If I were a boy . . .

From as early as elementary school, I often wished I had been born a boy. I was somehow cognizant that boys had a power that girls didn't, though I couldn't have put that feeling into words. I only knew that boys had greater freedom, got to do more and better activities, got to have really cool toys that I didn't, and were interesting and different from girls.

But I've always been a girl, and now I love being a woman . . . except for all the times I don't. It's literally soul-crushing (pause to imagine this feeling) every time I'm accused of being too emotional/irrational after making clearly articulated arguments based on reason. I second-guess myself and reread everything I wrote, searching for the shrill screeching he alluded to when he called me an idiot, but I come up empty-handed. And there is nothing I can do about it. I can't make my voice heard. I'm as clear as can be, and I can't be any clearer.

I base much of my self-esteem on my knowledge and ability to be articulate, but I'm told that I am wrong, that I'm ignorant and stupid, overemotional, oversensitive, and irrational and that the logic and skepticism I value and apply are wrong. That my brain is worthless and a failure, has betrayed me, is a traitor. That nothing I have to say can be heard over my gender. That I am voiceless.

I'm a liar because I'm ugly, and, simultaneously, I deserve harassment because I'm young and conventionally attractive in public, and, still, I'm worthless because I'm not pretty enough or fuckable, and, too, I should be grateful for leers, jeers, propositions, and assault. I'm not exaggerating; these things were all said to me in a single thread on the topic of—ironically enough—how to recruit and retain more women in an organization after a handful of women had shared their experiences of gender-based harassment in that organization.

My world is very small, and I am ever aware that I am only as safe and as free as men allow me to be.

Selfies for me, for you, for everybody!

This piece was originally written for Facebook and cross-posted on the DFW Vagina Monologues Weebly website blog.

I like selfies. A lot.

My selfies are for me. I take them because I feel pretty, or I don't, or I am or am not; because it's fun, because there is no shame in taking pleasure in frivolity, and because it helps me make a memory whereas my brain otherwise typically fails at retaining such trivial things. Because I'm awesome and do incredible things, because I'm depressed and insecure in spite of this because my brain is terrible. Sometimes I retouch them to hide blemishes and sometimes I don't. #Flawless

I don't share them to solicit compliments, attraction, or validation any more than I bathe, brush my teeth, dress myself, or color my face, hair, and nails to do so.

“Assuming that a woman is fretting over a man when she gets dressed in the morning is condescending at best, dangerously sexist at worst. And it ascribes a huge part of her autonomy to the passing interest of an imaginary man that she likely doesn’t care about in the least.” (Source)

I share them because I'm happy, because I trust you, because I'm unhappy, because I'm miserable and upset, because I'm real, because I want to have nothing to hide, because I want to challenge the socially acceptable ways of using social media, because I want others to feel free to enjoy themselves and taking selfies.

Sitting here writing this, I'm delighted to see that 7 out of 9 of my friends' profile photos on the left of my Facebook home page are pretty, happy, silly, fierce, skeptical, adorable, handsome, bad-ass selfies.

Other writers have explained how selfies are radical acts of self-love in a society that condemns vanity in women and rewards such confidence in men. “We need to start teaching girls that confidence is not a sign of vanity, but rather a marker of healthy self-perception and positive thinking.”

Selfies can be a blatant middle finger to the patriarchy by wrenching control from the male gaze and focusing that gaze by our consent as we choose and on our own terms. Selfies have been around for centuries and are an ancient art form. Whinging about the so-called narcissism of our generation is unoriginal and trite, and when speaking of selfies, it’s further proof of entrenched sexism, specifically misogyny.

Women are told to hide themselves constantly, and that to actually like themselves and the way they look is somehow wrong. They’re told that they’re never good enough, that any flaw is unacceptable. Narcissism? Fuck off, these girls are showing that, somehow, through all the bullshit and the pressure to hate themselves, they’ve managed to grow their self-esteem enough to share their faces with the world. They’re taking a risk and putting themselves out there. They’re expressing themselves. Sharing themselves. They’re making a statement, which is simply “I’m good enough to be seen.” (Source)

And, frankly, we enjoy doing things to piss off stodgy jerks with an over-inflated sense of self importance nearly as much as for our own pleasure.

Some people juggle geese.

Moniqa Paullet, 2014-15 performer of “My Short Skirt” in the DFW Vagina Monologues, is an editor, triathlete, fire spinner, intersectional feminist and size acceptance activist. You can follow her #fitasfuckfeminist selfies on Instagram @FieryMon.

Christian morality and female body image

I've wanted to write on this topic before but couldn't quite find the words or the research to support it. It's worth a read. Here are a few excerpts:

From Plato to Freud to Jenny Craig, the message has been that bodily urges are suspicious because they are base, and that we should suppress them with our higher faculties—the mind or the spirit. The mind is seen to be quite separate from the body today, and the most suspicious of bodies is female.

The regulation of bodies is usually not just about binding their size, but also their boundaries. Women's bodies especially, which are considered to be prone to oozing and leakage, become the site of severe control. 

Texas' new abortion restrictions scare the bejeezus outta me.

Trigger warning for mental illness, attacks on personal autonomy, abortion discussion, and suicidal ideation.

I've read many eloquent articles and blog posts that attempt to explain or analogize for men what being a woman is like, what daily fearing for one's personal safety and the very real threat of rape is like. I hope someday to stumble across an author who can do the same justice for what it feels like to watch our legislators' assaults on our bodily autonomy and to feel the very real fear and anxiety of being denied an abortion should one need it. Does anyone else think about this?

For me, personally, since I'm on the b.c. shot, I shouldn't ever have to think about it. But the fact is that the shot does fail for some women, not through user error, and my line is like cuh-razy fertile. And because the shot completely stops my menstrual cycle (as long as its working), I have no monthly reassurance of a vacant uterus. And because I hear that a woman typically begins showing in about the 5th month, it's entirely conceivable (ha) that I could get knocked up and not know about it until it was far too late to do anything about it under the new laws in Texas. And because of the depression/anxiety that runs in my family and my so far being the only one not yet diagnosed and medicated for it (because it is presently manageable), I absolutely believe I would try to end my life if I found myself in that situation. (To say nothing of the physical toll I know pregnancy takes on my kin.) I can't even lie to myself and hope I would have the strength or presence of mind not to try it. Failing that, I would do horrible things to to try to induce a miscarriage. And then I would really and truly be strapped to a bed in a mental institution and forced to give birth. Straight out of a horror flick. And because of the other medication I'm on for my acne, it would be a hideous diseased creature struggling even to live. And because my family is Catholic and are the kind of people they are, I would be shamed into keeping it and would forever resent it and everyone who loves me for the remainder of my miserable life.

I don't dwell on this stuff, promise. But the crazy hamsters in my head occasionally go in that direction and this is what happens and I needed to get it out. And I've previously spoken to my sister who's agreed that our family is the sort to shame us into keeping an unwanted pregnancy. This fear is all so very real for me and not as irrational/inconceivable as it might seem at first blush.

And now I'm thinking/realizing that possibly this is why I've been struggling to sleep, having nightmares the last several nights, and waking at 3 am for 1-2 hours.

Technically, I'm OK and I know I'm gonna be OK. I'm just scared, y'all.