Limits

I am not a person who does things by halves, generally. If I get in a mood to, say, extensively clean my house, I will be on my hands and knees scrubbing tiles with a toothbrush. If I love you, I would pretty much do anything short of homicide for you. And if I genuinely hate you (not an emotion I truly feel often,) you should probably pray we never meet in a dark alley.

Running is hard for me. My normal, me-like inclination is to go balls out on it. Run like demons are chasing me. Run hard enough that I can't think of anything but my feet on the pavement. Fast and hard.

Running is not a balls out exercise. It's something where you have to know when to push yourself and when to throttle back. I am amazing at pushing myself; I am awful at throttling back. Especially since part of why I like running is the fact that it does push the thoughts out of my head. The faster I run, the more that happens.

But I am just starting, really, and I have to learn to be patient, too. Another virtue I lack.

I really look forward to the day that I can maintain the pace that I want. Until then, I work on knowing my limits.

Nonsense, mostly

Blogger just told me this blog has 100 posts. So that's fun. Some of you (ok, probably none of you) have read my nonsense 100 times. Go me. Or you. Something.

But the problem that I run into here, kind of, is that you all know me. So I can't ever talk about the shit I want to talk about. So I keep being tempted to create a huge fake persona, and write a fake blog that's actually all of the real, honest shit about my life. But I'm an actual real person, and only like 5 people give a shit what I write on here. My fake person would just be one of a sea of billions of stupid blogs and no one would care. And it's not simply the catharsis of writing that appeals to me, but the connection. I like blogs that I read because I get it, because there's this thing, the "I can relate to that!" feeling. It's the thing that would be missing if I was fake. Because what would I do to cultivate a readership if I made a fake account? Make a fake Facebook? Fake meet fake people and then urge them to read my shit? Post my own shit on my real Facebook and just disavow writing it?

You see why this is problematic?

This is the place, on the interwebs, where I'm probably the most honest, and I'm not even that honest here anymore. Because honesty can be used against you. Honesty leads to vulnerability which leads to other people fucking with you. And I have seriously no time for that shit. I get myself into enough shit on a daily basis, I don't need you to throw me into any, too.

Not you like you guys. Just in general.

This is another pretty nonsensical blog, I'm sure. Lately, that's the only time I'm compelled to write. Because by typing things out, clean black words on a blank white screen, everything is supposed to make sense again. Or at least feel less. "Less what, Star. You left out a word." No, I didn't. Just less.

I had this conversation today with someone about various things. A lot of it was random bullshit. And some of it was really incredibly nice stuff about me, which I utterly and honestly deserve none of. Truth. But this person is a goddamn champion, and subsequently, I want to direct said person to this blog. Because that is how people see you. I know it seems all romantic and you might extract the romantic connotations, but other than that, yeah. You wake up rooms. You have absolutely no idea you do it, either, and it cracks me up. Anyways, this is my momentary shout out to you, my friend. *raises wine glass*

Loss

Loss is a strange motherfucker.

We talk about losing things a lot. Sometimes they're tangible; money, a pen, a pet, a person. Sometimes they're intangible; faith, hope, love, dignity. Which is worse? Hell, I don't know. I don't even know if "intangible" is a real word or if I just made that shit completely up. It's something I would do.

I feel a lot of loss lately, and the weird part is that I'm not even certain what I'm actually mourning here. Or if I'm even mourning it at all. Is there sadness in that bitterness and regret, or is it something else? Is this exhaustion of the soul simply proceeding my rise from the ashes, a phoenix in stilettos?

Fuck if I know.

I know, this blog is rambling and strange and emo and possibly a little off-putting. If I have no earthly idea what I'm trying to say, however will the seventeen of you that actually read this drivel?

And don't worry. This is random and strange, but not some odd internet manifesto before I off myself or something like that. That will never happen. I'm not broken. I still have worth. This I know.

But I miss things, both tangible and intangible, right now. So much so that sometimes the loss overwhelms me and I just want to cry. Fun fact: it's difficult for me to cry more than one or two tears in general lately. At least for things concerning me. For things like kidnapped or abused kids states away, or other people's losses, I can produce floods of them. For myself, they refuse to come. I find it hard to be vulnerable. This blog is probably as close as it gets, and I don't even know if I'll hit publish. I have about 7 other posts that I've started that remain in my edits because I just can't share whatever they are about. Too personal, too much, too painful.

So now I'll finish this, as confused as I started it. "My words fly up, my thoughts remain below. Words without thoughts never to heaven go."

Bodies and Sex and Boobs Oh My

I got into a Facebook discussion today about breastfeeding, and one of my friends said that she was grossed out by breastfeeding, because she always saw her breasts as sexual and she couldn't get past that. (I want to segue for a second here to say that this friend is very pro other people breastfeeding, this was just something she couldn't do.)

I actually hear this a lot. I would say that two to five times a week, I have people expressing concerns about feeding a baby with a part of their body that has, until now, been totally sexual for them.

I could go into a discussion about how sexualized the breast is in the Western world and how sad it is that women can only see them in a sexual manner - but that's not where I want to go with this.

Instead, I want to talk about the fun contradiction of being a girl.

Please understand - I LOVE being a chick. Love it. I love long hair and nails and makeup. I adore glitter and the color pink and clothes and heels. Big sunglasses? Jewelry? Skinny jeans? Sign me up for all of it. And being/looking sexy? I love it. I consider myself super hot, thankyouverymuch, and I have confidence in spades in most situations.

And this is often a problem for some people. Although we sexualize everything in our culture, heaven forbid you fall outside of the realm of acceptable sexy to anyone. Then you're a whore. A slut. A skank. A number of other words that have been thrown at me, and probably most of the rest of the people with vaginas who are reading this blog. We want a gorgeous half naked girl draped artistically in our perfume ad, but put a real girl in a low cut shirt and, damn - can we even handle that? She's a whore, or she's just tempting men into illicitness and we should probably, like, burn her at the stake.

I own my sexuality and I am unashamed. I also have more male than female friends in real life, and they have never once been unable to handle being around me without molesting me. It's sheer insanity. I can hang out with them in short skirts or cleavage baring stuff and be ok. Could it be that men are actually not animals and are able to function around sexiness - just like women can function around hot men without literally ripping their clothes off? Gasp. In fact, the very few times someone has crossed the line with me, it's my guy friends who have been like, "Um, no. Not ok. You need to respect our friend."

And could it maybe be that our own issues of inadequacy - spawned from the societal contradictions out there - that those are the reasons that we brand other women whores and sluts? Because it's us doing it, girls. I can count on one hand the number of times a guy has called me a whore or slut. In thirty years, less than five is not actually a massive number. I could not, however, even begin to put a number on the amount of times that a girl has labeled me that. I can say that it would require me to be an utter freak of nature to even begin, because it's for sure more than twenty. And for what? What benefit does all the slut-shaming and whore calling do to us? It doesn't make us more attractive, or nicer, or smarter. It doesn't solve the very real feminist issues out there. It doesn't keep little girls from learning that their bodies aren't good enough in any form ever and that they should both fear and loathe them. It does give a really nice out to the douchebags out there who use it when they hurt or rape girls, though. I mean, if she's a whore, she was asking for it, right? For those of you who think only miscreants use that defense and everyone sees through it, you're wrong.

Then you have the other side of the coin. The breastfeeding side. The side where OMFG vaginas and boobs have non-sexual purposes. We're pretty uncomfortable with our biological functions, too. A breastfeeding woman is too indecent to have around boys, and she should be covering that shit up to not corrupt youth and also, again, entice men to stray. Jesus, men, I'm so sorry for you. We really seem to buy that you just cannot keep that shit in your pants ever. While I'm sure that this gives a great out to some douches out there, I imagine that most of you kind of hate it all. Anyways. Breastfeeding moms, they're gonna glamourize pregnancy and make men go into fits of sexual insanity, and break up families and corrupt the youth of the nation. FOR REALS YOU ALL. It's just bad. I mean, you're a mom now. You can't have boobs! Not even functional ones! Go put on your mom jeans and stop making people uncomfortable.

So there you have it. If you're too sexy, you're screwed. Showing the biological side of a sexual part? Screwed. And if you, like me, do both - dear god, I'm not even sure what to call us. Super mega extra ninja sluts. Destroying the fabric of America. WORSE THAN THE GAYS.

Ladies, it is time to take our sexuality and our biology back. It is time that we relearn confidence in ourselves and our bodies. It's time that we realize that NO ONE is the Madonna OR The Whore, and that we are all delightful combinations of various different things. It is time that we stop pigeonholing ourselves and each other and truly loving our bodies and ourselves for what we are and what we do. And it is way beyond time that we shut up with the slut/whore nonsense.

I am whatever you say I am.

I really, really didn't want to write this blog post.

I agonized over whether or not to bother. I went back and forth. And if I did write it, how should I write it? Sometimes I envisioned it as being just full of vicious rhetoric and avengeyness (it's a word, I just typed it.) Sometimes I envisioned just clearing my name.

It will be neither of those.

Here's all I want to say on this: There's a LOT of shit being talked about me right now. It's not the first time, and it very likely won't be the last. However, there are several sides to this story, and most haven't heard mine. I'm not going to tell it here. This isn't an expose and I am weary of the entire goddamned topic by now. If you want to believe what's being said, that's your choice. You can go on, you can hate me, you can also talk shit. That's all you. Delete me on Facebook, stop talking to me. Will it hurt my feelings? Perhaps marginally. But I'm gonna choose to focus on the other people, the ones who've said, "Yeah, I heard this, but I know that can't be the whole story because it makes no sense," or those who have said, "You know what? I'm not going to get involved; I'm just going to be Switzerland* here and let everyone else figure out their shit." Those people are awesome.

Besides, I discovered long ago one thing - when you sling mud, you get fucking covered in the shit. Doesn't take too long until people are turning it back on you, wondering how, if you're so squeaky clean, you got all that mess on your shoes. I've been burned in that respect more than once. I'm almost thirty now and I'm getting to the point where I feel like a pathetic loser when I court drama.

And before anyone freaks the fuck out thinking that this blog or any part of it is some kind of dig against anyone, it's not. When I'm a bitch, I am far less subtle about it.

Comments are closed on this, because the entire subject is closed as far as I'm concerned.

(*Thanks to the lovely Karina for pointing out that I used the wrong country here. Because I am a nerd lol.)

We are all Habiba

Imagine that you are the mother of a 15 month old.

Not a stretch for many of the people I know.

Now imagine that you have fallen on awfully hard times.

Again, not a stretch for some of you.

Imagine that you have lost your home. You and your child are without shelter, without work, scared, alone. You have left an abusive partner.

So you suck up your pride. After all, you have a child to think of. A child that you love, a child that deserves the best. And even though things are pretty grim, you have to take care of your baby. That's the important thing. It would be for me, at least, and I imagine for every parent out there. Your kid comes first. So you go to a shelter. You go there because it is your last hope. Because you dream of a better life, but you seriously need help now.

And so you go there. And you try to comply with what they say to do. But they tell you you have to wean your baby. And your baby is probably a little freaked out by the change - toddlers don't handle them well, after all - and weaning is stressful. Stressful to the baby. Stressful to you. So you refuse. Because, really, it's BREASTMILK. Nursing is recommended by the World Health Organization until at least age two - the average world weaning age is three to four. Even your country's top physicians recommend it. And, being in a group home situation, what is better for your baby than immune protection tailored to her environment? After all, it's not like you have tons of money to go ahead and get medical care.

It is with this reasoning that you politely refuse to wean.

And with that, you are plunged into a nightmare.

Your daughter, your sweet, 15 month old child who knows no other care provider and has not been separated from you, is ripped away. You are kicked out of the home while your child is kept from you. Your breasts swell, used to being relieved by nursing. Your child is presumably a wreck - kiddos don't do well removed from a loving caregiver. You are a wreck. SOMEONE HAS TAKEN YOUR CHILD. You were not given the chance to say goodbye or to plead your case.

Now imagine that in the past 14 days, you have seen your precious child for 2 hours total. Imagine how you explain to your baby why she is with someone else. Imagine how you feel when she is taken away again after a short visit. Imagine being a fit parent, whose only crime was being poor. Now tell me how you feel. Tell me if this is ok.

Yet this is the exact scenario faced by a young mother in Spain. I am ashamed, today, to admit my Spanish decent. I am ashamed that the country of my ancestors is allowing something so cruel and tragic and anti-family. Anti-child. Anti-mother.

If you are human, you cannot help but think that this is horrible. If you are a parent, you cannot help but feel for this mother. If you have ever been economically disadvantaged, you know how powerless you already feel and how terrible this is.

If you have a heart, it is breaking for Habiba.

Please, please, please my friends. Please sign this petition to help this mom get her child back. Please help reunite this family. Please take a stand for basic human rights.

(If you are having a hard time on the site, since the actual signing part is in Spanish: nombre=first name. Apellido = last name. Tu correo-e = e-mail address. Cód. Postal = zip code. Click the little box to accept the terms and then click Firma la peticion.)

Another Childbirth Blog

I hopped on the treadmill yesterday at work. Typically, if I have 15 minutes to do this, I catch up on breastfeeding stuff or listen to a breastfeeding podcast so that I don't feel like a giant slacker, but yesterday my podcast wouldn't work. So I grabbed an old issue of Self magazine. And I found this article. For those of you who don't want to read it (but you should, it's good), it examines childbirth, mostly from the perspective of the author, who had a very traumatic birth experience. As I was reading it, I came across this quote:

"By now, one movie, two books, four doulas and approximately 15 mothers had told me that my traumatic birth was my fault, the problems all stemming from my not believing in my body...Would we ever tell someone whose liver has failed that it was because she didn't believe in it?"

THAT. That is the problem with labor and delivery and birth and judgment. Right there.

I mean, just take a look at some of the comments with this online version:

"I'm so disappointed in this article. The author is ignorant and ill-prepared to write on such an issue."

"she is not to blame for her traumatic birth (which to me sounds like every recount of any hospital birth I have ever heard) because she didn't trust her body but because she was VERY uneducated about the whole process. You researched this article more than you researched your birth (and that's not saying much) and you were unprepared and surprised throughout the whole process."

"Women just need to be more assertive with doctors and not let them scare you into the worst possible scenario. Just tell yourself, whose gonna deliver your baby after the apocalypse, its gonna be you and your mate. Be strong ladies and take back your bodies from doctors and the government."

If you don't get the birth you wanted or planned, it shouldn't be your fault. No one else should get to cast judgment on you for it not working out. That's bullshit, right there. I am SO INCREDIBLY SICK of the judgment that comes along with birthing a baby. My friend Summer has told me, several times, that she didn't feel badly about having a c-section at all - until the natural birth advocates made her feel like shit over it by telling her how it was all her fault. If you're reading this and you're one of those people, please note: you are not helping "the cause." You are, in fact, sounding like a huge tool and everyone but your equally judgy peers secretly dreams of punching you out. Fact. (This isn't the people who gently try to inform people that they should educate themselves, btw - it's the community that goes, "Well, if you hadn't done a,b,c, it would have worked out." YOU HAVE NO WAY OF KNOWING THAT SO SHUT UP.)

Should women be empowered and strong and educated? Oh, absolutely. But when you're having waves of contractions and in pain, it's NOT always easy to stand up for yourself, and all the damn research and reading and interviewing and doulas in the world may not help that. Instead of taking about how terrible women are, and how uneducated and untrusting of our bodies we are, why don't we point that finger right back at the practitioners who are taking advantage of this to push women into things they don't want? Why aren't birth advocates asking to speak at med schools, or talking to obs? In rape, if we blame the victim, it's terrible and shameful. In birth, if we do, it's normal. That has GOT to change. Birth is in a terrible state in the US, but we can't fix it by telling every woman how dumb she is.

Sometimes, I hear people advocate this whole idea of how every woman should labor at home with a midwife and everything would be amazing. Utopian but not at all feasible. Not everyone can do that, and, more, not everyone wants that. When I attended doula training, I remember the instructor talking about how, at her first meeting with patients, she had them sketch an ideal birth. Like, if money, and location and even reality weren't barriers, where would they feel most comfortable birthing? She had people draw clouds, and fields, and big giant tubs and plush beds. One woman drew a hospital. She told her that the idea of birthing anywhere else quite frankly terrified her. She had known her doctor all her life; family and friends staffed the hospital; she was confident and happy there. That was her happy place. She went in dilated to a 1 and did, in fact, have a drug free all natural vaginal delivery within 24 hours.

I'm gonna end this blog here, but I do want to leave it with one more quote from the article, from the author of my very favorite pregnancy/birth book:

"I don't understand this phrase 'take back your birth,'" nurse-midwife Pam England, creator of Birthing From Within, a popular book and series of childbirth preparation classes, tells me. "Who took it? What would a woman tell herself it meant about her if she failed to meet the criteria she made up for 'taking back' her birth? I am concerned that this phrase, meant to generate action and a feeling of empowerment, may actually be generated by or feeding the victim part of her."