Tell me lies….

The older I become the more I realise that the world lies to me. I keep coming up against perceived wisdoms that just aren’t true. In particular I feel some life events are so surrounded in supposed gravitas that we’re all set up for a fall. So many situations that I was led to believe were scary, amazing or life changing were in fact no great revelation to me. So, here’s a my top five non milestones.

 

My First Time

Losing my virginity was no big deal. It wasn’t planned, I was just getting it on with a teenage boyfriend and it happened. I can’t even really remember the details. We progressed past our usual stopping point and I realised I didn’t want him to cease. So, we continued and had sex. It wasn’t fantastic and it wasn’t awful either. I didn’t feel any great pain; I didn’t really feel much beyond a sharpness when he first penetrated me. I didn’t bleed other than slight spotting in my knickers the next day. Afterwards we didn’t have a big discussion, there were no I love yous or promises. I think we went to sleep. It was nice. We had a cuddle and kiss in the morning then I left with my best friend to find food to cure our hangovers. I honestly didn’t feel changed in anyway. It seemed to me just a natural progression. I hear other women talking about regretting who they first slept with, wishing they’d waited for someone really special or even they person they married. I’ve never felt that way. The guy I shared my first time with certainly wasn’t a great love, he turned out to be a bit of a pig, but it’s never given me a moments pause. I was a teenager, even then it never occurred to me that he would be The One. I think that’s how it should be. Sex doesn’t define a person. It’s entirely healthy to experiment, make mistakes & learn from them. For girls especially we need to remove the idea that losing your virginity is somehow losing worth. We also need to ditch expectation that your first time should be an amazing, cherished moment. It hardly ever is and that’s ok.

 

Graduation

Graduation was another milestone that didn’t rock my world. Sure I was proud of myself for attaining a good degree. I had to wade through some adversity during my university years and I was glad I had made it to solid ground. Other than that, it was unspectacular. I didn’t even attend my graduation ceremony. The thought of the gown and marching on stage when my name was called made me feel nauseous. So, I didn’t bother. Neither did I have a fancy dinner or party. At the end of all our exams my friends and I had a mighty piss up, but come graduation time we were all onto the next stage. We were trying to find jobs we actually wanted whilst working jobs we needed to pay the rent. In short I was getting stuck into being an adult. Graduation already felt like old news.

  

First Period

Getting my period was another supposed life changer that left no discernible mark. I can remember my friends getting theirs before me and feeling a tad left behind. The actual details of my first period have left no imprint. I have a vague memory of perhaps calling my mum into the bathroom, but that may just be the influence of countless teen movies. My mum had gone over what to expect long before the event, so there were no shocks. My early periods were unremarkable. I didn’t suffer from cramps or mood swings. I merely found the whole thing a messy nuisance. I didn’t feel like a woman, I felt inconvenienced. 

  

Moving Out

For me, leaving home was also accomplished without a fuss. I had always had a good relationship with my parents, but I craved independence. So, when I fell head over feels with an inappropriate guy, I leaped at the chance to move in with him. I was young, yes, but I wasn’t scared. My mum thought it an ill fated idea and told me so. I ignored her and she knew me well enough to know she had to let me make my own mistakes. There were no arguments or tearful goodbyes. I didn’t have a lot of belongings, so the actual moving was a simple task. I had already been spending most of my time at the boyfriend’s flat, so there weren’t any ugly surprises. I had to learn to be a little smarter with my money and the bf obviously turned out to be a big error in judgement. That said, I have no regrets. I wanted to spread my wings and I did. I loved the autonomy of having my own place, even more so once I freed myself of the stupid first love. I never looked back. I have lived independently -mostly on my own- since & I wouldn’t change a thing.

The Big 3-0

Now for the one I was actually scared of, but turned out just fine. The big 3-0. In last couple of years of my twenties I had begun to slightly dread turning 30. It wasn’t the aging, but realising I was nowhere near where I thought I would be at 30. I had for some reason believed I would be settled, own my home & be well on the way to motherhood. Turns out that’s not what life had in store for me. So, I made the usual jokes about mourning my youth and felt uneasy. The funny thing is when 30 became a reality, I was completely fine. It dawned on me that my, childless, less than settled state was not actually a problem. I hadn’t met anyone I could be happy with, so singledom was clearly a better option. Living alone suited me, in fact I wasn’t sure I really wanted anyone else invading my space. As for children, yes, I wanted them, but I knew It wasn’t my time. On top of that I felt pretty good. I didn’t feel old & I still looked rather nice. My 30th birthday ended up being a lot of fun. My family and friends organised various lovely events. I was whisked away for a spa weekend and glammed up for a drunken nights out. Yet, again I had been deceived. 30 wasn’t scary, it was a blast.

  
So, what’s my point? Relax. Hardly anything ends up feeling the way we’re told it will & that’s just fine. 

If you enjoy my writing you can support me here or on Patreon.

You can’t touch this…

It’s a rainy bank holiday Monday & I’ve decided to have a lazy day. I’m just casually scrolling through Facebook when a post gets my attention. I’m not surprised by the post, it’s nothing new. Nonetheless it makes me feel a tad ragey.

EF584C17-B367-492D-9313-F827DD8FE595
 

My first thoughts run to the sheer entitlement of this man. He wants to do something & no one else’s feelings on the matter count. These thoughts are swiftly followed by exhaustion at constantly having to explain why this is not ok. His dismissal of rape culture as something made up by ‘angry women’ & his total refusal to accept women’s safety concerns are appalling. The problem of course, is that these attitudes are pervasive. Men routinely behave this way.

I am aware that I am not the first woman to raise these issues, but I really think it’s important that we share our experiences. 1 in 5 women in uk have been sexually assualted at some point in their life. To be honest I’m surprised this figure isn’t much higher. Women and girls are harassed daily. It’s infuriating, frightening, humiliating, stressful & so much more. Still girls are told by teachers that ‘boys will boys’ and schools put the onus on what girls wear rather on male behaviour. We are told cat calling is a compliment and police down play our reports of sexual assualt.

Men, it seems have no concept of the female experience. They will never understand the extent of the harassment we endure unless we speak out. Basically, we need to ram it down their throats.

With that in mind I want to share some of the stand out moments of sexual intimidation that I have experienced.

1/ I was approximately 10yrs old & wearing my favourite outfit. It was one of those heat sensitive t shirts that change colour & a velvet skirt. The t shirt reads hotspot, I thought this was the coolest thing ever. At a family gathering an adult, male family friend slaps my bum & says ‘that’s your hotspot’. I was 10yrs old. The incident confused & frightened me so much that I didn’t tell a soul it had happened.

2/ I’m 11 or twelve and have just started secondary school. The boys in my class routinely try to undo girl’s bras through their blouses. I don’t wear a bra yet & so am mercilessly mocked.

3/ That same year myself & a friend are followed off a bus & right to her house by a complete stranger. He’s a middle aged man & we are terrified.

4/ On my way home from school one day a man approaches me & warns me that there is another man playing with himself ahead. A week or so later the same man does the same thing. On speaking to the police it turns out there have been dozens of complaints.

5/ By 15 my flat as a pancake figure has ceased to be. My breast growth has gone into over drive & my boobs are large. My life long battle begins. Boys at school grab me and make crude comments. Adult bus drivers make disgusting comments despite my wearing a school uniform. For the first time I hear the male theory that big breasts mean I am slut.

6/ At some point in my mid teens I go on holiday with a friend’s family. Throughout the holiday my friend’s mother alludes to the size of my breasts & my refusal to hide them under tent like apparel, means that I am not a nice girl.

7/ When I begin clubbing at around 16, I am confronted with the fact that my body is not my own. Men in clubs consider the female form to be fair game. I am groped, slapped, pinched, rubbed against over & over. When I complain I am verbally abused & told I shouldn’t be wearing revealing clothes if I don’t want this. I’m a bitch, slut, frigid, a tease.

8/ I’m 20 and on my way to meet a friend for drinks. As I walk down a busy street a group of young teenage boys surround me, shout about my breasts, one boy thrusts his hand into my dress & violently grabs my nipple. None of the passers by make any attempt to help me. When I report this incident to the police, the first question I am asked is what was I wearing. No action is ever taken. I am left feeling dirty & angry.

9/ In my mid twenties I faint at a street market. When I come round a man is taking a picture of my cleavage.

10/  I try internet dating & am bombarded with sexual comments. If I ignore these comments I get abusive messages telling me I am rude & stuck up. If I say no thanks, I receive messages telling me what an ugly, fat bitch I am & how dare I reject this prize of a man. Several times I block men only to have them create new accounts so they can continue to abuse me.

11/ At an early post graduation job I must wear a blue shirt provided by my employer. I request the largest size, but it still gapes at the bust. I am summoned to HR to talk about how I am dressed inappropriately.

12/ I am leading a sexual health workshop with teenagers. Their teacher requests my card & then adds ‘you look like you could improve my sexual health’.

13/ By my early 30’s I am thoroughly disgusted with all this abuse. I am collecting my prescription from the chemist when an old man looks me up & down, shouts ‘nice’ & proceeds to squeeze both breasts. I automatically harshly push the man away from me. Later when reporting this to the police I am questioned about how I pushed him, how much force I used & why I hit the man. Again, no action is ever taken.

14/ A man I dated briefly over ten years ago periodically sent pictures of his penis despite me telling him not to. When I blocked him from one way of contacting he found me somewhere else & continued.

These are only a tiny taste of the aggravation I have endured. My experience is by no means unique. So, next time you want to complain about women being on the defensive or not appreciating your advances have a think about why she is reacting that way. Before you laugh at a friend’s unsolicitated comments to a female stranger, consider how much of these ‘compliments’ she must deal with.  Ask the women in your life about their exposure to molestation (verbal or physical). Hopefully a glimpse of the reality of the female experience will alter you view point.

If you like what I do you can support me here or on Patreon.

This goes out to all the women…

Lemonade. I know, everyone is talking, writing & I suppose singing about it. I must confess to not having heard (or seen) the complete album. I’ve sampled some highlights and whilst not a member of the beyhive, I’m excited to hear more. I have no issue with Beyonce’s music (her fur wearing is another matter). I applaud the increased political input in her work. Her support of black & feminist issues is on point. Her artistic viewpoint is increasingly progressive & radical. Which is why, some of her fans retrograde behaviour of late has been particularly hard to take. 

  
Oh, I know fans are fanatical these days. Bey is queen & they worship her. That’s all good, but the reaction to Lemonade & hints that Jay Z may have cheated are down right backwards. 

Rachel Roy’s ‘ Good hair, don’t care’ Instagram post ignited smouldering rumours that she was Mr Carter’s indiscretion. The beyhive immediately launched a social media witch hunt. Bee & lemon emoticons appeared en mass on her various pictures & posts. Along with the taunting images came more serious abuse, which inevitably led to her making her accounts private. Today’s tabloids decided that it was in fact Rita Ora would had done the dirty with Beyonce’s spouse. She too was lavished with the same treatment. 

  
Perhaps you think those involved in infidelity deserve what they get. Maybe you feel betraying Bey is worthy of a good hounding, but wait, what about Jay Z? If he did in fact step outside his marriage surely he’s where the hive loyal should turn their scathing tongues? He’s the one who made vows & a child with Yonce. Why does the arse who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants get a pass?

  
The answer, as is so often the case, the patriarchy. Woman are still being conned into feeling that other chicks are the enemy. Our old boy’s club society wants it that way. It’s much better for the status quo if smart, talented women view each other as the competition. Stop letting yourself be suckered by the tired old trope that cheating men can’t help themselves, but cheating women are whores. It’s such a dangerous road to go down. It ultimately leads us to rape apology & the dismissal of female sexual agency. That’s not what we should be teaching our daughters. The bottom line is the Carter’s marital woes are not my business, but women tearing each other down is. 

Cheating is cruel. I’m not loving anyone who participates. But, ladies, come on. Stop beating on your own whilst letting men off easy. We’re better than this.  

The time is now…

I’m lying on my bed with the sun streaming in my window having a lazy morning. I’m planning dinner in my head & pondering what colour to paint my nails, when it happens. A vivid flashback, of a day like this, but 16yrs ago. 

  
Like today I am resting on my bed observing the sunny world outside. Unlike today, back then I had a life growing inside me. I can smell the incense I used to burn in the flat & see the steeple of the church at the the end of the street. I feel the warmth on my face, the ache in my back & the love pounding through my veins. 

As fast as it strikes, it wanes. Part of me wants to cling to those sensations, the rest still finds these memories tender. I’ve been having these flashes a lot lately. They’re not new to me; I’ve been living with PTSD for a long time. This wasn’t a bad one, but it still leaves me feeling sadder than I did before. I’ve been thinking about why these bolts into the past have become so frequent of late & I think I know the answer.

For the first time in a very long time I am making baby plans. I have always wanted to be a Mummy. The loss only increased that desire. For years I’ve watched friends & family create beautiful little people. It’s never been the right time for me. Well, I’m 35 now and life never really gets any simpler. There is no right time. There will never be a perfect set of circumstances. So, the time is now. 

  
Or the time for planning is now. I’m getting my self and my life in shape for baba. It’s a little scary, but I don’t have any doubts. My life will never feel complete without children. It’s going to be a long campaign, but Operation Baby is go. 

Woman of the Week…

This week’s amazing woman Khadija Gbla is the executive director of NO FGM Australia. She campaigns to stop girls in Australia suffering fgm & to bring awareness to issue. 

  

She bravely & honestly talks about her own experience of fgm; from the trauma of the act as a small child to the lasting effects it has had throughout her life. Gbla’s frank discussion of her struggles with her scars, loss of sensation & fgm’s impact on her pregnancy are essential. Fgm is still greatly misunderstood, it is so important for everyone to know the horror that is being inflicted upon children & the lifelong problems that ensue. 

I admire Khadija’s determination to thrive & her drive to prevent others from enduring the same mutilatiom. 

 Find out more about  Khadija and how you can help.

This week I have been mostly…

admiring my hair. Yup, that’s right, I’ve been loving myself again. I’m a proud ginger & this week I have been enjoying some tunes that celebrate my flame haired sisters. 

  
I’m obviously not a big fan of stereotypes, but in the case of my hair colour, most of them fit. I am your classic cliche of a redhead and I love it. 

I came to Bruce Springsteen late. I was too young & in any case my tastes diverged from his most famous stuff. The Ghost of Tom Joad was his first work that caught my attention. From there I listened to random pieces & found myself agreeing with some of his politics. In short, Bruce grew on me, but he didn’t win my heart until I heard Redheaded Woman. I love the down & dirty lyrics. His theory that red heads are more sexually charged is actually backed by science. It’s a rollicking tune and Bruce’s delivery is so believable. I can personally attest to the fact that redheads get the job (dirty or otherwise) done & I’m certainSpringsteen can too. 

For my next pick I’m going all hipster & demanding you listen to the original.  Valerie by The Zutons was an immediate favourite for me. I actually adored their entire debut album. My affection for this song has grown as numerous people have told me that it reminds them of me. I think the lyrics 

‘I miss your ginger hair & the way you like to dress’

are the culprits. I am well known for my sometimes unusual style. It pleases me that friends appreciate both my weird clothes & my ginger mane. I know Amy WInehouse’s version has become the standard of this song, but I’ll always love The Zutons best. 

Neil Young’s Cinnamon Girl is probably the original manic pixie dream girl, but without the negative connotations. He claims to have just seen a girl in the street, adored how she looked & wrote this gorgeous fantasy. The lyrics don’t specifically say that she has red hair, but I like to think that cinnamon refers to her spicy locks. I’ve always been a hippie chick, so Neil Young is so up my street. I’m a complete sucker for this hazy, lazy trip of a song. Wouldn’t it be perfect to inspire a dream like this. 

Caroline England is new to me. I stumbled upon Ginger & knew I was going to like this artist. The song is another celebration of scarlett ladies, but this one has edge. England hints at some of the crap gingers sometimes have to put up with. However, she doesn’t wallow, her message is I’m awesome & you can suck it. Which, I can relate to. The unusual texture in her voice adds a unique sound to the track. It’s an instant classic. 

Fat Feminist

I have been neglecting my nails of late. Mostly because spoons have been in short supply. I don’t really feel myself with naked nails, so was relieved to carve out some manicure time on Sunday evening. 

I really wanted something vibrant & feisty. I think I achieved the desired look. 

  
  

I’m now in love with my fingers. 

When you’re strange…

I have always walked on the weird side of the road. From a young age I decided the best option was just to embrace my quirkiness & roll with it. It’s a strategy that has served me well. Sure, I still get stares from strangers & folk making snap judgements about me, but fuck them. 

I’ve found that confidence in strangeness is the key. Don’t be apologetic or hide, boldness is the way. No matter how odd your views or look there are always like minded folks  & the Internet guarantees you can find them. However, you don’t have to section yourself into a little pocket of society. I have friends of all varieties, many don’t really get a lot of my choices, but they support them nonetheless. A frequent occurrence for me is having newish friends confess that their first impression of me was ‘weird af’, but on further inspection they found they liked me. My point is eveyone is entitled to be exactly who they are; people will love you despite or because of your differences. 

So, what better way to celebrate my irregularities than celebrating some classic eccentric chicks? 

I’m going to kick off with my 11yr old hero, Blossom. Blossom was my fashion icon. I had several floppy hats that I pinned at the front with ridiculous badges. More than that, I felt a kinship with the character. She was smart & quirky & frequently teased by her ‘cooler’ older brother. I think Blossom was my first hint that being weird could be amazing. I’ll always love her for that. 

  

You can’t talk about weird characters without bowing down to Pheobe Buffay. Pheobe was me. She was the veggie, hippie, black sheep of her group. The other ‘Friends’ were continually puzzled by her, but loved her anyway. Moreover her outlandish ideas often held a needed wisdom.  Pheobe walked her own path, which was exactly my plan. As a teenager it was so affirming to see a woman like that on the biggest to show in the world. 

  

Ok, so I’ll preface this with saying that Lena Dunham is problematic in a number of ways. I can’t stand her. Some of that bullshit filters through, but there are aspects of Hannah that I really like. I arrived at the Girls’ party very late. I have only recently delved into it & was of course sucked into a box set binge. Yes, all of the characters can be hideous and by the end I’m not sure I actually liked any of them. Hannah, though, had something. She is odd. She makes some horribly bad choices & let’s face it, she gets annoying. Her whiny privilege is not something I aspire to. Even, so, I like elements of her character. I adore her body positivity. She wears whatever she wants & she gets naked whenever the notion takes her. She’s a writer, she struggles with her mental health & she loves a very kooky man. Most of all she is honest (perhaps sometimes too honest). She’ll talk about scary feelings & taboo topics alike. Shame is not a thing to be tolerated in Hannah’s world & I’d like to see those features in more (& better written) main characters.

  

Now it’s time for ultimate 90’s weirdo, Daria. God, I still love her. Daria is everything. She’s cynical & witty; she shuns all conformity. Fashion is irrelevant, popularity a non issue. Daria & her equally cool friend Jane live in their own world. She finds her cheerleader sister ridiculous. Her come backs are top level. She even has a romance with an older musician dude without altering herself one bit. For your supreme snark & flawless misandry, I salute you Daria. 

  

I hate you so much right now….

I’m having one of those days when life seems determined to subvert my plans. It is, to say the least, infuriating. So, I thought I would vent my frustrations by having a little bitch about the smaller things that get my goat.

If you’re wearing anything with a wizard on it, you might want to stop skip this bit. I’m afraid when I see an adult reading a Harry Potter book I have to suppress the urge to scream. Those stories are for kids. Read a grown up book. Given what we’ve subsequently discovered about the author, supporting her work at all is gross.

Staring. Stop it. It’s just basic manners. I know I’m fat. I know my boobs are enormous. My clothes are weird, but continued looks won’t alter that. Yup, I have scars & piercings & tattoos. Stop gawking. Oh & whilst we’re on the topic quit nudging your mates & whispering too. I see you & it’s rude. Seriously, just stop it. 

  
Carol Vorderman. She’s not a genius. She’s not even likeable. She does morally questionable adverts & her face just annoys me. I don’t have very good reasons for my hatred. I just can’t stand her. No more woman. No more. 

Gin. It’s horrid, but only recently has it made my list. Some marketing dept somewhere clearly decided they needed to make gin cool & man alive have they been successful. It is now almost impossible to find a cocktail that doesn’t have gin lurking in it. Events have gin only bars. Everyone in the bloody world suddenly lists it as their favourite tipple. It’s taking over. Go away gin. I don’t want you.

  

I’m going to wrap this up with my current top level pet hate. Basic bitches. I think my interpretation of this phrase may be slightly different from other folks, so I shall explain. What really winds me up is chicks whose understanding of feminism & womanhood is peripheral. The type of person who doesn’t think trans women are ‘real women’. They love a bit of slut shaming & feel gender roles must be adhered too. This is a girl who conforms, they will  mock anyone who dares to be different. Solidarity is not their watch word. They’re basic & more often than not, they’re bitchy AF. 

  
(I’m amused by this meme because Judy can be basic herself)

Disclaimer : If you’re a gin swilling, relative of Carol Vorderman, some of this post is just a tongue in cheek rant. 

* Vorderman gets some props for her recent political discourse, but my illogical dislike remains.

If you like what I do you can support me here or on Patreon.

Woman of the week…

Sierra Demulder is a feminist poet. Her work is raw, powerful & on point. Her humour is displayed where appropriate, her pain when neccessary. She covers topics dear to my heart. In short her poetry blows me away. 

I think it is vital that we talk openly about feminist issues. It’s so important to dispel the old tropes & teach girls ( and women) that their voices matter. Poetry is the perfect vessel for rage, passion, joy & fear. It’s a beautiful way to be heard. It’s also a beautiful way to encourage woman to speak out loud, to give life to all the thoughts banging at our skulls.