I’ve been teaching now for about fifteen years. I have two kids myself, but the best birth story I know is the one I saw in my own second grade classroom a few years back.When I was a kid, I loved show-and-tell. So I always have a few sessions with my students. It helps them get over shyness and usually, show-and-tell is pretty tame. Kids bring in pet turtles, model airplanes, pictures of fish they catch, stuff like that. And I never, ever place any boundaries or limitations on them. If they want to lug it in to school and talk about it, they’re welcome.Well, one day this little girl, Erica, a very bright, very outgoing kid, takes her turn and waddles up to the front of the class with a pillow stuffed under her sweater.She holds up a snapshot of an infant. ‘This is Luke, my baby brother, and I’m going to tell you about his birthday.’‘First, Mom and Dad made him as a symbol of their love, and then Dad put a seed in my Mom’s stomach, and Luke grew in there. He ate for nine months through an umbrella cord.’She’s standing there with her hands on the pillow, and I’m trying not to laugh and wishing I had my camcorder with me. The kids are watching her in amazement.‘Then, about two Saturdays ago, my Mom starts going, ‘Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh!’ Erica puts a hand behind her back and groans. ‘She walked around the house for, like an hour, ‘Oh, oh, oh!’ (Now this kid is doing a hysterical duck walk and groaning.)‘My Dad called the middle wife. She delivers babies, but she doesn’t have a sign on the car like the Domino’s man. They got my Mom to lie down in bed like this.’ (Then Erica lies down with her back against the wall.)‘And then, pop! My Mom had this bag of water she kept in there in case he got thirsty, and it just blew up and spilled all over the bed, like psshhheew!’ (This kid has her legs spread with her little hands miming water flowing away. It was too much!)‘Then the middle wife starts saying ‘push, push,’ and ‘breathe, breathe.
They started counting, but never even got past ten. Then, all of a sudden, out comes my brother. He was covered in yucky stuff that they all said it was from Mom’s play-center, so there must be a lot of toys inside there. When he got out, the middle wife spanked him for crawling up in there in the first place.’Then Erica stood up, took a big theatrical bow and returned to her seat.I’m sure I applauded the loudest. Ever since then, when it’s Show-and-tell day, I bring my camcorder, just in case another ‘Middle Wife’ comes along.
I was never treated delicately like a flower, but rather I have always been tossed about, picked at, pulled at and thrown away like a weed. And in harsh environments I thrive. Like the weed I am neglected, stepped on, forgotten only remembered as a nuisance. I am fun only for a moment but never cherished or treasured like a beautiful flower. Maybe I am admired from afar because at times I have beautiful petals, and because I am rooted firmly into the ground, but when it is discovered that I am nothing but a common weed I am despised. And in harsh environments I thrive, in bad relationships, with cruel treatment I thrive and unlike a flower that wilts I stand strong.
This is for women that have been abused and now struggle with self mutilation, eating disorders, flashbacks, those like myself that suffer with obsessive thinking…
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I started a new blog focusing on women, image and sexuality. I want to celebrate the multifaceted beauty of women. An image can be more powerful than words at times.
I am not much of a reader, more of a writer. I saw this image and barely browsed over the long train of words that followed after it. Instead, I was fascinated by the picture. It speaks for itself, “The pain of motherhood”. Her scar is permanent like the permanent string that will forever bind mother and child together for life.
Motherhood is the perfect symbol of strength. Women have the ability to carry a life for nine months as their bodies stretch and become distorted. Then they deliver this new life painfully into the world only to have the responsibility of keeping it alive for a decade, or even two. The breasts her husband once groped are now sacs of milk that provide food and nourishment for her baby. Her body is sprinkled with stretch marks and sometimes her taunt skin becomes loose and saggy. Her vagina, the object…
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I have not posted a blog in quite some time because I have fighting through my depression and this has nothing to do with casual sex, or maybe it does. As of June of 2014 I went off my medication and I had a burst of energy and now I have spiraled back down. To anyone who is struggling through depression, self mutilation, thoughts of suicide, struggling with internal conflicts, struggling with lifestyle choices remember that TOMORROW IS A NEW DAY, A BRAND NEW DAY.
Thanks again to all of my supporters. God Bless.
Do you really want to put yourself through all of that??
I am going to tell you the stuff about casual sex that no one wants to think about let alone repeat out loud. It is an ugly truth. I am not saying this to scare anyone but it’s time to be honest about the realities of casual sex.
Do not trust the man or men that you are having casual sex with. That’s a fact that often gets forgotten during the moment. Remember to always use protection, and by protection, I mean a condom.
If he is having casual sex with you, he probably is having casual sex with other women too. He isn’t obligated to tell you that four hours ago he had sex with someone else. He had sex with the someone else without a condom, and he didn’t get a chance to take a shower before he hopped into bed with you. We all know the…
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Mentioning the negative aspects of casual sex is not slut shaming. Pointing out the emotional trauma that casual sex can inflict is not slut shaming. Pointing out the difference between casual sex and an open relationship is not slut shaming. Sex positive is not the Opposite of Slut Shaming. I don’t need to be Sex Positive to have a healthy and Happy Sex Life.
When I think back to that 16 year old girl sleeping with a man in his mid twenties I can’t help but cringe. At 16 I thought I was an adult, I thought I handled sex more maturely than most adults did because I could not form attachments with the people I was sleeping with. Now I can say that at 16 I was just a child. My sex organs were matured but my mind was not. It sickens me to think of all the men that have sex with teenage GIRLS. They are girls not adult women. These men use and take advantage of a child’s mind and body and hide behind the fact that it was consensual, and that she “looks older.”
If I could I would tell him that he is a monster, no better than a child molester. He preyed on a girl who he knew was broken and weak and that makes him the worst.
I remember the lyrics to Alanis Morissette’s song Hands Clean, “We’ll fast forward to a few years later, and no one knows except the both of us, and I have honored your request for silence but you’ve washed your hands clean of this.” An adult having Sex with a minor is wrong and it is not to be accepted.
I was 16 and he was my best friends 24 year old brother. I thought I was a woman back then because I shaved my vagina, wore thongs, pushup bras and had sex. I thought I knew everything about sex and relationships. Back then, at the tender age of 16 I thought I seduced this man into bed with me. Arrogantly, I believed that I had power over him, that I was in control of the situation because I controlled erection.
He was engaged to a woman overseas when I met him, and I was sleeping around with any and everybody. I was lonely, even though I always had some guy on top of me. I thought that because he was older he would be able to understand me.
When we met he had this look of overwhelming lust in his eyes, and I thought it was funny. Every time…
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