to instill in my child, primarily that named on the sign I held: “LOVE.”  I helped her by spelling out the words, and she created her sign.

A few minutes later, rethinking her message in a feminist framework, I decided that a little more coaching was in order.  “You know what I think?” I said, “I think your sign would be stronger if it said girls can LEAD.  The word ‘help’ makes it sound like girls help and boys lead, even though I know that’s not what you meant.”  She was pretty attached to her message since, after all, the point was about valuing her own words, but  ultimately she agreed to add the word “LEAD” in big bold letters to her sign, along with a 99% button.

And so, with her cardboard sign proudly displayed, she took to the streets of Boston with a crowd of subversive (honest), radical (compassionate), oppositional (intelligent) people with whom her mother has come to feel most comfortable.  She picked up on chants, responding to calls of “Women’s right are under attack, what do we do?” with a passionate, “Stand up; fight back!”  Yep, that’s my girl.

I did not expect the reception she got for her participation in this march!  Leaders of the movement thanked me for bringing her; reporters from the Globe and the Herald interviewed me about my decision to bring her; onlookers snapped pictures.  It seemed she would be a poster child for activism and I began to wonder why there weren’t other children in attendance.

You know, my daughter will have her own perspective and opinions about her world as she grows up within it.  They may well differ from my own at times, and I will always give her space to find her voice.  She cannot possibly understand all that Occupy Boston is about, nor can she grapple with the nuances of feminism at her tender age.  But the basic tenets that underlie both make sense to her, the ideas of justice, compassion and love.  It is important to me that she learns that her voice, in solidarity with others, can create change.  I hope that someday she will reflect on this memory of activism (the first of many, I’m sure) with a greater understanding of its context, and feel proud and grateful to have learned to question the status quo so young.

The moment that brought tears to my eyes, made the whole experience real for me, was chanting alongside my daughter, “We are unstoppable; another world is possible!”  More than anything, I want her to believe those words.  I want to believe them.  It is, after all, her world I seek to change.  I want her to live in a world of economic justice, gender equity, solidarity among diverse people, beautiful in their authenticity.  And short of that idealistic vision, I want her to live in a world where she knows that her voice can join the chorus of those who work toward it.

To My Woman of Tomorrow

Posted: October 21, 2011 in Uncategorized
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Make the world more beautiful.

Dear five-year-old daughter,

A few years ago, I would not have called myself a writer.  It was rare that I picked up a pen for anything other than filling out forms to keep up with the ridiculous amounts of paperwork that adulthood entails (you’ll see, really, it’s absurd.)  Every once in a while, when my spirit was tired, I would tell your father that I needed some “mommy time” and I would hike into the woods and sit by the waterfall.  I would take out a journal with a quote by Henry David Thoreau scrolled across the cover: “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined.”  I would dig through my bag for a pen, and upon finding it in the mess of receipts, credit cards, and notes scrolled on napkins, I would take a deep breath and write.  I would always write to you.

Writing to you felt important.  It forced me to consider carefully what was really going on inside of me and how I could convey it to your new soul, your adoring eyes, and your pure loving heart.  I chose my words wisely as I described my own life, the relationships between myself and others who love you, and my hopes and dreams for our futures.  Often, I would cry, though not necessarily from sadness.  I would cry tears of release as I sent my stress down with the water toward the vast ocean that unites our globe.  I would breathe in the fresh scent of Maine woods as deeply as I could, and I would allow myself to become a part of the landscape where paperwork and credit cards held no meaning.

I am fighting back guilt as I tell you that I have gradually fallen out of the habit of writing to you.  But it isn’t because I have stopped writing (and it certainly isn’t because I don’t love you with every ounce of my being.)  In fact, it’s because I write more now!  I write like crazy!  As you became more independent and I could squeeze in writing time throughout the day and at night, the epiphanies about who I am and how I want to fit into the world started coming faster and faster.  I focused more on giving words to my thoughts, and they flowed until my pen could no longer keep up.  I have abandoned writing by hand in favor of furiously typing, and I have filled thousands of single-spaced pages with my musings on love, friendship, spirituality, and life.  My ideas became too complex to explain, even to myself sometimes, let alone to you, dear child.  And I confronted social truths I felt were too painful to tell you about, although I know you will need to learn of them eventually.

I have considered you my anchor to simplicity that allows my exploration of complexity.  Every night, after a storm of thoughts gathers in my head awaiting release onto the pages after you are asleep, we do our bedtime routine.  I quiet my mind as I help you brush your teeth, put on your jammies, and arrange your stuffed animals in a deliberate nest in your bed.  We read a book together, often the same book over and over until its comfort begins to feel like a bore, at which time we find something new.  For the past week or so, our book has been Miss Rumphius, a lovely story about the life of a woman who travels the world and later settles in a house by the sea.  As a child, the character receives instructions from her grandfather about how to spend her time on earth.  She becomes an adventurous traveler, then a “crazy old lady,” and then a great aunt to a large family, and she remembers her grandfather’s words: “You must do something to make the world more beautiful.”

This book’s illustrations are breath-taking, and on the final page a vision of a setting sun behind Miss Rumphius’s great nieces and nephews picking blossoms from the fields of flowers she has planted shows just how beautiful the character’s corner of the world has become.  She has taken her grandfather’s task quite literally, and peppered her seaside town with lupine seeds to add splendor to the landscape.  “Do I need to make the world more beautiful, mom?” you ask me.  And my answer without hesitation is, “Yes, I believe it is important that we make the world more beautiful.  You already make my world more beautiful every day.”

After four special kisses (a regular kiss, an Eskimo kiss, a butterfly kiss, and a “fox kiss,” which is of your own invention) I tuck you in and go sit in front of my laptop.  And I write.  I write stories, poems, blog posts, and articles.  By the glow of my screen, the dog sitting at my feet and the cat purring in an attempt to get a moment of my affection, I pepper the landscape with stanzas rather than flower seeds.  I read and re-read, and compose concluding sentences to my latest explorations of how what is inside of me relates to what surrounds me, and I find that the final sentences of my works are frequently similar.  My conclusions, more often than not, are about compassion.  It is the key to it all; the answer to every question; the force that can change those painful social truths that ail our here and now: compassion.

I feel compelled to write this to you now, to resume my old practice of choosing words carefully for you, because my epiphanies are changing who I am.  As you grow and evolve developmentally, so do I, even in my thirties.  I hardly recognize the me of a decade ago, although in many ways my metamorphosis represents a return to the things I knew before I allowed self-doubt to cloud my knowledge.  The more I learn about my passions and my strengths and the more I learn about the state of the world, poised for revolution of our collective spirit, the more certain I feel that there are big changes in store for both you and me.  An upheaval of our comfortable world is around the corner, daughter.  It will be your first big test.

I have put our house on the market.  I remember moving into it one month to the day after your birth and wondering how I would ever fill up all the closet and cabinet space, and now I find that doors are bursting with toys, games, books, and clothes you have grown out of.  This is the only home you have ever known, and walking a block around our neighborhood has become our ritual bonding time.  You stop to say hello to the same neighbors, smell the same flowers, and jump on the same rocks every day.  The constancy of our environment, most of it a shrine to your early childhood, has given you the opportunity to form a solid foundation for learning unencumbered by insecurity.  But the comfort and safety of the home we have known is about to be sacrificed for bigger aspirations…

Small Town, Maine is not where I need to be.  You and I will move to bigger city.  I will perhaps return here for my house by the sea when I retire to my “crazy old lady” phase, but right now, the solitude of this place only holds me back.  I am a writer.  And as a writer of feminist theory, stories of empowerment, and poetic prophecy, my success hinges upon my ability to be heard.  After much soul-searching I have vowed to be my own muse, my own biggest fan, and my own source of motivation rather than being my own harshest critic.  Despite what society tells me as a woman and will tell you as a girl, our voices do have value.  Our words can change the world.  Choosing words is my craft, and I intend to be heard or spend my life trying.

There is a word for what mommy is, another one besides “writer,” and it is “activist.”  I have chosen activism as a career path, and though it is far from lucrative, it is the only path that is true to my heart.  You will understand as you grow up how much change needs to happen in this world.  You understand it surprisingly well already!  I do not shelter you from the ignorance of media messages, but instead I talk to you about why some messages hurt people, how they are created to make money, and how “in our family, we know better” than to believe stereotypes we see on our television.  Yes, at five years old, you already know the word “stereotype,” as I believe you must since much of the programming that targets you is littered with them.  Activism is a way to combat stereotypes, to talk back to the forces that seek to silence us or silo us.  It is a way to move our world forward and leave behind in our wake the toxic pains of sexism, racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, and a long list of other phobias and isms that have plagued us and prevented us from really connecting.

What will this mean for you?  I wish I could answer this question.  I try to envision our future and I see questions marks looming over every horizon.  I am your mother, and you can trust me to take care of you always.  Moving will be a leap of faith, but we will land.  We will travel through hardship and transition and find ourselves better off in the long run, positioned to participate fully in the changing world, seated in the front row of progress toward liberation.  You will be exposed to more diversity, more culture, and more people who are brave enough to embrace and express their true selves.  You will grow to become the bravest of them all.

But truth be told it will not be easy.  There will be times when I seem distracted, distraught over a news story or devastated by a wound reopened.  Sometimes I will want to retreat from the hurried pace of change and the frustration of resistance and backlash.  It may confuse you to see me in distress, and it may hurt your feelings to know that something seemingly outside of you has so much power over my emotions.

There will also be times when I rejoice at our headway and you will think I am crazy for dancing wildly around the house or down the streets even.  I hope you will throw caution to the wind and dance with me.  Because here is what I want you to know: It really is all about you.  It is your world I am trying to make more beautiful.  This passion for writing and activism is a reflection of me being true to myself and an expression of compassion for the other people of this world.  But do you know why my writing has accelerated and my clarity of purpose sharpened in the five years since you were born?  Because knowing that I am changing the world for you turns my spark into a red hot flame.

I have come full circle and I am writing directly to you once again.  There is so much I want to tell you, my woman of tomorrow.  There are so many myths which you are taught as truths, so many mysteries to explore, and so many opportunities for you to live your dreams.  I want to tell you what I have learned about gender and about love and about our spirits and about… too many other things to list!  I want to write openly and simply here where other women of now can read and contemplate their messages for their own women of tomorrow.  I want to encourage you to make the world more beautiful, whether by a gesture as small as scattering seeds of your favorite flower over the grassy hills of your someday hometown, or by a gesture as grand as changing public policy or social thought on a life-or-death issue, sprinkling seeds of compassion among communities of people.  And I hope you grow up with the understanding, albeit occasionally interrupted by the inevitable discord between mother and child, that the decisions I make, even the ones that are scary and uncomfortable, are made with one goal in mind: to make your world more beautiful.  You make my world more beautiful every day.  The least I can do is return the favor.

Love, Mom

Sunglasses

Posted: October 13, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,
3

Me and my sexuality have had a tumultuous relationship.  I have been paralyzed by shame for the better part of my existence, thanks largely to growing up in a culture where women’s sexuality is simultaneously feared and exploited.  Any expression of the ongoing process of my negotiation of my sexuality made me vulnerable to victimization, or short of that, over-simplification of my personality.  It is as if female sexuality is so powerful that any expression of it blinded people to my intelligence, my compassion, and my creativity.  My defenses were built strong in response to this so that I could be taken seriously as a thinker, creator, and nurturer in this world.  I built the indestructible wall.  I have been angry about this for as long as I can remember.

When I discovered feminism, I found the language to describe my wounds.  I was able to place my personal experiences into a larger political context, and I found comfort in knowing I was not alone in my anger and pain.  So compelled have I been by the discovery of such truth that I have devoted my study and career to feminism for the past fifteen years.

But today some feminists are making me angry.  I am frustrated that so much energy within feminist activism is devoted to naming the wounds rather than healing them.

This is the year I found healing, FINALLY.  The wall has crumbled.  I found the healing I needed in the discourse of sex positivity.  The things I have discovered about myself through a personal process of intense self-exploration are things that might cause discomfort, certainly among subscribers to our sex negative culture, and also among feminists who are still trapped by their wounds.  Even within feminism, I find myself silenced for fear that others are not ready for my message.

But I will not let fear silence me.

I am sexual and I am allowed to express it.  This is not a matter of play or of self-indulgence.  It is a matter of spiritual proportions and universal significance.

The ways in which I choose to express my sexuality might look very different or very similar to the ways female sexuality has been conceptualized by our culture and our media.  As much as I want to create new ways to express myself, I find that at my starting point I am given limited materials with which to work.

I can expose my body, draw attention to the parts of it deemed sexual, and assert that my physical form is one that others may desire.  Some radical feminists would demonize me for this, calling it self-objectification.  But I am not an object!  Even when I am presenting myself as a form that others may desire, I am a full human being acting on my own terms and capable of making fully-informed decisions.  Deal with it.

I can also practice expressing my sexuality in ways our culture calls masculine.  I can practice my swagger, use my words and body language to show others that they are desired.  I can scan a body up and down and imagine interacting with that body so that the person who resides within it can feel that I want them.  In such a scenario, that person is not an object!  My expression of appreciation of their presence is not meant to minimize the composition of their character.

I can love.  I do love, so hard that it hurts.  I yearn with waves of intensity for union of my tortured soul with that of a lover!  I have found (again, FINALLY) that some satisfaction of this need is possible when I cultivate relationships with people who have broken free like I have.  Emotional connection creates spiritual connection in sexual relationships I foster.

How else can female sexuality be expressed?  Tell me!  I want to know.  I am sick and tired of chastising all of those expressions that are marred by patriarchy, pornified by the male gaze, etcetera, etcetera.  I want to know what the alternative can look like!  I want to heal.  And more importantly, I want the world to heal.

Naming the wound is an important part of the process.  But there comes a point at which spiraling frantically around the naming of the wound causes further damage.  Women who express disgust at the SlutWalks in the name of feminism and who rail against women’s “self-objectification” are not helping girls and women create its alternative.  How ARE we allowed to be sexy?  If every image of female sexuality is problematic, then we are doomed.

How about instead we open our minds to the possibilities of what we can and will create now that we can have some control.  I realize I am speaking from a place of great privilege, and that women and girls in many parts of the world are nowhere close to having the agency to create expressions and representations of their sexuality.  Nonetheless, in this country, we are getting there.  We can create media and we can speak freely.  It is entirely counter-productive for us women to shame each other for what emerges when we do!

I am a sexual woman.  What my sexuality looks like and how it interacts with other (equally impressive) aspects of my personality changes on a daily basis.  And I refuse to hide my sexuality from the world for fear of victimization, over-simplification, or shaming from feminists for another minute.  My sexuality is powerful, a bright light shining from within me.  If it blinds you to who I am, that speaks to a deficit in your vision, not a problem in my presentation.  My advice to you is this: Put on your fucking sunglasses.

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