Reflecting For The Week

TW: Brief mention of r***, incest, and abortions.

Today was both a good, and a bad day. I started off with tender breasts, PMS, and a fuzzy brain.

I was supposed to go to a lunch of a family friend, but epilepsy said, “Nah.” Luckily my amazing husband went to the store upon my request and picked up my Diet Coke, Twix, and Starbursts. Then he gave them to me and hid in his man cave. Wise man.

Later, Patrick and moved shit around in the apartment, to both change the energy flow, and to organize and store shit. We got a lot of work done today, and I can feel it. I finally smudged the apartment, after “thinking about it” for weeks. I feel so light, like a plastic bag, floating in the wind.

Lately, though, I’ve been really emotional, but not because of hormones. In Texas, they are trying to ban abortions after 6 weeks, regardless of r*** or incest, and make it possible for ANY ONE to sue someone they suspect who’s received an abortion, or someone they suspect performs abortions. The person doesn’t even have to be guilty of the “crime” to be sued, just suspected. The State of Missouri is now trying to ban IUD’s, because they’re considered aiding in abortion.

I feel so violated and angry. I have never been pregnant, and actively avoid pregnancy, as it often leads to children. But what if my birth control fails? What if the worst possible outcome occurred, but I’m forced to grow that person’s seed?

These situations occur EVERY DAY. A woman from my past became pregnant when the manufacturer of her birth control filled the whole month of her cycle with placebos, instead of the hormonal BC. I’m sure she was one of thousands who unknowingly became pregnant.

The woman showed no symptoms of being pregnant, and all the while she was receiving heavy treatment for Covid-19 symptoms. She was 18 weeks along when she found out; the fetus was severely underdeveloped, and had the pregnancy gone to term, the child would have come out with horrifying side effects of this treatment. This doesn’t begin to unpack the trauma, excruciating pain, and worsened sickness for this woman.

Women don’t have abortions to fill out a punch card; it is a last resort when everything else has failed.

This has been weighing on my mind as heavy as 25 cats. For the first time in my life, I am terrified for my future. I live in America – the land of the free, and home of the brave. This isn’t supposed to be happening in America; these things happen “over there”. Where is my freedom? Where is the freedom for other women?

My real fear is, what’s next after abortions and IUD’s? Will hormonal birth control be next? And then, will we be too busy being barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen to have a job or be educated?

It’s not “just” banning abortions; it’s a slippery slope back to the 1950’s.

Pro-Choice ≠ Pro-Abortion

But. I’m at the point in my life where I know if I don’t speak up, and evangelize for us as women, that I’m apart of the problem, and I am done being apart of the silent majority.

I was not born to be normal; I was born and raised not run away from a fight, rather, grab my sword and beat it until it cries for its momma. I was born to lead, and I was raised to get shit done.

So that is exactly what I’m going to do.

My metaphorical pen will be my sword. I will share stories of women I’ve crossed paths with throughout my ridiculously traumatic and unstable life.

I hope you will join me by speaking your truth, or just sharing this piece; help start a larger conversation.

Let’s start a revolution. #SaveTheUterus

This Shit Is Hard (I, like, can’t EVEN)

So I have been actively avoiding my blog, and more importantly, writing lately.

I am not a person who can just put forth garbage just to have content. I take great pride in my work, and believe in living with integrity, even when it feels like I’m climbing Mount Kilimanjaro (cause everyone climbs fucking Everest). I am uncomfortable posting fluffy shit like all of the “Blog Babes” suggest; I give exactly 0 fucks about writing “10 Best Fashion Tips, and #7 is unbelievable!”

I’m a loudmouth, opinionated bitch. My life, up until this point, has not been fun and fuzzy. I grew up witnessing domestic abuse, and then I walked into an abusive relationship. I have epilepsy, and generalized anxiety disorder, and I’m recovering from a life-long eating disorder, and emotionally numbing in any way possible. At the age of 12, I called a teen hotline and told the person on the phone that I thought I had depression.

I had no bodily autonomy for most of my life; my body was the property of everyone else, and I had to keep it clean and pure for them.

During my first appointment with a psychiatrist, after I told her my whole story, she paused, took a breath, and stated, “It’s impressive that you’ve been suffering alone this whole time, and not in a good way.”

Translation: I am fucked up.

So. Hi again. Thanks for sticking with me thus far. I know, this started on a really depressing note, but it’s my blog and I can be a party pooper if I want. So there! 😤

But I digress.

Because I refuse to put out fluffy shit, I hardly post. Pulling that shit from within and putting the shit on paper is hard as fuck.

Looking back at that trauma is extremely difficult, not only emotionally, but the more I remember from my early teens, the more I piece together more experiences with my illness. I, too, have to open the door to the loneliness and despair that I felt then.

I look back at that little girl and it hurts to put myself back behind those melancholy eyes, and experience that trauma all over again. It’s devastating, and so unfair that this little girl, at the age of 12, knew she had depression, and yet, the adults in her life failed her.

But, I have to unpack it. If I keep shoving it into the back of the closet, with the memories of my platform Spice Girl’s shoes covered in puke (I’m still waiting for those to make a comeback), I’ll never get better, and I’ll never completely understand myself.

I’m too self-aware and anxious to let that shit fester. I need to dig it out, explore it, and de-clutter it. Like Marie Kondo says, if it doesn’t bring you joy, thank the items for their work, and let it go.

So, Imma start letting that shit go.

But I warn you: this could be some Taylor Swift type shit going forward, but if I can also make millions using old diaries and hard feelings, then let the “Swifting” begin.

PS. I cuss A LOT. Like a lot, a lot. But it’s a scientific fact that people who swear a lot have a higher pain tolerance, so who’s laughing now, mom?!

The Anxiety Monster

“You either walk inside your story and own it or you stand outside your story & hustle for your worthiness.” – Dr. Brene Brown

****Trigger Warning: Graphic description of anxiety in the first paragraph and some minor graphic descriptions below. ****

You all know what I’m talking about: it’s that little tiny monster that sneaks its way into your soul, making you question everything that you do, in the more you question yourself, your sanity, your world, the more it feeds, and the bigger it grows. Eventually, without us realizing, it has turned into this horrid creature that you’ve never seen before, but it is suffocating you, and your knees bend beneath you, and eventually you give up and allow it to take over.

Yeah – that went dark fast, didn’t it? This is probably saying, “Bitch, I don’t come here for the depressing stuff. I come here for the relatable information and occasional humor!” First of all, thank you for thinking that I’m funny; I’ve been working on it 😉 Secondly, this is my show damnit! *pouts*

But in all seriousness, I know that I claim this is a sex education blog, but I think that this needs to be talked about, because as small as my platform is, all it takes is it to reach one person in need for it to be worth it. There is never a gesture too small for someone who genuinely needs and is receptive to help. It just starts with a simple question: “Are you okay?

Any way, back to me! Mine and Patrick’s world have been in a tailspin since the year began, and we were lucky enough to get hit with a triple whammy: financial, family, and moving. We decided to get married this year, I decided to go back to school full time and cut back on working only a couple of days a week, then we found out that Patrick’s father had a stroke and were able to reconnect with his father’s side of the family, but because they live out of town, we rented hotel rooms, and my course load was significantly fuller than I originally anticipated, and I’m rebuilding a relationship with my father, and he just recently met Patrick, and it goes on and on and on.

If that felt like a cluster fuck of information, how do you think we feel? The anxiety is constantly looming; it feels like there’s constantly something that I’m forgetting about, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s physically, emotionally and mentally exhausting to be on high alert ALL OF THE TIME. And to top it off, I’m an empathic fixer: I feel very deeply, process very slowly, and I have the instinct to try and fix things as soon as shit hits the fan. I feel anxiety about the possibility of feeling anxiety. Like, what the fuck is that shit? I can’t fucking even. Side note: anxiety simultaneously brings out the basic white bish and the foul mouthed sailor in me.

And worst yet, I am, what I have dubbed, just right this second, an emotional coat rack. I tend to ask people if they need help, and once they do, they tend to dump their emotional coats on me, which wouldn’t be a problem, except, yep, I said it above, I’m an empathic fixer. And, I suck at asking for help, so as a result, I either internalize (which I didn’t realize the extent to which I do until recently), or I emotionally dump on others, who are also empathic fixers. We emotionally dump like it’s a freaking pyramid scheme, or the PC term we use now, a Multi-level marketing scheme. They can’t fool me; John Oliver told me they’re the same!

So how does this anxiety show itself, you may ask? Probably not, but I’m going to tell you any way. For me, it starts with a little bit of OCD; Did you lock the door? Yes, I’ve checked it 5 times dumb ass. Then, I’ll start nagging, blaming and resenting; He knows I’m pissed off today, why is he still breathing in my general direction? Then, we end up having a stupid argument about something stupid, and we both feel shame and guilt for acting like a cunt muffin towards each other. Finally, we make up, and talk about it and move on.

But fuck does it suck to always be the strong one sometimes. The worst part about emotional dumping how good it feels to get it off your chest. I get tired of being the emotional coat rack sometimes, and sometimes I want to be the one that someone offers to help.

Don’t feel shameful if you’ve never offered to help someone in need; life is hard and hectic, and sometimes, if things just don’t feel like they’re going to line up, you go into survival mode, or as I refer to it, hermit mode. It’s also difficult to open yourself up enough to empathize with others; it can be extremely uncomfortable to dig into a deep part of yourself that say, “I’ve been there too.” The bad memories of those experiences tend to linger and sometimes it feels like you can’t handle someone else’s load (lol load). But sometimes, even a simple hug, a funny meme or a “Just checking in” text can change someones day.

I encourage you to be curious about the things that give you anxiety; the monster wins if you shy away from it. I also encourage you to practice gratitude; when you focus on all of the positive things that are going on, it makes dealing with the hard stuff much easier to manage. Finally, practice noticing the people around you. If you see a mom with a screaming child, being stared at grudgingly by strangers, and clearly flustered, ask her if she needs help. If you haven’t heard from a friend in a long time, send them a text saying that you’re thinking about them. It’s amazing how it can brighten not only their day, but also yours.

#makeamericakindagain #anxiety #empathicfixer #emotionaldumping

The Elusive Female Orgasm

So many of you have heard of this phenomenon, the female orgasm, but many of you may not have experienced one during sex and or, for some, at all. Statistically speaking, roughly 58% of women have had some type of issue with orgasms; a smaller percentage, something to the effect of 5-10% have never had an orgasm at all. Ever.

Does that shock you? It shocked me when I first heard the statistic many many years ago, mostly because I’d always heard that women were supposed to have multiple orgasms, and I’d never had sex before, so I didn’t realize how big of an impact it would be on a woman’s life.

Fast forward to being sexually active, I was pretty distressed that I had never had an orgasm during sex. I could have one during foreplay, but never during sex, and then I would have to lie to the guy I was with when he would inevitably ask, “Do you…?” I’d immediately answer “yes”, sheepishly, mind you, because, you know, that’s what I was supposed to do, right? And orgasms were just supposed to happen, right?

Eventually, I just started focusing on their needs, because I was too embarrassed to admit that I was broken, so if I just focused on them, they wouldn’t pay attention to me trying to thinking myself into an orgasm.

Then, I met him. He, and we shall call him Chad, bragged that he could usually make women have multiple orgasms. We were together for just short of 2 years, and in that time, made me feel so incredibly broken (in more ways than one, but that’s for a different day). He just couldn’t understand why he couldn’t make me have orgasms, and that I must be the problem, not him, because he could do it to other women. And god forbid I try to buy a vibrator; it sent him over the edge, and NOT in the good way.

After Chad, I began exploring things I had always wanted to try, but Chad had no interest in. I also began hanging out with people in the BDSM community. At first, I was terrified and judgemental, I will admit. I had always been taught that BDSM was bad, and that “those people” were perverts, and so, being the dumb twenties something that I was, decided to check it out anyway. I started asking questions, reading, and trying to just understand how all this stuff works.

As it turns out, most of the people in the BDSM community are really cool people who just see life a little differently than most people. The BDSM community taught me that there is nothing wrong with me, that a lot of women don’t have orgasms regularly or at all, and you just have to do what makes you feel right. They’re super into consent too (also for another day), so they also taught me that the way Chad made me feel was wrong, and that his own insecurities were the problem and not me.

I think that it the moment my vagina was like, “Oh shit, really?”, Because almost immediately afterwards, when I would have sex, I would have orgasms. I remember the first one I had without having to sacrifice my left kidney and a third of my soul for; I remember being shocked, and confused and excited, but also very confused, because like, I don’t have orgasms, okay? And then it dawned on me in my naked stupor that, indeed, I had orgasmed and it was fucking phenomenal.

So kids, let’s have a re-cap of what we’ve learned so far: If you haven’t had an orgasm in a long time, you’re not broken! If you didn’t have one yesterday because you were thinking about all of the things you have to do before you die, also not broken. If you have never had one ever, there could very well be a medical condition (I know we didn’t discuss it yet, but just bare with me), but you’re still not broken. Most importantly, though, if someone is shaming you because you can’t have one, they’re a fucking ass hole, and you can tell them I said it too. Come at me bitch.

Now with all of that being said, according to the DSM-5, the diagnostics manual for mental health people, issues with orgasms is called Female Orgasmic Disorder. Yes it is a real thing, it’s like on Google, okay?

Now just to note, I am not a licensed therapist, so I cannot give you advice or diagnose you, nor is this a guide on how to diagnose yourself, it is simply a place for you to start your search. Don’t sue me because I don’t have any money any way.

According to the DSM-V, in order to be officially be diagnosed with FOD, you must meet the certain criteria:
– Happens 75%-100% of time
-Marked delay in orgasm
-Marked reduced intensity of orgasm
-Reduced # of orgasms
-Last at least 6 months
– Must cause distress
-Not better explained by relationship problems, medical problems, etc.

Do any of these sound like you? If so, do something about it now. Like right now. I can wait, but come back, okay?

First of all, anxiety is one of the main perpetrators of sexual dysfunction for all genders. If you’re too busy thinking about willing yourself to have an orgasm during sex or foreplay (guilty as charged), you start to feel hopeless about your vagina’s hatred of your pleasure. Stop thinking so much damnit! Start focusing on the task at hand and just enjoy the sex. Oh, and I’m pretty sure that if he has his penis in your vagina, he’s probably not worried about your boobs being lopsided during sex (note to self).

Also, if you are reading this and you are the victim/survivor of sexual assault, you are not alone and none of this is your fault. It is extremely common for people of all genders to have sexual dysfunction after an incident like that. Take your time and learn to listen to your needs and desires.

Next, are you on birth control or hormone replacements? Or have you noticed weird shit going on with your hormones? If so, you might have just won yourself a trip to the OBGYN, which is the worst prize trip ever, but it could change your sex game up. Hormones can be ass holes and will mess with your sex drive and ability to have an orgasm. They will also make you feel like you’re crazy for not having them. So let’s make hormonal issues not a thing, kay?

Also, are you telling you partner(s)? One of the best things you can do for yourself is have an open conversation with your partner(s). They might not know that you’re struggling, or they know that you’re struggling, but could think that they’re the problem. It’s easy to manifest explanations to problems in our brains because that’s what it’s good at, and sometimes, it too can be an ass hole. You may be able to work through it with them together. A very good friend of mine, we shall call her Veronica, hadn’t had an orgasm at all in something like 6 years. She and I talked about it, then she talked about it with her husband, and now she can actually experience an orgasm and her marriage has become stronger as a result.

You can also go to a sex therapist. While couples counselors are awesome, sex therapists have special training in sexual issues. They often tend to have a lot of couples come to them, but they also see individuals. Most (I hope) will come from a non-judgemental place and can guide you through the process of your struggles.

I hope reading this brought some enlightenment into your life and I hope that together we can break the shame and stigma of talking about female sexuality. Let’s make talking about orgasms at the dinner table okay, because I can guarantee that if there were more orgasms in the world, people would have less time to be stupid. Win win.

#maketheworldabetterplaceoneorgasmatatime #noticemebrenebrown #comeatme