Yes. My blogging has been minimal. But so has my energy level.
In spite of pounding iron supplements like they're candy, I have not been able to restore my level of perkiness back to pre-pregnancy ideals, which, I guess, was a little too optimistic of me to hope for in the first place. Having two toddlers who need to be entertained indoors until the weather warms up a bit has been physically draining on me, and no amount of alfalfa tablets will rectify that truth.
In spite of all of the fatigue, I had still managed to maintain my routine of 200 minutes per week on the elliptical, along with some light weight lifting. I was pleased with my fitness, and daydreamed of continuing this routine for the remainder of my pregnancy (all 9ish weeks of it), hoping I'd be in a really great place for getting back into running. My previous pregnancies had left me abandoning an exercise routine a month or so before I delivered, and I was determined for that to not be the case this time.
Then, last week happened. Emily (my amazing midwife) has her clients go to the doctor once during third trimester in case of an emergency transfer down the road-- the paperwork is in, they have a chart for me, and the transition would be less difficult that way. When I went into the exam room, with my husband and two chitluns accompanying, the nurse did the usual-- blood pressure, medical history, and then asked me to step on the digital scale.
No big deal, right?
I didn't think so, even though just a few weeks prior I'd told Emily, who had asked if I could go weigh myself, that I'd rather not. Emily, being amazing and wonderful, said that was fine. I explained that I had a history of disordered eating, and getting on a scale when I'm pregnant is really triggering for me.
So I stepped on the digital scale, and looked down to report the number to the nurse. Happy happy joy joy, my belly prevented me from seeing the number before the nurse did, and she said, "Okay, hop off." She didn't say the number out loud, and I didn't ask.
Unfortunately, my belly did not obscure my view of my husband, who was sitting right next to the scale, and I saw him see the number.
Something inside of me died.
Perhaps it's the hormones, or just being in a vulnerable place because of what pregnancy does to my body image (which isn't super great to start off with, anyway). My husband has done nothing to suggest I am anything less than beautiful to him. He is supportive, loving, and very sensitive to my body image issues. In spite of recognizing all of that, however, seeing him see the number made a part of me feel like he now had ammunition to stop loving me.
That was a hard thing to sit with for a few days.
Physically, I continued doing the right things. Eating well, taking my vitamins, and I didn't start exercising excessively. What I did recognize, though, was that my body was struggling a little with being this pregnant. My back hurt. My hips felt achy. I could fall asleep at any point of any day because of the exhaustion that was overwhelming me. Any other person experiencing these things, I would say, "Cut back on working out! Your body is working hard enough to grow a baby." But I couldn't give myself that kind of allowance. To stop exercising was to give in to what that number said, to accept it, and to let it erase any value I might have. So while externally, nothing changed about my behavior, emotionally, I went to a bad place.
Wednesday, we went to have a sonogram done. It was a free scan, one done by someone who had just graduated from a sonography program using volunteers to keep up her skills. I was eager to find out if I could go buy a bunch of too-enticing cute outfits on the girl side of Baby Gap, or if I could start calling the babe by the boy name we had picked out. As she went through the scan, we got to see the baby's face, and I wanted nothing more than to reach in and give this little child a hug. By the end of the scan, we discovered we are amazing at making little boys! My heart swelled, and I couldn't stop grinning.
So last night, while still on a high from seeing my tiny babe, I looked at the elliptical. I thought about how many days it had been since I exercised, and the tape of self-criticism started playing its loop in my head. The lumps and bulges I saw in the mirror that appeared from holding on to more fat to sustain a pregnancy screamed my inadequacy, my lack of self control, my diminished value. As I looked at the elliptical and contemplated donning my workout attire, though, I felt a soft little kick. And I realized, I'm tired. My body is exhausted. I played today with my children, and my body needs a break. My baby deserves a well rested body to grow and be strong in. And that is more important than whatever emotional benefits I would temporarily get from exercising in this moment.
So I didn't. I didn't exercise. And I didn't tell myself I was terrible for it.
And laying on the couch, I felt stronger than I've felt in a long time.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Thursday, February 28, 2013
I have an idea (and I need your help).
A while ago (eons ago, it feels like, as anything pre-mommyhood seems like a completely different lifetime), I worked at an eating disorder clinic. I was a tech, which meant that I was with the girls and women receiving treatment throughout the nitty gritty parts of their day-- meal times, snack times, bed times, outings. I got to go to music therapy, sit through movies where we had the dreaded FNS (Friday Night Snack), and even jumped out of an absurdly tall tree. It was a weird job. It was a great job. I genuinely loved the gals I worked for, even the ones that made the job more interesting than usual.
I learned a lot while working there, but one of the hardest things for me to swallow was the variance in support these gals had outside of treatment. There were the ones that had the parents come every chance they had, and the goodbyes were tearful but encouraging. There were the ones whose parents were completely enmeshed in their daughter's treatment, sometimes in a co-dependent way, sometimes in a malicious way. Then there were the parents who weren't there at all.
That was the hard part.
Of course, it wasn't possible for a lot of them to come often. Girls were coming to treatment from all over the country (sometimes, the world), so travelling for every single Family Weekend would be asking a lot, especially on top of how much treatment cost. Some of the gals who fell into that category would get the phone calls, the letters, the packages. They'd get support in other ways.
Then there were the ones who would come to the nurse's station every day after the mail was sorted, and they would ask, "Did I get anything?" Or after the Saturday night outing, they'd come by the tech who stayed behind, and check to see if they had any missed calls. With their charts right there, and their family's contact information readily available, it was so hard not to pick up the phone and beg them to call their daughter, just once, so she knows that she is loved and isn't fighting this insanely difficult battle on her own. For whatever reason, it didn't register as something important for them to do. So instead, I spent the night of December 23 that year, working my overnight shift, covering my hands with papercuts and scissor slices from curling ribbon to wrap packages of random items (underwear, deoderant, stationery) so the patients who had been forgotten by family would get a Christmas.
Fast forward to now. A few days ago, there was an eating disorder clinic doing an outreach promotion on Facebook as a part of Eating Disorder Awareness week. Each day, they'd post a question, and the answer could be found in their resources section of their website. The first person to answer would get a $10 giftcard of their choice. I happened over right after they posted a question, found the answer quickly, and responded in time to qualify for one of the giftcards. Yay! I love winning things. They told me to email them my address and where I'd like the giftcard to be good for, and I immediately started brainstorming. There are some books that I want, so Amazon? I've also been drooling over some headbands on Etsy in the offhand chance this babe is a girl, so maybe there. Or I could use some more music on my iPod for when I start training after this baby is born, so an iTunes card would be nice. But every thought left me feeling empty. I was on the verge of just asking for a grocery store giftcard, because at least then it would help my family, when I sat down to email the gal and it came to me-- Instead of a giftcard for something I don't especially need, I asked if I could donate it back, and have a therapist or a tech at the clinic use it to go get something fun for one of the gals I described above-- someone who checks the nurse's station every day to see if there is something for her to show that she is loved. I had some anxiety about whether they would think it was a ridiculous idea or not, but they responded so enthusiastically that it got my brain going.
Which is where my idea comes in, and where you can help.
There are eating disorder clinics all over the country, and I'm willing to bet that at any given time, there is someone doing inpatient that fits the description above. One of the hardest parts of recovering from an eating disorder is getting to a place where you feel like you are worth fighting for-- that you deserve to be happy and healthy, and free from the disorder. Without any support outside the walls of the treatment center, it can feel impossible, and the motivation can disappear to even bother with doing the hard stuff. So here is, as my darling toddler would say, "my want-to": I want to put together TEN care packages to send to various eating disorder clinics throughout the USA that would provide a moment of hope to these gals who are struggling. But the idea I have in mind would be a lot more doable if I had my crafty friends on board-- because I'm the least crafty person in the world.
In the package, I want to put in a book (I'm thinking this one) and several postcards that they could hang up in their room, carry with them, etc-- that would say something along the following:
So what do you think? Are you in?
I learned a lot while working there, but one of the hardest things for me to swallow was the variance in support these gals had outside of treatment. There were the ones that had the parents come every chance they had, and the goodbyes were tearful but encouraging. There were the ones whose parents were completely enmeshed in their daughter's treatment, sometimes in a co-dependent way, sometimes in a malicious way. Then there were the parents who weren't there at all.
That was the hard part.
Of course, it wasn't possible for a lot of them to come often. Girls were coming to treatment from all over the country (sometimes, the world), so travelling for every single Family Weekend would be asking a lot, especially on top of how much treatment cost. Some of the gals who fell into that category would get the phone calls, the letters, the packages. They'd get support in other ways.
Then there were the ones who would come to the nurse's station every day after the mail was sorted, and they would ask, "Did I get anything?" Or after the Saturday night outing, they'd come by the tech who stayed behind, and check to see if they had any missed calls. With their charts right there, and their family's contact information readily available, it was so hard not to pick up the phone and beg them to call their daughter, just once, so she knows that she is loved and isn't fighting this insanely difficult battle on her own. For whatever reason, it didn't register as something important for them to do. So instead, I spent the night of December 23 that year, working my overnight shift, covering my hands with papercuts and scissor slices from curling ribbon to wrap packages of random items (underwear, deoderant, stationery) so the patients who had been forgotten by family would get a Christmas.
Fast forward to now. A few days ago, there was an eating disorder clinic doing an outreach promotion on Facebook as a part of Eating Disorder Awareness week. Each day, they'd post a question, and the answer could be found in their resources section of their website. The first person to answer would get a $10 giftcard of their choice. I happened over right after they posted a question, found the answer quickly, and responded in time to qualify for one of the giftcards. Yay! I love winning things. They told me to email them my address and where I'd like the giftcard to be good for, and I immediately started brainstorming. There are some books that I want, so Amazon? I've also been drooling over some headbands on Etsy in the offhand chance this babe is a girl, so maybe there. Or I could use some more music on my iPod for when I start training after this baby is born, so an iTunes card would be nice. But every thought left me feeling empty. I was on the verge of just asking for a grocery store giftcard, because at least then it would help my family, when I sat down to email the gal and it came to me-- Instead of a giftcard for something I don't especially need, I asked if I could donate it back, and have a therapist or a tech at the clinic use it to go get something fun for one of the gals I described above-- someone who checks the nurse's station every day to see if there is something for her to show that she is loved. I had some anxiety about whether they would think it was a ridiculous idea or not, but they responded so enthusiastically that it got my brain going.
Which is where my idea comes in, and where you can help.
There are eating disorder clinics all over the country, and I'm willing to bet that at any given time, there is someone doing inpatient that fits the description above. One of the hardest parts of recovering from an eating disorder is getting to a place where you feel like you are worth fighting for-- that you deserve to be happy and healthy, and free from the disorder. Without any support outside the walls of the treatment center, it can feel impossible, and the motivation can disappear to even bother with doing the hard stuff. So here is, as my darling toddler would say, "my want-to": I want to put together TEN care packages to send to various eating disorder clinics throughout the USA that would provide a moment of hope to these gals who are struggling. But the idea I have in mind would be a lot more doable if I had my crafty friends on board-- because I'm the least crafty person in the world.
In the package, I want to put in a book (I'm thinking this one) and several postcards that they could hang up in their room, carry with them, etc-- that would say something along the following:
- You are brave.
- You are enough.
- You have the strength to get through today.
- You deserve happiness.
- You are worth fighting for.
So what do you think? Are you in?
Friday, February 15, 2013
I have some beef with "freedom."
Yes, it's been a while. There was a delightful little stomach bug that went around, and we were fortunate enough to have it hit our family one member at a time (holy moly, taking on the puke train with multiple suppliers would have probably been the end of me). So while it took less effort at one time to tackle that delightful illness, it was spread out over a long enough period that I constantly felt the urge to both nap and shower at the same time. Unfortunately for me, the water heater is not large enough to acommodate such an endeavor (although, I guess this is quite fortunate for both our water bill and the children that I would undoubtedly be neglecting to engage in such an indulgence).
Anyhoo.
This past week marked an annual occasion that always leaves me on edge-- the distribution of the yearly Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. I'm proud to say that I have not stepped inside a grocery store over the past week (unless Costco counts, and since they don't have their magazines by the checkout, I don't count it). Having those images thrown at me against my will, as well as exposing my little boys to women presented as tools to achieve visual sexual stimulation, are not things I look forward to.
So I got excited when I saw this:
Grace Gregson, store manager of the Barnes and Noble SouthTowne Marketplace location, referred to the chain’s corporate censorship policy, which states in part: "Some customers may strongly oppose the content of a particular title and choose not to purchase it. We respect their opinions. In return, we ask that our customers respect our responsibility to offer a selection of reading materials as diverse as the society in which we live, the very society that grants the freedom for these materials to exist."
Okay. I get it. First Ammendment. I work in a world of lawyers, I know how important that right is. And while I have some strong opinions about pornography (normalized and otherwise) and allegories to yelling "FIRE!" in a crowded public space, I won't get on that soapbox for now. Instead, I'll talk about "freedom for these materials to exist."
Yes. They do have a right to publish the continued objectification of women, and they have the right to promote the idea that women are designed purely for the visual stimulation of others. They have the right to suggest that athletic, professional, personal, charitable, and familial merits are not as important as one's ability to arouse members of the opposite sex. And in a world where often the promotion of freedom and rights applies to individuals who oppose traditional values, this right is protected vehemently and adamently, with those who oppose labeled as closed-minded and insecure.
But in a world where people are spending so much time fighting for the rights of the marginalized, can't we recognize that we're stomping on the rights of others to accomplish this?
While I'll consent that those publishing these materials have the right to do so, I disagree that they also have a right to flaunt them in the face of those whose ideals differ to the point of finding these materials obscene and offensive. Why should I have to avoid going to the grocery store if I don't want to see the cover of this magazine? Why should I strategize what errands to run with my sons so they aren't exposed to something I find to be incredibly inappropriate, and what has been empirically shown to have a negative impact on the way they view (and thus treat) women? Why is it okay for their freedom to infringe on the time I get as their mother to teach them things that I find to be adding to their development, rather than expend that precious time attempting to do damage control to prevent this nonconsensual exposure from having a lasting impact on their developing psyche?
You have the right to create it. But you don't have the right to shove it in my face, or the face of my children.
I have the right to walk out of a movie if something is presented that I find offensive. I have the right to close a book if the content is something I find distasteful. But when displays are placed so that I can't even purchase groceries without these images staring back at me, there's a problem.
Looks like Costco will be getting all of my grocery budget for the next month.
Anyhoo.
This past week marked an annual occasion that always leaves me on edge-- the distribution of the yearly Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. I'm proud to say that I have not stepped inside a grocery store over the past week (unless Costco counts, and since they don't have their magazines by the checkout, I don't count it). Having those images thrown at me against my will, as well as exposing my little boys to women presented as tools to achieve visual sexual stimulation, are not things I look forward to.
So I got excited when I saw this:
Grace Gregson, store manager of the Barnes and Noble SouthTowne Marketplace location, referred to the chain’s corporate censorship policy, which states in part: "Some customers may strongly oppose the content of a particular title and choose not to purchase it. We respect their opinions. In return, we ask that our customers respect our responsibility to offer a selection of reading materials as diverse as the society in which we live, the very society that grants the freedom for these materials to exist."
Okay. I get it. First Ammendment. I work in a world of lawyers, I know how important that right is. And while I have some strong opinions about pornography (normalized and otherwise) and allegories to yelling "FIRE!" in a crowded public space, I won't get on that soapbox for now. Instead, I'll talk about "freedom for these materials to exist."
Yes. They do have a right to publish the continued objectification of women, and they have the right to promote the idea that women are designed purely for the visual stimulation of others. They have the right to suggest that athletic, professional, personal, charitable, and familial merits are not as important as one's ability to arouse members of the opposite sex. And in a world where often the promotion of freedom and rights applies to individuals who oppose traditional values, this right is protected vehemently and adamently, with those who oppose labeled as closed-minded and insecure.
But in a world where people are spending so much time fighting for the rights of the marginalized, can't we recognize that we're stomping on the rights of others to accomplish this?
While I'll consent that those publishing these materials have the right to do so, I disagree that they also have a right to flaunt them in the face of those whose ideals differ to the point of finding these materials obscene and offensive. Why should I have to avoid going to the grocery store if I don't want to see the cover of this magazine? Why should I strategize what errands to run with my sons so they aren't exposed to something I find to be incredibly inappropriate, and what has been empirically shown to have a negative impact on the way they view (and thus treat) women? Why is it okay for their freedom to infringe on the time I get as their mother to teach them things that I find to be adding to their development, rather than expend that precious time attempting to do damage control to prevent this nonconsensual exposure from having a lasting impact on their developing psyche?
You have the right to create it. But you don't have the right to shove it in my face, or the face of my children.
I have the right to walk out of a movie if something is presented that I find offensive. I have the right to close a book if the content is something I find distasteful. But when displays are placed so that I can't even purchase groceries without these images staring back at me, there's a problem.
Looks like Costco will be getting all of my grocery budget for the next month.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Sexual Assault: Victim On Trial
At my job, I have taken on the task of writing a newsletter for each month of the semester, and each one centers around a different mental health issue. An article will describe the mental health concern, and then it is accompanied by two articles that may or may not be related to the theme for the month. January, my first issue, consisted of writing about anxiety, and then outlined the disability resource on campus and how to access their services, as well as an introduction to the law school's charming, competent, and adorable Student Affair's Counselor (me). It was an easy newsletter to write.
For February, though, I'm finding it difficult to write more than few sentences without stopping to find some adorable picture of a baby otter wearing overalls or something equally absurdly cute. The topic I chose for the month is Sexual Assault. With everything going on with Steubenville, Notre Dame, and becoming aware of what is happening locally, it seems like a really important topic to address. And usually, when I'm passionate about something, I can't shut up about it (if you haven't noticed already).
But this one is hard for me.
See, the thing is, I have seen a startling trend in these cases. In my perfect world (well, as perfect as it can be where sexual assaults still happen), a person who has reported that she (because while men can be raped, a large majority of rape survivors are women, so I'll go with that pronoun) has been attacked, she would immediately be placed in a bubble of safety. People she trusted would be at her side. A trained therapist would be there to help her process, as well as advocate for her needs. Accommodations would be put in place for her to feel safe, secure-- whatever that meant (change in class schedule, relocation for work [different office/work from home]). The person accused would be questioned immediately, with such dedication and concern assigned to individuals who has been accused of murder. He would have the burden of proving himself innocent.
I realize, immediately, the potential issue with this scenario. What if it's just someone crying rape? What if it is an ex-girlfriend scorned, and she's just looking for retribution? Yes. I'm sure this happens. But to me, it's a matter of what is at stake-- if the guy is innocent and people go probing into his life, and he's put in a horrible situation when he has done nothing wrong, that would be awful. But in that scenario, the individual accused is probably in a relatively stable emotional state, and while it would be difficult to have to endure that situation, it could be manageable. Awful. But manageable.
Instead, we have our system as it is now. A girl has been assaulted. You have the entire issue behind 76% of rapes occurring from someone she is at least acquainted with (sometimes intimately so), so she has to overcome all of the confusing feelings and guilt that come with being assaulted by someone you chose to have in your life. So she comes forward, reports the assault. And what happens? In a system of innocent until proven guilty, the accused has the benefit of the doubt, and the accuser (the traumatized) has the burden of proving she wasn't "asking for it." What were you wearing? Were you drinking? Have you exhibited poor judgement in the past with multiple partners? Do you have anything to gain by accusing this guy of rape (notoriety, bringing down a sports team, revenge)? Have you ever been in therapy for depression or anything else that could deem you unstable and therefore unreliable?
Ugh. Just typing those words makes me feel sick to my stomach.
And I guess it comes with personal experience. Transferrance. Because recently, I've been in a situation where I was uncomfortable. Felt things were-- inappropriate. Not to the extent of assault. But not okay. And I spoke up about the situation. And spoke up again. And kept bringing it up. The response I got was that I was being "too sensitive." That I was "being unfair." Eventually, I believed them. I felt crazy. I was having a very strong emotional response to something that should not have been happening, but everything around me was telling me that what was happening was okay. When I finally realized that my initial response was appropriate, and I was stuck in a system of enablers, I found my voice-- and I spoke clearly, assertively, and was still met with, "You're making a mistake."
It's scary to me that we live in a culture where so many things that are inappropriate are considered okay. That someone who is uncomfortable because their boundaries have been violated is the one that it is in the wrong, because she's being "too sensitive." Horrible things that happen in public are laughed about-- where will we draw the line? When will we say, "Wait a minute. That isn't okay"? We need to remove the excuses that we assign to inappropriate behavior and instead address the behavior. We need to stop putting the feelings of someone who is doing something hurtful above the person being hurt. Change can be hard. Change can be scary. But I can promise that it isn't harder than what the person who has been rendered silent in an unjust system is experiencing every. Single. Day. Surviving in a system where she is told that she does not matter, that what happened to her is not significant-- that she is merely an object that can be acted upon with no consequences for the actor.
Support. Validation. Empowerment. Even before all of these essential things necessary for healing after experiencing assault, is someone willing to listen. And not just listen to look for holes or defend the accused party-- but really listen. And hear what happened, and what it has done to the person speaking. After having the courage to say something, isn't that the least we can offer?
And because it cannot be viewed often enough:
For February, though, I'm finding it difficult to write more than few sentences without stopping to find some adorable picture of a baby otter wearing overalls or something equally absurdly cute. The topic I chose for the month is Sexual Assault. With everything going on with Steubenville, Notre Dame, and becoming aware of what is happening locally, it seems like a really important topic to address. And usually, when I'm passionate about something, I can't shut up about it (if you haven't noticed already).
But this one is hard for me.
See, the thing is, I have seen a startling trend in these cases. In my perfect world (well, as perfect as it can be where sexual assaults still happen), a person who has reported that she (because while men can be raped, a large majority of rape survivors are women, so I'll go with that pronoun) has been attacked, she would immediately be placed in a bubble of safety. People she trusted would be at her side. A trained therapist would be there to help her process, as well as advocate for her needs. Accommodations would be put in place for her to feel safe, secure-- whatever that meant (change in class schedule, relocation for work [different office/work from home]). The person accused would be questioned immediately, with such dedication and concern assigned to individuals who has been accused of murder. He would have the burden of proving himself innocent.
I realize, immediately, the potential issue with this scenario. What if it's just someone crying rape? What if it is an ex-girlfriend scorned, and she's just looking for retribution? Yes. I'm sure this happens. But to me, it's a matter of what is at stake-- if the guy is innocent and people go probing into his life, and he's put in a horrible situation when he has done nothing wrong, that would be awful. But in that scenario, the individual accused is probably in a relatively stable emotional state, and while it would be difficult to have to endure that situation, it could be manageable. Awful. But manageable.
Instead, we have our system as it is now. A girl has been assaulted. You have the entire issue behind 76% of rapes occurring from someone she is at least acquainted with (sometimes intimately so), so she has to overcome all of the confusing feelings and guilt that come with being assaulted by someone you chose to have in your life. So she comes forward, reports the assault. And what happens? In a system of innocent until proven guilty, the accused has the benefit of the doubt, and the accuser (the traumatized) has the burden of proving she wasn't "asking for it." What were you wearing? Were you drinking? Have you exhibited poor judgement in the past with multiple partners? Do you have anything to gain by accusing this guy of rape (notoriety, bringing down a sports team, revenge)? Have you ever been in therapy for depression or anything else that could deem you unstable and therefore unreliable?
Ugh. Just typing those words makes me feel sick to my stomach.
And I guess it comes with personal experience. Transferrance. Because recently, I've been in a situation where I was uncomfortable. Felt things were-- inappropriate. Not to the extent of assault. But not okay. And I spoke up about the situation. And spoke up again. And kept bringing it up. The response I got was that I was being "too sensitive." That I was "being unfair." Eventually, I believed them. I felt crazy. I was having a very strong emotional response to something that should not have been happening, but everything around me was telling me that what was happening was okay. When I finally realized that my initial response was appropriate, and I was stuck in a system of enablers, I found my voice-- and I spoke clearly, assertively, and was still met with, "You're making a mistake."
It's scary to me that we live in a culture where so many things that are inappropriate are considered okay. That someone who is uncomfortable because their boundaries have been violated is the one that it is in the wrong, because she's being "too sensitive." Horrible things that happen in public are laughed about-- where will we draw the line? When will we say, "Wait a minute. That isn't okay"? We need to remove the excuses that we assign to inappropriate behavior and instead address the behavior. We need to stop putting the feelings of someone who is doing something hurtful above the person being hurt. Change can be hard. Change can be scary. But I can promise that it isn't harder than what the person who has been rendered silent in an unjust system is experiencing every. Single. Day. Surviving in a system where she is told that she does not matter, that what happened to her is not significant-- that she is merely an object that can be acted upon with no consequences for the actor.
Support. Validation. Empowerment. Even before all of these essential things necessary for healing after experiencing assault, is someone willing to listen. And not just listen to look for holes or defend the accused party-- but really listen. And hear what happened, and what it has done to the person speaking. After having the courage to say something, isn't that the least we can offer?
And because it cannot be viewed often enough:
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Jayhawks' Minor Study in Pornography (Emphasis in Perpetuating the Objectification of Women)
I wish I could be the fly on the wall for all of the feminist groups, women's resource offices, and gender studies faculty offices when this little gem was distributed world(wide web)wide a few days ago:
It’s all about who’s in the driver’s seat, and in the case of #kuboobs, it’s the ladies all the way. #kuboobs has emerged from the throes of March Madness: a frenzied, cultish worship of the male body and its physical prowess. It's a masculine sphere that traditionally excludes women (just like those pricks who assume girls don’t watch the games!). But with #kuboobs, ladies are here to announce their fandom, loud and proud, and to seize their own place among the Apollonian body worship that’s synonymous with the NCAA basketball tournament. (source) [WARNING: going to link will show images that may be considered distasteful to those who have not been desensitized to normalized pornography]
Yes. There has been a movement (so classfully deemed a "boobment") that orginated at good ole University of Kansas. The goal? Take pictures of your breasts adorned with something exhibiting a form of school spirit, and post it to the internet for the world to see, all in the name of supporting the KU Basketball team.
The young lady who was quoted above stated that the idea came to her when KU was losing a basketball game against their rivals, the Missouri Tigers, and felt that her only option was to photograph her breasts while wearing a low cut KU t-shirt, and tweet the picture out into the universe. Miracle upon miracle, KU was able to overcome their opponent in the game, and yet another excuse was created to continue the objectification of women under the guise of "empowerment" and "school spirit" (two Jayhawks with one stone).
Let's break down her quote above, because there are a lot of confusing things about it.
So why is the knee jerk reaction when women feel oppressed to take our clothes off? If we've associated restriction with our attire then perhaps we need to move up a size.
We need to recognize our physical bodies for their purpose rather than define ourselves entirely by what visual stimulation they provide. When we're reduced to eye candy, we are seriously limiting ourselves from doing good in our own spheres.
(Stephanie Nielson says it best, I think.)
It’s all about who’s in the driver’s seat, and in the case of #kuboobs, it’s the ladies all the way. #kuboobs has emerged from the throes of March Madness: a frenzied, cultish worship of the male body and its physical prowess. It's a masculine sphere that traditionally excludes women (just like those pricks who assume girls don’t watch the games!). But with #kuboobs, ladies are here to announce their fandom, loud and proud, and to seize their own place among the Apollonian body worship that’s synonymous with the NCAA basketball tournament. (source) [WARNING: going to link will show images that may be considered distasteful to those who have not been desensitized to normalized pornography]
Yes. There has been a movement (so classfully deemed a "boobment") that orginated at good ole University of Kansas. The goal? Take pictures of your breasts adorned with something exhibiting a form of school spirit, and post it to the internet for the world to see, all in the name of supporting the KU Basketball team.
The young lady who was quoted above stated that the idea came to her when KU was losing a basketball game against their rivals, the Missouri Tigers, and felt that her only option was to photograph her breasts while wearing a low cut KU t-shirt, and tweet the picture out into the universe. Miracle upon miracle, KU was able to overcome their opponent in the game, and yet another excuse was created to continue the objectification of women under the guise of "empowerment" and "school spirit" (two Jayhawks with one stone).
Let's break down her quote above, because there are a lot of confusing things about it.
- "It's all about who's in the driver's seat, and in the case of #kuboobs, it's the ladies all the way." No. It isn't. It was made very clear that the intention of posting photographs of her breasts was to show support for the basketball team. The male basketball team. Composed of men. And a quick glance over at the facebook page that was created in honor of this phenomenon (which I will not be linking to, because the images there are depressing and disgusting all tied up in one so nice and neat package) show that the comments are coming from men (one from a soldier overseas who is thanking the faceless breasts for improving his day), and the few from women are asking for directions on how to post their own pictures. The pictures of the breasts are not attached to a CV listing the accomplishments or characteristics of the woman in the photograph. Her face isn't even in the picture, so she is defined solely by her breasts. Saying that the women are in the driver's seat when you're falling into the predetermined definition of what is sexy and desirable is like claiming you're the one in charge as you follow the GPS route designed by Hugh Hefner. You aren't calling the shots.
- "#kuboobs has emerged from the throes of March Madness: a frenzied, cultish worship of the male body and its physical prowess. It's a masculine sphere that traditionally excludes women (just like those pricks who assume girls don’t watch the games!)." Okay. I certainly have my opinions about college athletes (especially those that fall into the category of hero worship), but they didn't fall out of the womb possessing their ability. Granted, one cannot train to be seven feet tall, but there is more to it than that-- these athletes are putting in the hours, they're training, they're pushing their bodies and overcoming mental and physical barriers in order to become the best that they can be at what they're doing. So an appropriate response to this sort of "cultish worship" would be to expend energy in supporting women who are accomplishing these same sorts of things-- supporting the KU women's basketball team, for instance. Instead, they continue to feed into the stereotype of women ("just like those pricks who assume girls don't watch the games!") that not only are they not interested in athletics, but they are also defined solely by their physical attributes. #kuboobs = #KUnfusion
- "But with #kuboobs, ladies are here to announce their fandom, loud and proud, and to seize their own place among the Apollonian body worship that’s synonymous with the NCAA basketball tournament." Here's the thing-- YOU aren't announcing anything. If you were, it would include a headshot. Instead, you're just selling a part of your body to the porn agenda, and for what? To feel better about yourself? I really don't understand what the woman gets out of posting pictures of her breasts. To know that some random guy is having a chemical response in his brain to an image of your anatomy is somehow some kind of reward for-- great genetic coding? A decent plastic surgeon? A healthy lifestyle? If you're feeling proud, why isn't your name attached? Someone who is truly "loud and proud" would even link it to their resume, right?
So why is the knee jerk reaction when women feel oppressed to take our clothes off? If we've associated restriction with our attire then perhaps we need to move up a size.
We need to recognize our physical bodies for their purpose rather than define ourselves entirely by what visual stimulation they provide. When we're reduced to eye candy, we are seriously limiting ourselves from doing good in our own spheres.
(Stephanie Nielson says it best, I think.)
Friday, January 18, 2013
Jock Privilege
I had some thoughts about what happens when athletes get a free pass earlier this week. These thoughts were stemmed from a horrific incident that occurred in Steubenville, OH, and as I explored what was going around locally, I found that jock privilege is something that happens regularly. Such privilege can be as little as looking the other way when an assignment is turned in late, to getting away with rape. Apparently, there are some serious benefits to lacing up some cleats and ramming your skull into other people.
I thought about a situation in junior high. I remember the teacher well-- he was the social studies teacher, and also the football coach. My class had several of the football players in it, and I noticed very quickly that these students were rarely prepared for class and were blatantly favored in spite of it. As the token brown-noser goodie two shoes 4.0 student, I was infuriated that my role as Golden Child was threatened because I wasn't a football player. After class one day, I approached the teacher's desk and said, "You favor the football players. They get special treatment, and it isn't fair." How I managed to do this without sobbing the sentence out is beyond me, because I rarely do well when confronting authority figures-- perhaps the favoritism had been so blatant that I'd already lost respect for him.
If I hadn't at that point, though, the deal was sealed when his response was to grab the quarterback who was walking by at that point and asking, "Do you think I favor the football players?"
"No, sir."
"All right then. I don't think we have a problem then."
(I often reflect on incidents like this and so wish that I could go back in time and stand next to my eighth grade self and put people like this in their place. I think if I ever stumble upon a genie's lamp, that would be one of my wishes)
So I thought it was interesting when I pulled up various news sites and found this breaking story about Manti Te'o, a football player for Notre Dame who allegedly was the victim of some internet hoax where a girl was made up and he fell madly in love with her over the internet, only to have fake girlfriend die of cancer the day before his biggest game, as well as the same day his grandma died. There are so many holes in the story, including incidents where he says he went to visit her and his family corroborates, but then he claims he was just too embarrassed to tell his family that when he went to meet her, she never showed up (really? Big football star would keep dating a girl he'd never met who stood him up over and over again?). I'm not buying a thing he's putting down, and I so love that he's also publicly LDS (/sarcasm-- freakin' a, people, stop telling the world you're a Mormon if you're going to be a butthead-- we've already got a lot to work against as it is!). It was an interesting story, one that I definitely read the entire lengthy article for, and just mildly noted that Notre Dame came out and identified Manti as the victim, and stood by him with their abundant resources of PI's who would figure out what happened to this poor, heartbroken football player.
I didn't think much of the latter until I later came across and article about a young lady from Notre Dame named Lizzy Seeberg. The article I linked to is pretty great at covering why this whole thing is an awful mess. Turns out Manti's dead girlfriend was a fake? Let's call in the troops! Use every available resource to get to the bottom of this thing. Leave no stone unturned. However, Lizzy Seeberg reports that she was sexually assaulted by another student. Over a week passes before the reported offender is even questioned, and in that time, Lizzy Seeberg, a freshman, commits suicide. Upon her death, her written statement about the incident is no longer admissable in court, because her demise means it is "hearsay". The reported offender was approached after her suicide, found to be not responsible for any wrongdoing, and was allowed to continue with his routine without a hiccup. Oh, it might help to mention-- that routine included playing for the Notre Dame football team, as he continues to do so to this day.
So what does Manti have that Lizzy didn't, that he immediately got the support because someone lied to him about a girlfriend (supposedly-- that's assuming he actually didn't know anything about it, which at this point seems ridiculous)-- and that support comes in the form of private investigators, but Lizzy is sexually assaulted and her report doesn't even get a second look until more than a week after the report, after she commits suicide?
You're right. In the grand scheme of things, I would much rather be sexually assaulted than be duped on Twitter about some potential love interest. That's how everyone feels, right? No?
No. No one. Ever. Because being lied to on the internet is not even in the same playing field as sexual assault. But if the person committing the assault wears a jersey on a regular basis, the rules don't apply. And unfortunately for Lizzy, she was female, and didn't play for a football team. Maybe if she were a football player, and the attacker were some other faceless, seemingly unimportant (in the university's eyes) person, she would have gotten the immediate support that Manti is receiving, and she would have had a better chance of being in a healthier, safer emotional place where suicide was less likely to seem like an option.
This is a time where we don't need a genie. This is happening now. This is an opportunity now to speak up for the people who don't have a voice-- for the Lizzies, and the countless others who have their report swept under the rug because athletes can't rape-- all women are clamoring for the opportunity to have sex with an athlete, which always implies consent, right? Wrong. All wrong. Women are not trophies. Women are not objects. Women are people with thoughts, ideas, emotions, and the right to say no and have it respected, regardless of who the person is or if he has a spot on the team roster.
So why do we support a culture that enables rape? Why do we paint our faces, spend hard earned money on season tickets, and allow ourselves to forget what it currently means to be an athlete?
This article says it best:
What's really surprising me are those who believe as I do that two players on the team have committed serious criminal acts – sexual assault in one case, and rape in another - but assumed that I'd support the team anyway, just as they are.
"Aren't you just a little bit excited?" one asked the other day. There are plenty of good guys on the team, too, I'm repeatedly told. And oh, that Manti Te'o is inspiring. I don't doubt it. But as a thought exercise, how many predators would have to be on the team before you'd no longer feel like cheering?
How many?
I thought about a situation in junior high. I remember the teacher well-- he was the social studies teacher, and also the football coach. My class had several of the football players in it, and I noticed very quickly that these students were rarely prepared for class and were blatantly favored in spite of it. As the token brown-noser goodie two shoes 4.0 student, I was infuriated that my role as Golden Child was threatened because I wasn't a football player. After class one day, I approached the teacher's desk and said, "You favor the football players. They get special treatment, and it isn't fair." How I managed to do this without sobbing the sentence out is beyond me, because I rarely do well when confronting authority figures-- perhaps the favoritism had been so blatant that I'd already lost respect for him.
If I hadn't at that point, though, the deal was sealed when his response was to grab the quarterback who was walking by at that point and asking, "Do you think I favor the football players?"
"No, sir."
"All right then. I don't think we have a problem then."
(I often reflect on incidents like this and so wish that I could go back in time and stand next to my eighth grade self and put people like this in their place. I think if I ever stumble upon a genie's lamp, that would be one of my wishes)
So I thought it was interesting when I pulled up various news sites and found this breaking story about Manti Te'o, a football player for Notre Dame who allegedly was the victim of some internet hoax where a girl was made up and he fell madly in love with her over the internet, only to have fake girlfriend die of cancer the day before his biggest game, as well as the same day his grandma died. There are so many holes in the story, including incidents where he says he went to visit her and his family corroborates, but then he claims he was just too embarrassed to tell his family that when he went to meet her, she never showed up (really? Big football star would keep dating a girl he'd never met who stood him up over and over again?). I'm not buying a thing he's putting down, and I so love that he's also publicly LDS (/sarcasm-- freakin' a, people, stop telling the world you're a Mormon if you're going to be a butthead-- we've already got a lot to work against as it is!). It was an interesting story, one that I definitely read the entire lengthy article for, and just mildly noted that Notre Dame came out and identified Manti as the victim, and stood by him with their abundant resources of PI's who would figure out what happened to this poor, heartbroken football player.
I didn't think much of the latter until I later came across and article about a young lady from Notre Dame named Lizzy Seeberg. The article I linked to is pretty great at covering why this whole thing is an awful mess. Turns out Manti's dead girlfriend was a fake? Let's call in the troops! Use every available resource to get to the bottom of this thing. Leave no stone unturned. However, Lizzy Seeberg reports that she was sexually assaulted by another student. Over a week passes before the reported offender is even questioned, and in that time, Lizzy Seeberg, a freshman, commits suicide. Upon her death, her written statement about the incident is no longer admissable in court, because her demise means it is "hearsay". The reported offender was approached after her suicide, found to be not responsible for any wrongdoing, and was allowed to continue with his routine without a hiccup. Oh, it might help to mention-- that routine included playing for the Notre Dame football team, as he continues to do so to this day.
So what does Manti have that Lizzy didn't, that he immediately got the support because someone lied to him about a girlfriend (supposedly-- that's assuming he actually didn't know anything about it, which at this point seems ridiculous)-- and that support comes in the form of private investigators, but Lizzy is sexually assaulted and her report doesn't even get a second look until more than a week after the report, after she commits suicide?
You're right. In the grand scheme of things, I would much rather be sexually assaulted than be duped on Twitter about some potential love interest. That's how everyone feels, right? No?
No. No one. Ever. Because being lied to on the internet is not even in the same playing field as sexual assault. But if the person committing the assault wears a jersey on a regular basis, the rules don't apply. And unfortunately for Lizzy, she was female, and didn't play for a football team. Maybe if she were a football player, and the attacker were some other faceless, seemingly unimportant (in the university's eyes) person, she would have gotten the immediate support that Manti is receiving, and she would have had a better chance of being in a healthier, safer emotional place where suicide was less likely to seem like an option.
This is a time where we don't need a genie. This is happening now. This is an opportunity now to speak up for the people who don't have a voice-- for the Lizzies, and the countless others who have their report swept under the rug because athletes can't rape-- all women are clamoring for the opportunity to have sex with an athlete, which always implies consent, right? Wrong. All wrong. Women are not trophies. Women are not objects. Women are people with thoughts, ideas, emotions, and the right to say no and have it respected, regardless of who the person is or if he has a spot on the team roster.
So why do we support a culture that enables rape? Why do we paint our faces, spend hard earned money on season tickets, and allow ourselves to forget what it currently means to be an athlete?
This article says it best:
What's really surprising me are those who believe as I do that two players on the team have committed serious criminal acts – sexual assault in one case, and rape in another - but assumed that I'd support the team anyway, just as they are.
"Aren't you just a little bit excited?" one asked the other day. There are plenty of good guys on the team, too, I'm repeatedly told. And oh, that Manti Te'o is inspiring. I don't doubt it. But as a thought exercise, how many predators would have to be on the team before you'd no longer feel like cheering?
How many?
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
When Athletes Get a Free Pass
In high school, there was a Sports Sister program. It wasn't anything official, you didn't have to apply or anything like that-- all you had to do was fork over X amount of dollars, and they'd give you a sweatshirt with the name and number of your favorite football player on the back. You'd wear the shirt on game days, and you would also bring cookies, candy, whatever for the player and decorate his locker with hearts and good luck charms every single time they had a match.
At the time, I thought nothing of it. I didn't participate in the football program-- instead, a friend and I made our own shirts to support our friend on the soccer team, and even then I had them turn the "6" in his 16 sideways so it would represent both his 16 and my 19 when my season started. But in hindsight, the entire practice is ridiculous-- there was no mutuality of support between the teams. It was done ONLY for the football team, and there was zero expectation that when football season was over, the football players would return the favor for the girls' basketball team. Or track team. Or softball team. Heck, for the debate/forensics team.
Where was my locker decoration on opening night of the musical when I was a lead?
It feeds into this idea of exalting certain groups of individuals that fall within a certain level of athletic ability (although I don't remember our football team really being all that great). While it seems like a benign practice, engaging in this type of worship behavior can lead to some pretty terrible situations where members of the team can develop an indoctrinated notion that general rules of propriety and appropriateness no longer apply to them. And why should they think differently? How often are athletes given extensions, curved scores, or had a blind eye turned to a missing assignment if it impacts their eligibility? I remember there being an outrage when my eleventh grade English teacher gave the participants of the musical an extra day to turn in an assignment when it was due during opening week. It was a member of the football team that protested, and I remember the heat that flashed across her face when she quickly retorted, "It is far less than what the football players are given, so I don't see an issue with it." At the time, I thought she was amazing. Now, I still think she was amazing, and I'm also mad at my past self and those around me for have such general acceptance for a norm that was so unjust.
It's frustrating when the allowance and favoritism bleeds into academics, but it's scary when the attitudes cross over into moral behaviors. Recently, there has been a lot of press on the Steubenville, Ohio rape case-- all press that is in thanks to a few vigilante social media players/reporters who got wind of the incident and have fought for justice. Without their efforts, this case was going to be swept under the rug-- something a lot of folks in Steubenville are still trying to do. Coaches, teachers, people in the community have accused the gang rape survivor of "asking for it," "consenting," and even that she was trying to destroy the football community single handedly. Such accusations would be a little less disgusting (as anyone accusing someone who has reported a rape of "asking for it" is, in fact, disgusting), except there is a ridiculous pile of evidence showing how this girl was drugged and repeatedly sexually assaulted by members of the football team while they documented their adventures with their smartphones and posted them to the internet, bragging about their conquest.
This video is an amazing response to the incident, and something that EVERYONE should see.
It's a horrific incident. One that we can sit comfortably from a distance away and shake our fingers at, declaring its awfulness and terror and swear to never allow such behaviors to occur in our little community. However, Lawrence is a town with its own athletic worship-- and it comes in the form of KU Basketball.
Just over a month ago, Jeff Withey made a Twitter post after apparently viewing the Victoria's Secret fashion show. Jeff Withey is a basketball player, apparently a good one, as his name is usually plastered all over the home page of the local newspaper's website (you can tell I follow a lot of KU basketball). His post states the following:
Jeff Withey@JeffWithey
@JeffWithey most ballers do
@JeffWithey at least most of them are pretty tall ;)
@JeffWithey probs are! You won't e too talk for them lol:D #LOVEYOU
@JeffWithey you and me both
@JeffWithey Geez, you're not satisfied with being able to have any girl on campus?!! 😈
Because that's something worth asking for.
At the time, I thought nothing of it. I didn't participate in the football program-- instead, a friend and I made our own shirts to support our friend on the soccer team, and even then I had them turn the "6" in his 16 sideways so it would represent both his 16 and my 19 when my season started. But in hindsight, the entire practice is ridiculous-- there was no mutuality of support between the teams. It was done ONLY for the football team, and there was zero expectation that when football season was over, the football players would return the favor for the girls' basketball team. Or track team. Or softball team. Heck, for the debate/forensics team.
Where was my locker decoration on opening night of the musical when I was a lead?
It feeds into this idea of exalting certain groups of individuals that fall within a certain level of athletic ability (although I don't remember our football team really being all that great). While it seems like a benign practice, engaging in this type of worship behavior can lead to some pretty terrible situations where members of the team can develop an indoctrinated notion that general rules of propriety and appropriateness no longer apply to them. And why should they think differently? How often are athletes given extensions, curved scores, or had a blind eye turned to a missing assignment if it impacts their eligibility? I remember there being an outrage when my eleventh grade English teacher gave the participants of the musical an extra day to turn in an assignment when it was due during opening week. It was a member of the football team that protested, and I remember the heat that flashed across her face when she quickly retorted, "It is far less than what the football players are given, so I don't see an issue with it." At the time, I thought she was amazing. Now, I still think she was amazing, and I'm also mad at my past self and those around me for have such general acceptance for a norm that was so unjust.
It's frustrating when the allowance and favoritism bleeds into academics, but it's scary when the attitudes cross over into moral behaviors. Recently, there has been a lot of press on the Steubenville, Ohio rape case-- all press that is in thanks to a few vigilante social media players/reporters who got wind of the incident and have fought for justice. Without their efforts, this case was going to be swept under the rug-- something a lot of folks in Steubenville are still trying to do. Coaches, teachers, people in the community have accused the gang rape survivor of "asking for it," "consenting," and even that she was trying to destroy the football community single handedly. Such accusations would be a little less disgusting (as anyone accusing someone who has reported a rape of "asking for it" is, in fact, disgusting), except there is a ridiculous pile of evidence showing how this girl was drugged and repeatedly sexually assaulted by members of the football team while they documented their adventures with their smartphones and posted them to the internet, bragging about their conquest.
This video is an amazing response to the incident, and something that EVERYONE should see.
It's a horrific incident. One that we can sit comfortably from a distance away and shake our fingers at, declaring its awfulness and terror and swear to never allow such behaviors to occur in our little community. However, Lawrence is a town with its own athletic worship-- and it comes in the form of KU Basketball.
Just over a month ago, Jeff Withey made a Twitter post after apparently viewing the Victoria's Secret fashion show. Jeff Withey is a basketball player, apparently a good one, as his name is usually plastered all over the home page of the local newspaper's website (you can tell I follow a lot of KU basketball). His post states the following:
Jeff Withey
I'm going to marry a Victoria Secret model!
By itself, it says a lot about who he is as a person. It's no secret that I'm not a fan of what this particular industry represents, its method of advertising, and its efforts to ensnare younger and younger girls into buying into the messages they're selling. All that aside, however, Withey has expressed a desire to marry a model-- any of the models. He has not singled one out, which would allow for some benefit of the doubt-- perhaps he has read up on that particular model and enjoys similar hobbies, appreciates her upbringing, or admires her aspirations to go back to school or have a family. No-- instead, his statement is generalized to ANY VS model, which indicates that the only value he is interested in is how well a particular woman is able to model lingerie. If one of the models were to walk off the runway and into his arms, he'd take her-- regardless of whether she was interested in curing Autism or slaughtering baby animals, it would all be moot so long as she's got the smokin' bod.
But that isn't the only issue-- it's what comments followed his statement.
What rings throughout is a general acceptance of this type of comment. Gone is any sense of what is decent and respectful of women, and instead is a tolerance and even promotion of this type of behavior. The last comment is particularly disturbing-- that because of Withey's athleticism and success on the basketball court, he is able to "have" his choice of women across campus. Gone is the idea that any of the women may not have any sense of requited affection, because the expectation is that because he is a good athlete, they want him.
Which isn't too far off from, "they're asking for him/it."
So we look down from our high horses and shake our heads at the small town of Steubenville, when perhaps we should look up and around at what is happening around us-- and instead of shaking our heads and simply saying, "Well, what do you expect?", we should raise our expectations and demand better.
Because that's something worth asking for.
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