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Brainfood

Leaving Islam

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Growing up, religion was never something I questioned. When my mother told me I was Muslim, because she and my father were Muslim, I didn’t question it. I told everyone that I was Muslim without hesitation.  This usually meant the other kids thought I was the weird kid who couldn’t eat bacon. What being Muslim meant to me, however, was doing everything in my power to prevent going to hell. My parents very effectively and efficiently instilled the fear of God in me: I said a prayer before meals, after eating, every night before bed… I never dared to think of religion as a choice; it was simply what I was born into.

Then I hit high school and the angsty teenager in me started questioning my parents. I became that stereotypical punk kid with the stereotypical rebellious attitude. I disobeyed my parents, stayed out late, and listened to loud music about how The Man was keeping me down. My religion, however, was still unquestioned until senior year of high school and—like many life-changing stories—it involved a girl. I’d had a crush on this girl all year, and we had just started dating, I was excited to bring her home and introduce her to my family so one day after school I invited her over to play some video games in my room. About five minutes after we started playing Rock Band my mother called me into the living room and asked why there was a girl in my room. When I told her about my new girlfriend she was furious. While my girlfriend was waiting for me in my room my mother proceeded to shout at me in Arabic about how she had raised a sinner and how I was forsaking God.  I’d had a crush on this girl for the better part of a year because of what a genuinely good person she was and my mom completely denounced her without even meeting her. This was the first moment I started questioning my parents about religion. My whole life I had been told never to judge anyone and here she was shouting at me about my girlfriend’s terrible character based completely on her gender. It all seemed extremely hypocritical to me at the time and that made me reflect on all of the other ideas I’d been taught about religion.

I was conflicted for a couple of weeks. I didn’t understand how dating someone was such a crime against the creator of the entire universe. Then, after those weeks of thought, I decided that I was going to do something absolutely crazy. One day I went to school like I always did, but when lunch time rolled around, I walked to the cafeteria and ordered the one classic school lunch that I was never able to try: I ordered a slice of pepperoni pizza. In a single decisive moment, I took a bite into this pizza topped with sin and I waited for God to smite me.

But the smiting never happened. That was the day that I stopped being Muslim. It was the best pepperoni pizza that I have ever had.

I may have stopped being a Muslim that day, but my religious journey was far from an end. For a couple of years after that moment, I identified as an atheist with a staunch disbelief in God. I was basically a jerk to every religious person I met. I thought I had it all figured out. Of course I didn’t, and I still don’t, but that didn’t stop me from sitting on an anti-religious high horse. I still haven’t been able to tell my parents about my absence of religion.  But religion, or the lack of it, became a consuming part of my thought process—probably because I was still coping with an ingrained part of my life coming to an abrupt halt—and I, for some reason, decided I should tell everyone else what they should think.

Eventually, however, I grew out of that as well. I realized that I have no right to force my beliefs onto anyone the same way my parents did on me.

These days, I don’t even identify as an atheist. In fact, I don’t really identify as anything. I’ve had a long transformation on the path to my current (non)belief system, and my ideology will probably keep changing as that path continues. After 23 years of life, the only thing I’ve learned about religion is that I don’t know anything about it. For all I know Zeus and all of his godly acquaintances are sitting in Olympus and using the human race for their amusement.

The only thing of which I can be certain when it comes to religion is that I will never know anything, and at this moment, that feels kind of enlightening.

Sex

Me and My Strap-On

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I wasn’t born with my dick. In fact, it took me about three years, lots of money, and a lot of emotional baggage to get it. Now I have it, and I love it, and as I write this, it’s sitting happily on my nightstand: my own phallic muse.

As a budding bisexual at 18, I thought I had done my research on my new queer world. Really, I was just starting to learn about the infinite possible ways to describe myself. I picked up fun words like “queer,” “transgender,” “genderqueer,” “femme,” “butch,” and all sorts of different definitions that people give them. My partner at the time was female-bodied and male-minded, so a lot of my first sexual experiences focused on how to make her dick real for both of us. It was actually really easy. Pretty much anything we wanted could become her dick, given the right mindset. Being incredibly broke lent itself to great ingenuity on both our parts: fingers, cucumbers, even double-bagged rice-stuffed condoms became the dick-fantasy part of our play. (It should be noted that much of this ingenuity stemmed from my then-partner’s punk-DIY attitude, and although it is possible to make a strap-on harness out of bike tires, I would not recommend it.) It wasn’t until we broke up and I delved into an exploration of my new self outside of this relationship that I found some really important literature.

By literature, I obviously mean smut. Smut that triggered all of the internal stuff I’d been deliberately ignoring since I was six years old. After years of playing with trans-masculine folks and helping other people realize that their non-biological dicks were real and felt good and could induce orgasm, I read a smutty story and realized…. I wanted a dick. I get mentally sucked into stories easily, and this one felt so natural that it freaked me out. The characters in the story switched genders halfway through: the Big Bad Daddy became submissive, and the Femme Bottom became the Bad Boy topping. I went right along with that switch: I was the Femme Bottom who started topping halfway through the scene, her dick pumping in and out of her partner’s ass. I wanted to feel my dick during sex. Part of me really was that boy that I’d been ignoring for so long. I promptly freaked out, started crying, and put the book away, as one does when one is closeted from oneself.

Here’s the thing: strap-ons can be a pretty complicated issue, especially in the world of queer women. Some people are strongly in the camp of no-penetration; some people like it but would never in a million years want anything that looks remotely realistic; some people will only strap on if it is realistic. Not everyone who straps on is genderqueer, but it’s been consistent in my experience that if a female-bodied person is in the genderqueer (GQ) realm—that is, not strictly identifying as female—they are more likely to want or have a realistic-looking dildo. And everyone I had seen who identified as GQ had been masculine-presenting. So I was freaking out because I didn’t meet that idea of what I thought “genderqueer” was supposed to look like. But I was genderqueer. I knew I was because of how scared I felt to tell anyone. I look like a girl. I call myself femme. How could I come out as genderqueer? No one would believe me.

I felt ridiculous. Here I was, one of the most active queer students on my college campus, having defended time and time again people’s right to express who they are with whatever word fits for them, and I was scared to tell my best friends that I was genderqueer. I felt like a hypocrite: all that talk of being myself and living my truth, ffttt—gone. It took a little while, and some reading, and some emailing with the author of that smutty story, for me to come out to my friends, but eventually I did. It got easier each time, but I was still nervous about incorporating this part of me into sex.

As I got more comfortable with my identity, I started to think about getting my own strap. I’d strapped on with other people’s harnesses before, at their request, but this was the first time I was thinking of getting one for me. I was nervous. I’ve gone shopping for harnesses a few times now and, every time, I get embarrassed. I always walk in and head straight for the vibrators; for some reason, I’m much more comfortable around vibrators. After a little while, with much hand-holding from my designated support person, I walk over to the harnesses. Then, only after much staring and hand-holding, do I go to the desk and ask the staff for help.

Here’s some of what I learned during the search for my perfect strap:

  • Which material? Harnesses typically come in leather, but there are also fabric and rubber ones out there. Many times, the fabric and rubber ones are advertised as “vegan.” Fabric’s easier to clean, and sometimes the metal on the leather ones rusts after several uses.
  • Briefs, one strap, or two? Briefs come in your standard XS-S-M-L-XL, but they might stretch out a little depending on how much you sweat during sex and how often you use it. One strap means that the harness fits like a thong; two means it fits more like a jock strap. With one strap and brief styles, there’s limited access to the goodies underneath. Two straps opens up access to the goodies, and they tend to be more adjustable, but they don’t always have as much control.
  • Dildo: Realistic or not? For me, obviously, I wanted the realistic one, but some people like sparkly better. Texture is another big consideration: there’s more variation in non-realistic dildos, and the materials tend to be easier to clean than imitation-skin.
  • Material? Most dildos designed for strapping on are silicone, because it holds its shape under a variety of stressors, but other materials are available. “Dual-density silicone” is also out there, which means the inner core is hard and the outer layer is a little squishier, so it keeps its shape, but it’s not as hard going in. Anything silicone can be cleaned by boiling or with warm water and a sex toy cleaner, but the tricky part about imitation-skin is that everything sticks to it (pet hair, dust, etc.).  Elastomers and “gellies” are tricky that same way, but if you boil them, they’ll disintegrate. Unfortunately, because these materials are more porous, any cleaner will stay on them as well, so always use a condom with these ones. (Using condoms over any dildo will extend the life of the toy, too, so that’s just good practice.)
  • Lube? Choosing the right lube depends on the material of the dildo and in which bodily orifice you’ll be playing (i.e. silicone-based lube should not be used directly on silicone toys because it will disintegrate them, and only water-based lubes should be used with vaginas). Ask the staff for help if you’re uncertain. Dildos tend to dry up lube a lot faster than flesh-dicks do, so make sure you have some handy.
  • Dimensions? Choosing the girth is more important than the length, because you can control how much goes in, but if it’s too wide, it won’t fit at all.
  • O-rings? O-rings are the rings that hold the dildo in place. In most one- or two-strapped harnesses, the ring snaps on and you can change it out easily, which is nice if you have more than one dildo you want to use. O-rings for briefs are not easily changed out, but they are pretty flexible and can accommodate several sizes.

For beginners:

  • Start with one of the cheaper styles of harness and dildo so you don’t spend inordinate amounts of money only to find out you’re rather have another style.
  • Go to sex-positive stores, like Good Vibrations or Babeland, where the staff understands that sexy things can be embarrassing sometimes. Friendly and nonjudgmental staff went a long way to helping me feel comfortable when shopping for my still-slightly-closeted intimates.
  • Ask to try on whatever harness you’re considering in the store (over your clothes!) so you don’t go home with the wrong size. But not every store will let you, so know your hip, butt and thigh measurements before you go in.
  • You can buy harnesses online, but you won’t get a feel for the material, which can be important since it will be rubbing on sensitive skin, even when worn over undies. I suggest finding one in-store and looking for the same brand online to save your pockets from too bad a burn—straps can get expensive fast.
  • Jump-start your search:
    • Briefs: Rode-oh (for those with smaller hips) or Tomboi (for those with curvy hips)
    • One-strap: Simply Sexy
    • Two-strap: Malibu Terra Firma
    • Dicks: Silk (3 sizes, smooth), Mistress (smooth), Cadet (realistic silicone) and Mustang (realistic VixSkin)
    • Remember: searching for the name of your preferred dick or harness with “sale” and checking out online warehouses will also likely save you a couple bucks!

Ultimately, coming out as genderqueer has done wonders for my sex life. I was actually able to be upfront when I started dating the person who is currently my partner, which worked out even better than I expected because she turned out to be GQ, too! Sex with her sometimes feels like that movie Zerophilia (the main character switches sexes every time they come). I’ve gone through two harnesses and I’ve found the dick that fits me perfectly. It’s amazing how much better everything gets when I’m actually honest about who I am and what I want.

If a strap is what you want, I encourage you to strap on and enjoy the ride!

Photo by Sara Slattery

Photo by Sara Slattery

Sex

We Don’t Know: Communicating Below the Belt

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There’s probably no feeling in the world more powerful than knowing you’re wanted, especially by somebody you want in return. That feeling in and of itself can serve as a pretty magical aphrodisiac. What you want is sexy, and what you’re going to get is sexy. Even if the first time you sleep with someone you really like isn’t that great, it still feels great because you were with a person you really wanted to be with. Hormones do all the dirty work. That’s just science. Sexy, sexy science.

But what about the next time you do the deed? What about six months down the line? Or heck, six years? We typically give our new paramours a mulligan if they don’t deliver the Cosmopolitan-front-page mindblowing orgasm we’re craving the first time around… But everyone reaches a point at which they absolutely must speak up. Your partner isn’t a mind-reader, even if they’ve gotten to know you insanely well in every other department. If there’s something you like better than other things, or if there’s something you really do not like at all—you need to use your words!

Ugh, but that’s the worst, isn’t it? That feeling of “Oh my God, if I ask her to do this thing, will she think I’m some kind of pervert?” or “If I tell him I don’t want to do it in that position anymore, will he be unable to have an orgasm? Am I ruining sex for him?” This kind of self-doubt can send anybody’s sexual confidence into a tailspin. And we all do it.

But here’s the surprising thing: you know that powerful feeling of being wanted by someone? There’s also that powerful feeling when you ask for something and you receive it. What a high that is! And what about when someone asks you to do something? Isn’t it sexy when a person knows what they want? Confidence is the most underrated turn-on in the history of mankind. Forget all the weird little things people focus on: sexy lingerie, gorgeous makeup, a body that’s a walking replica of Michael Phelps. In the end, if Michael Phelps’ twin can’t ask for what he wants in bed and autopilots through his sexcapades, he will be far, far less admirable than the regular Joe who worked up the nerve to ask his girlfriend for something kinky.

It can be scary to communicate and tell someone what you want in bed, whether it’s a confession about a secret fetish or even the simple “less that, more this.” But if you stay silent, your sex life (and as a result, your relationship or potential relationship) might never fire on all cylinders. Think of all that wasted potential! That’s no way to go through life, for either party. So find a way to say what you need to say, whether it’s in the heat of the moment or in a totally mundane setting. Whatever’s easiest for you, as long as you’re able to get brave and use your words. And who knows? You might learn some very interesting things about their desires as well, leading to better sex for everyone involved. Everyone wins, big time.

Readers, what are some awesome ways that people can learn to be more open with their partners? What has your experience been?

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Sex

Nobody’s Perfect, Neither Is Sex!

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My boyfriend and I have been together for a year and a half. That is long enough for the flames of passion to turn into a mere flicker without a bit of effort. Nothing kills a good boner (of the lady or manly variety) quicker than pressure, self-consciousness, or criticism. The key to keeping sex hot while in relationship is to settle into the fact that you’re going to be doing this act with this person many, many, many, many times, so there’s no need to put pressure on any one roll in the hay to be the best in your lives. Instead, it’s about learning each other’s bodies and continually raising the bar.

You’re creating a sexual relationship with your partner and, like all relationships, it will require communication and a little effort to stay healthy and vibrant. The most toe-curling orgasms aren’t planned out: they sneak up on you. And like many things in life and nature, they’re ephemeral. Subtle differences in mood, context, and connection make each sexual encounter unique. The best we can do is set up an environment that invites this kind of magic.

Here are a few tips to fire up the action in your bedroom:

Unpack your bags. No matter your gender, if you’re over the age of 20 then it’s likely that you have some skeletons of the emotionally traumatic variety hanging out in your closet. It is helpful to know some things about your partner’s history. When you know what the body you’re touching has been through, you can touch that body in a way that subtly acknowledges those experiences. This can be incredibly healing and is the first step to clearing the slate for the relationship that you’re creating now.

The flip side: Don’t feel like you have to rush through this process! At a year and a half, my boyfriend and I are both still working on certain deeply ingrained beliefs and patterns.  If you’re suppressing a thought or feeling because you’re afraid your partner won’t understand, this is either a sign that you need to build the courage to speak up or a sign that this isn’t the right partner for you.

The male ego can be sensitive. In my experience, men often do not receive criticism in the moment very well. I’ve had more than one partner over the years ask me to please bring things up outside of the bedroom. It is so much easier to discuss the anatomical / mechanical aspects of sex when you’re not in the middle of doing them.

The flip side: Men, make sure your lady feels like she can talk to you. Lady parts are highly sensitive and personal preferences are as unique as finger prints; if you don’t encourage your partner to share these details with you (which may feel nitpicky if your ego is in the way), you’ll never fully understand how her body works.

The female sex drive is (often) a slow boil. Men, I suggest you make peace with this fact now. After the initial hump-like-bunnies phase, many women start to feel sexual urges in sync with their hormonal cycle. We’re horny when we’re most fertile, which is a bit of a catch-22 if you aren’t trying to make a baby. The key is to know how to warm your lady up in the in-between times. She may not want to jump your bones on sight, but if you check in with her there are probably many things you could do to heat things up. A few standard ideas: massage, cuddling, kissing, heavy petting, etc.

The flip side: Ladies, your man may sometimes need a reminder that you want him, really want him. Make sure you slow down and lavish your attention on him some of the time, too. It can help to make sure that you proposition him some of the time. Surprise BJs are another option for making your man feel extra happy.

Put your focus on your partner. When either partner is caught up thinking about their own wants and needs, he or she isn’t fully present. The quickest way to get out of your head? Stop thinking about yourself. Put your attention on pleasing your partner and all of a sudden you’ll feel your body light up, too.

The flip side: Don’t focus so much on your partner that you aren’t enjoying what they’re offering. If one of you habitually leads or follows, one way to shake things up is to switch roles and see what happens with a fresh dynamic.

Revel in the beauty along the way. Don’t rush to the big O. As long as time allows, savor every moment with your partner. Remember what it was like seeing them undress the first few times. Remember what it was like to hold each other naked when it was new. Even if you aren’t in the mood to go down memory lane, there are ways to slow down and savor. I once saw an article in a grocery store lady magazine (probably Cosmo or Glamour) that pointed to all the parts of sex that it’s easy to overlook if you’re focused on orgasm: from the moment of penetration to the pleasurable plateau that precedes orgasm—the more your mentality is about absorbing and enjoying the whole experience from start to finish, the more enjoyable it will be.

The flip side: Quickies can be really hot. ;)

A note about gender in this article: this article is written from the perspective of a cis-gender, heterosexual female, since that’s the only perspective from which I can knowingly write. I find the gender binary is useful here in teasing out the differences created by the hormones men and women have in their bodies. That said, I hope these tips will be relatable to anyone anywhere on the gender spectrum.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Photo by Sara Slattery

Home, Relationships

Lessons From My Mom

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As the only girl and the youngest child, I will admit I was spoiled for a good share of my life.  I looked up to my mother as a child and, in my teens, while most of my girlfriends “hated” or fought with their moms, my mom and I were friends.  Yes, of course we had our fights and tiffs, just like many mothers and daughters, but that is not what stuck out about our relationship.

I was fortunate to learn at such a young age how important a good relationship with my mother was.  Not only do I enjoy doing our one-on-one mother-daughter things, but I have learned so much about life just by watching my mother interact with the world around her. She didn’t just sit me down and talk at me, she showed me. I learned by observing her capability, attitude, and reactions.  I’m not even sure she knows the qualities she has shown me: like her kindness, her work ethic, and putting others first, to name a few. Most people see these in my mother just by talking to her. And while she did pass down to me a few unwanted qualities, such as compulsively re-checking everything is unplugged multiple times before leaving the house, she has passed down an uncountable amount of good qualities that made me the person I am today.

She and my father taught me the importance of a good work ethic. They both worked so hard, and carried multiple jobs, just to give everything they earned to my brothers and me. I look back at my childhood and how I made friends with the kids, who would get picked on, or ones with learning disabilities, or ones from bad homes, because my mother encouraged me to love and appreciate every person. I watched her kindness shine through as I saw how she cared for others above herself. It was her who taught me to love and befriend the unloved and friendless. People can tell you over and over how important these qualities are, but it isn’t until you see them first-hand that you know why they’re so important.

As I grow, my relationship with my mother grows too. When I was younger, I couldn’t exactly appreciate what she had done for me and the rest of our family.  I couldn’t see how special the relationship between my parents was. They showed me what a beautiful relationship looks like and how to keep it strong for over 35 years.  While I am not a mother yet, I’ve learned so many things to prepare me for motherhood and I know what I want my relationship with my daughter to look like. My dad used to work over nights, so my mom had a queen bed all to herself and she would occasionally let me sneak in to have a girls’ sleepover.  As a child it was one of my favorite things, and when I grew up we would still have the occasional girls’ night sleepover together.

When I was a teenager, I thought I knew everything, obviously. I couldn’t have been more wrong and eventually, like (most) of us do, I grew out of that and came to realize that my parents were right about pretty much everything.

The older I get, I earn more respect for my mother and all mothers out there.  I cannot think it is an easy job to take on.  There may be many parenting books on the shelves, but nothing can tell you an exact formula on how to be a perfect mother, or how to make a perfect child.  Often times, we put the blame on our mothers, but for most of us, being the child is the easy part, being the mother is what is difficult.  My mom always trusted me and had faith that I would make good decisions.  My curfew as a teen was usually 1 AM and my mother always said it was because she trusted me and the people I was with.  She treated me with respect because she knew me, and that she and my father instilled in me the qualities I needed to make good decisions.  My friends also grew close to my parents, so close in fact that they would call her mom (or “ma” as we say in New York), and they would confide in her. Not only did she take care of my family and friends, but also the numerous pets I begged and pleaded for—the ones I promised I would look after and clean-up for.

It has become harder now that I live across the country from my parents—I look back on all the things that I didn’t necessarily take for granted, but didn’t realize how important they were to me.  How the simple things are the things I enjoyed the most. Like sitting in the afternoon and having a cup of coffee with my mom while watching House Hunters. Or watching “our shows” together at night.  It’s difficult to no longer have those moments in my life on a regular basis, but it also makes them more precious.  To me the little things in life mean the most and when I sit alone on the couch, across the country, I wish my mom was sitting next to me.

So I raise a glass to all the amazing mothers out there raising and instilling their highest qualities in us and preparing us for children of our own. Who teach us how to make a mean cup of coffee, killer eggplant parm, and amazing meatballs and still always have the recipes on hand for whenever we call to tell them we’ve lost it… again.  It scares me how quickly life seems to pass by, but what I’ve come to learn from both my parents is that no matter what we have thought about family before, it is the most important thing and we have to appreciate it while it’s here.

Photo by Remi Coin

Photo by Remi Coin

Relationships

The Grand in Grandmother

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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. 

Career, Relationships

I Put a Ring on It in a City of Single Ladies

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I moved to Los Angeles about four years ago. In all that time, LA has proved to be a lot of things. Yes, there are a million blonde white girls who look exactly like me (and it seems like they snapped up all the agents already). Yes, there are images of fitness perfection everywhere and people really love the word “cleanse.” Yes, there’s no such thing as winter, to my great dismay. But most of all, people here care about their careers more than any other city I’ve lived in.

Granted, I haven’t lived very many places, and I have no reason to be surprised. Working in entertainment in LA takes a great deal of focus and drive. But I had no idea the level of scrutiny my own life choices would be subject to.

I had long ago decided that the LA lifestyle wasn’t something I would subscribe to completely. I moved down there with a grain of salt and an escape plan in mind. I wasn’t planning on scrabbling for infomercials or paying hundreds of dollars for “Agent-Meet Workshops”; really, my personal goals were to gain experience doing projects I was interested in and expanding my acting horizons. Because of this level of detachment, I hadn’t thought that the attitude of Los Angeles toward marriage would be any different than that of the rest of the country, where 20-something-year-old women are subject to the questions of their older counterparts: “Who are you dating? When will you settle down? When will you be married?” So, when I became engaged at 23 and set the wedding date for after I turned 25, I didn’t consider it unusual at all and was excited to wear a beautiful ring that would scream the happy news for me without me even having to open my mouth.

But man, the reactions I got! People acted as if I had decided to become a nun. Or join a cult. The ring on my finger became an instant magnet for attention, and not all of it was good.

Let me clarify: those who have known me for a while, and who know my fiancé, or are at least good enough friends with me that they feel as if they know him, didn’t have any comments to offer except “I’m so happy for you! It was only a matter of time!” Instead, it’s those who met me more recently, and who noticed the ring, who had less positive things to say. Things like, “Wait….you’re getting married? How old are you? Oh my god, you’re a baby! How do you even know what you want when you’re so young? What about your career? Do you want children right away? Wait…you don’t want to have children right away?!? Why get married so soon then? What about your career? Why are you settling down? What about your career? What’s the rush? For the love of GOD, what about your CAREER?!? THINK ABOUT YOUR CAREER, WOMAN!”

I was completely unprepared for this onslaught of questions. I got them from new coworkers, new acquaintances, and even had other comedians ask me these questions while I was working… a completely unsolicited barrage of opinions and judgment. I tried not to fall in the trap of explaining my life choices to a stranger, but the more I was exposed to it, the harder it got to not be defensive.

The fact was, I had never really thought about what a marriage would do to my career because I never felt the need to weigh “career vs. relationship.” I wasn’t planning on having children for at least five years. I wasn’t planning on being a stay-at-home wife. My fiancé is an encouraging and supportive partner. I had been in a relationship with this man for six years and was still able to pursue a career. Our relationship, and my love for him, has in no way been a detriment to that end. I’ll admit that if there was no one in my life, I would have been more engrossed in my job, but the situation I was in was what I had been looking for all along: a balance in my life, with love, passions, art, family, and career.

The thing that drove me over the edge was that other women were having the exact opposite problem that I was having. Women who were single, whether to concentrate on their jobs or simply because they hadn’t found the right person yet, were being examined and questioned for not doing the exact thing that I was about to do. Ladies just couldn’t win! I was also baffled that—given that there are so many different family structures and relationship choices in this modern age—there is anybody left to be surprised or seemingly personally offended by my somewhat conventional life choices.

Later, I discovered that one of my coworkers who questioned me so relentlessly was actually unsatisfied with her own relationship status. It made me realize that there’s usually more under the surface when people present their judgment, but I still don’t excuse those people. To me, if someone tells you about their relationship or family status, whether it’s “married with children,” “single mother/father,” “dating around (or sleeping around),” “gay,” “bi,” “straight,” or “polyamorous,” it is insufferably rude to respond with anything other than: “Oh, that’s cool.”

The plus side of all of this is that I have learned to gain some perspective on the whole concept of judgment. I realized that no matter what your choices, no matter how “normal” they might seem, someone somewhere is going to judge you for it. I’ve learned to not give a shit. I’ve resolved to become less judgmental myself. If someone goes on about something that someone else is doing and how “weird” it is, I just shrug my shoulders and say, “Well, if it works for them and it’s not hurting anybody…” Even if I’m uncomfortable with something, it doesn’t give me a pass to be a judgey little meanie about it.

Finally, this thought: Many people have many opinions and thoughts on marriage. I can’t speak to anyone else’s experience, but for me, marriage doesn’t mean a one-way ticket to Stepford wife-ness, nor is it the equivalent of a grave. It is not an excuse to stop growing and learning and exploring. The reason I cringe at the term “settling down” is because I never plan to, no matter what my relationship status. When my fiancé becomes my husband, we will both continue to be ever-changing and ever-expanding human beings. The beautiful part is that we choose to pursue that growth and learn those lessons with another person. My life and marriage will be, in the words of J.M. Barrie, “an awfully big adventure.”

Photo by Michelle White

Photo by Michelle White

Relationships

“You’re not my daughter anymore.”

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“You’re not my daughter anymore.”

“Okay.”
“I am not your father.”
“Okay.”
“Do not try to contact me or your grandparents.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe someday we can have a relationship again, but not as father and daughter.”
“Okay.”

I had a wonderful childhood. My brother and I got good grades, played sports, never got in trouble. We were “good kids.” I don’t have many bad memories or scars that I’ve carried with me, that is, until my parents told us they were getting a divorce. We had no idea it was coming. It didn’t seem like my parents were fighting. The way it happened was so matter-of-fact. Two houses, two Christmases, two TVs; two of everything. It sounded fine: we would spend half our time with mom and half with dad, and we were all pretty okay with it. I wish I’d known then how not okay it really was.

After the divorce, my father got more involved at our Episcopalian church.  We had always been religious: my brother and I went to Sunday school; we were in the youth group led by my father. But, when the church allowed female priests and then accepted homosexuals, my father decided we were leaving. We went back to our previous non-denominational fundamentalist church and things at home got more religion focused.  We noticed my dad’s behavior changing but nothing too weird.

My brother and I were now teenagers and I was in high school. Teenagers are moody, teenagers have emotions, they like to ask questions, mostly hard questions. This was not okay with my father. He tried to deal with our “insolence” by having more household rules, more chores, and more “family meetings.”

He started bad-mouthing my mom, telling us that she was a terrible person and that she was evil.  He blamed her for leaving him and claimed she was having an affair with another man. He hated her and now we could see it. (My mom told us later that she had been dealing with this for a long time but had tried not to bring us into it.)

He was so angry; he called social services and claimed my mom was forcing us to get drunk because we were allowed to have wine with dinner despite being under-aged. (But “have wine with dinner” actually only meant special occasions where we could basically have one sip if we wanted.) We were called to the counselor’s office to talk to a Social Worker; which was mortifying. He was furious when nothing came of it, and called the cops. When they explained that responsible alcohol consumption supervised by a parent or guardian in the home is not something the police deal with, my dad tried to make us swear to God we would never drink again. I swore to not drink till I was 21.

Around the same time, my dad had started dating a woman from our church. I’m not going to deny that my brother and I were hostile and not as welcoming as we could have been—she said she wasn’t trying to replace our mother, but it was very hard to not feel guilty doing things with her and not our Mom.

Then, my father proposed. We were not okay with it. Things had already been so tense between all of us in the house, we felt like an addition to the family would only make it worse. When she broke off their engagement, my dad told us it was our fault, that we had not been nice to her. But we had never been mean to her. Looking back though, maybe we were cold and we hadn’t sought out any interaction with her specifically. My dad felt we weren’t trying hard enough. But we thought that their relationship was moving too fast and we were struggling to adjust.

They did eventually get married. And that’s when the rules really took off: my stepmother didn’t work and had sleeping problems so I was grounded for washing the dishes before I left for school because it was too loud. The next week I was grounded for leaving a dirty knife in the kitchen sink in the morning. Our bedroom doors had to remain open at all times, but their door was shut and locked and they rarely interacted with us except at family meetings or scheduled activities. My brother and I had to have our laundry done before we went to our mother’s house, but we couldn’t do laundry together because it was inappropriate for him to see my underclothes.

So my brother and I began leading double lives: trying to be Christian angels in one house and regular kids in another. I tried to be the “good” daughter my father wanted, but his rules kept changing. It seemed no matter how hard I tried to do everything right, I would always make a mistake. This led to curfews and check-in calls and extra Bible study at home as punishment.

Not long after they got married, my father and stepmother started watching an evangelical minister on TV instead of going to church. My brother and I were not comfortable with watching a TV minister, but my father informed us that the hierarchy was: “God, me, your stepmother, you”—since he was closest to God, we had to do what he said. I believed in God, I knew what Christianity was. It was forgiveness and love and sharing the gift of salvation. What my father was living was not Christianity to me.

We started getting depressed. My father was telling us we were sinners, not true Christians, because we kept making mistakes and never seemed to learn. My mom ran as much defense as she could. And she was amazingly supportive; really, we couldn’t wait to go to her house and escape from my dad’s. We could see that what my dad was doing was wrong, but we were “good kids,” and we certainly didn’t want to lose our dad. He loved us after all, and we loved him, so we went along. And, yet, he knew we didn’t really believe the things he believed and it was getting harder and harder to fake it. But I couldn’t find a way to articulate this to him.

My dad and I finally went to a Christian counselor that he had picked.  I let it all out. I told my dad how hurt I was, how he never thought of our side and never considered that maybe we had our own ideas or relationships with God that he wasn’t a part of. I asked him to be more understanding and not take out his anger at my mom on us. The counselor agreed with me. He told my dad to work on being more forgiving and patient with us. My dad was convinced it was a complete waste of time and that the counselor was obviously a quack. We never went to counseling again.

The dysfunction in our relationship finally came to a head at the end of my senior year. I had asked my mom to chaperone my last field trip but it was on a day my dad had custody. The day before the trip, I mentioned that my mom was chaperoning and my dad lost it. He said that this was the “last straw.” He called my mom and made her cancel. He made me ask my teacher if he could go instead. He didn’t care that he had never chaperoned anything before and that it was special to me that my mom chaperone this last one. He accused me of always choosing my mom over him.  He was probably right.

As High School drew to a close, I was accepted into a private college across the country. My dad disapproved of me going to an “expensive” school—really he disapproved of me going to college altogether. He believed I should get married immediately, start having kids and be the perfect Christian wife. I didn’t have everything figured out but I was pretty sure I wasn’t interested in that path. After the chaperoning incident, he told me that I had to move out the day after graduation. I didn’t fight him. I didn’t say anything really. What else was there to say?  I couldn’t handle the confrontation anymore.

My dad and stepmom didn’t come to my high school graduation. My stepmom felt I had betrayed them. The following day, I moved out. They made me leave anything they had ever given me as gifts.

I didn’t see them again until the end of that summer, my dad took my brother and me to the park to say goodbye. He hugged me and wished me well and I cried, unsure about the future. This was the last time I saw my father.

The night before I left for college, he called me. He told me he never should have hugged me when he said goodbye to me. He told me I was not the kind of person he could call his daughter. To this day, a lot of that conversation is fuzzy. I think I was in shock. All I could say was “Okay.” He hung up and I just sat there.

I was sad, I was angry, I felt betrayed, but more than anything, I couldn’t believe that a religion really meant more to him than family. After a few days, I was relieved. I had been living in fear and stress and anxiety for years. Now I was free.

Wouldn’t it be great if the story just ended there, with me feeling free? It doesn’t. The mental abuse stuck with me. I didn’t drink again till I was 21 because I was afraid my dad would find out and then we would never be able to reconcile. In hindsight, I was more damaged than I could admit.

A few years ago, my stepmother sent me an email. She said the hurt had gone on long enough and that she hoped we could put it all behind us. I assume this was due to some sermon that struck a chord. I replied that I agreed and was willing to start over but that since my dad had ended our relationship, I had to hear from him that that was what he wanted.  I never heard back from either of them.

But the wound had been reopened, so I decided that I would take the first step. I wrote my dad an email. I said I was sorry for the way things ended, that we both made mistakes and that I would be willing to start a new relationship.

His response was one sentence: “How have you changed your life so that what happened before will not happen again?”

I deleted the email.

I had—have—regrets. I lost my father. He didn’t see me graduate from college. He didn’t walk me down the aisle when I got married. He won’t meet his future grandchildren. They won’t have a grandfather. I lost half of my family. And I foolishly hoped for a long time that he would see that he had made a mistake.

Two years ago I found out that my grandmother had passed away. I should have found out about my grandmother’s death from my father, I should have had the opportunity to go to her funeral, to mourn her, but I didn’t. Because I didn’t even learn of her death until months after it happened, when, by chance, my now husband Googled her name.

That was what finally sealed it for me. There is no hope for a relationship with my dad. I don’t have delusions anymore. There is only regret left. And pity. I pity the person who does not forgive, the person who cannot love their family because of things they have cherry picked from their religion, the person who lives in fear of change and hates everything that challenges them. I don’t hate him or myself, or anyone involved in the situation. I value the family I have and the family I have gained marrying my husband. Last year, my mom walked me down the aisle and it was perfect.

I hope he is happy somewhere, wherever they live now. I hope my grandfather, if he is still alive, is well cared for. And even though I don’t have any desire to see him again, I hope that my dad forgives my brother and me someday. I have forgiven him.

Photo by Remi Coin

Photo by Remi Coin

Relationships

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

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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.

Relationships

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

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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