Tag Archives: love

Debunking the Three-Date Rule

Having a script for how we’re supposed to behave can be a great security blanket. Someone asks, “How are you?,” and you say, “Fine.” You see someone you haven’t seen in a while, and you say, “Well, it was great running into you,” at the end of the conversation. These social scripts smooth out social interactions.

Limiting the possibilities for our interactions to these scripts can cause trouble, though, and the biggest arena I see this trouble play out is in the world of sexual relationships. The dating world is ripe with confusion regarding how we’re supposed to behave versus how we need to actually behave in order to have healthy and satisfying relationships. In the realm of dating, the timing of sexual acts is frequently seen as one of the indicators of how serious a relationship is, or as a predictor of how long the relationship will last (i.e. “why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”). So let’s just take a few minutes to debunk one of the most common dating scripts: the three-date rule.

What is the Three-Date Rule and Who Uses It?

The three-date rule states that one must wait three dates to have sex with a new partner. This rule plays on some very basic assumptions we make about sexuality in general. First off: this rule applies almost exclusively to heterosexual people. Queer folks have their own stereotypical rules of dating (like gay men and one-night-stands, or lesbians and U-Hauls*), most of which contradict heteronormative sex rules.

Responsibility and Shame

Because this rule applies mostly to straight folks, it heightens the gendered expectations in relationships. The three-date rule plays on the idea that men always want sex, while women are the gatekeepers, which puts women in charge of men’s sexuality and causes a whole slew of problems. If women are in charge of whether or not men have sex, it takes all the responsibility for acting like compassionate human beings out men’s hands and likens them to animals, acting out of instinct and completely incapable of reason. Besides being demeaning to men, this mindset also supports rape culture, because it creates the reasoning that if a man rapes a woman, then she must have done something to open the gate. She must have flirted with him, or worn a short skirt and heels, or taken the ring off her finger—because those are signs that “gate is open—man can have sex now!” (Do me a favor and read that in a caveman voice, because that’s exactly how devolved this mindset is.)

Another problem caused by the notion of women as gatekeepers of sex is the denial of female sexuality. Men are not the only people made stupid by the human drive for sex. Many of us have felt that brain-fog when our crush in junior high noticed us, or that rush of “I don’t care what happens afterward” right before that first kiss. At the very least, we’ve seen people swoon over each other in movies. It’s a human thing, not a guy thing. Female bodies are actually more responsive to sexual stimuli, and denying that lends support to the shame surrounding female sexuality. Imagine taking shame out of the equation surrounding sex—how much freedom would come from it?

Now take that lack of shame and put it into the three-date rule. It doesn’t fit, does it? That’s because the three-date rule is centered around “appropriate” and “proper” times for women to say yes to sex, when in reality there is no “proper” time. There’s only the time that fits well for that given relationship. For some partners, sex is the first thing to happen, and the getting-to-know-you bit happens much later. For other couples, one or both partners need an established emotional intimacy before anything remotely sexual gets introduced. And for a large amount of the U.S. dating population, we need something in between those two. Hard and fast rules don’t work when we apply them to very individual and unique contexts.

To Each Their Own

I like to think of each new relationship in my life like water: it seeks its own level. Each relationship is like a different container, but ultimately the surface is level because I’m seeking the same respect and love. Sometimes that love comes in the form of sex, sometimes in the form of abstinent cuddles. Ultimately, whether or not I have sex with someone depends greatly on a number of factors, predominantly chemistry and trust, not on how many dates we’ve had.

Side Note: the following are tales of three loves. I am purposely avoiding gendered pronouns because no matter how enlightened you are, everyone puts gendered expectations and explanations onto simple “he/she” language. I’m disallowing you, dear reader, to assume I’m treating a given partner a certain way based on their gender as part of my exercise in debunking this dating rule.

The first lover, I hated right off the bat. I thought they were an arrogant know-it-all, and I couldn’t have been less impressed with them. A year later, we met in a different context, and I found that we actually had a lot of similar life experiences. We got to talking and I loved the way they thought about things. I started running into them at clubs, and finally one night, amidst the pulsing bass and the crush of hot bodies, we kissed. And, oh my—that kiss. That’s how it went for several months: meet up with friends at clubs, dance, kiss, go home. Then, one night in November, our friends were heading out and I knew: tonight was going to be the night. …which frankly sucked, because I was sick with a cold, and I knew that I should be home in bed, having soup and going to sleep early. But this person wanted me to come out—texted me specifically to make sure I was going—and I knew that if I went, I’d get laid. We met at the club, we danced all night, we drove back to their place, and we spent the night entangled in each other. No official dinner-and-a-movie dates involved. We’d spent copious hours in discussion groups, in hangouts with friends, in all the getting-to-know-you moments with other people around, and it wasn’t necessary for us to date before having sex. I knew how they took care of their sexual health, how many partners they’d had, and their STI status before we had sex, and to me, that was more important than waiting for three “official” dates.

I met the second lover through the first. My first impression of this lover was that I wanted nothing more than spend many long hours having glorious, athletic sex with them—they were the athlete, not me. I started getting to know this one very slowly as the end of my first sexytimes week with my first lover rolled around. My first time with this lover was actually a threesome with my first lover as well, which was nice because I was still recovering from being sick and having someone else there gave me a little bit of the rest I needed. Two years of having sex later, my second lover and I finally went on a date. But we did it completely backwards from how dates are “supposed” to go. You know that script for dinner-movie-sex-walk of shame? I went over to their place the night before, and we had sex, started the movie, slept, woke up, had sex again, showered, and then went out for breakfast and a walk around the park. For us, the sex needed to happen first in order to get to the point where we felt comfortable enough talking about the rest of life.

I met my third lover, the most recent, through a mutual friend. This lover was just out of a long-term relationship, and I figured I was going to be the rebound. We started out having chaperoned dates with our mutual friend as the buffer, because we did not know each other at all. A few dates in, we took off the training wheels and went on our first un-chaperoned date. I remember sitting on my hands so that we would actually talk. Similar to my second lover, the chemistry between us was electric and I found it difficult to do the get-to-know-you bit with my tongue down their throat. We started having manual sex before they were tested, and after we knew the results, we proceeded on to the many other types of sex.

I specify manual sex here to highlight another shortcoming of the three-date rule: it doesn’t define “sex.” Many people tend to think of “getting laid” as penis-in-vagina sex, but there are a whole range of sex acts that can be considered “sex” (i.e. manual, oral, anal). What one person classifies as “sex” may be completely different and no less valid than what another person calls “sex,” and waiting on one type in particular doesn’t mean you aren’t having sex in general.

Looking back at the rest of my dating life, I have never followed the three-date rule, and you know what? I’m still here, I’m still standing, and I’m only as slutty as I call myself. I am living proof that the timing of sex between two people does not revolve around what other people think. I expect my partners to be responsible for their own sex drive, and respectful of my humanity, and I think that’s a much better rule for when to have sex than measuring out three dates.

* Author’s Note: The jokes typically run along these lines: “What does a gay man bring on a second date? …What second date?” (Because gay male culture is stereotyped as only capable of one-night stands.) “What does a lesbian bring on a second date? A U-Haul.” (Because lesbians are notorious for moving in together very quickly after starting to date.) Warning: if you are straight and you tell these jokes, that is considered homophobic. 

Photo by Sara Slattery

Photo by Sara Slattery

Glimmer of Love

She is my muse, love.  My life.  My soul, which I never knew or believed existed until I felt her breath… my breath, filling my lungs.  Lately words have been flowing from my heart that I never expected to hear, feel, or believe.  It is as real and as drastic a transformation as I have ever experienced.  Apparently, it is wholely possible to look forward to speaking to someone just moments after hanging up the phone – to miss someone mere seconds following farewells.  It seems that, despite all doubt, in all appearances, potentially, probably, ipso. fucking. facto. that love not only exists, but that I find myself eyebrow deep in it.  This is a first.  Many firsts, in fact.  But, certainly the first time I find myself deep in something that did not require legal, medical, or moral assistance to get out of.

I am writing this for the same reason I’ve ever written anything, because I have to.  I have written, to date, a number of letters beyond my ability to count (which is to say, I’ve run out of fingers and toes) regarding the subject of love, the subject of my love, addressed to… well, you get the point.  I have killed four pens, 2.5 notebooks, and three packs of envelopes in just a couple of months.  So for anyone wondering if The Duke of Glimmer has been writing… he has, but only for one person as of recently.  And although she prefers not to share my attention, I’m sure she’ll grant me reprieve in this case.

My love is music, for I found her through music.  My love is friendship, for I found her through friendship.  She is dance, and light, and laughter… gorgeous hot days, and long desert nights.  She is drugs – I will not lie.  The greatest (seriously, the greatest) drug I’ve ever known.  I am convinced she is the path to my enlightenment – if that is a thing and it can truly be achieved.  And if not, I’m just fucking happy.  Really happy. Happy enough to write this sappy post that you will probably read, say “awww,” puke, then take an insulin shot.  And that’s fine.

The point is that it’s real and it’s out there – love.  It’s not something you’re expecting to find, or that you seek out on purpose.  It just grows, organically – non GMO, always fair trade.  I didn’t even know I wanted it until love found me, but now I’ll fight with the passion of a thousand souls to keep it, this fire that burns in my heart.  There’s no formula, just live your life and let it find you.  It will.  Somehow it found me.  Somehow there’s a beautiful woman in this world who is just like me, but better… so much better.  Genuinely, just ask Tracy, she’s better… and she loves me, lucky fool that I am.  So for anyone struggling or lonely out there – trust me, if you’re holding the glimmer, sooner or later the universe will send someone to share the burden.

Originally published by Hold the Glimmer at http://holdtheglimmer.com/

Photo by Anastasia Heuer

Photo by Anastasia Heuer

 

Let’s Ask: A Thriving Long Distance Love

Y:  The text read “Dude, Coachella is amazing! We’re all having a blast. Wish you were here! Btw, I met this awesome girl and we really hit it off. There’s just one thing… She lives in NorCal.”

I sent that to a close friend only a couple of days after meeting my girlfriend, the love of my life. Now let me back up and tell the story, because she loves it when I do (M: Oh boy, here it comes!!!). I met M for the first time at Los Angeles International Airport. She was joining me and a large group of my friends, including two mutual friends—through whom we were being introduced—on a weekend trip to America’s premier music and arts festival, Coachella (feel free to send us comp’ed VIP passes (M: for life, please) for the plug, Goldenvoice). From the moment we first shook hands, I was charmed. There is an air about her; her smile is warm and contagious, and her aura (if you believe in such things) is always welcoming. From that point on, the weekend became about more than just the music festival, it became about us getting to know one another: flirting, dancing, making each other laugh, and appreciating each show together. It was like packing 30 dates into a single weekend, and every date was even better than the last. I made it a point to look after her in a crowd of a hundred thousand people, because I wanted her to feel at ease and a part of the group. It must have made a good impression, because despite some of my more nervous moments, we kissed during one of her favorite acts, the Postal Service, and by the end of the weekend neither of us were prepared to let the other go.

M:  It’s true. He took care of me all weekend in a group where I only knew two others and that was more than enough to keep me interested. He was pretty much assigned to take care of me before we even knew each other and didn’t sweat about it even once. He also took me to see my favorite musician when no one else wanted to go, even though he didn’t know of him. Consider it our first date. I tried to return the favors as much as I could but really, it wasn’t enough; he was on point with everything. He even played Radiohead for me every drive back from the festival so I could sing off key. After the festival was over, I promised to introduce him to my favorite band, Tool and well, let’s just say he was most impressed that the song had a sound bite featuring Bill Hicks, one of his favorite comedians. Last weekend, we returned from our first anniversary celebration, guess where? Coachella! There is no other more perfect scenario for us to celebrate our love: music, dancing, great friends, amazing art and good food. Sums us up pretty well.

Here’s something we’ve both heard from other people more times than we can count…

“You’re in a long distance relationship?” *deep nervous inhale* “Wow, that must be, like, super hard.  I could never do that.  Good luck…”

Oh gee, thanks but I actually don’t need any luck because I’ve never been happier. In fact, we’ve been in an incredibly successful, unicorn-tears kind of magical long distance ‘agreement’ (Y: as she likes to call it) for a full year now.  The distance?  Exactly 300 miles between NorCal and SoCal.  Luckily there isn’t much of a sports rivalry as I like ice hockey (SHARKS TERRITORY!) and he prefers basketball (Y: LAKERS BABY!) Though I did drunkenly lash out on him being from LA when the Kings knocked the Sharks out of the playoffs last year. And how did he respond?  By sending me a beautiful bouquet of flowers to my office with a note that read: “Dear M, my deepest condolences for your loss. I hope these flowers brighten your day the way you do all of mine. Can’t wait to see you again. Yours, Y.”. Chivalry… not dead, my friends. And that is when it really sunk in that I need to hold on to this amazingly special gentleman.

Y:  WARNING: Here’s the thing about long distance relationships—they are not for every couple. Really, they aren’t for most. People are wary of them, including us. And for good reason: they don’t typically work. I had never been in one before, and she had tried it twice with really poor results over half a decade ago. All it takes is half an instinct of insecurity to hit you, coupled with a dead cell phone battery, maybe a half bottle of wine, and/or some Facebook stalking, and next thing you know you’re in world war relationship. M and I, insecurities and flaws aside, trust each other implicitly. Even more importantly, we love each other (queue the feign heaving and eye rolling) unconditionally (M: so far, so good ;) ) . We’re both independent people who are incredibly social and have many loved ones to tend to. We understand that we each need space and time to pursue our own interests and have our own fun. There is a genuine exchange of mutual support for everything we do.  So above any tips, tricks, or special anecdotes we share, remember that if you’re not continuously head over fucking heals in love with your long distance love, your relationship is headed for the rocks. That’s not to say we don’t fight (I am a man, after all, and it’s my first real relationship as an adult: I’m bound to fuck up a little) but we’re quick to make amends, and always show each other respect.

M: ^What he said… and it’s not about the distance, it’s about the people involved in the relationship. We’re grateful to have each other regardless of the constant physical presence. But of course it’s tough for us sometimes. It’s standard procedure for me to bawl on him before we part after yet another incredible visit. It’s not being able to partake in the mundane everyday activities you’re ‘supposed’ to do with your partner that makes long distance as hard as it’s hyped up to be. Also, not being able to be there for each other physically in tough times or special moments (doctors’ appointments, him moving into his new home, holiday parties, even actual birthdays—thanks for being born a day before Thanksgiving, guy…) can easily strain a relationship, so you need to get creative and accept the reality that you will have to celebrate it a different day to compensate.. But luckily we are always looking for excuses to party so we never skip occasions.

The good news is we take each other for granted much less. Every time we see each other, it’s a mini blissful vacation and we are just with one another 100% because our time together is so precious. Menial tasks like groceries and laundry become enjoyable. But then again we are party people and sprinkle fun into everything so perhaps that’s just us. We rarely ‘fight’ because neither of us can show up at the door to kiss and make up… it’s exponentially more painful being away from each other and not communicating because both parties are being stubborn about coming to a truce. Luckily he is practically ego-less and I can’t stay upset when he keeps showering me with warmth and love.

One time the Mr. was having an extremely hectic Murphy’s law kind of day, so I stole a genius idea from a friend: I called a nearby massage parlor and booked him his first ever hour long deep tissue full body rub down (I threatened the masseuse not to go near his-MY goodies), paid for it over the phone, and called him to tell him he’s to show up there immediately after work.  And the moment he arrived back home, a delivery guy arrived with Thai food. I scored big time.

Y:  It was by far the sweetest and most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.  Take note ladies, don’t go by those bullshit tips in Cosmo, This is how to keep your man happy.  Anyway, that following afternoon, she wasn’t feeling well and had an unpleasant doctor’s appointment, so I returned the favor by having pizza, pasta, salad, peach soda, and two different desserts delivered to her home.

And while we’re on the topic of food—one of our favorite things to do is stuff each other’s faces.  She will literally have a spoon full of food in front of my face while I’m still chewing the last bite. While she is vegetarian and I am… well, not, I still love sharing food with her, because it’s such a pleasurable experience (with acceptable public moaning to boot) that we get to immerse in together. We even eat together over Skype. Shared pleasures should go beyond the bedroom, and certainly should be relished together even if from afar.  Like communication and-

M: -LAUGHTER! Jinx, you owe me a soda! I win. It’s important to be connected constantly and to share a great sense of humor.  We’re lucky this works for us because we are of the kind that despise constant texting/phone calls. But, our sheer adoration of each other trumps that hard. And we are always laughing, oh man do we laugh… like hyenas on meth.  Why we are glued together from a 300-mile distance is because the hilarity makes the constant contact much more appealing.  We’ve had an ongoing conversation for the last year now: emails, chat, texts, phone calls, Skype, and, get this, over a 100 handwritten letters (multiple every single week)…  I mean, how can you not die laughing (warning: grown up jokey time): Y was on speaker phone while I was doing yoga, and I said, “I’m lying here in child’s pose for 15 minutes because my health guru told me so…” and he goes “Why don’t you come here and get into adult’s pose with me?”  Needless to say I keeled over in a perfect transition from child’s pose to fetal position guffawing. There is also a lot of shit talk, which leads to hilarious conversations we wish we could record to share with the world. I was teasing him about how I annihilated him playing foosball on an epic bar arcade date we had one night (we tag teamed killing zombies and yes, he died first. Milla Jovovich taught me some tricks… He’s lucky I love him enough to protect him during the apocalypse. Y: I sacrificed myself for you, chivalry does still exist, remember! M: See what we mean about shit talk…), and I started laughing maniacally, followed by heavy coughing due to diseased flu lungs… and I said to him, “You’re choking me from afar.” And this Star Wars newbie (it’s true, he watched it at the tender age of 28 thanks to yours truly) responds, “I find your lack of faith disturbing.” To which I retort, “I find you fucked up!” To which we both responded with fits of laughter. You get the point. We’re pretty quickwitted folk.

So the bottom line is that apparently you can fall in love and make it last at a music festival and in long distance… with humor, creativity, constant communication, distance pampering, and truckloads of love. Oh, and to end… here’s 2 nightmare-ish pictures he drew of us (Tim Burton would be proud) because he thought it would be romantic. We’ll let you decide which one is attempt #1 and #2. In the words of the Moldy Peaches, we sure are cute for two ugly people…

1 & 2

1 & 2

Long live (long/all distance) love,

Y&M

The Grand in Grandmother

Photo by Mak Akhtar

Photo by Mak Akhtar

All my grandparents have now come full circle; my beloved Nani Amma, the greatest love of my life, has been laid to rest next to my darling Daddy, just like my Dada and Dadi.

I haven’t even been able to process life without her yet—she was my mother always and my father when he was away for 11 years. Though I still can’t really wrap my head around it, not being able to see her the moment I walk into my uncle’s home sitting there reading a newspaper, I’ve been eulogizing her in my head all week, and need a place to spill my thoughts so please bear with me. I don’t have much to give back to her, but I know I can write, so here goes nothing.

My nani was a true inspiration. She got her Masters in Education from Claremont University on a Fulbright scholarship program after having four children in the 60s. She pulled a woman out of a vicious domestic violence cycle and opened up her home to her permanently. She feared nothing—Nani scared away a thief from her home once before he could harm anyone. She ran after countless lizards and cockroaches with a shoe in one hand and the hem of her saari in another, for my mother and I (respectively) because we are terrified of them (Lord knows I missed her when I encountered one this morning).

Nani spent an hour styling her sassy self up every day; never a hair out of place with that 50s scrunched up front look, her saari always tied perfectly and her fabulous gold bangles on her wrists, which she would always insist you take if you complimented them. She would’ve done the exact same thing—dolled herself up—had she woken from her afternoon nap last Wednesday.

Nothing was more important to her than her family and she served us all 100%—especially me, her littlest grandchild and her biggest pain in the ass. She slept in my room for years while my father was away, traveled to our house daily to protect and tend to all my needs. She picked and dropped me off at school, and all that other mundane stuff with utmost joy… but most importantly: she fed me. She bought me a dozen Dunkin’ Donuts every week for breakfast in hopes of making me gain weight (mind you, I’m 26 and under 100lbs)—something she tried to accomplish for a whopping 25 years of my life. She wouldn’t even let me fast during Ramadan because she thought I’d lose more weight (but then again she also claimed she prayed some prayer that makes her exempt from prayer for the rest of her life, oh Nani). She hand fed me my whole life (literally FOUGHT with me over my plate, insisting that I be fed), even earlier this year when I visited her and her hands were shaky—she fed me parathas for breakfast, which I can no longer eat without tearing up at the thought of it. I’m on a mission to learn to make best aalloo (potato) parathas of all time.

She was nearly my middle school principal because of her incredible dedication to education, plus she was my school’s owner’s neighbor. Thank God she rejected the offer, or I’d be getting called out about what the hell I ate for breakfast every morning in front of the whole school on the mic.

If you’ve met her, you must know of her deep love of dessert and Indian soap operas—my own favorite was Kyunke Saas Bhee Kabhi Bahu Thee (“Because once the mother-in-law was a daughter-in-law, too”). I’ll never forget our consistent bickering over her second ginormous bowl of ice cream (literally had to PULL it from her hands) and my lack thereof, hidden chocolate in her room (which her nurses would get yelled at for if we caught her in the act on both ends, by us for letting her eat them, by her for letting her get caught—she was diabetic) and whether she could watch her daily dramas or I could watch the Grammy’s. Nor will I never forget her utter bluntness and no tolerance for B.S. She once explained the literal meaning of the word ‘bastard’ to me in the context of an Indian soap opera. She would try to convince me to marry my second cousins because she believed ‘a known devil is better than an unknown devil.’ When she would see male friends of mine she thought were cute, she made it very clear she was checking them out for me (much like the grandmother in Mulan); with her eyes wide and excited she would greet them ‘Ohh hello, come in and sit with me and tell me what you’re doing with your life (so that I can see whether you’re worthy of my scrawny little runt!)’. And I would tell her, “If you like him, YOU marry him!” and she would laugh that silly cackle laugh of hers that still rings in my ears.

Her best catchprases:

Beta (child), work on your figure development. You need to be ROUNDER in some areas.

Potty ki hai aaj? (Did you poo today?) followed by JHOOT! (LIES!) if I said yes…

Allah ho ghunni! (Oh my God)

Astaghfirrullah! (God forgive me: said anytime anyone did anything disapproving)

Teri chopri torr doongi! (I’m going to break your skull: said lovingly, of course)

Feeeed the cooold!

*ONE single sneeze in any weather* Oh God, you’re sick aren’t you?!

And the all-time favorite…

MEETHAI main kya hai?! (WHAT’S FOR DESSERT?!)

We are so connected that I swear I woke up the second she passed (around 5 am my time) and wondered why I was awake. My meditation that morning was so deep, I have no idea what the hell went on and it went over by 20 mins… ten minutes later, I received the news. I know she was visiting me for the last time to tell me, ‘FOR GOD’S SAKE, GET FAT! WORK ON YOUR “FIGURE DEVELOPMENT!” Ji, nani (Yes, grandma).

My last conversation with her was on Mother’s Day:

Her: ‘Find a boy!!!’

Me: (attempting to escape) ‘Byeee Nani Amma, I loooove youuuu!’

Her: *to the maid giving her a massage who busts up laughing* ‘Every time I mention marriage and men to her she wants to hang up the phone…’

Again, the funniest, wittiest lady I’ve ever known and most anyone who has met her will agree.

I don’t need to even explain how much she was loved by so many people… the ~5000 people that showed up during Friday prayers at the masjid (mosque) to commemorate her did just that.

The last time I was with her, I wanted to test her memory (which she was slowly losing) and showed her a picture of my grandfather. She thought it was Rhett Butler, her favorite actor. When I told her it was actually her husband, she responded, “Oh—I knew that… he’s way better looking than my husband.” Suuure, nani!

I will always regret not taking her to the beach, watching Gone with the Wind (her favorite movie) with her, not being able to discuss her all-time favorite book, Tess of the d’Urbervilles, with her, not calling her enough, and not fulfilling her three dying wishes of seeing me get my Masters, get married or getting fat… but I know she’s left us all in good hands, because she would never have left otherwise. She always finished the job, and finished it with class, wit and the greatest sense of humor an old wise dame could possibly possess. She was as strong, complex, and carefully written a character, if not more than her most favorite ever, Scarlett O’Hara.

I will never feel like this piece does any justice to her because I know I’ll recall something else I forgot to mention because she just left me with a plethora of phenomenal memories. The first song I heard after her passing made me realize why I’ve been starting all my mornings this past month with exactly that track, Colombia by the Local Natives.

[box]The day after I had counted down all of your breaths down until
There were none, were none, were none, were none;
A hummingbird crashed right in front of me and I understood all you did for us.
You gave, and gave, and gave, and gave.

Oh, every night I ask myself
Am I giving enough? [x3]
Am I?

If you never knew how much,
If you never felt all of my love.
I pray now you do, you do, you do, you do.

Oh, every night I ask myself
Am I loving enough? [x3]
Am I? [/box]

Please pray/send her vibes, whatever you believe in, that wherever she is, she is at peace. Hopefully somewhere with a nice view of the ocean. She loved the ocean. I’ve been desperately trying to recall all my memories of her, so if you have any—please do share them. If you were ever good to me, she loved you automatically.

Once she fed me parathas while I watched a Sharks game… now that is what heaven is like, I’m sure.

I recorded her leaving my brother and I words of wisdom every time I was leaving back for the U.S. Both of us are crying in the last one, and I haven’t had the heart to watch it yet.

Nani Amma, thank you for being the most wonderful person in my life. You truly put the grand in grandmother. Most people start their meals with grace or the name of God—having grown up a Muslim, we started ours with ‘Bismillah Irrahman Irrahim’, meaning ‘In the name of God, the most gracious, the most merciful’. But now, I start mine with your memory, Nani. Every meal of mine is a dedication to you.

In the name of Nani, the most hilarious, the most remarkable…

Adapted from a Facebook post written in June 2013 by Mak Akhtar. 

Let’s Ask: Why a Polyamorous Relationship Works Best For Me

UE Writer Emily Knight’s high school buddy Matthew has always marched to the beat of his own drum. An active participant in a polyamorous lifestyle and the Santa Cruz kink scene, Matthew was the perfect person to shed some light on a little-understood relationship lifestyle. Emily and Matthew sat down to work through some misconceptions, explore the benefits, and understand the details of the polyamorous relationship.

Emily: How about we start off with your individual experience. Describe your relationship life.

Matthew: Real or ideal?

Emily: Both, please!

Matthew: Ideally, eventually, I’d like to be in relationships with a group of like minded people working together for common goals. Right now, I’m living with one significant other. We’ve been living together since August and seeing one another for almost two years. During the course of that two years, I’ve had a few much smaller relationships—I went on a few dates, had a few kink experiences—but nothing you’d call a strong relationship or sexual intimacy.

Emily: And how about your S.O.? She is actively poly-amorous, too, right?

Matthew: Yeah, she definitely sees other people. When we got together, she was also seeing a guy with another primary partner, whom she still sees about once or twice a month, and recently she met another person who she sees as well. I’m actually pursuing one of the second guy’s other partners—she’s really cool.

Emily: Wow, that sounds complicated. Are most of the folks in your friends group non-monogamous?

Matthew: Yes, most close friends would identify as non-monogamous or polyamorous—not swingers!

Emily: Oh, really? What’s the deal with that term?

Matthew: There’s nothing wrong with it; it’s just a completely different thing than what we do. Non-monogamous can refer to anyone not in an exclusively two person relationship—including people who cheat on their partners, though that is obviously not us. Swinging, on the other hand, refers to married couples who get together with other married couples and “switch” for the evening. Polyamorous means lots of different things to lots of different people. For me, it means someone who has multiple loving, caring relationships. However, some define it differently. Some folks have one partner with whom they are “monogamous,” but they also have other partners for kink experiences or sex.

Emily: So they would say that these kink and sex experiences they have with others lack the love and care element of their monogamous relationship?

Matthew: Yes. It looks pretty much the same to me, as an outsider, but it’s not for me to define their relationships.

Emily: So is your variety of polyamory more common?

Matthew: Kind of. We look like a standard “couple” who do other things with other people… that makes us more easily accepted. Other polyamorous people often lack that hierarchy of one primary partner and other secondary partners. They try to equally share love and attention among all their partners.

Emily: How is that… calculated? Can you quantify love and attention?

Matthew: Everyone does it differently. And most don’t actually achieve this in reality. People you live with, people who excite you more, those people are going to get more of your attention—just like with friends. But lots of people do refuse to rank their partners. Then, you have polyamorous folks who use hierarchy. Some people refer to their primary or secondary partners—oh, and there are statistically significant others!

Emily: Ouch! What a clinical term!

Matthew: No, it’s actually really interesting. It’s the person you spend the most amount of time and energy on. So it could be a business partner, a roommate, anyone you’re with the most.

Emily: Where do you and your S.O. fit on this?

Matthew: She and I are a little different. We look like primary partners: we buy groceries together, we live together, go on dates, etc. But we don’t really like the idea of ranking. So we view her other relationships (and my future ones) as equally important, no matter how often she or I see them or how long they’ve known each other. It’s not fair to rank people’s emotions.

Emily: That all sounds counter-intuitive and kind of confusing, but I love what you said at the end. When you look at it that way, it makes a lot of sense.

Matthew: But it is important to talk about those emotions. If someone is getting all your Friday nights and the other is stuck with Tuesdays, you should bring it up.

Emily: It seems like there is a big potential for drama. How do you avoid that?

Matthew: I avoid everyone with a propensity for drama—even if I’m attracted to them, even if they’re interesting. If you stick around in the community, you can find out who is with whom and who has had practice in this type of relationship. By living like this, everyone’s communication skills are automatically going to improve. Everyone’s self-awareness and awareness of their own role in a given situation gets better. If you’re in the community for the right reasons, you’ll get better. People who aren’t will not improve and cause drama.

Emily: I know that in high school we would get into arguments and things and a lot of that would stem from poor communication between us. I don’t know about my own skills, but I’ve noticed that your communication abilities have gotten a lot better as we’ve grown up a bit. Do you think that comes from polyamory?

Matthew: Yes, and motivation. I work hard to build up my communication skills and look for relationships where we can work toward common goals. Most don’t see it this way, but… I know my own goals.

Emily: Well you’ve always been that way: very straight-forward and blunt, with clear directions.

Matthew: Still working on it! Seriously, though, I’ve had some really good experiences with people who are really good at communication. The Santa Cruz kink group I’m part of has some very good leaders. One in particular “gets off” at making people feel understood. Seeing how other people do the things that I want to do and do them well really helps. Being a part of the kink group and various other meet-ups, like Poly Pocket—

Emily: No way!

Matthew: Ha, yes, it’s a great name! Anyway, groups like this have social interactions at the heart of them. So we drink tea and eat cookies and just have great conversations. We have the really interesting conversations on feelings and they all took this same route:

Person: This made me feel ______.

Me: Why did you feel ____?

Then, of course, the person gets defensive, but then we have a really good conversation and I understand better where that person is coming from. People would get upset with me for not understanding the basics of emotions, so these conversations were a huge step for me to start understanding and using words for emotions and understanding the emotions of others better.

Emily: This kind of is starting to bring me to my biggest question about polyamory—jealousy. What role does that play in people’s relationships, and how do they navigate it?

Matthew: Some people don’t get jealous. My S.O. doesn’t at all. Other close friends don’t either. I am not one of them. It’s something to work on, like willpower. I’m analytical, so I look at it this way. I take apart the emotions: why am I feeling this way, how can I stop it? I was in a mono-poly relationship—

Emily: A what?

Matthew: I was monogamous to her, but she was polyamorous—not recommended. I was just hit with all these womps of jealousy—feeling left out, wanting what my partner had, wanting what my partner was giving, feeling not cared for… so those are the worst.

Emily: That’s how I’ve felt it in the past as well.

Matthew: Yeah, and that’s a very common way to feel jealousy. The other way would be anger-jealousy, but I have the “womps.” And I’ve been working on this for… six years. The entire time I’ve been polyamorous. So one thing I do is work to parse out why I’m feeling this way, for each situation. Another thing that’s really common is to take baby steps in a relationship. You set up rules for the relationship and slowly take them away. So I might say, okay, we can go on dates, but no kissing. Now we can kiss other people but no sex. Okay, we can have sex with other people, but no kink.

Emily: So setting up rules on what is allowed physically, that makes sense.

Matthew: Yeah, and there are emotional rules, too. Like call me after your dates, check in with me this often, etc. Or don’t tell me anything; I don’t want to know. This one is often less healthy, but it happens.

Emily: Do most polyamorous relationships have rules?

Matthew: Not always. The healthiest relationships may or may not have rules, but they have always have a groundwork of comfort and communication. So if my partner knows what will hurt me and she loves me, then she’ll just choose to express her polyamory in non-hurtful ways, and vice versa.

Emily: That makes it sound really… doable. It always sounded like something I would never be able to make work, because I knew I would be too jealous. But I love this idea of using rules and setting groundwork to avoid it.

Matthew: And the thing is, all relationships have “rules.” It’s just in polyamorous relationships, these rules are laid out, whereas in monogamous relationships, the rules are implied and everyone is just expected to know them.

Emily: Mind. Blown. That’s true!

Matthew: It all goes back to communication. If you lay out rules, it sets you on a much better playing field. My S.O. and I don’t have rules. We talked about it and we don’t like the idea for us. Instead, we trust each other’s judgment and focus on open communication for what we are comfortable with and what hurts us.

Emily: And that circles back to building up those communication skills to make all relationships better.

Matthew: Yes, definitely. Oh, and one more thing about rules—they are also for safety. So rules like wearing condoms can be important, health-wise. And rules like avoiding sketchy meet-ups. There are a lot of benefits and a lot you can cover with rules.

Emily: You mentioned an idea earlier that I want to get back to—people in poly for the wrong reasons. What would those be? Is the horny bro out of place here?

Matthew: Not necessarily! The right reasons would have to do with having lots of different experiences, wanting to meet cool new people and make new connections, or fulfilling different needs, etc. Wrong reasons would be like if someone is pressuring their partner into it because they want to be poly. You also see people get into it to try to save a relationship, and that rarely works. Some people do it because they have low self-esteem and they don’t think they’re good enough to have their loved one to themselves.  You can almost always spot people in it for the wrong reasons, and they usually don’t stay.

Emily: Okay, I have one more major question for you—how did you get into the poly culture? Is it something you always wanted, or did you hear about it and want to try it out, or what?

Matthew: There are two reasons why people get into polyamorous relationships: 1) Monogamy never worked for them. 2) Monogamy never worked for them.

Emily: Ha!

Matthew: A lot of folks had bad monogamous relationships or somehow knew that they could never be happy with just one person.  But I came to poly in a slightly different way. When I was about eleven years old, I looked at my parents and thought, if two people are this happy together, how happy would three people be? And why stop there? Wouldn’t four people be like sixteen times as happy?

Emily: So from your eleven-year-old musing, how did you get here?

Matthew: As a teen, I laid out some steps. Step One: Get comfy talking to girls. I’m still working on that one. No, I mean I still re-lay out my goals, but it’s less often. I probably did it last maybe two years ago. And the goals are always similar—level up my communication, level up meeting people.

Emily: Since your goal is a loving relationship community that works for common goals, are you actively searching?

Matthew: I am very passive as far as meeting people goes. So much is going on in my life. And you can’t force good connections. I go out to events, meet friends of friends. But when I find the right people, that’s just going to happen.

Emily Knight is a Baker/Teacher/Writer Extraordinaire! She is also overly fond of biking, dinosaurs, Trader Joes, YA fiction, and the city of San Jose. Watch her cook food and talk about books here: Lovin’ My Oven: A Blog of Cooking and Reading

Photo by Sara Slattery.

She’s not Dead, She’s Sleeping (And Other New Mom Lessons)

I always knew I wanted to be a mother, I just never really thought it would happen as soon as it did. When I graduated from college, my boyfriend and I decided that in a year and a half, when I turned 25, we would start seriously talking about having a baby. Who would have thought that a year and a half later, and ten days before my twenty-fifth birthday, we would welcome our daughter M.

My boyfriend is a little bit older than I am (only sixteen little years), grew up around babies at his mother’s in-home daycare, and helped raise his ex-wife’s daughter (long story). I, on the other hand, am an only child who never babysat an actual baby, but always had an overwhelming maternal instinct and a love of children. When we found out we were expecting, the unwarranted advice started rolling in. People will give you tons of advice when you’re pregnant and a new parent (look, I’m doing it right now, and you’re probably not even pregnant). They mean well, but you will never truly understand what it is like to be a parent until that little bundle of joy comes barreling into your life and changes it forever.

As a new parent, it is almost impossible not to constantly worry. The small foreign creature you brought home from the hospital appears so fragile and delicate and every cough, rash, and change in bowel movement seems like the end of the world. But let me tell you, babies are quite resilient. I remember M’s first diaper rash and thinking it was so horrible that I started Googling images of diaper rashes and immediately concluded that she needed antibiotics and to see the doctor ASAP. I consulted my boyfriend who recommended we put some rash ointment on it and check on it in the morning. I begrudgingly agreed, but if it was still there we were headed straight to the pediatrician! The next morning it was practically gone and I vowed never to Google images of any ailment or disease I self-diagnosed my daughter with. Although, I did slip recently and thought she had hepatitis or aluminum poisoning because her poop was clay colored. The pediatrician did not agree with my diagnosis.

Another thing I found myself worrying about was her growth and milestones, compared to what is considered “normal” for babies her age. Pediatricians tend to freak out if your baby loses too much weight initially and M has always been much smaller than her peers and not-at-all comparable to the giant baby I was. I consulted websites describing the week-by-week progress for infants to research what she should be doing, when she should be doing it, and what to expect her to do next. Heaven forbid she started rolling over a few weeks late or not start solids at the appropriate time! After a while, I forced myself to stop the worrying and had to trust that she was developing at the speed that was right for her. I needed to stop thinking she was dead if her nap went a little longer than usual, and just enjoy the unexpected extra alone time that day.

Alone time. How I miss it. Solitary confinement is vital to one’s sanity when it comes to being a parent. I miss going to the bathroom by myself. Now I have to keep the door open so she can come in and close the door herself (one of her favorite past times) or else she sits outside the door and whines until I come out. My non-parent readers, enjoy your silent potty time while you still have it because soon a little person will want to watch you while you do your business and you will call it “potty training.” (And don’t even get me started on how intimately I know my own child’s butthole.)  Once you become a parent, your life and the world doesn’t revolve around you anymore, it is all about the little one. I treat myself to a monthly massage and try to pawn the baby off on daddy for a girl’s night whenever I can. While taking care of yourself is important, it is mutually beneficial to make time for your partner (especially sexy time). Intimacy after childbirth is another article in itself.

And while we are on the subject of bedroom activities: You never truly realize how important sleep is until you’re not getting it. When M turned four months old, we decided enough was enough, she was going to sleep through the night in her own bed, whether she wanted to or not. We chose to do sleep training, and it was not easy. There are many different approaches and techniques for conducting sleep training, but most fall in to two different strategies: non-crying and cry-it-out.  We chose the latter because sometimes babies just need to cry and learn to get over it. Sleep training is not necessarily the right choice for everyone. I recommend it, but not all parents, doctors, psychologists or babies agree on the best way to go about it or if one should subject their child to it. What I can say is that it took less than a week to get M sleeping through the night, and she goes to bed at roughly eight o’clock and wakes up around seven in the morning. She does have the occasional late night wake up when she’s sick, but those are few and far between.

Being a parent has its challenges, but there are special moments in between that make it all worthwhile; like first words and steps, tickle sessions that make you both roll in laughter, and snuggles that make you not want to ever let go. In the end, it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t crawl until she is ten months old, or that you haven’t had a good night sleep in who knows how long… what matters is that she is a healthy and happy baby who waves and smiles at everyone, loves books, and gives you kisses in the morning.

Photo by Jenny Butler

Photo by Jenny Butler

Let’s Ask: Lies My Mother Told Me About the Birds and the Bees

My mother is a pretty awesome human being by all accounts. It’s important that I make sure all of you know this. She’s been through a lot of crazy, tough stuff over the years and has clawed her way to the other side like a fucking grizzly bear. But what she did not do was prepare me in any way, shape, or form to have any semblance of a functional adult sex life.

All the sex “advice” my mom ever gave me had but one simple through-line, one motive: to convince me to never even think about having sex. EVER. For any reason. To instill in me a crippling fear of the anatomy of the opposite sex. “I’ve been there. I was a teenager in the 70s, okay?” And I had to believe her, how could I not? Now, to be fair, most of these pearls of wisdom were handed down to me when I was only about 10 years old, the year my mom awkwardly left the “What’s Happening To My Body?” book on my pillow and never spoke of it. So… maybe the whole G-rated fright-fest makes sense. But a G-rated lie is still a lie!

“Sex hurts. It’s not fun for girls, only for boys. Girls who tell you they like having sex are sluts who are just trying to make you feel uncool.”

Yikes. Way to make sure I’d grow up to be a total bitch ice queen with ZERO friends, Mom. And what exactly was I supposed to think of myself, the day I had sex and realized that I liked it? Was I, too, a slut? Are we all sluts? What’s the meaning of life? Are we alone in the universe? These are the questions.

“If you give him the milk for free, why should he buy the cow?”

Thanks, Mom, now you’re calling me a cow, too? I think this one is fairly common, textbook advice for girls. It’s also fairly ridiculous. I know plenty of people whose stable, happy relationships were borne of a random, sexy encounter one random, sexy night. The act of having the sex you want when you want it doesn’t hold the same cultural weight that it might have years ago. Guys don’t typically “lose respect” for girls if they “put out” right away. Also, can we as a generation sign some sort of pledge to do away with the phrase “put out?” It’s so dated, so very look-at-me-I’m-Sandra-Dee. It sounds so dirty, too: Put. Out. She puts it out there, guys. It. Her vagina. Shudder.

Anyway. I fully support a lady waiting a little while to sleep with a guy she’s just started dating, so she can get to know him better and make sure he’s a solid choice. But that’s different. That’s not a decision made out of fear because you’re worried he won’t respect you anymore if you do the deed. And if that fear turns out to be true, that he does lose respect for you after you sleep together, then this guy might actually be the worst. So… good riddance.

“Ten minutes of good sex is not worth the pain of childbirth.”

Because obviously every time a person has sex it automatically results in a baby being born nine months later. OBVIOUSLY. I don’t doubt that having a baby hurts like the dickens, but that’s kind of neither here nor there. Because of this, for the longest time, I thought that people’s parents only had sex the day they decided they wanted a baby. The concept of birth control didn’t really factor into this discussion until I was several years older, and I already knew what it was thanks to my friends who had courageously bought condoms and put them on bananas at a sleepover.

“Having sex is worse than saying the worst swear word you can think of.”

So… the F word? Wait. Is this what a conundrum feels like? I am ten years old and my brain just imploded. This might be my self-destruct code. Send help.

“You’re not allowed to get married if you’ve already had sex with someone else.”

It’s worth mentioning that my family was not very religious. We were the swing-by-church-on-Easter-and-Christmas variety of Catholics. But for some reason, my mom would rev up the Pope-mobile whenever it came to the subject of pre-marital sex. You didn’t do it. Period. Those were the rules—God’s rules. You can’t break God’s rules because he’s definitely gonna hear about it, being God and all. And that’s not necessarily uncommon: a lot of parents tell their kids that they shouldn’t have sex until they’re good and hitched. But my twisted, 10-year-old mind took this warning to a whole new, disturbing level by assuming that a doctor had to examine you and give you a certificate of “Nope, Never Done It!” before you could walk down the aisle. And the worst part? When I asked my mom whether or not this pre-marital medical exam actually existed, she said yes.

“Penises are really ugly.”

Well… okay, fine. I’ll give you this one, Mom. I’m glad I was prepared.

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

My First Time Was With a Paraplegic

I was lucky, in many ways, with how my V-card was punched. My mother had a fairly liberal non-shaming outlook when it came to sex, and her only advice was “Find someone who you trust and care about. It’s a big deal.” I took that advice to heart. I also valued honesty, which is why one day I walked into my kitchen to get a snack, looked at my mom, and said thoughtfully, “Hey mom? I don’t think I’m going to wait until I’m married to have sex.” She looked back at me and said, “Oh. Okay.” And I waltzed back into my room with my orange or crackers or whatever snack I had decided the moment warranted.

I’ll call the lucky recipient of my virginity “C.” I met C in high school when I was 16. He was four years older than me. He was funny, cute, fun to be around, and he had his own place… directly next door to his parents. Looking back, there were a lot of problems with the relationship, which really should have been obvious considering that he was 20 and stoked to be dating a 16-year-old.

Of course, none of that was obvious to a high schooler. I felt awesome and sophisticated to be hanging out with this guy and his cool, old friends! But I was fairly well-balanced and had a decent sense of self-esteem. I made it clear to him that I was a virgin and if he was expecting anything from me right away, he was going to be disappointed. To his credit, he took it very well and assured me that he was ok with waiting.

About five months into the relationship, we started having problems. He claimed that he was in love with me. I cared about him, and I wanted it to work, but I hesitated to call it love just yet. There were some other issues as well and I was unsure about him.

Until, one day, I got a call from one of his friends. C had been in a car accident, thrown from the car, and landed on a pipe in the industrial area of our town. He had some severe burns on his stomach and had broken his spinal cord in two places.

According to my mother, the minute she heard this she knew—due to my caretaker tendencies—that he and I were going to be together for a long time after that. Which, to my mom, wasn’t necessarily good news. But she kept her opinions to herself and, after weeks of waiting for him to be able to receive visitors, she gave me a ride to the hospital.

That first visit was fairly traumatizing. His throat had closed due to irritation from the weeks he had been on a breathing tube and they had done a tracheostomy so that he could breathe. Because of the hole in his throat, he couldn’t talk. He could only mouth words. He had skin grafts on his abdomen and scars from the spinal cord operation. Both he and I knew that he would probably never walk again. And on that visit, he asked me to marry him.

What else could I say? I was a scared teenager looking at my boyfriend in a hospital bed, who was waiting for me to answer a question that he couldn’t actually ask, he had to mouth it. So I said yes.

I waited a few weeks to visit him again, until after he got the trach out. Once he did, we talked about the “whole marriage thing” a while more and agreed it would be best to get me a “promise” ring and call it that for the time being. After that, I accompanied him to physical therapy and visited him regularly until he got out, and for a while, sex was a non-issue. He had other things going on with his body to think about.

I found out later that, while he was in the hospital, he attended what was essentially a “Sexuality for the Disabled” seminar, and had learned a lot. He could, indeed, still have sex and enjoy sexual feelings. He told me some of what he learned. I was glad to hear it, but we still hadn’t “gone all the way” yet and I thought we still had a while before we would have to deal with it.

He moved back home, and that’s when the pressure started. Before, when he was able-bodied, he didn’t mind waiting. Now, he felt any resistance from me was an indication of hidden repulsion. While that was untrue, I will admit that having sex now gave me more pause than before because I simply didn’t know how it would work. But, by now, I had very deep feelings for this man. I wanted to show him I cared about him, and that he and I could live and love in a normal way. And I weighed it: did I care for him? Did I trust him? The answer to both was yes. So, one night, about a year after we first started dating, and after I had turned 17, we had sex.

I told him I was ready that night, but just getting things going was an adventure in itself. I had touched him before, but that was all prior to the accident. He was numb from just below the breastbone down. I was very nervous because I wasn’t sure his body would even respond to me. It turns out, in his case, he could achieve an erection fairly easily in response to manual or oral stimulation. He couldn’t feel it, really. He could feel some slight tingling but he couldn’t really pinpoint where. It was a relief and at the same time it made me even more nervous because it meant I would actually be having sex that night, for the very first time. That was the moment where it became real.

I remember we had to do cowgirl position. I remember it didn’t seem to hurt at all. I wasn’t too surprised by this, since I danced and had been using tampons for a while now, but I still expected it to hurt or bleed or something. I had to provide all of the movement, which felt really awkward because I’d never done it before. How does a girl “thrust” when she has nothing to thrust with? I remember it just kind of…stopped, with no actual finish. And I remember I cried. I was only a little embarrassed to cry. He handled it well, and held me close. I had told him many times what a big deal this was to me, so it just felt natural to let the emotions out. I was very confused, because sex with C was so different from anything I had ever heard it or expected it to be, but I felt safe.

We dated for two more years after that. Our sex life progressed through a lot of experimentation. Among my friends, there was always a lot of curiosity about how we had sex. I was always glad to share (and am still) that there are many ways to have a fulfilling sex life in a relationship where one person is disabled. For example, the spot on C’s abdomen directly ABOVE where he stopped having sensation was actually ultra-sensitive. I would drive him crazy (in the good way) by gently running my fingernails over the area. Our options for positions were limited, but it was fun to think of new ones. He was unable to achieve physical orgasm, which is a loss he mourned, but he claimed he had had a “mental” one a couple of times. His erections never lasted very long but they were easily achieved again so it wasn’t a big deal. The sexual experience is going to differ infinitely between different injuries and disabilities. I can only share our own experience.

Our relationship ended on a difficult note, but I still say I’m very lucky with how I began my sexual life. He ultimately wasn’t the right person for me, but I am still very comfortable with how long I waited and the age at which I had sex. I’m glad it was with someone I cared about, and I’m glad it happened under sort of unusual circumstances. It made me more open-minded, more experimental, and since both he and I were, in a way, discovering our new sexuality at the same time, it meant that I was confident enough to figure out what I liked and ask for it, since he was doing the same with me.

I get a lot of raised eyebrows when I say the words, “I lost it to a man in a wheelchair,” but I want people to know that sex is a diverse, multifaceted, and often beautiful thing. I hope after I tell the story, people think about sex through a slightly wider and more colorful lens.

Photo by Remi Coin

Photo by Remi Coin

Let’s Go Get The Shit Kicked Out Of Us By Vulnerability

After Dr. Brené Brown gave her first TED Talk, about the power of vulnerability, she woke up with a “vulnerability hangover.” She hid in her house for three days, ashamed of confessing that she’d had a “breakdown” to the over 500 attendees. Knowing her video was headed for the Internet, she told a friend she anticipated another couple hundred people seeing her admission but, “If 500 turns into 1000 or 2000, my life is over.” Her talk has since been watched over 12 million times.

[ted id=1042]

When I think about vulnerability, I imagine something raw and tender. The kind of thing I might boast about embracing but, more often, actually find myself cowering from. When I watch a TED Talk like Brené’s, or read some quotes on Tumblr, I think, “YES! That sounds amazing! I am going to start being vulnerable right now! I am going to let go of all my insecurities immediately, accept my imperfections, be kind to myself, really let go of who I’ve thought I should be for all these years, and embrace the imperfect reality of who I am!” Boom. Done. I am vulnerable. And yet, just saying the words “imperfect reality of who I am” sets off a wave of discomfort. Because that’s the reality of vulnerability: it can be really uncomfortable.

[box] “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” ― C.S. Lewis [/box]

For most of my life, just like Brené, I thought I could “outsmart” vulnerability—that if I just locked it up in a box, made all the right choices, and checked off all the boxes on my list of impossible expectations, I could be perfect. And, obviously, perfection was, well, perfect and when you’re perfect, there’s no need for vulnerability. If only that was true. But I did not see vulnerability as a strength back then, I saw it as a weakness. A big, undefined, pain causing weakness. And this unknown thing was so scary to my brain that the idea of even exploring it was enough to get me to bury anything tagged “could be painful” so deeply, that once I started searching, it took me almost a year before I was even looking in the right place.

The fear that vulnerability induces in me is the kind of terror that dictates my actions without me even realizing it. So, first, I had to not only recognize, but also accept, that so many of my actions were defenses. As if that wasn’t vulnerable enough, then I had this exposed raw, tender, place that I was supposed to stay with and sit with! Patience in my life before: not fun. Patience while sitting with discomfort caused by vulnerability: excruciating.  In her TED Talk, when Brené talks about the “whole-hearted”—the ones who believe that what makes them vulnerable makes them beautiful, that vulnerability is not comfortable or excruciating, just necessary—you need to know that when I started this process, I was not one of them. Whether I was willing to articulate it or not, I was one of the ones who always questioned if I was good enough and I was pretty sure I wasn’t.

[box] “[The whole-hearted] talked about the willingness to say, “I love you” first, the willingness to do something where there are no guarantees, the willingness to breathe through waiting for the doctor to call after your mammogram. They’re willing to invest in a relationship that may or may not work out. They thought this was fundamental.” ― Dr. Brené Brown [/box]

Some of the most seemly confident, happy, and/or successful people can still have this voice in their head that makes them believe, in spite of their “accomplishments,” that they are not good enough. On the outside, I denied that I had low self-esteem. Because, honestly, I didn’t think I did. But that was because I only gave weight to the parts of me that I showed to other people and I didn’t count all the things that I only thought to myself.  Look in the mirror and pay attention to your thoughts: Are they kind? Are they accepting? Or do they scan for every flaw? Do they plot how to hide away the things you’re most ashamed of? Do they berate you for not having done more to “fix” something that you consider “wrong”? I was feeding my own insecurities without even knowing they were insecurities. And, worse, I just accepted them as limitations to myself. This was “the way things were” and nothing and no one were ever going to change that. Well, I was right about part of that, no one else was ever going to change the way I saw myself, but I could.

[box] “When you’re raised with the belief that perfection is possible, it’s very hard to let go of that.” – Hannah “Harto” Heart [/box]

Alright, so finally I start digging up my insecurities, I acknowledge them with a curt head nod, and I start trying to sit with them in a very large room (in which I do my best to never directly look them in the eye, because, ow.) Finally, we get closer, we’re not cuddling on the couch or anything, but we’ve started having marginally polite conversations, and then I realize it’s not enough to be aware and sit with my insecurities by myself, to really heal, I have to accept them: out loud. I have to let them be seen by others.

Terror doesn’t come close to describing how I feel about doing this. Because this is not the kind of “being seen” where I get to admit my flaws and then get patted on the back with some reassuring comment to make me feel better. This is the “being seen” where I admit them to a large room full of people and then we all just sit there awkwardly in silence together. Not because it’s awkward, or shameful, or even anything revelatory that they are seeing, but because am so scared of the risk, I create my own fear-fueled reality. But when I figured out that I was actually sitting in the middle of a boisterous vulnerability party and my shame was just sitting on top of the mute button, every thing changed. Of course this also required something else I had been in denial of: the ability to really trust. Because finding self-confidence in your imperfections requires a kind of trust in yourself and others that is not the kind of trust you give your friends when you tell them about that one time you waited outside a hotel to stalk the Jonas Brothers in college, but the kind of trust that is choosing to go on television, naked, to do an interview in which you willingly hand over a flashlight and say, “Please, examine me.” And I do mean choosing, because that was my turning point with vulnerability, when I realized no one was going to roll out a red carpet and escort my vulnerability to the party. That I was going to have to drag her out myself, sometimes kicking and screaming, every day, for the rest of my life.

[box] “We can let the circumstances of our lives harden us so that we become increasingly resentful and afraid, or we can let them soften us and make us kinder and more open to what scares us. We always have this choice.” — Pema Chödrön [/box]

Vulnerability is a choice. It’s about making the choice to accept my imperfections, my mistakes, my failures, even when it really stings, when all I want to do in the face of criticism is launch into one of my “Whatever, you’re wrong!” or “OMG, I’ve failed at everythinggg” monologues. When going on Facebook to complain seems like so much more fun than apologizing, when sending an angry and defensive email makes us feel better than admitting that maybe the other person is actually right. It’s never starting a thought with, “I know I said I was going to be vulnerable, and that I need to sit with this discomfort, but that sucks and it is uncomfortable, and I don’t want to feel this, so just this once…” It’s not seeking out a drug hit of sympathy from someone by making sure, “You still love me, right?” It’s not justifying my mistakes so that I can make them again. It’s not going numb in an attempt to forget, ignore, or deny. As Brené says: we cannot selectively numb emotion.  If we numb out pain, grief, shame, disappointment, we also numb our happiness, gratitude, and joy. That’s why taking a risk is such a vulnerability, because the inherent definition of a risk is that there is no certainty, and without certainty, we risk failure. And vulnerability is all about embracing your successes and your failures. It’s actually being yourself in the face of possibly losing everything because of it.

[box] “To let ourselves be seen, deeply seen, vulnerably seen; to love with our whole hearts, even though there’s no guarantee, to practice gratitude and joy in those moments of terror, when we’re wondering, ‘Can I love you this much? Can I believe in this this passionately? Can I be this fierce about this?’ just to be able to stop and, instead of catastrophizing what might happen, to say, ‘I’m just so grateful, because to feel this vulnerable means I’m alive.’ — Dr. Brené Brown [/box]

There’s an ancient Japanese art form, called Kintsukuroi, that repairs pottery with gold or silver lacquer with the understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. That’s the biggest truth of all this. I still do not have this figured out. I will probably never have it all figured out. I will succeed and fail at vulnerability, and in life, again and again and again. The point it not to actually figure it out but to make the choice to go on that journey, to be broken and put back together. So I am trying, and stumbling, and trying again. And even when I fall into my old patterns, and cycle through the same loops, I just remember that it’s not about the loop, it’s about how much more quickly I can get out of it. And every time I make that choice, as hard as it can be in the moment, I always look back and feel better, stronger, and more alive than I ever did before.

[box] “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” — Theodore Roosevelt [/box]

If you’re interested in reading more about these ideas, I strongly encourage you to go read all the Pema Chödrön you can get your hands on (apparently the Buddhists have had this vulnerability thing figured out for over 2,000 years) and watch Brené’s other TED Talk, about listening to shame. Brené has also written several books that I have yet to read but are waiting for me on my bookshelf. Or just go watch Love Actually.

Photo by Remi Coin

Photo by Remi Coin

We Don’t Know: Is Love a Choice?

In the description of Martin Ingle’s video, You don’t fall in love, you jump., he admits, “I do my best at trying to explain this. But I really have no idea (don’t tell anyone.)” We feel the same way, we don’t know. So we want to hear from you: do you think love is a choice?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLZ_YiWngXw&w=560&h=315]

Martin argues that love is not something you feel, it is something you do.  That real love is not the fiery passion but the “slow burning embers” and that we must choose to make the effort, to do the work, that keeps those embers burning. That love is not something you know, but something that you are figuring out. An action, not an emotion. Love is a battlefield where fear meets choice. It is not a destination. It is the burn in your muscles after you’ve been swimming up stream.

What do you think?

Photo by Michelle White