Guest Post: Choosing Visibility

Guest Post: Choosing Visibility
by Casey Lynn

4 minutes, 39 seconds.

In the wake of the political disaster we’re calling an election, I was, and still am, an emotional mess. I am confused, frustrated, saddened, angry, defeated, lost, and most of all, on November 9^th I woke up afraid.

Looking back, I thought I had experienced fear before: in 7^th grade when the beast of a forward on the opposing team came charging right at me, before every improv show I’ve ever done, the first time I said “I love you” to a partner, going away to college, traveling across the ocean to study abroad, leaving my life in Chicago behind to move to Atlanta for grad school. At those times, I thought I was afraid, but I realize now that nervous energy and fear are vastly different.

As a cisgender, white, upper middle-class female, I’ve always been very fortunate to be comfortable and proud of who I am without having to fight much for it.

But also, surprise! Hello everyone; I’m bisexual. Consider this my official coming out. Visibility level one: achieved!

Being a bi-sexual who has primarily dated men, I’ve always had the “privilege” of invisibility. Falling in love with men meant my sexuality was never publicly an issue, as long as this part of me was cached away. And I know, if I ever did fall in love with a woman, she would be welcomed by my family with open arms.

So, despite my sexual identity, the renewed fear I woke up with, and continue to live with now, stems from an event I’ve kept private for years. In 2012, just after my 24^th birthday, I was raped.

I was at his apartment ready to go to sleep, so I curled up on his couch. He said, “no, please, take my bed,” so naturally I got in because beds are way more comfy than couches, thinking that he was going to relinquish his bedroom spot and sleep in the living room. When he started to get in bed with me I said, “what are you doing?” to which he replied, “don’t worry I’m not going to try anything,” and I trusted that. So, I got onto my side of the bed, still fully clothed, and fell asleep.

As I was drifting off, I felt him touching me, grabbing my breasts, trying to get his fingers inside my skirt and underwear. I told him to stop; he persisted. He tried to kiss me and again, I told him to stop. He apologized and told me he wouldn't keep trying since I was "clearly not into it." His ego was bruised and I was too exhausted to placate his fragile masculinity. Again, I trusted him and fell asleep.

This time when I woke up, my bra was unhooked, my skirt was around my waist, my top was hiked up to my neck, my breasts were exposed and he was on top of me. It took me a second to process what was happening. I would like to say that I punched him in the face, ran to the police station, took his ass to court and now he’s in prison, but that isn’t what happened. I, like many survivors, blamed myself.

The only thing I said to anyone about it, when I talked about it at all, for the next three years was “I was drugged.” Which was a lie. I didn’t want anyone to think that I let that happen, that I made bad choices, which “led” me to being raped while I lay sleeping, so I gave myself an out. It couldn’t possibly be my fault if I was drugged.

That is fucked up. It’s not my fault, it was never my fault, and yet I felt the stigma of victimization living inside me. Yes, I could have left his apartment instead of falling asleep, but that moment of potential indiscretion- and this is crucial- does not make his actions my fault. He betrayed my trust and touched my body without permission. That is not okay.

I am afraid because I feel that no one is advocating for this part of my experience as a survivor. What little semblance of understanding and support I felt has vanished overnight. I am afraid because a man who lives by the “if-you-want-it-take-it” philosophy, even when it comes to women, has been elected to be the next president. I am afraid because that man has inadvertently empowered men across the country to believe that women’s bodies are theirs for the taking. I am afraid because what happened to me was reduced to “locker room talk,” and years of hard fought efforts to end rape culture have been reversed.

I never thought I’d feel so obligated to come out as a survivor. In the same way I never thought I’d officially come out as bisexual, it seemed to be a non-issue. But now, I choose to be visible. And I hope that this will encourage others to be visible as well. I decided to make this disclosure because there is power in numbers. I want this because, when we stand together and share our stories of survival, we can bring awareness to this epidemic (and it is an epidemic). We can’t rely on leaders to advocate for us; we have to advocate for ourselves. In the context of sexual assault, silence does not equal consent. However, when it comes to allowing the perpetuators of rape culture, sexism, and bigotry to continue unchallenged, our silence is an accommodation. As allies, our silence means we consent to violence against women and I do not consent.  

...

Casey is an aspiring novelist and copywriting novice. Read her blog about portfolio school and smashing the patriarchy at lifeinthecircusblog.wordpress.com .

#bisexual #sexualassault 

How to Survive Not-Quite-So-Abject Poverty

Estimated reading time: 7 minutes, 32 seconds

You're reading this, so you have some kind of device on which to view it.

It's on my blog, so you have some kind of internet access. And if not, you have just enough cash to buy a tea at that coffee shop that has free WiFi.
If this is right. You might be just the person I'm talking to.

You might have an apartment or maybe you're couch surfing for now until you can find a place cheap enough to dump your suitcase of diminishing ramshackle belongings.

You don't have a car, or if you do, it's not going to pass that next inspection.

When you eat, it might not be ramen noodles every day, but when you're short on rent by twenty five dollars (meaning you're short on everything else by about two hundred dollars), you reach past your empty ice cube tray and pull out that bag of freezer burnt peas and carrots you bought 4 months ago when this same thing happened- to make the noodles a bit more interesting.

The beer cans your roommates leave strewn about the living room and kitchen are each good for five cents towards a bit of laundry money so you can at least be clean for work.

You leave the Miller lite bottles where they are because the machine won't take those.

You read your homework for class on the bus, and then the train, and then on another bus because you worked a 17hr shift last night to try and fill the $200 defecit. You made $145.
Just enough to buy the newest edition of the textbook for class, which you note bitterly, has an edition that came out the previous year, which is now only $35.

Tomorrow is the first of the month, and though you need a new month pass for the bus/train, you add the $5.25 floating around in your pocket to your card so you can take one more trip to campus and then back to work.

Your depression is flaring up again, but the medication they put you on costs $30 a bottle and you've already split your last pill in half to buy some extra time.

When you get off the train, you walk by the two story book store, looming over you at the corner. Oversized red sans serif announcing the final days of the already gutted behemoth.

Your mother worked there until they let her go, so your insurance lapses along with her job.
You can't sign up for classes with no insurance, so when you get home there's an envelope containing what you thought would just be another request for your immunization records, but is instead a crisp correspondence on University letterhead announcing that you'll need to pay $1,000 for the school insurance. Yours doesn't meet "mandatory minimum requirements".

Your essays are typed on a four year old Mac book whose "0" key sticks every time. Purchased in '07 before the recession hit. After seeing a post on Facebook from a younger friend, you donate the Mac book to them in the hopes that it will help them survive their own not-quite-so-abject poverty experience.

It's now Thursday. Today is the start of a three day work-a-thon. You leave your apartment at 7am, but the first two busses whiz past you, already filled to the brim with passengers. Somehow you manage to get to job #1 at 8:15am. Caught up in paperwork and errands, you forget to eat lunch until you look up and realize it's 3:10pm. All the better. Now your fullness will last a bit longer into the evening.

You're technically off at 5, but job #2 starts at 5:20pm and sometimes the traffic makes the busses late, so you know you need to leave at 4:45pm. Since it's now so close to time to leave, you can't take a full lunch break. So you run downstairs to Dunkin's and order an eggwhite flatbread sandwich for $2.34 (because that one is supposed to be better for you, or have lower calories or something) and try to savor that plastic sheen on the cheese and the hard kernels of "whole grains", instead of just demolishing it in two bites. You drink a full glass of water with it so the bread will hold a little more weight in your stomach. That- and you forgot to drink anything all day, so you're dehydrated.

You finish up at your desk job and rush to catch the train, to the bus, and then speed walk to job #2.

Mostly cleaning up, it's not a glamorous occupation, but after some initial work you can sit, sedentary, for about an hour while you let the stressful buzz of the commute to get here subside. But sometimes, like now, it just resonates and echoes. So you get up and clean the drains and mop one more time to keep your mind off of it.

Thankfully, you get to sleep on this overnight shift. Once 8pm hits, you're technically free to relax, but you haven't eaten dinner yet and this realization makes you even more hungry. Trudging downstairs, wishing there were a way you could completely avoid using the swollen soles of your feet, you get to the microwave and slide the frozen burrito onto the glass. The icy brick of it makes a loud clanking noise and jolts you back to the cacophony of the train, the reception desk, the customers- but the beeping of the microwave timer brings you back to reality and you relish the warmth of the burrito inside the paper towel hovel you crafted for it. Feels like hands pressed against warm sidewalks in the summer.

You clumsily hop scotch your way back up the steps, biting just the end off of the burrito in the hopes that it might actually be less scalding by the time you get upstairs. It's not, but you eat it anyway. Too tired to wait, too hungry to go to bed.

Your alarm pings you awake. It's 5:25am. You're back on at 6, but if you want to eat breakfast before 9am, you'd better do it now. There' are some morning duties to tend to which require getting a little muddy, sweaty, stinky. Nothing to wake up your senses like a stinging, pungent smell waiting to be cleaned.

The next pungent smell is you peeling off your sullied work clothes to get in the staff shower, but then you get to rinse off the last day and a half of hair-tie grunge, and go back to office attire. You have to set an alarm so you don't get too caught up luxuriating, because you need to be back at the office and now you only have thirty minutes to do it.

Walk-bus-train-stairs-desk.

You plop down with your many bags and realize that smell you were silently bemoaning wasn't the T, but was your Job #2 work tennis shoes which have literal shit on them- a common occupational hazard for you. You don't have time right now to rinse them off so you double tie the plastic bag they're in and shove them in the nook by your feet.

Work #3 comes into play at lunchtime. You have a schedule to put out for the following week and you gave away your computer, so you need to work on it now. Cross checking emails from employees to confirm which schedule changes they requested and then confirming you're available to cover the dates they can't, you set up the calendar and mail it out. About two hours later, you get a reply email from one of the employees saying they can't make it in tonight. It's almost 3 o'clock and their shift starts at 5:30. You have Job #2 duties, so you can't just swoop in and take the shift which, although it doesn't feel like it at the time, is actually the simplest solution. So you set about emailing all the other employees, imploring one of them to take a shift while framing it like it's something desireable "Does anyone want more hours?". We all know the answer, but replace "want" with a more apt word like "need" and things start to make a bit more sense. Finally someone volunteers, and it's someone dependable, so you don't need to be waiting in the wings, but it's almost time for job #2 again so you start to pack up your things.

Repeat Thursday afternoon routine and fast forward till Saturday morning. This time it's 7am, but you won't get off so easy. This time you're staying at Job #2 until 4pm.

More cleaning, customers, phone calls, and a few card transactions later and it's 1:30pm.

It's dead. So you sit down with your new tiny off-brand laptop that you bought just for writing, and start fumbling around on the keys:

...

Like the product of rape

the fruit of unpaid labor

I leave

a taste,

a pain,

a memory

at best

Outlawed from my body

Sandy aggregate of the time

Expanse and Sprawling

Inescapable Commodity

Which

Like all things

Must pass

The start of a catharsis that might just get you through however much longer you have to do this.

This goes on for seven years, but the extended release of your writing is timeless.

And that's how you survive.

Care.com- Couldn't Really Care Less

To be clear, I have no problem with people needing help to clean their house.  

My problem is with the way this ad  "others" people in positions of service by:

1) appealing to consumers basic desire for happiness and free time and then
2) implying that their target audience is white (stock image of the blonde woman with her child) and entitled to those basic desires ("get that time back"). Then
3) by juxtaposition, suggesting the housekeeper's free time is "supposed" to be full of cleaning and that they are *not* entitled to that free time, because their *clients* are the ones who are entitled to it. Which is why clients pay housekeepers to service them.

Since housekeepers usually cannot "get more quality time" by hiring someone, this implies that those who do not have the extra money for that service simply don't need that "quality time".

This creates a hierarchy within the ad's premise:

-You (client) have money but no extra time to be happy.
-Pay a someone else to do it, so you can be happy.
-that someone else *IS* the solution to this problem, so who can that someone call for assistance in order to get time back and "be happy"?
-That's not really any of your concern. It's not as important as your free time. You deserve free time because you have the money to pay for this service.

The fault is with the ad for equating money with deserving happiness. Obviously it's an ad strategy as old as time (buy our thing; be happy!), but in this case, the message of the ad comes at the cost of service workers' humanity.

The Ins and Outs of Menstrual Cups

Photo Cred: BucketListly Photos

Estimated reading time: 7 minutes, 49 seconds

“Can you tell me about menstrual cups?” she said. “I’m moving overseas and I don’t think they’ll have the products I want to use there, so I’m thinking about getting one before I go.”

Just one of many ways this conversation has started for me with many different types of people. Some are looking for new solutions to their menstrual hygiene or simply curious about this new device they’d had yet to hear anything about.

I’m pretty good at giving the low-down at this point:

Menstrual cups are a small, flexible device you insert into your vagina to collect fluid from your period. It sits directly under your cervix and can hold ounces of blood with no leaking.

They are usually made of surgical grade silicone, but can also be made of tree rubber. Be sure to confirm what material your cup is made of before purchasing as the silicone is hypo-allergenic whereas rubber is not.

Contrary to what Divacup would have you believe, there are *MANY* brands of menstrual cup.

 

Photo Cred: The Eco Friendly Family

Which menstrual cup you choose can depend on something as simple as how much money you’d like to spend or other factors like the shipping cost/time, the size of the cup, the cup design, and the business model of the company who sells it (Ruby Cup operates on a “TOM’s Model” where each cup you buy automatically donates one).

In terms of cup design, I personally wouldn’t pick one with a loop at the bottom (like the MeLuna Shorty, pictured above) because the more crevices the cup has, the more chance it has to grow bacteria in the holes and grooves. This probably isn’t really an issue with this design, but something I’m personally cautious about.

Also about design, let’s talk about size. How are you supposed to know if your vagina is the right size for a “small” cup rather than a “large” one? First off, the cups usually only come in two sizes (if that). So you have a 50/50 shot of picking one which will work well for you.

Most of the cup company websites I’ve pawed over, say that the “small” cup is for those people who have not had penetrative intercourse. I would also recommend this to someone who has a light flow or who feels a larger cup might simply be uncomfortable for them to wear.

The “large” cups are for people who have had penetrative intercourse, who have birthed children, or who have a “normal” to “heavy” flow as these cups are larger and can hold more volume without needing to be emptied.

Right, yes. You have to empty the cup. I found that, even when I was having a VERY heavy flow (2 ounces of blood or more per 24 hrs), I only needed to empty my cup 2 or 3 times per day. You can sleep with the cup in and it will not leak! This really cuts down on the number of times you have to empty it when you’re away from your base camp (wherever that may be). I found that I would empty in the morning when I woke up, maybe once at lunch, and then again before I went to bed.

Let’s dive into the strategy of the lunchtime empty. It’s one thing to empty your cup in a bathroom where you feel you have some sort of privacy. If you do need to empty it in a public bathroom, here’s how I managed. Pick a stall, any stall. I’d remove my cup (here’s a page with some how-to’s), and then pour contents into the toilet. Now, you have some options. You can purchase a sanitizing spray or wipe, or you can do what I do which is to simply wipe the cup down with some good ole’ fashioned toilet paper and then give it a quick rinse in the sink, and reinsert. I found I never had a problem with this and it’s discreet. There’s also not really any noise associated with the cup, whereas pads and tampons have that horrible plastic wrapping which alerts everyone in the entire building to the fact that you’re menstruating (I don’t miss that!).

The cup varies in price depending on where you order it from. There are finally some companies who are starting to manufacture and sell cups in the United States. Everyone before that was imported (even DivaCup is made in Canada). Imported ones cost roughly $38 dollars depending on brand and inflation and shipping. The brand “Lena Cup” seems to be running about $25 and has some good resources regarding FAQ of menstrual cups. They are made in California and are FDA registered. However, being FDA registered is kind of a moot designation as long as the device is made of %100 silicone.

I notice on Lena Cup’s website they have a sCaRy article about the dangers of tampons. While I am a HUGE proponent of menstrual cups and their ability to change people’s lives, I’m not selling them. So I have no reason to make you hate tampons (and I personally think that’s kind of a sh*tty thing to do); I just personally don’t use them anymore. However, there are a few things worth noting about the differences between tampons and cups.

Cups do not absorb anything; they collect fluid instead. This means the cup will not suck up the natural moisture in your vagina (which is NOT the same as your menstrual fluid) which, if it did, would otherwise eff up your PH balance. I often recommend people with chronic yeast infections try cups because of this.

Tampons, when left in for too long or overnight, are notorious for causing Toxic Shock Syndrome (TSS). This is a rare, but serious illness which can easily lead to death. Cups cannot give you TSS. I believe this is because they are made of silicone which does not degrade in your body, and does not (I believe) cause the tiny scratches in your vaginal wall which allow for the TSS causing bacteria into your bloodstream.

You can also have sex while using your cup. I would not recommend having penetrative sex with a cup in. I accidentally did this once (long story), and while it wasn’t terrible, after I realized what had happened, it fully explained why something felt “funny” the whole time. The cup is flexible, however, so you can engage in penetrative sexual activity and (up to a certain extent) not leak (I say “a certain extent” because I’m not sure how raucous you’re planning to get).

Oral sex is a whole ‘nother story. If that’s what you were hoping for, GO FOR IT. Literally no reason not to (as long as it’s safe, sane, and actively consensual). It’s probably going to be great and you may even forget you’re on your period.

Then, yes, there is that cool factor of not having any environmental waste. Some cup companies say you can keep the same cup for ten years, others say five, and still others (Diva) recommend you replace it every year. I personally don’t see any reason why you can’t use a cup that’s made of the same medical grade silicone for more than a year, but I think it has to do with customer retention and getting people to make recurring purchases (Think about it: If you only bought a cup once every ten years, that’s great for you and terrible for Diva cup. This is part of why I don’t purchase their products).

Environment aside, even a $40 cup pays for itself within three months of use (when replacing tampons and pads).

To clean, I boil my cup. I have a two dollar tiny pot from Goodwill and it is my “cup pot”. I use it exclusively for boiling my cup because, well, I felt like it was kind of weird to put it in the dishwasher with our plates, glass cups, and silverware- but that’s just me! Everyone’s preference are different and it is totally acceptable to use the dishwasher to sterilize your cup. I would be wary of using any kind of soap though, because some residue might remain in the tiny air holes at the top of the cup, causing irritation if it came into contact with sensitive skin.

CAVEAT: If you have an IUD or want one (which, omg we should totally also talk about :D ) you need to be aware that it is possible to “dislodge” your IUD if you decide to use a cup. In theory, it is possible that when you pull out the cup, you could accidentally pull on your IUD string and remove the IUD in the process. I have had an IUD for four years now and have been using cups for that same amount of time. This has literally NEVER even sort of happened to me, but I wanted to be sure you were aware. Some people even say the suction of the cup pulling out of your vagina could suction the IUD out of place. While I’m sure this might be true in some cases, again this has never happened to me and simply doesn’t outweigh the amazing benefits I have personally experienced from using my cup.

I truly hope this has been helpful and I really love talking about this particular subject. If you have any questions, please do email us at inkblotblog90@gmail.com. I’m always happy to chat about this, birth control, or other sexual health subjects.

Terms and Conditions of Pregnancy- Things to know

Photo Cred: Martin Vowel

Estimated reading time: 3 minutes, 23 seconds. 

My sister is the "researcher" of the family. She's the one who reads all 95 product reviews on Amazon to figure out, not just whether or not to buy a cloth diaper, but which cloth diaper is the best (do I want the bamboo fabric or the natural cotton option???).

But although there's no shortage of lengthy reading materials when it comes to pregnancy and birth, I'm composing a list of what I now consider to be must-know facts about the process- for transparency sake!
(I should note that everyone and every pregnancy is different. These are things I learned via my sister's research or her personal experience, but not everyone's will be the same.)

1) Tearing is a real thing

Babies literally tear you open. Either the doctor cuts you with a scalpel in a procedure called "episiotomy" in which the process is controlled, or the baby does it with its head. Pick your poison. Just be aware that it could tear "up" next to your clit. Yeah, you read that right.
Episiotomy used to be a routine part of childbirth, but now apparently less so according to the Mayo Clinic

http://mayocl.in/2crArbs

2) There is a pregnancy induced condition that makes you throw up for NINE months.

It is called hyperemesis gravidarum aka the fifth circle of hell

3) Pitocin is the drug of choice for Doctor's in hospitals who want to keep you "on schedule".

Pitocin can be used for good. But with great power comes great responsibility. Sometimes it is necessary to administer in order to save a baby or birthing parent from experiencing complications in birth.
Other times it just speeds up the baby's heart rate to the point where the medical team will then suggest an emergency c-section, a physically debilitating and stressful procedure. If you think c-sections are posh, take a look at this video:

(Tw- blood, graphic video of surgical procedure)
http://bit.ly/2cMvdqi

They pry the parent open. PRY. With forceps.

4) Placentas, you grow 'em, you birth 'em.

You must give "birth" to your placenta. It's literally an organ you grow while you're gestating which keeps your fetus alive. It's about the size of a human liver or like, three personal sized servings of flan.
Oh, and, like flan, you can eat it:

http://bit.ly/2cAth2b

On a more serious note, birthing or removing the *whole* placenta within a very short period of time is crucial because any remaining tissue from it can cause septicemia.

5) You will likely get a post-partum "mega period"

http://bit.ly/2chI69r

This is not something you can control with any regular tampons or dainty panty liners. It is not uncommon for birth parents to simply opt for an adult diaper to deal with this because it's that serious.

6) Pregnancy is 40 weeks.

This is not really "news", but in 2013, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists decided to officially change the definition of what a "full term" pregnancy is:

http://on.today.com/2d1DPW9

That definition aside, I had never thought about just how LONG 40 weeks truly is. There is some debate about how to "count" the amount of months pregnancy lasts. As many people have noted, a month is sometimes said to have four weeks, which isn't really accurate. Most months actually have more than four weeks (4.35 weeks). So, if you're one of those people who is simply turning the pages on your calendar to mark your time, then the 9 month distinction is probably a fine mental goal for you. However, if you (like me) are likely to be counting down the exact days until you can be done with things 1-5 above, then you may want to stick to counting weeks rather than months as it's a little more precise.

7) Breastfeeding is hard and can last longer than pregnancy itself.

http://huff.to/2crB6tx

Some people are unable to breastfeed or simply don't want to. For those who do wander down the nursing path, it can be a huge learning curve involving lactation consultants, pain, and sleeplessness. But somehow, pregnancy/labor gets ALL the press for being the hard part.

These are just some of the things I now consider every time I get "baby fever". Certainly something to think about rather than getting easily swept up in the flurry of cute baby names and onesies.