In My Stylish Yet Affordable Boots

Time to end the silence

The first time was at a pool party. I wore a one-piece lavender swimsuit with little white flowers. A boy my age swam up behind me as I stood in the pool, shoved his hand between my legs, and used it to pull me back against him. I kicked him and pulled away, whirled around, and he crowded me into the side of the pool. Just then, an adult came out onto the pool deck and the boy stepped back. I got out of the pool and didn't go back in. I was 12.

The next time was in my home. I wore a pink t-shirt and hand-me-down denim shorts. A man I knew, there while my parents were out, thrust his hand down my shorts and told me he knew I wanted it, while he rubbed my vulva. I froze. A noise from the other room made him stop, and I escaped to my bedroom. Eventually, I went to bed. He opened the door to my room, pulled down my underwear while I laid on my stomach, pretending to sleep, and penetrated me with his finger. All the while, he told me how much he knew I was enjoying it. I laid there, paralyzed with fear and confusion, until he finally went away. I curled into a ball and didn't sleep the rest of the night, not knowing or understanding how deep his perversion might run, terrified for my little brother in the next room. I was 13.

The third time, I went out for coffee with a man from my university. I wore jeans and a sweater, and a light winter coat. I'd picked him up because he had no car, and the campus was rural enough there wasn't a diner or coffee shop within walking distance. When I pulled into the dorm parking lot to drop him off after our coffee, he lunged at me across the center console and began groping and kissing me. I had to push and punch him several times to get him off of me and order him out of my car. His parting shot was to call me a bitch and a tease. I was 23.

I reported none of these things, told no one. I had no proof. The first and third seemed almost normal and expected -- the price of being female. (That's rape culture in a nutshell, btw.) In the case of the second, I knew it would destroy families and relationships if I did. It was 30 years before I addressed it in therapy. And all things considered, I am lucky. I don't have stories involving extreme violence or ongoing abuse. I didn't come out of these encounters needing medical attention because I'd been physically harmed. 

And I'm lucky because I have wonderful men in my life, men who don't think sexual assault is a joke, or appropriate locker room talk, or something totally normal because "boys will be boys". I have men who treat me as a person and their equal. I am privileged to be safe, but I also never forget that safety can be ripped away in a flash. 

I applaud Kelly Oxford for starting the #notokay hashtag and for bearing the brunt of the cretinous individuals who still ignore and deny the kinds of things that happen to women every day. 

Loving Your Body

Today I came across the headline "Daisy Ridley 'will not apologise' for her body size after Instagram criticism". Essentially, someone posted a photo to Instagram of Ms. Ridley as the character Rey from Star Wars: The Force Awakens, with a speech bubble, "I can't believe the unrealistic expectations I'm setting for young girls. Don't they know real women have curves?"

I'm appalled. I'm appalled that we have to keep having these conversations. Daisy Ridley's body is her body, and therefore it is a real woman's body. Real women have curves, or they don't. Real women have flat stomachs or round stomachs or slightly paunchy stomachs. They have smooth skin or rough skin or scarred skin. Their skin is light or dark or freckly. They have hair on their bodies or they don't. They have large breasts, small breasts, all the breast sizes in between, or they have no breasts at all. Real women bear children. Or they can't, or they choose not to. The measure of a real woman is NOT IN HER BODY. It's just not. A real woman is just...a woman.

Body shaming anyone is not ok. Not for being fat, not for being thin, not for having a body that is in someway different from what you're used to seeing as a body or find attractive in a body.

In a time when things like #unfairandlovely, #effyourbeautystandards, and #thisbody are bringing attention to the diversity of bodies in our world, when we have our first plus size model gracing the cover of Sports Illustrated*, it's so disappointing to see there are people still trying to police women's bodies and appearances and fit them into a neat little box of acceptability. Instead of worrying that one woman's body is the thing setting an unrealistic expectation, that Instagrammer needs to be worrying a little more about what their body policing says to young girls. It tells them they can't look different, that their worth is in being the "right" size, the "right" color, the "right" kind of woman. Is that truly a message we want girls to hear, or do we want to them to know that there's strength in diversity and loving yourself just as you are right now? 

I love my body. Like a close family member, it exasperates me at times, amazes me at others, yet rarely fails me. There is a certain peace that comes with acknowledging the ways your body deviates from that little box of acceptability, yet loving it for those things as well. I have to love this body -- it's the only one I have to carry me through this life.

 

*And yes, Ashley Graham was also publicly body shamed by former supermodel Cheryl Tiegs, which was disappointing to read. Women need to stop criticizing each other for their appearance and start supporting each other. 

 

 

 

This and That

Something that's been on my mind a lot lately is The Star Thrower, or Starfish Story as many people know it. The original Loren Eiseley version is not as accessible as the adapted version, which can be found all over the interwebs: 

An old man had a habit of early morning walks on the beach.  One day, as he looked along the shore, he saw a human figure moving like a dancer.  As he came closer he saw that it was a young woman and she was not dancing but was reaching down to the sand, picking up starfish and very gently throwing them into the ocean.

"Young lady," he asked, "Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?"

"The sun is up, and the tide is going out, and if I do not throw them in they will die."

"But young lady, do you not realise that there are miles and miles of beach and starfish all along it?  You cannot possibly make a difference."

The young woman listened politely, paused and then bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it into the sea, past the breaking waves, saying: "It made a big difference to that one."

Anyway, as I said, this particular tale has been on my mind a lot, to the point that I pulled out my vintage starfish brooch -- a family heirloom, if you will -- last Thursday.

 

In light of what occurred on Friday, I've been thinking about this little fable even more. It's overwhelming, to say the least, to think about the enormous losses and the grief and heartbreak, and to feel as if there is absolutely no difference to be made for anyone. The Big Issues get political and productive discussion grinds to a halt as each side retreats to their corner of extremism. But while it's true that the terrible events in Newtown, CT cannot be taken back, I can still make a difference in the world. I can reach out to people in my community who need a helping hand. I can commit random acts of kindness. Simply saying "please" and "thank you" and giving a smile to a stranger are things that make the world a little bit kinder. I realize that sounds trite, platitude-like, but I feel as if I need to remind myself of these things; that even in the face of unimaginable tragedy, small things can and do make a difference to someone.

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With no outfits to blog, what's a girl to do? Chop off her hair, of course!

I kid. I've been kind of obsessing over doing this for the past five months, and last week, my friend librarysarie and her awesome new cut gave me the necessary kick in the pants to go for it. I love it, and I'm so glad I did it!

Other pertinent details: I'm wearing a Lands End cowlneck sweater dress (100% merino wool! And currently more than 70% off!), my Chamilia bracelet, and Lia Sophia earrings. The Christmas tree brooch is several years old, but still available from the Smithsonian Museum Store.

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One of the things I love most about this time of year is the music. While the constant drone of Christmas carols in every store between Halloween and Christmas can get a bit wearing, hearing my favorite hymns nearly always leaves me with a feeling of peace and joy. I have the Candlelight Processional from Epcot loaded on my device and love to listen to the choir sing. 

Some of my favorite Christmas memories are around music; specifically, Polish koledy. My favorite of those is Dzisiaj w Betlejem -- Today in Bethlehem -- which figured heavily into my childhood Christmases, as my mom and aunts would sing this around the table. (Translation of the lyrics here.)

And no Christmas is complete without Johnny Mathis' Christmas albums playing. Those, along with Nat King Cole, were the tree-decorating soundtrack of my youth. So I leave you with my favorite Johnny Mathis Christmas tune, which never fails to make me smile:

Love Your Body

When I learned that today had been declared "Love Your Body Day", I knew I wanted to write something about it, but I was kind of stumped. I've talked a bit about size acceptance, and more recently, about being awesome. What else could I possibly have to say on this topic? Let's see...

Earlier this year, I had a health scare. Ultimately, it turned out to be not serious, but I did have to make some changes to medication I was taking. Those changes resulted in me gaining 20 pounds in four months. I was...not pleased to realize that. It was discouraging. I felt defeated, as if all of my efforts in healthy eating and exercise were for nothing. I'm no slave to the scale, but seeing those numbers creep up, instead of remaining steady, started to make me feel bad about myself.

But then I recognized the trap I was falling into. I was allowing the negative to invade my thoughts, allowing the anti-awesome to win. So my body has changed again...now what? Instead of dwelling on the downsides, I needed to figure out how it operates now, and go forward. It's a process, but I'm working it. I've lost 5 pounds since I started to figure it out, which is nice. But far more importantly, I feel better and more comfortable about this new version of me - regardless of whether those 20 pounds go away or not.

And really, that's the key to loving your body and loving yourself, I think. You need to accept the way your body looks and functions as just another part of life, frustating as it may sometimes be, and figure out the ways to work with it that best give you the fullest life you can possibly have! Diet, activity level, self-care - all of these things are very individualized, and I can't give you the right answer for you. But I urge you to find out, and learn to love your body. No one can see the number on the scale or the tag inside your jeans. Why let that rule how you feel? The smile on your face, meeting other people's eyes, letting them know you're comfortable in your own skin - those things are worth much more in the world than any random numbers.

Be confident, be happy, be loving, and above all, be AWESOME.

How...reasonable.

I was reading an AP story posted on Yahoo News, about our tax rates, and tax rates on the "super-rich", when I stumbled across what is possibly the best comment I've ever read on a news story, and says - PERFECTLY - what I think about Washington. Since Yahoo won't let me link directly to a comment, I've quoted it below:

Politicians are the only people in the world who create problems and then campaign against them.

Have you ever wondered, if both the Democrats and the Republicans are against deficits, WHY do we have deficits?

Have you ever wondered, if all the politicians are against inflation and high taxes, WHY do we have inflation and high taxes?

You and I don't propose a federal budget. The President does.

You and I don't have the Constitutional authority to vote on appropriations. The House of Representatives does.

You and I don't write the tax code, Congress does.

You and I don't set fiscal policy, Congress does.

You and I don't control monetary policy, the Federal Reserve Bank does.

One hundred senators, 435 congressmen, one President, and nine Supreme Court justices equates to 545 human beings out of the 300 million are directly, legally, morally, and individually responsible for the domestic problems that plague this country.

I excluded the members of the Federal Reserve Board because that problem was created by the Congress. In 1913, Congress delegated its Constitutional duty to provide a sound currency to a federally chartered, but private, central bank.

I excluded all the special interests and lobbyists for a sound reason. They have no legal authority. They have no ability to coerce a senator, a congressman, or a President to do one cotton-picking thing. I don't care if they offer a politician $1 million dollars in cash. The politician has the power to accept or reject it. No matter what the lobbyist promises, it is the legislator's responsibility to determine how he votes.

Those 545 human beings spend much of their energy convincing you that what they did is not their fault. They cooperate in this common con regardless of party.

What separates a politician from a normal human being is an excessive amount of gall. No normal human being would have the gall of a Speaker, who stood up and criticized the President for creating deficits. The President can only propose a budget. He cannot force the Congress to accept it.

The Constitution, which is the supreme law of the land, gives sole responsibility to the House of Representatives for originating and approving appropriations and taxes. Who is the speaker of the House? John Boehner. He is the leader of the majority party. He and fellow House members, not the President, can approve any budget they want. If the President vetoes it, they can pass it over his veto if they agree to.

It seems inconceivable to me that a nation of 300 million cannot replace 545 people who stand convicted -- by present facts -- of incompetence and irresponsibility. I can't think of a single domestic problem that is not traceable directly to those 545 people. When you fully grasp the plain truth that 545 people exercise the power of the federal government, then it must follow that what exists is what they want to exist.

If the tax code is unfair, it's because they want it unfair.

If the budget is in the red, it's because they want it in the red.

If the Army & Marines are in Iraq and Afghanistan it's because they want them in Iraq and Afghanistan ...

If they do not receive social security but are on an elite retirement plan not available to the people, it's because they want it that way.

There are no insoluble government problems.

Do not let these 545 people shift the blame to bureaucrats, whom they hire and whose jobs they can abolish; to lobbyists, whose gifts and advice they can reject; to regulators, to whom they give the power to regulate and from whom they can take this power. Above all, do not let them con you into the belief that there exists disembodied mystical forces like "the economy," "inflation," or "politics" that prevent them from doing what they take an oath to do.

    - Bobby Sun Apr 17, 2011 09:10 am PDT

Now, I don't know who Bobby is, but I think he's kind of awesome.

A fundamental difference of opinion

I just finished watching Bill Maher's documentary, Religulous. (Seriously. It ended 1 minute ago.) While I agreed with a lot of his points, especially about the role of religion in the US government, his delivery of the material left a lot to be desired. Granted, it's Bill Maher, so the smug superiority of both his interview style and his delivery should not have come as a surprise. But what did come as a surprise was his flawed premise in a documentary about religion - basically a syllogistic fallacy:
1. Religion is made up of people of faith
2. Religion is responsible for many of the world's ills
3. Therefore, people of faith are responsible for many of the world's ills.

Unfortunately for his documentary, faith is not the same thing as organized religion, and not everyone who professes faith in a deity, or force of nature, or the universe, is part of an organized religion. The characterization of people of faith as inherently stupid, and lacking in intellectual curiosity and the ability to reason was, quite honestly, pretty offensive. In fact, I found it just as offensive as the words of fundamental Christians who claim to speak for all, as offensive as any extremist position that refuses to acknowledge other people have valid thoughts or beliefs as well.

I'm not going to delve deeply into my faith or religious beliefs here, largely because they're pretty personal and it's none of your business. ;-) But I will say that these are things that I HAVE spent a great deal of time thinking about, and still do. The suggestion that anyone who believes in something is an immature idiot...well, in this case, I think it says more about the person delivering the message than it does about the people he's describing. Perhaps Maher should take the advice of his closing words in the film, "Grow up or die". Minds that are that closed to alternate possibilities, in my opinion, are a kind of death.