Delayed Reaction Lounge's own Jillian B. Hart asks are we only coloring within the lines when it comes to sex. I wonder how many of us are starting off with the smallest box of crayons out there. I thought of an early episode of "In the Bedroom with Dr. Laura Berman" on OWN which dealt with the struggle of a woman who was very caught up in what "good girls" did and didn't do with their partners. There seemed to be a clear distinction for her what was appropriate for a good girl (missionary) and what wasn't (oral sex). These ideas of what a "good girl" would or wouldn't do were preventing her from feeling comfortable and free in the bedroom. It was also affecting her husband's sense of self-worth. Their marriage was at a breaking point.
It's common for many women to suffer from these self-imposed rules. Perhaps it starts in junior high and high school. We get categorized into good vs. bad girls. It doesn't seem to happen on the same scale to boys (from my point of view anyway...I had very little insight into the male mind at that age). If guys were sexually active, they were just being teenage boys. Girls were sluts. And we all knew who the bad girls were. Rumors swirled around them, people whispered behind their backs. Years later, I wonder how many of them actually enjoyed sex back then. Were they doing it because they really wanted to or because they felt they had to. That is a question I never had then. All I thought was that they were having sex and that made them bad girls.
IThe best quote from Breakfast Club is when Ally Sheedy's character laments that sex, for girls, is a double-edge sword. If you do it, you're a slut, if you don't, you're a prude. How true that is in the teenage landscape. I can vividly recall being labeled by my friends as "the prude" just because I said I wouldn't jump Nick Rhodes' bones if he suddenly appeared at my friend's house. It was a ridiculous question, the likelihood of Nick showing up in a tiny Long Island town and knocking on my friend's front door and then asking to have sex with me was infinitesimal at best. But the idea that I would say "no" shocked my friends. I honestly felt I couldn't have sex with stranger, albeit famous one whose picture covered my bedroom walls. The message I received from my friends was there must be something wrong with me. And this judgment came from my best friends and I really cared what they thought of me. I must be a prude because at 15, sex scared me.
It seemed as if being a virgin implied I was sexually repressed. As the years have gone by, I've come to understand that my sexually active friends probably felt that I was judging them for what they did. They felt bad for their choices and I felt bad about mine. Wanting sex makes you a bad girl. Not wanting sex makes you a prude. There's no winning here.
It saddens me when women let worries of being a "bad" girl affect their sex lives. We are judging ourselves so harshly, putting ourselves into unfair categories. Sex is a natural part of a healthy relationship. And intimacy is essential to to success of a relationship. Thanks to the Internet, I've come across things that would make Caligula blush, but what consenting adults do in private should not fall into good or bad as long as the parties involved are both happy and willing. It's alright to say "no," but don't believe that you are limited to expressing yourself physically because "good girls" only do certain things. There are no rules other than those we put on ourselves, especially when we feel safe and loved. And if you're not feeling that safety and love, it is a must to ask why not.
Dr. Berman gave the couple homework including a new position for sex. The fact that the wife was willing to try seem to mean more to her husband than the act. There seemed to be a new hope and excitement that had been lacking for a long time in their marriage. Anything worth doing takes effort. A strong relationship is surely worth testing our self-imposed rules.
Part of this post originally appeared on: http://delayedreactionlounge.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
The Good Girl's Weight Loss Secret
A couple of years ago I lost about 15 pounds. It was a noticeable weight loss on my 5'4" frame. I lost count of how often I was asked how I did it. I usually vaguely replied that I had been sick with some stomach thing. Secretly I was tempted to give them the actual reason and say it in my chirpiest voice: "Why, it's crippling depression....but I don't recommend it for everyone." There was an irony that the time in my life when I got the most compliments was also the darkest. Friends, acquaintances and even strangers seemed almost eager to tell me how great I looked.
At any other time fitting into a smaller size would have made me very happy. However, I was the most miserable that I had ever been in my life. My marriage fell apart as we were approaching our tenth anniversary. I went into a depression that seemed to envelope me. Every day was endless and insurmountable. Everything seemed meaningless, especially food. I just couldn't eat. My appetite was gone. I lost weight without intending to. Spend entire weekends in bed without hardly getting up and exist on an English muffin a day and you can, too. Not the right way to shed pounds by any stretch of the imagination.
I read with interest Barbara's very honest posting of struggling to make sense of why bad things happen (What Matters). Her faith gave her the strength to see that sometimes life doesn't make sense and there's no logic with tragedy. My experience showed me that some times life can just suck. And then when you think it can't suck any worse, somehow it does. I would feel like I had fought my way out of a deep dark hole only to have the ground give out underneath me and fall right back down.
It took a long time to fight my way back to "normal." I discovered a strength and support system I didn't know I had. It still moves me to tears the compassion I found in my friends and family.
The weight came back on eventually, plus a little more. And I was okay with it. I thought it was part of the healing process, proof I was getting better. My emotional health seemed more important than my jean size. It's a lesson I always keep close to remind myself when weight concerns creep in. We are so much more than the numbers on the bathroom scale or on our clothes. Those numbers don't define us, don't represent who we truly are. Where our bodies curve or don't curve doesn't reflect what is in our hearts and in our minds. Numbers are only important if we make them. My happiness doesn't depend on my waist size. It comes from within and no arbitrary number should take that away.
Post originally appeared on http://www.delayedreactionlounge.blogspot.com/
At any other time fitting into a smaller size would have made me very happy. However, I was the most miserable that I had ever been in my life. My marriage fell apart as we were approaching our tenth anniversary. I went into a depression that seemed to envelope me. Every day was endless and insurmountable. Everything seemed meaningless, especially food. I just couldn't eat. My appetite was gone. I lost weight without intending to. Spend entire weekends in bed without hardly getting up and exist on an English muffin a day and you can, too. Not the right way to shed pounds by any stretch of the imagination.
I read with interest Barbara's very honest posting of struggling to make sense of why bad things happen (What Matters). Her faith gave her the strength to see that sometimes life doesn't make sense and there's no logic with tragedy. My experience showed me that some times life can just suck. And then when you think it can't suck any worse, somehow it does. I would feel like I had fought my way out of a deep dark hole only to have the ground give out underneath me and fall right back down.
It took a long time to fight my way back to "normal." I discovered a strength and support system I didn't know I had. It still moves me to tears the compassion I found in my friends and family.
The weight came back on eventually, plus a little more. And I was okay with it. I thought it was part of the healing process, proof I was getting better. My emotional health seemed more important than my jean size. It's a lesson I always keep close to remind myself when weight concerns creep in. We are so much more than the numbers on the bathroom scale or on our clothes. Those numbers don't define us, don't represent who we truly are. Where our bodies curve or don't curve doesn't reflect what is in our hearts and in our minds. Numbers are only important if we make them. My happiness doesn't depend on my waist size. It comes from within and no arbitrary number should take that away.
Post originally appeared on http://www.delayedreactionlounge.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
The Good Girl and Aging (Not So) Gracefully
Lately, I've found myself thinking about aging. Usually, I try to avoid that line of thinking. Birthdays haven't been something I've looked forward to since, well the early Clinton administration. Funny, in my mind I think of myself as much younger than my actual years. I don't have an exact number in my head but it's no where near the real one. It's a disconnect, but I can live with it. I tell myself that I am still young. Immaturity helps. Denial also works wonders.
Then something happened that I couldn't deny. The wrinkle. It suddenly appeared, under my left eye. The dreaded "crepe-paper" type of wrinkle, too! I hoped it was from not enough sleep and being sick recently. Then came the thought that I should have listened to my mother warning me about all that sun exposure as a teen. Did I listen? Of course not. I wore no sunscreen. My friends brought baby oil to the beach. I did everything but have one of those shinny aluminum pans under my face. And this wrinkle was the result.
In reality, it wasn't just the sun's fault. I'm getting older, despite the number in my head. Over 40 million Gen-Xers are going into their forties. I had believed that aging wouldn't bother me. Yet when I saw that wrinkle, I had to fight back. I started slathering on under-eye creams. Kept my sunglasses on. I felt very self-conscious about it. I was surprised at my level of vanity. I wasn't ready to look old! Fighting the aging process is big business. A search for wrinkle prevention brought up three million results. Roughly $14 billion is spent on cosmetic procedures yearly. Yes, that was a "b."
In the end, the wrinkle that has caused me such distress turned out to be dry skin that stubbornly stuck around for a couple of weeks. A tiny nuisance that quickly passed. It became clear to me that the thought of getting older scares me more than I care to admit.
Age may just be a number and it all in your head. But for me it was a different matter when it was on my face. My hope that my next age-related freak out will be on a lesser scale. It took awhile for me to feel comfortable in my own skin, so it may take a little longer to adjust to the fact the skin isn't as wrinkle-free as it was once.
Then something happened that I couldn't deny. The wrinkle. It suddenly appeared, under my left eye. The dreaded "crepe-paper" type of wrinkle, too! I hoped it was from not enough sleep and being sick recently. Then came the thought that I should have listened to my mother warning me about all that sun exposure as a teen. Did I listen? Of course not. I wore no sunscreen. My friends brought baby oil to the beach. I did everything but have one of those shinny aluminum pans under my face. And this wrinkle was the result.
In reality, it wasn't just the sun's fault. I'm getting older, despite the number in my head. Over 40 million Gen-Xers are going into their forties. I had believed that aging wouldn't bother me. Yet when I saw that wrinkle, I had to fight back. I started slathering on under-eye creams. Kept my sunglasses on. I felt very self-conscious about it. I was surprised at my level of vanity. I wasn't ready to look old! Fighting the aging process is big business. A search for wrinkle prevention brought up three million results. Roughly $14 billion is spent on cosmetic procedures yearly. Yes, that was a "b."
In the end, the wrinkle that has caused me such distress turned out to be dry skin that stubbornly stuck around for a couple of weeks. A tiny nuisance that quickly passed. It became clear to me that the thought of getting older scares me more than I care to admit.
Age may just be a number and it all in your head. But for me it was a different matter when it was on my face. My hope that my next age-related freak out will be on a lesser scale. It took awhile for me to feel comfortable in my own skin, so it may take a little longer to adjust to the fact the skin isn't as wrinkle-free as it was once.
Friday, April 22, 2011
The Good Girl
My first foray into writing was for Delayed Reaction Lounge. It was in response to an early posting (He Said, She Said). The author asked women "Why must we men take the initiative? What's wrong with asking for yourself? Is it such a big deal to ask sometimes?" I found these questions very interesting and it got me thinking. I know the answer in my case. Yes, it's a VERY big deal. There have been many, many times I have not asked for things I want. I tell people not to bother when in reality I do want them to bother. I think by not asking for what I really want, I'm doing the right thing. I'm not making trouble for anyone. I don't make waves. I'm a good girl.
It's a common aliment, putting others first and yourself last. I also suffer from the inability to say "no." Even though that's what I really want to say, somewhere between my brain and my mouth the word transforms into "yes." At times I'm even surprised how easily that happens. I feel as if I have to be accommodating, almost feel driven to be. I don't want to reject the other person by saying "no." That would be the wrong thing to do, say "no." If I was a good person, I wouldn't turn anyone down. Does that come from my own fear of rejection? Probably. That someone won't find my needs important enough is a scary thought. The solution? I can't be rejected if I don't ask.
What am I hoping to gain by being a good girl? Eventually, I expect my sacrifices to be rewarded. For people to treat me well and do the things I haven't told them I want. Yes, I see there is an oblivious flaw to my thinking. It doesn't work, yet I find myself doing it often. Please no one remind me what the definition of insanity is.
Perhaps it starts when we are little girls. We are seeking approval and validation from the adults around us. For me it hasn't stopped. A few months ago my daughter's teacher set something off inside me when she described her as "eager to please." I had an instant negative reaction to her words. My immediate thought was I didn't want my daughter to grow up and be like me. I realized her teacher was merely praising her and had no idea how loaded that simple comment was to me. It went right to this basic issue I have struggled with. Feeling that pressure to please others at whatever cost to myself.
It's not an easy thing to escape from. I remember once giving a friend advice when she confided in me that she found herself doing things for members of her family that she often didn't want to do. I told her that next time she had to first ask herself if doing those things made her happy. If the answer was yes, then to go ahead and do them. However, if the answer was no, then be honest and decline. Actually say "no." No one else was worrying if they were taking advantage or imposing. If she didn't say what she really felt, she would find herself in the same situation over and over again. She had to take the chance that they wouldn't like it at first. She had to let that be okay even when it made her uncomfortable. Eventually, it got easier to say "no" and not feel guilty about it.
Now onto the hard work of following my own advice. Try to do what may seem so simple to some. To ask for the help I need. To ask for something I want. To make it less of a big deal. To say "no" if that's what I honestly feel.
Pleased to meet you, readers. Hope you guessed my name.
The Good Girl
It's a common aliment, putting others first and yourself last. I also suffer from the inability to say "no." Even though that's what I really want to say, somewhere between my brain and my mouth the word transforms into "yes." At times I'm even surprised how easily that happens. I feel as if I have to be accommodating, almost feel driven to be. I don't want to reject the other person by saying "no." That would be the wrong thing to do, say "no." If I was a good person, I wouldn't turn anyone down. Does that come from my own fear of rejection? Probably. That someone won't find my needs important enough is a scary thought. The solution? I can't be rejected if I don't ask.
What am I hoping to gain by being a good girl? Eventually, I expect my sacrifices to be rewarded. For people to treat me well and do the things I haven't told them I want. Yes, I see there is an oblivious flaw to my thinking. It doesn't work, yet I find myself doing it often. Please no one remind me what the definition of insanity is.
Perhaps it starts when we are little girls. We are seeking approval and validation from the adults around us. For me it hasn't stopped. A few months ago my daughter's teacher set something off inside me when she described her as "eager to please." I had an instant negative reaction to her words. My immediate thought was I didn't want my daughter to grow up and be like me. I realized her teacher was merely praising her and had no idea how loaded that simple comment was to me. It went right to this basic issue I have struggled with. Feeling that pressure to please others at whatever cost to myself.
It's not an easy thing to escape from. I remember once giving a friend advice when she confided in me that she found herself doing things for members of her family that she often didn't want to do. I told her that next time she had to first ask herself if doing those things made her happy. If the answer was yes, then to go ahead and do them. However, if the answer was no, then be honest and decline. Actually say "no." No one else was worrying if they were taking advantage or imposing. If she didn't say what she really felt, she would find herself in the same situation over and over again. She had to take the chance that they wouldn't like it at first. She had to let that be okay even when it made her uncomfortable. Eventually, it got easier to say "no" and not feel guilty about it.
Now onto the hard work of following my own advice. Try to do what may seem so simple to some. To ask for the help I need. To ask for something I want. To make it less of a big deal. To say "no" if that's what I honestly feel.
Pleased to meet you, readers. Hope you guessed my name.
The Good Girl
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