Mormon Women Bare

Hi! It's been a thousand years since I've emblogginated!

But look. What an interesting project. I am particularly intrigued by this statement from the FAQ:

What we are exploring is how a woman views herself and her body after spending the majority of her life, particularly her formative years, in the Church.

As a teenager in the LDS church often enough I found few similarities between myself and the other girls in my cohort, even my closest friends; looking back now, it's a bit easier to feel compassion for the younger woman I was, as well as for my friends, who almost certainly were dealing with the same doubts and fears as I was. We all had the same upbringing, after all. 

I wouldn't say that I am comfortable with my body. Certainly I am not properly appreciative of its health, its strength. It rarely gets bogged down with colds, and it's capable of walking two miles in work shoes. It can chop onions without crying, make love while laughing, dance with only twinges of embarrassment--but what I see in the mirror is a weird nose and flab and knobby knees. How much of that is from soaking in US beauty culture for twenty-six years, and how much of it is leftover confusion and assumptions from various lessons learned in fifteen years of LDS culture? 

"My body is capable of producing children, therefore it should, and since it hasn't, I am not a Real Woman (TM)." No, no, the choice is mine. Really. It is. Really.

"The way that my body is maintained is not attractive to some men, and I should probably change that." No, no, I was not born onto the earth to be attractive to men. Really. Really.

Run-of-the-mill Western kyriarchy dosed with dogma backing up the immutability of sex and the eternal significance of gender roles; a culture that--overtly or covertly, intentionally or accidentally--promotes a certain body and code of attractiveness for female members. I have a new litany now, one I'm conscious of, one that reminds me of all the ways I have found joy in my body. May we continue to rebuild ourselves.

Seriously?

This is deeply un-funny to me. Here are three reasons why.

1. It mocks a real, important campaign. This one, to be exact. USAmericans have a real problem with creating offensive Halloween costumes. Hello? Blackface is not ok. Sticking a feather in your hair, dashing on some red paint, and saying you're an "Indian princess" or, for fuck's sake, a "Poca-hottie" is NOT OK. People of color are PEOPLE, not costumes.

2. It fat-shames. Stereotypes abound regarding nerds as fat, pasty basement-dwellers completely sans social skills. This, like any stereotype about a group, is often inaccurate, and is yet another arm of our society's obsession with policing others' bodies. Think body shame doesn't touch nerd-dom? We're not immune.

3. The Doctor would never do this. On a totally petty, fannish, basic level--THE DOCTOR WOULD NOT DO THIS. This is not the MO of a thousands-year-old being who's literally seen everything. He's never met an unimportant person. He's a dick in many ways, but this ain't his brand.

Call me a humorless feminist, I do not care. There are millions of Halloween costumes in the world without needing to dip into abuse of cultures that have already been destroyed, ignored, bastardized, and stolen from. It's so easy to not be an racist asshole. All it takes is the tiniest bit of thought and absolutely no effort.

Body Appreciation: ATTACK OF THE UTERUS

As you can probably tell by your tired eyeballs, sore feet and/or back, and urge for a gin and tonic, it's not Sunday. It is Monday. Yesterday was so fine and quiet and calm that I mostly didn't use my computer all day--I napped and cooked and read and watched a movie, and forgot that I normally use Sundays to heap love all over usually-unloveable body parts.

So. It's Monday. And I am putting off homework (as usual), so let's talk about uteri. Last month, I reviewed the reusable cloth pads I got from Party In My Pants; this month, I have more to report on! I picked up some GladRags brand cloth pads from the local hippie store and have been trying them out this week. They're definitely on par with the PIMP pads (gosh, and I do love these names. PIMP is a great acronym, and GladRags reminds me of Harry Potter :B): soft cotton flannellette in a variety of shades, lengths, and thicknesses. There is one major difference--the GladRags day and night pads come with absorbent inserts which you can change out without having to change the pad itself. Handy! I like the GladRags pads as well as the PIMP ones. I have been especially impressed with both brands' absorbency and the utter lack of odor issues. Both also feature a handy snap which keeps the pads in place and allows you to fold up and secure used pads if you're out and about and not near your hamper.

That said, let us move onto the uterus itself. Now, I don't have much use for my uterus as yet. I don't have plans to have any children and generally menstruation is a nuisance. During this month's bout of first-day cramps, I was considering the possibility of a uterus transplant. Surely some lady somewhere really wants to have a baby and needs a good sturdy uterus! Mine is nothing if not sturdy, although it is also somewhat capricious (Aunt Flo was a week late this month for no apparent reason). However, that doesn't seem quite viable and so I am left with no other choice but to revel in my baby-maker and its moods. Honestly, I'm in a much better place now with regard to my womb creature and its cycles than I used to be. A good chunk of that is derived from ditching the nas-tay plastic-and-cardboard of the patriarchy for my cute little Divacup and cozy cloth pads. I suppose I should have put a Dirty Hippie disclaimer on this post, shouldn't I? At any rate, there is much to be said for not forking over $15 a month to replace tampons and disposable pads--my equipment is happier and the earth is too.

I now spend most of That Week coming up with fun euphemisms. This time around I've been trying to formulate a proper Doctor Who reference (since I like to call my junk the "velvet TARDIS" anyway, it only seems fitting). The best I could figure is: "The Master's turned the TARDIS into a Paradox Machine."

So bleed away, uterus thing. I've got my snuggly clothes and durable cup, and I can outlast you even if the Dalek apocalypse comes.

OMG is she going to talk about her PERIOD??!!!1one

Um, yes. I am. Tune in or drop out as you will.

A blogger I love to read, Carla, has reviewed several types of reusable cloth menstrual pads, including Mother Moon Pads, Muffies by Pleat, and Lunapads. I found these very interesting and helpful, as I was considering buying some cloth pads for myself. I love the idea of a more sustainable menstrual product (I already use a Divacup and like it a lot)--many women need to use SOMETHING every month, and it shouldn't have to be a something made of bleach and synthetic products that takes a bajillion years (scientifically speaking) to decompose in a landfill. My mom is a big believer in cloth diapers and I imagine I would be as well if I had kids, and cloth pads are really about the same.

So. Since Carla had kindly reviewed several of the popular contenders for women's business, I decided to tackle one more: Party In My Pants. Fantastic name, right? Since I do use a Divacup, I opted to try out a Luxe Liner and also ordered a Super Pad for days when I feel like foregoing the Diva. I've only had the opportunity to use the Liner so far, so this will be a two-part report continuing next month. I know, you're all so excited! So, the Luxe Liner. First of all--CUTE! There are lots of different fun fabric options for the PIMP (bonus awesome acronym) pads and liners, and I got a green peacock print. There are also many different cuts and widths (including wide-winged pads for boy shorts and narrower ones for thongs). The Liner is very well made, with an interior of super-soft cotton flannelette and a nylon shield backing. Snaps on either side of the wings secure the Liner to your undies. I found the Liner to be really comfortable--almost luxurious, as the name suggests, to have flannelly stuff cuddling my junk--and wide enough and long enough that I wasn't worrying about leakage. The cotton core is very absorbent and perfect for use with a tampon or cup. And have no fear! PIMP pads and liners are washing machine and tumble-dryer safe, and don't even really need to be soaked prior to washing with other laundry (though I might toss them in a mesh bag if a pad REALLY needed to be by its lonesome). And if you're traveling or otherwise can't toss a used pad or liner in the wash basket, they have this neat way of folding in on themselves and then snapping closed to keep the used interior secured.

It's funny, I'm kinda almost looking forward to next month's visit from the Euphemism and trying out the Super Pad! I shall report back. For now, my Luxe Liner and I are getting to be good friends.

Nia

As I have mentioned here, I do yoga--I take classes at a local studio when I can (which is not very often) and I practice at home with my mat and my DVD and music. I really like yoga; it is comforting and good for you and doesn't involve insane equipment or drill instructor trainers barking at you to feel the burn. However, I read in Sylvan's book The Body Sacred and on her blog about something called Nia and was interested to try it.

You see, I also really like dancing. I have never been trained to dance and I probably look like a fool when I dance, but I love it and it feels good, and so I read about Nia and thought, Hey! An exercise that combines yoga, martial arts, and dance? Sign me up! From its website, Nia is perfect for seasoned athletes and rank beginners alike, which I found to be true at the first class I took, which was last night at the Rubin Health Center in St Petersburg. The class was small--three other women besides me plus the teacher, a young woman named Lesley--and downright intimate, but very open and comfortable. I, the dancing fool with two left feet and zero coordination, had a wonderful time. The other three women were clearly at varying levels of expertise; one seemed very skillful and often expanded upon the motions which the instructor was doing, adding her own arm movements, dips, and so forth. Another seemed to be at a mid-range point and comfortable with her body. The third looked to be a beginner like me. Body types varied as well--one women was very lean, another was heavier-set, and a third built like a swimmer with broad shoulders and strong legs. We were all different ages, with me on the young end and one of the other women looking to be in her late forties.

And this is the beauty of Nia. There was no snickering at me for my clumsiness, there was no shaming or preaching to the heavier woman. There was music and Lesley showing us a motion to move into, and yes, there was sweat. It is good exercise. I can feel my legs and shoulders particularly today.

I look forward to this Saturday's class. This is a great way to exercise for those who hate gyms, those who are working through feelings of shame regarding some aspect of their bodies, whether weight or grace, those who want the meditation portion of yoga but also love to dance.

Stopping HR3

By now I'm sure most people have heard about this travesty of a bill, but it bears repeating until it is stopped.

Write your representative, especially if you live in a place suffering from conservative reps. Tweet about your story, your friends' stories, news stories. Tweet your rage and retweet others', post on Facebook, email friends, blog statistics.

This sort of festering bullshit must be halted.

A book review and a new feature

I am just going to come out and say it: sometimes I hate my body. Those of you who know me in person are crying, But Diana! You are beautiful! You are tall and have long legs and gorgeous hazel eyes and awesome freckles! You are THIN! How can this be??!

It is one of those things that is.

You probably hate your body sometimes too. Maybe a lot of the time. Hopefully not all the time. This is part of the Western human condition, male and female alike. If you are like me, you're probably really tired of hating your body--tired of every ad and every asshole who tells you that it's not right, that it could be better, prettier, stronger, faster. So we will add our voices to the scores of voices that are saying, Enough. They are everywhere online: I linked to some of my favorites in this post and it's time for me to add my blog to the list. With that, a new weekly feature in which I will appreciate my body in some way! I have no kicky name yet, and I don't know if it will be posted on a particular day each week. Maybe Sunday would be good; Sunday is a nice day for reflection. But for right now, it is just taking the form of this:

My body, despite what I do to it, keeps going. It does all the work for me. My feet walk, my hands type, my lungs draw in air without being told to. My body is the ultimate Mother. It even scolds me by coming down with colds and backaches when I push it too hard. For all of this and more, I am grateful.

And now for the book review portion of this post! This post in general was spurred partly by the fact that I read lots of body acceptance blogs and Tumblrs, and partly by the fact that I recently finished reading Dianne Sylvan's book The Body Sacred. It's not a new title--it was her second publication, I believe--but somehow I never got around to it until a few weeks ago. It is a sort of combination book: part ruminations on goddess spirituality (specifically Wicca), part ritual and exercise guide, and part self-help for body image. It's a good mixture, I find. Goddess worship and body acceptance go hand in hand. Sylvan is a self-described fat girl who knows of what she writes; though her spiritual practice and views have changed since the publication of this book, I feel (based on what she writes on her blog and Tweets about and so forth) that the core of the matter is unchanged. That core is this: Your body is sacred. It deserves to be treated with the utmost respect and care and love. Self-love and self-acceptance and self-esteem are a continuing work, a mountain that will always be there to be climbed. If you would not say to your lover or best friend, Hey fatty!...please don't say it to yourself. Even if you are an atheist, a Christian, a Muslim: treat yourself as a goddess (or god. Men have body issues too) and your physical embodiment as holy and worthy. Because it is.

I'm not a supermodel

This was an ad created by Body Shop. Apparently Mattel found out about it and, well...yeah. Reblog if you think this ad deserves to be seen.