Tuesday, December 28, 2010

My body, my birth, my choice, so butt out!

Everyone has a damn opinion on how I should push my baby out of my vagina. I don't see how it is anyone else's business except mine. I don't really see how aiming for intervention free labour and birth makes me a martyr if I never tell anybody that's what I'm aiming for. I didn't bring it up for gods sake! You did, and then you pushed and pushed until I told you what I was planning, and then you told me I was a fool - and you don't even have any children! And you know shit all about labour and birth. Never mind that I've spent the last year researching, reading, talking to people about this, no you've seen Greys Anatomy so that makes you the fucking expert on how I should push my baby out. I'll remember to criticise and shit on your choices when your time comes shall I? I'll do my best to make you feel insecure and scared and foolish, cos that's really the best thing women can do for each other.

I wrote the above when I was pregnant. It has been sitting in draft form ever since, I guess at some point I was going to make it into a proper post. But it pretty well sums up the frustration I felt when talking to people about the impending birth. I think I'll just publish it as is, for posterity :-)

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Thoughts on CalmBirth - Trusting your treacherous body

'Trust your body' is the goal.
It's hard to trust your body when you've been told your whole life that your body is unacceptable - too big, too awkward, too saggy, not feminine enough.
It's hard to trust your body when you've been told your whole life that your body is unattractive, and being attractive is the only way for a female body to be valued.
It's hard to trust your body when you've been told your whole life that your body is unhealthy and functioning sub-optimally because it is too fat, and fat is unhealthy and THE DEATHFATZ ARE RUINING SOCIETY AND WILL KILL US ALL!!!!
It's hard to trust your hips to birth a baby when you've been told your whole life to wish your hips were smaller.
It's hard to trust your breasts to feed a baby when you've been told your whole life that your breasts are too big or too saggy or just plain gross.
It's hard to trust yourself to be a mother, when all the issues outlined above come from your own mother, and despite years of good self talk and feminist intellectualising, at 27 you still can't get the fuck over it.

It's hard to trust your body.

The CalmBirth people think there is too much fear associated with childbirth. They postulate that this fear largely comes from the narratives around birth in our culture - representations of women screaming and begging for drugs, and a medical system that sees birth as an emergency that needs to be 'managed' by doctors who can't seem to stop themselves from inferring. All this, they suggest, results in women who are full of fear about childbirth and don't trust their bodies to be able to birth their babies.

I wonder if there is another element going on too. I wonder if the way we value women's bodies impacts their ability to trust their bodies. What we value in women's bodies, in fact what we value in women generally, is how they fit an ideal of feminine beauty. It is powerfully disempowering and profoundly passive. You are there to be quiet and look good. Fearless childbirth is probably the exact opposite of using your body to passively be admired!

It's hard to trust your body when the only way you know to value it is when it looks pretty, and it never looks pretty enough! There is always something to improve on. It's bloody well quintessential to the experience of the modern woman that we hate on ourselves, objectify ourselves into good bits and bad bits, fuss and lament, and judge ourselves and others. "You're so pretty." "No no no, I'm hideous, you're the pretty one!"..."OMG look at what she's wearing, with those thighs!?" This is way we are socialised into being female, by learning to be preoccupied by perceived physical imperfections. It is hard to access your inner female power in conjunction with trusting your body, when virtually all you know about your female body is that it is inadequate. Kind of ironic.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Why are chicks such bitches?

We've all heard men lamenting that women are rude/mean/dismissive of them when they're just being nice and trying to have a chat. "Why oh why are women such bitches?! I'm one of the nice guys!" (That's usually Nice Guy (TM)). Have you ever wondered why women in bars and clubs and at sporting events and at the tram stop and in the lunch room don't want to talk to you? Here's a few reasons:

1. Just because a woman is there, and you find her attractive, doesn't mean she is obliged to have a friendly, smiley chatette with you. She does not exist for your entertainment. This does not make her a mean bitch, it does not make all women bitches; it makes that woman a person who doesn't want to talk to you, get the hint.

2. Women are taught from a very young age that if we are sexually assaulted, it will probably be considered our own fault because we were wearing a short skirt, or flirting with a guy, having a drink with a guy, showing interest in a guy. "It's not my fault Your Honour, she was smiling and being friendly to me, I thought she wanted sex! And when she was too drunk to say no and my dick just fell into her, well I thought she was enjoying it. And besides, just look at all the character witnesses telling you that I'm really a Nice Guy!" Living with this day in, day out, kind of puts one's guard up. You might not be a rapist, but how does she know that? Is being nice to you worth the risk that if you are, everyone will say she was asking for it?

3. Even if it never comes to the point of sexual assault, many women are pretty sick and tired of men who just don't get the frickin' hint. You share one friendly chat and they're all over you like a rash for the rest of the night, regardless of whether you want them there or not. And they do this because they feel entitled to it. They believe that because you were friendly once, you might have sex with them, and they're not giving up until they get their God-given right! Sometimes its for a man's own good that women are bitches in the first place. Heaven forbid we be accused of leading a bloke on.

3. Maybe the bitchy chick is sick and tired of being treated like crap by men who leer and drool if they find her good looking, and disregard her completely if they don't. How does she know you're not just another pig?

These are just some of the reasons why women might be mean to you, when you're just trying to start up a friendly conversation. I'm not saying it's ok for women to be rude or nasty to men just because inequality exists. What I'm saying is that there is a lot of learned experience that goes into being a woman that men are often blissfully unaware of. This is some of that learned experience, and sometimes it results in chicks being bitches. In case you were wondering.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

I'm not a racist, but...

"I'm not a racist, but..." is a line that when uttered alerts the listener or reader to the plain fact that the speaker is, in fact, racist. I am having my own "I'm not a racist, but..." moment right now. I'm not a racist, but I don't want an Indian (male) doctor. It's an issue that I find quite a challenge, and here's why:

Our story is about a hellish and (with hindsight) hilarious train ride from Chennai to Delhi, taken by a friend and I a few years ago. My dear friend Sally had bought the wrong tickets - instead of buying tickets for the nice sleeper class, she bought tickets for what I shall call cattle class. It was Sally, me, and 100,000 impovrished Indian men on their way to Delhi to search for work. There certainly weren't enough wooden benches to go around; we were crammed in like all those stereotypical pictures of India would have you believe. A couple of times I made it to the fouler than foul toilets I found elderly ladies sitting in there, in the stench and the filth, because there was nowhere else to go.

Despite attempting to carve out some space, eventually Sally and I had to share our bit of wooden bench with as many men as was humanly possible. We had to be aggressive, if one of them groped me I would shove my elbow into him so hard for so long he'd eventually move. The groping was something I was pretty used to by then. Groping on the street, groping on the train, groping at the market, groping at the children's sports event. Unlike the cows, no part of my body was sacred - bum, boobs and vagina were all fair game for the gropers. And no, I wasn't dressed like a wanton western slut.

During those 40 hours on that train, my sit bones in agony against the hard wood of the bench, everybody was trying to do the impossible - get comfortable and try to sleep. At one point, exhausted beyond comprehension, I reached blissful unconsciousness for a few moments (I have no idea how long, time lost all meaning, we were never getting off that train). However my sleep was interrupted when I woke to find that the man opposite me had wrangled his foot up between my legs, and through my thin cotton pants and underwear, was rhythmically ramming his big toe, complete with sharp toenail, into my vagina.

I grabbed his foot and started to twist. I twisted his ankle with all the strength I had until he started yelling. I kicked him in the shins. Somebody told him he deserved it and should leave the white girl alone.

It's not an experience I cherish reminiscing about. I felt violated and scared, and I could do nothing to remove myself from the situation. I felt somewhat pleased that I had had the courage to hurt him back, and that another man had had the courage to tell him off publicly.

Writing it down now has been difficult, because since it happened I have expended a fair amount of energy into not thinking about it. I loved India, I even went back. That train trip, while awful, was an amazing experience. India all over was an amazing experience, however this incident, coupled with the constant sexual harassment and groping (in one city I was groped 10 times in one day) during both of my trips there, has really soured my perception of the place and its people...well, its men actually.

I know well and good that it was men who did those things to me; sometimes I feel that my response would be more "genuine" if I had a problem with all men, not just Indian ones. But that's not the case, I only have a problem with Indian men. My initial reaction to all men of South Asian appearance is distrust and distaste (note this doesn't seem to apply as much if they present as Westernized ie if they grew up here, and in no way applies to South Asian women). I am trying hard to work though these feelings and get past them. Just because there are some pigs in the world doesn't mean all South Asian men should be tarred with the same brush. There are men everywhere who harass and assault women, we've got plenty of white Aussie ones too. Becoming good friends with some gorgeous, gentle, respectful and downright honorable Pakistani and Bangladeshi men during uni has helped remind me of this.

Well I thought I was working past these feelings; but now the prospect of my first obstetrician appointment at the hospital is approaching. As I looked at my dairy to check what time the appointment is a tingle of fear rose in me - what if the doctor is an Indian man, putting his hands all over my belly...and what if he needs to do a vaginal exam? I know Mr T will be with me, I am sure the doctor will be nothing but caring and professional....but...

I feel highly uncomfortable at the thought, my pulse quickens and I want to cry. I don't want to feel this way, I don't want to be a racist. What should I do? Do I try to get past my feelings? I know intellectually that they're wrong and I would prefer it if they weren't there. But then again this whole pregnancy thing is making me feel vulnerable and emotional enough as it is, is this really the time to be forcing myself to confront this? But then, what actual action could I take? Call up and ask if the OB is a South Asian male? How fucking racist and disgusting does that sound? Just go to the appointment and burst into tears if they do turn out to be one? Just hope for the best...?

Friday, September 3, 2010

The torrent of unsolicited advice has begun

Everyone has an opinion on pregnancy, pregnant women and babies. Everyone seems entitled to said opinions, everyone except the woman growing the damn baby that is. Or so it seems. Woe is me! Waaahhhhhh!

I catch some of my friends looking at me with suspicion in their eyes when I eat "I heard you shouldn't eat preservatives when pregnant, its bad for the baby." Still others roll their eyes and tell me I shouldn't be so paranoid when I decline the ham that's been sitting in the food court for god knows how many hours. Mr T frets every time I take a minute sip of beer. My parents have told me my abstinence from alcohol is over the top paranoia.

I finally let myself get excited about a cot that I found the other day. I told my Mum about it when she was around. She told me it was a terrible idea (its a side car cot) because I wouldn't be able to get out of bed (what the?) and that I should have the cot on the other side of the room. Thanks for the support. Mum has also purchased bottles. I asked her what I'd need those for, and she said sometimes you don't have enough milk and you need to top up. Ok fine, sigh, let's just set me up for a breastfeeding failure shall we?

I just don't feel like I can counter any of what she says because I've never had a baby before. And she had one 27 years ago, so she gets to roll her eyes and give me the 'you're just a naive new mother' talk every damn time I express an opinion different to hers. I'm finding myself shutting down already. I don't want to share any of my ideas, and every time she says something I just smile and nod now.

She said today she saw some of those "new fangled cloth nappies" and that they looked stupid and terry toweling is better. So that's another battle I'm going to have to avoid by just ignoring everything she says and doing what I want to anyway. I know what she's doing is coming from a place of love, and support, and I am so grateful for that. I just wish I didn't feel like I have no right to an opinion on what I think is right for my body, my baby and my life.

Wow, what an insanely boring and whiny post! What is this a diary or something? Well, nobody's reading it, so I might as well use it as my own personal venting board!

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Being pregnant is like getting high. There, I said it.

My youth wasn't misspent. I achieved a lot at uni, work wise, friends, relationship etc. Doesn't mean I didn't indulge, like an increasing proportion of young Australians, in a little illegal fun now and then. Are our society's legal drugs really any different from our illegal ones? Apart from production standards (which are a concern) I'd suggest that on some levels, they're not. But that's a different debate.

So I went to parties and took ecstasy. I got into the 'scene' when it was still cool to get messy and spend the evening curled in the ecstatic embrace of friends and strangers, talking about our childhoods. I got loved up having my arm stroked; I listened with passionate intent as someone described how it felt to know they were gay; I told my deepest yearnings to friends and strangers alike, and had them listen with sincere and non-judgmental interest; I entangled my limbs with friends and held them firmly and lovingly as we grinned stupidly at each other, cigarette in shaking hand, gum churning between our teeth.

And in the immortal words of Bill Hicks - I had a damn good time. Anyway, maturity and the need to be functional on Sundays slowly led me away from all that, which is probably good for my long term mental health.

Since I've become pregnant, I've been having lots of flash backs to those times. I find myself stroking the inside of my arm and blissing out on the feelings. I find myself with almost uncontrollable needs to rub my skin against Mr T's, just cos it feels so amazing. I find myself intensely interested in the inner workings of people's hearts, and at the same time particularly disinterested in goepolitics (something that has always interested me). I sometimes feel...well...gacked out - so loved up it kinda hurts.

I was reading in a pregnancy book that oxytocin levels rise during pregnancy, and I think this could explain a lot of it. I'm starting to feel very earth mothery, the sunshine is just so damn beautiful, and I want to talk about feelings. And I don't feel like these things are coming from an existential part of myself. I'm not feeling like this because I know, intellectually, that I'm pregnant and that is what I think pregnant woman should feel like. It feels like these feelings are intuitive, quite aside from what my conscious brain is thinking.

So while its lovely for me to bliss out on these feelings, and heck there's gotta be some benefits to the nausea and exhaustion I've been experiencing, I think it raises interesting challenges to my understanding of the world...

I've always railed against people (not mentioning Tony Abbott's name) who believe that women and men are intrinsically different. When this opinion comes from the patriarchy it seems to imply that women are weaker in many ways than men, and only stronger in ways that don't matter in our society. Yet right now my body chemistry seems to be wiring up for me to be particularly nurturing, and intuitively skilled at responding to the needs of others. And this is due specifically to the fact that I'm a women who is pregnant.

Anyway, this was just a thought I had, that I thought was interesting. I wonder if its kind of perverse to draw a parallel between getting high and being pregnant...

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

I take it all back, intuitive eating is a joke

I used to believe in, and try to follow, intuitive eating. Partly for my health, and partly to try to counter the destructive effects of our food-obsessed culture. It worked really well for me because whenever I was hungry and looked deep down inside myself, and said "you can eat whatever you want" I would almost always crave something good for me - steamed fish and salad, vegetable curry on brown rice, an apple, a kiwifruit, celery sticks for fucks sake.

And then I got pregnant.

Now when I look deep inside myself and say "you can eat whatever you want", my body screams "Huge serving of wedges with sour cream!" or "CHIPS CHIPS CHIPS CHIPS CHIPS" or sometimes "White chocolate with almonds, STAT!".

Sigh.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Revenge rape - it's so punny!!

Another fairfax fail. A man was thrown out of a strip club in the wee hours of the morning. Upset about this, he went and got a nail gun from his ute, and fired four nails at the establishment's brick wall. Fairly boring, mundane news report. Yet Fairfax just couldn't help themselves but make a disgusting pun out of it: Strip club nailed by angry patron
Get it?! He 'nailed' them?! Cos they're slutty strippers?! It's so punny!!!

Fucking *headdesk*

Monday, May 3, 2010

Sick with (the idea of) love

Recently two of my girlfriends have gone through messy breakups from poor relationships. As I have listened to them (emphasis on the trying to listen and not trying to advise!) deconstruct their actions and emotions, I have noticed many similarities. So many similarities in fact, that since friend B has been slightly 'behind' friend A in her journey, I have been able to use friend A's experience to make awe-inspiring insights into friend B's situation.

Talking with these friends recently, and many friends over the years, I have noticed a worrying pattern. Of course there are probably only a few common paths relationships can take, and I don't know anything about the psychology of it all, but this is something I've noticed, and I wonder if it applies more often to women than to men.

What I've noticed is that some friends of mine, otherwise intelligent, savvy women, have a habit of behaving like idiots when it comes to men. And I'm not talking about hamming up their ditz credentials. I'm talking about a cascade of poor decisions that only end up hurting themselves. I know love is meant to make you crazy, but they're not sick with love, they seem to be sick with the idea of love. It sounds cliched, but they love being in love more than they love the guy, who more often than not turns out to be a dud, because they didn't have their brains on when they started seeing him.

This is how it goes, over and over again, and I'm sick of watching it happen: Boy meets girl. Girl is fantastic (all my friends are fantastic, that's why I'm friends with them). Boy likes girl. Boy has some kind of cool factor - maybe he's really hot, or plays guitar really well, or is a tortured intellectual. Or maybe girl's self esteem is low and just the fact that he's interested is very attractive to her. So girl likes boy, they go out. At which point, girl becomes infatuated with the idea that there is some magical wonderful powerful connection between them, and proceeds to lose any capacity she once had for character assessment. Boy, inevitably in these situations, turns out to be a dud for whatever reason, but girl just can't, or won't, see it.

So there our girl is, stuck in a relationship that is going downhill, fast. Her ability to attempt to salvage the relationship (if it had any potential to begin with) is utterly hampered by the fact that she has now lost herself in the idea of being with him, lost her sense of self, lost her belief in her own judgment, and is totally scared of being alone.

The key sign that your friend is in a relationship like this? She takes every opportunity she can to tell you just how fan-fugu-tastic her man is. She'll elaborate, ad nauseam, on how wonderful the connection they have is. She'll tell you over and over again just how fucking happy she is to be with him, how centered she feels, how it's not perfect but nothing is and she wouldn't want to brag but - you know - they're soul mates. Then when she gets drunk she'll cry to you that it's just not working and she doesn't know what to do. Then the next morning she'll pretend that conversation never happened, or that she was just being silly, that it was the wine talking.

The wine doesn't lie, take it from me.

It seems to me that what all these women have in common is that they are so attached to the idea of being with someone that they lose themselves. What they desire is a genuine, loving, intimate connection, but really, deep down, their lack of self esteem is telling them that they're not quite good enough. So when they get something that looks like it could be that relationship-that-is-meant-to-make-you-a-whole-person, they grasp on for dear life, and bugger the consequences. They refuse to a) use their judgment to assess whether the relationship and/or the man are right for them, and b) assert their own needs in the relationship.

What makes these two cognitive actions possible, it seems, is a) the pervasive idea that a woman is not worth anything until she is in a relationship, because sexual attractiveness is the marker of worth and also because she will never be happy unless she has this relationship; b) a discourse that women are physically unacceptable (we're never pretty enough, thin enough, tall enough, boobied enough etc etc) and emotionally neurotic or needy, which degrades women's sense of worth, and c) a discourse where women are obliged to give ourselves to men, physically and emotionally, so when a woman asserts that this relationship or this man isn't working out for her, she's seen as selfish.

So we have women who feel less-than to begin with, who are told they will only be worth something when they have a boyfriend, and that if they assert their needs in that relationship they are selfish bitches, thereby confirming that they were worthless in the first place. And no wonder its always such a cluster fuck.

I want to tell these gorgeous women that, hey, they're gorgeous. I want to tell them that it doesn't hurt to be a little critical in your appraisal of men before you get into a relationship with them. I want to tell them that it's ok to assert their needs in a relationship, and that if he can't take it he wasn't worth it. I want to tell them that it's ok to be single.

But you can't save people, same as for everything, people need to figure it out for themselves.

So my musings on this issue got me to thinking about my own relationship, and the relationships of my other girlfriends who don't have this pattern. I was reminded of something my Mum said to me a few years ago...

My parents split up when I was two. Mum had a few boyfriends when I was a kid. There was Spike, with his red beard. There was Alan, god he was sweet, he gave me rides in the laundry bucket and had a big garden. There was PK, the trendy Indian guy who took us on cool holidays to Sydney and took me for a ride in a water boat. There were a couple of other dates in there, I don't really remember. Then she met my stepdad when I was 9 :-) All in all not that many over a 7 year period! Yet she said to me once "God I used to worry when I dated men and we'd break-up, you'd take the break-ups so hard, I was so worried I was giving you a complex about men."

It's true that when she broke up with Alan, and then PK, I did take it pretty hard. Well, I cried once or twice, if you call that hard (I was happy when she broke up with Spike, I didn't like him lol). But I did not get a complex about men. In fact, what I think I got, was a healthy attitude towards relationships. My Mum's example showed me that the only reason you stay with someone is if it's working for you. You don't stay with someone to be with someone. You don't stay with someone out of guilt. She showed me that it's ok to break up with someone when it's not right, and that while it's hard, you get over it. And all of these things have made my relationship stronger, because I know I'm not with Mr T for any other reason than it is where I want to be, and that it's right for me.

(I don't want to make it sound like my Mum taught me to break up with someone the second it gets difficult, because that's not the case.)

I don't think that without my Mum's example I would have ended up where Friend A and B have ended up. I don't think that is my personality type at all, and I have plenty of other friends who aren't like that. But I have found all these musings on attitudes towards relationships interesting. Peace out.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Fairfax Fail

At the moment I'm reading Judas Rose, the second in the Native Tongue series by Suzette Elgin. One central idea running though the series is that language shapes reality. I'm enjoying these books in that way one enjoys reading things that reinforce beliefs one already holds. For many years I've been of the opinion that the language we use reflects and shapes how we think, and that changing that language can help change the way we think.

As such the language used in the media relating to women really freaking shits me off. This piece of Fairfax reporting was a real corker.

Let's start with the headline "Girl sells sister, 7, to gang rapists in flat 13C". The active voice used for the 'girl sells sister' sets up the blame for the rape on the 'girl' (15 year old sister), while rapists remain passive to the rape. It's almost as if those gang rapists were sitting around minding their own business in flat 13C until some 'girl' came around to barter with them, and heck, there was nothing else to do so they bought. Can we think of a better headline? How about 'Men gang rape sisters', because if you actually get past the victim blaming in the article, you see they were both in fact raped.

The first half of the article is full of shock-horrors that the 15 year old could do such a thing, and wanting to get her tried as an adult, because she was 'paid' for her sister's rape. It's all set up as the big nasty sister sold the child, and isn't she evil! No one seems all that concerned that actually raping children is evil, that the men who committed these crimes are evil.

When you get through all that you finally read that the sister was also raped. But that's not mentioned, no, apparently she 'sold sex'. Deep breath, here we go again Fairfax, having sex with a child is rape, whether they 'consent' or are paid or what. The age of consent in New Jersey is 16 (if the other person is over 18), since both 'boys and men' were involved, I think 'was allegedly raped' would be a better term than 'sold sex' for gods sake!! The big sister in this story sounds like a messed up kid who was abused by a group of men, it's rape.

So we have two girls, one older, one younger. The older one is already being abused by these men, then they abuse the little sister too. Does no one bother to wonder what situation the older sister was in that this is where she ended up, with her little sister? What actual agency did this girl have? What actual power did she have in this situation? Not much I'm betting.

It is of course not the job of the news reporter to speculate on this sort of thing, but the way the whole article is set up puts the focus squarely on the conduct of the 15 year old child, instead of the goddamn rapists. The article reads like the rapists are periphery to the whole thing, passive, just doing what men do.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Why I always wear high heels when I visit my mother

A hint, not too much, of cleavage, under a v-neck top which slims the hips. A belt, or a cross-over top, all designed to emphasize the smallness of my waist. High heels, to improve the width to hight ratio, and tone the legs and butt. Strictly smooth lines over the hips and butt, its all about the silhouette. Clear but not overdone make-up. Hair styled. Long earrings to emphasize the statuesque qualities of my neck.

I've turned my sex on baby. I haven't turned it on for my husband, or to aid some sort of career goal, or even just to get some damn service in a jewelery store. I've turned it on for my Mum. Because if I wear enough flattering (read: slimming) clothing, and dazzle her with enough male-gaze pleasing sex appeal, she forgets for a while that she lies awake at night worrying that I'm fat, or not slim, or whatever she thinks. If I turn it on enough we can have a proper conversation, about something other than the calorie content of what she assumes I had for breakfast, or about how to fit the exercise she assumes I'm not doing into my schedule.

It didn't work this time unfortunately, she saw through my efforts. Should have worn higher heels.

The scene: dinner at my folks' place, after dinner Dad brought out some cheese, a risky thing to do he knew, later "I shouldn't have brought out the cheese" he lamented. As the cheese is slowly devoured by the four of us, unbeknown to the men, Mum and I play a perverse game of voyeurism with each other. I let her take a piece first, then I take a piece; I would never appear too eager, it gives her too much angst. I only eat the cheese at her pace, one for her, one for me. She watches the size of the piece I take, modest of course. Despite my careful efforts she eventually decides that I've had too much. "No more cheese" she declares, as she pulls the board away from me and towards herself. "I've only had as much as you, you know" I reply. Her face is a little shocked at this, usually I don't bite back. She has an almost embarrassed look, who knows what it means, the more cynical part thinks it means "yeah well I can afford to have more cheese than you".

I finally crack. The wine had more than a little to do with this. Mr T wasn't shocked, not one bit, after years of threatening to tell her off himself, I think he was actually glad.

"Why?" I demand, nasty, not how I would have preferred to have this conversation. "I'm sick of my body and everything I put in it being under constant surveillance!" Shit I've jumped in too quick, its a more nuanced argument that she probably won't understand at this juncture. I'm right, she goes on the defensive "Oh darling you've had too much to drink" as she rolls her eyes at my melodrama. "Well then so have you, I've been drinking you drink for drink as well!". Ha that got her, and she knows it too.

"Well weight watches says a match-box size piece of cheese" ... "Do you think I need to go to weight watches?" ... "I didn't say that" ... "Yeah but you think it, we all know you do, and I'm sick of you being obsessed with the size of my butt!".

Really eloquent. Not.

She cracks it, gets up and leaves the room. I cry, get up to leave, try to drag Mr T with me as he and Dad try to sit me back down.

Dad questions me, if I think she's wrong, why do I care what she thinks? Because she's my Mum of course, and I'm sick of the constant comments. I don't know what he's getting at with this line of questioning, whether he thinks she's right and is trying to prove to me that I do too, or whether he thinks I should just ignore her obsessions.

She comes back. Her emotions have cut through her defensiveness, she feels bad. I'm still too angry to care that she feels bad. I push it, years of saying it in my head all come forth like a torrent. Maybe just because you're obsessed by the size of your own arse you shouldn't expect me to be too! Did you think all your comments about big titty wop wops weren't going to impact your big breasted 16-year old daughter?! You always assume the worst of me! Can't you see the good job, or the academic success, or the happy relationship, or the good friends, or the positive attitude to life - no all you see is the size of my butt!!!

Now she's crying. "I'm your mother, I'm allowed to say those things, I didn't think they impacted you! I don't think you're fat, I think you have a great figure, your body has hardly changed in 8 years!"

Rubbish. Utterly incomprehensible, contradictory rubbish, which we all know is a lie, her opinions on the acceptability of my body are well known, she is as transparent as a window. Even Dad nods in agreement. I point all of this out to her.

She cries. I cry. Dad and Mr T point out that she loves me very much. Which I know she does. We have a hug. Mr T and I leave.

She calls the next day but I'm too...emotional...to talk to her. I don't want to talk about it. Mr T spends the next two days nagging me to call her, he doesn't want this to fester and damage our otherwise great relationship.

I don't want to call her, because I don't know that I can explain it to her. I know if she says I'm too fat then that should be the most terrible thing on the planet. But even if she does say that, my problem is that I just don't care that much. I'm on a path of body love that values how my body feels for me, not how it vainly looks to anyone else. Maybe the fact that I like eating good, healthy food and I enjoy the energizing effects of running and swimming, have fooled her into misinterpreting my behaviour as someone who wants to be skinny, not someone who just likes feeling good on the inside. Maybe I should talk more about just how low in calories my lunch is, or just how many kms I swam or ran this morning, maybe that would make her feel better, I don't know. But I find that kind of conversation so intensely boring, and it sounds like bragging, so I'm just not interested.

And having to explain all that to her, even if I could make her understand, I am afraid it will be taken as an implicit criticism of her - because she values being slim pretty much over everything else it seems. And I want to tell her just how goddamn sexist her opinions are, but I don't think we're on the same page enough for that to make sense to her.

Anyway I finally did call her. I apologised for having the conversation in the wrong way, and she apologised for being obsessive. We then talked a bit about her obsession, and she admitted that it really takes over her mind, like she sat next to a fat woman on the train the other day, and she couldn't stop thinking about it for ages. She said that when she would tell me to stop eating cheese, she was actually also saying it to herself. I said maybe she should cut herself some slack, she's on a constant calorie restriction diet and does like two classes at the gym everyday, perhaps she should just accept herself. I tried not to sound preachy.

It wasn't the right way to have this discussion with my Mum, yelling while we were both under the influence I mean. But I feel better for having had it anyway. There are things that I would have liked to have made a little clearer to her. Like that I don't actually even mind if she thinks I should lose weight, its more that she sees nothing else that really bothered me. And the fact that she sees it as such a central issue to a women's self worth that she couldn't come out and say something plainly, she had subject me to a constant drip of negative comments, almost like she was trying to subliminally make me hate myself slim.

But we resolved things well enough, and hopefully I'll get a break from it for a while (I'm not holding my breath that it'll be forever) and she can cut herself some slack, and give her mind a break from obsessing over fat people for a while.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Violent masculinity and the military

Senior US officer and former NATO commander General John Sheehan has sparked outrage in the Netherlands after he suggested that the Srebrenica massacre was allowed to occur because of a culture within European military forces that has become "socialise[d]" by unionisation and open homosexuality, which apparently leads to a soft army that can't fight.

While queer rights bloggers can obviously dissect this issue far better than I can, something struck me about General Sheehan's comments that displayed very clearly just how ingrained the link is between female sexual subordination and dominant masculinity.

To put it in a nutshell: If you don't stick it in a woman then you are a woman, and you fight like a girl.

(Erm, this is the first time I've blogged on heteronormative attitudes relating specifically to gay men, and far be it from me to take this issue away from them and make it all about women or feminism, but I see the two as intrinsically linked, and that's what I'm commenting on.)

Sheehan is betraying a particularly violent idea about masculinity, one that says men fuck up the enemy and fuck women; while women "socialise" society and are fucked by men. You can't simultaneously be fucked by a man and fuck up the enemy, you pussy boy, it just don't work that way. Apparently.

I find this sort of thing problematic for the general reasons that it promotes a link between violence and acceptable masculinity, and subordinates women, linking in particular dominating/penetrative/violent sexual subordination of women with the perceived survival of the nation state via military success.

However, Sheehan is suggesting that a feminised military culture (socialised, unionised, open) is not as capable of winning battles, and in some sense I think he could be right. While I have no doubt individual women and gay men can be just as violently driven towards a military objective as their heterosexual male peers, the whole military establishment is built on foundations of violent masculinity; subverting that regimented tradition is necessarily going to change things. Not that this would be a bad thing!!


Ok, quick post, just to help me get back in the swing of things, after prompting from The God of Dishes! Thanks babe x

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Objectifiying our bodies drives us from them

There is an idea I've been toying with for a while, its not well developed yet, but the bones are thus: our obsession with physical attractiveness (heck let's just say it - BEING SKINNY) is in a huge part responsible not only for eating disorders that restrict caloric intake, but also obesity and the pandemic problem of not finding enough time to exercise. Yes, I think people are generally fat because we're obsessed with not being fat.

Appearance obsession is I think, for some people, causing them to hate and flee from their bodies. We constantly dissect and criticise our bodies - my thighs are x, my belly is y, sweet Jesus help I HAVE CANKLES!

One idea floating around is 'The fantasy of being thin', where people image how wonderful their lives will be when they're thin; where when we imagine the future, it always seems to include a better, thinner you. When we attempt to fulfill this fantasy by dieting and apperance-orientated exercise, the majority of people fail because they want to be instantly thin, because they're hurting themselves, physically and mentally, by being driven by body-hate and the shadows of a shallow fantasy.

Our bodies feel neglected, they're not an ally in the change, and they fight back. The more you say "no chocolate", the more your body craves chocolate. The more you say "run you fat ass!" the more your muscles scream for you to stop; I don't think they appreciate being spoken to like that. And finally failure comes, thank god because changing your life based on body-hate and image-obsessed fantasy is cruel to your body and soul.

And with failure we retreat again from our bodies. We're not on speaking terms with our bodies because we feel they're letting us down so devastatingly. And I think, for some people, this is where overeating and sloth take over, cue obesity crisis. Stuffing yourself and lying about for more than a few hours does NOT feel good. But we're too angry with our bodies to listen to them, so instead we seek a quick-fix physical pleasure, and we punish our bodies. It's a nasty, nasty cycle.

Perhaps the only path to good health, for both the individual and society, is through body-love, not body-hate. If we took some time to be nice to our bodies, to listen to them, we would realise they're not actually telling us that they want lard and laziness, but that they want good nutrition and healthy exertion. And in this scenario the same activities - good diet and exercise - are not a painful chore but a pleasurable fulfillment of a physical need. So in order to be healthy we need to stop worrying about what our bodies look like, and start listening to what they feel like on the inside.

I'm touching heavily on ideas of body acceptance, of which there is way more coherent literature than I want to focus on here. However one issue relating to body acceptance that is pertinent here is the power of the fantasy of being thin, where people espouse body acceptance, but in the back of their minds it's still the same - "I'll accept my body with all its 'flaws'....when I've lost 15kgs."

I think body-love makes people healthier, and in some cases that may mean slimmer; but attempting to use body-love to achieve some goal of weight-loss is never gonna work. After all, your body will know the love is shallow, cos your body is you! lol.

Anyway, that's just the first rambling on this issue, I'm sure there'll be more to come.

(Disclaimer: I'm not suggesting obesity is caused solely by image-obsession. There are significant issues relating to socio-economic status and access to healthy foods, education about healthy diet, medications and weight, obsessive and compulsive mental illness etc. My musings are based entirely on my own experience, and the experience of my mainly white, university-educated, middle class girlfriends.)

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Because feeling beautiful is central to women's self worth?

Jennifer Hawkins, former Miss Universe, appeared naked and unphotoshopped on the cover of Marie Claire. She had a crease on her waist *gasp* and apparently some cellulite. It was meant to raise awareness about eating disorders, and help your average woman feel better about herself. Anyway, not only did the feminist blogosphere go mad, but a large portion of the general public weighed in to the debate. In my opinion they rightly pointed out that the picture didn't really make much of a point because a) she's not an average woman, she's a supermodel, and b) she doesn't really look any different when she IS photoshopped, cos you know, she's a supermodel.

There has been a lot of talk about how they should have put on an un-photoshopped image of a woman who doesn't fit perfectly into the current cultural ideal of female beauty. Part of the problem is that we are exposed to so many images of one ideal, and so few positive images of anything else. A positive image of a fat chick for example, may have had a good impact on women seeing that even though they don't fit the ideal, they are still beautiful.

Marie Claire's actions, and the response, was largely predictable. It's been analysed until the cows come home. But as I've reflected, something else has stood out for me....

The whole argument seems to revolve around how a naked picture of Jennifer Hawkins does not make other women feel beautiful, in fact it makes them feel unattractive, which in turn makes the whole thing deplorable because it was supposed to be fighting eating disorders. A positive image of a 'real woman' ('real woman' - that's a whole other side to the debate) who doesn't perfectly fit the cultural ideal is advocated because this, it is presumed, will make women feel beautiful.

I'm going to assume it is believed that women will feel beautiful if they see a naked picture of an average woman because they will appreciate that the female body is quite beautiful even when it doesn't fit a cultural ideal, and that despite media saturation only genetic freaks fit the cultural ideal, so we should all stop worrying.

I think this is a fair enough statement. Working in a bikini shop and seeing women's bodies all day, I did in fact grow an appreciation for the beauty of the female body in all its diversity. But what irks me is that the implication coming across, including from those working to fight eating disorders, is that we must do everything we can to make women feel like they are physically beautiful. The goal is to redefine beauty so that more women fit it because 'feeling beautiful' is seen as centrally important to a woman's perception of self worth.

This is a fundamentally counterproductive approach to women's empowerment in general and eating disorders in particular. Sure, attempt to shift the goal posts so more women fit into the 'beautiful' category, there is merit in that particularly when ideals promote unhealthy behaviours. There is merit in expanding ideas about female beauty to appreciate women's bodies with their cesarean scars, womanly dimply thighs and flabby stomachs. But what would really benefit all women - conventionally beautiful, butt ugly and everything in between - would be to reduce the focus on women's bodies entirely.

Only when female physical attractiveness, however defined, is taken off its pedestal will we get somewhere with equality. And as men are drawn into this appearance obsession, we are not only risking equality of the sexes but a general healthy, mentally and physically, society. Seriously is it that difficult to imagine a society where being fat or ugly isn't the end of the fucking world? My sense of humour isn't to many people's tastes, but its not the end of the world, I just tend to consider the people who do appreciate it as connoisseurs of a fine brew.

"But being fat is unhealthy! And a drain on the health care system!" - it's true, it is. But so is cigarette smoking and sodium intake and not getting pap smears. But smokers, fish 'n' chips lovers, and women with creepy doctors do not center their entire self worth and behaviour around these issues.

I'm gonna put it out there - it's more acceptable for a man to fugly than a woman. Some women would say that's unfair and they resent being expected to hook up with ugly guys, and that's a fair point of personal taste. But drawing men into this insanity is not the answer, what a perverse equality that would be. A promotion of a wider variety of female beauty would be beneficial, but more importantly maybe we should all realise that being, or even feeling, like the opitomy of sexual attractiveness is not the be all and end all of existence.