fat as a feeling: why it's important to listen to fat talk

 Most folks know that I am a proponent of not letting friends diss their bodies (at least not in front of me). Sure, we all do it occasionally, but to critique your bod in a negative way in front of a group of women you love and have none of them speak up constructively is a crime to me. The typical response to a bodily complaint ("My calves are disgusting!") is to retort in kind ("Are you kidding? My thighs are monstrous!") or to dismiss the other person's concerns ("Shut up, your calves are lovely and strong."). And I've definitely done both of these, but I appreciate lately another approach: actually hearing their concerns and addressing them.

 Now, this doesn't mean that you have to indulge them in their bodily insecurities ("Yeah, your calves are pretty nasty."), since to do so would make you both an asshole and a bad friend. But rarely does someone merely complain about their body merely to get their feelings off their chest about their supposedly heinous attributes. It generally comes from a place of anxiety that is displaced onto their body, particularly in eating disordered individuals or people with disordered eating, but frankly in all women as well.

I was reading Purge by Nicole Johns for the first time (warning: VERY triggering) recently and underlined the crap out of this passage:

"To be more precise, fat is a combination of feelings and experiences. It is a complex feeling, a collection of simple feelings bound together. I notice my body more when I am in an uncomfortable situation, when I am emotionally overstimulated or fearful. By focusing on my body at the precise moment when I am so emotionally uncomfortable, I am deflecting the uncomfortable emotions onto something tangible—my body. When I say I’m feeling fat, I am eluding my feelings; it is a defense mechanism."

 Saying that you feel fat is rarely, if ever, about actually having gained weight. Perhaps that might be a factor too, but usually it's fueled by anxiety about what to do with the next step in life, or feeling insecure in a sexual relationships, or afraid of changes. I'm not at all surprised that my eating disorder made a resurgence in my junior year of college, when I was going through a shift in my relationship and trying to figure out what to do with my life and generally feeling pretty lost. But all of those emotions were deflected and labeled simply: fat. Fat can be controlled, and sometimes it feels that emotions can't. Which is simply untrue! It's a skill that has to be learned, but it absolutely can be.

So just don't tell your friends with body woes to STFU: dig a little deeper, ask some questions about what's going on in other areas of their life, and get to the bottom of their fat feelings. I bet it'll be more therapeutic for everyone.

What do you think? Ever find yourself doing this yourself?

Much love,

The Sheriff

friday links

The differences in dating/courtship between New Zealand and Sweden. Interesting!

But Mom, what if I don't wanna get married?

Parents keep child's gender under wraps. Interesting, but I'm not sure I agree entirely with their approach (that's a big burden to put on a child...but so are gender norms. Blargh). 

You've probably seen this video, as it's been making the rounds on FB but this chick gives some legitimate criticism of Beyonce's latest single (though I do love my some B). 

A different POV: why didn't I ever get married?

Conservatives declare victory over abortion: this kinda makes me want to puke. At least they feel defeated with all the homo rights.

Cringe! Dove body wash ad with unintentional (I hope!) racism. Eesh.

Oddly, I was watching the View during Gaga's interview (one of my Mama's customers had it on) and agree 100% with the statement that Gaga doesn't really have much to say anymore.

Much love,
The Sheriff

sexting and the modern woman

not from my iPhone, for the record, as I do not have one.

 As I enter into this sort of quasi-single undefined stage of my romantic life, I am shocked by how common sexting really is. It's not just limited to high schoolers, though that brings up interesting legal questions in its own right (in some states, even sending pictures of yourself to someone else is illegal if you're under 18!). EVERYBODY does it, it feels like. These damn whippersnappers, I tell ya. It varies from just verbal descriptions of scenarios to pictures of boners (for the record, listen up men: a penis in isolation is rarely sexy, at least to most of the females I know. Word to the wise).

And while I am certainly not a prude and have been known to very much enjoy sending some sexually explicit texts and even quasi-nude photos to serious significant others, this trend does sort of baffle me. To send a naked photo (even one without your face in it), to a person you barely know? Especially when it is practically demanded of you by a near stranger you met at a bar (which it often is, in my totally anecdotal research of asking my friends about this very important social issue)? But is it really that different from one night stands, where you get naked with a near stranger?

I say YES since with a fling, the image of your hot nude bod might be seared into their memory forever, but it's not saved on their laptop or phone with the potential to be sent and spread all over the tech-linked universe. Technology really adds a whole new dimension to sex and relationships. Obviously, it's great for a lil flirtation and communication, but it's got some issues too. It encourages this false sense of intimacy, reading things on their Facebook that you have in common ("Oh my god, she likes Nas too?!") and texting without much face-to-face interaction which is, after all, where most of the magic (sexual or romantic) happens. And ya know, the insistence on sending naked photos is a little off-putting too.

Where do you stand in this important debate? Is it dangerous, stupid, silly, hot, fun, none of the above?

Much love,
The Sheriff

undefined relationships: evidently not just a college thang

The cliched Facebook status of "It's Complicated" is almost too silly to be taken seriously...but on a personal level, that's kinda where I'm at. Entering into the Real World, with a long-distance relationship has prompted Meatball and I into talks of what we are/should be in this new phase of our lives, leaving us on a break, yet not broken up. Huh? Right. There's a shit ton of doubts and fears aroused by this undefined status, that's for damn sure.

Undefined relationships are a college staple, probably because people rely so much on hookups as a means of getting acquainted and are often reluctant to given up their freedoms at such a young age and time when the expectation and college kid stereotype is that you'll probably get busy with lots of different folks on the regular (or at least want to).

But the cap and gown clearly don't change much since at least for me, this title is continuing to persist into the Real World. And it does indeed complicate things to step into an undefined space: how much can you expect of someone without a title? Will you call them to cry if your period is late, or keep it to just your friends? Can you demand emotional support, or is it limited to just fun times and making you moan? Are they the only one who will make you moan, or is it more open (USE BARRIER METHODS NO MATTER WHAT PEOPLE)? It's enough to send ya crawling back to defined, safe monogamy.

But that's precisely why open and honest communication is so important to having successful relationship of any kind, but especially with an undefined bedroom buddy. Even if it's uncomfortable, hashing out the above questions can prevent a lot of misunderstandings and hurt feelings. And having that stuff sussed out is a win-win because then you can relax and enjoy the moaning without questioning what it means, how often you can text the before it's clingy, and whether or not you should buy them a birthday present.

Call me a control freak, but I think defining the undefined at least a little bit makes it more enjoyable!

But what say you? Ever had one of these "what are we?" scenarios?

Much love,
The Sheriff

links

Slutwalking rooted in riotgrrrl 'tude. LOVE this article.

Porn star selling a book...nothing new, right? Except for the pube included. TWIST!
Dear 16 year old me: use some damn sunscreen.

The COO of Facebook had some fantastic words for the graduates of Barnard in her commencement speech. Awesome stuff.

Barnes and Noble censor image of androgynous model to avoid gender confusion--BOO.

Shouldn't yoga be for every body? Seriously.

Aaaaand a cat video. Enjoy.

Much love,

The Sheriff

graduation: some reflections

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 Yesterday, Sunday the 15th marked the class of 2011's exit from Smith College. Like most graduates, I've got some seriously mixed feelings about this whole college-is-over-forever-GTFO business. I bawled at least once a day for most of senior week leading up to it for a variety of reasons, ranging from sadness to excitement to just being too tipsy. But mostly it's been a sense of pride.

I'm the first in my family to go to college, and you bet your ass that's a huge deal. My mama cried on the phone every time we talked about my graduating for months before the day itself, blubbering over and over how proud she was of me for making it. The fact that I spent many nights and weekends working three part-time jobs to pay my tuition only adds to that immense pride.

But it's also a pride of being part of such an incredible community of people. Yes, there have definitely been times over the last four years where I have gazed at the hipsters smoking and crowding the doorsteps of academic buildings, or when I have sighed at yet another awkward party with bad music, or when I've gone several nights in a row on meager sleep when I resented Smith, couldn't wait to not write another paper, was psyched to live somewhere with real nightlife. I can't count how many days and nights I cursed the awful (and I mean fuckin AWFUL) New England weather.

And yet.

Smith has been an amazing place to spend four years. It's taught me to accept criticism, to challenge myself, to work harder than I ever imagined for myself instead of the approval of others. I've learned to be more eloquent in my speech and mannerisms, but also to accept and be confident in my less-than-academic expressions and use of profanity. I beat my eating disorder here. I started this here lil ol' blog. I made Dean's List four years (okay, I'ma brag a little. Get over it). I learned to be compassionate and really listen to others, even when they were drunk and I held their hair or their hand while they cried.

And that's just me! Imagine what the other 600 or so members of the class of 2011 have been up to, and all that we've got yet to do. I am so impressed by my classmates, every single day, and am honestly honored to be part of such a group. It's cheesy and cliche, but we really are just on the doorsteps of the rest of our lives and our potential, and I can't wait to see what doors Smith unlocks for all of us. Sure, the first few years might be mediocre jobs before we find our promised lives of distinction, but we'll get there. The Sheriff, for one, is damn sure of it.

Congratulations to graduates everywhere! Pop a bottle for me.

Much love,
The Sheriff

When given the choice between fame and glory, take glory. Glory has a way of sneaking up on fame and stealing its lunch money later anyway. Life might very well be long, keep your eye on the horizon and live in a way that you will be proud of. You will sleep more. You'll be a better partner. You'll be a better mom. You'll be a better friend. You'll be a better boss, and you will not have to remember any complicated lies to brag about at the old age home because you can brag about the truth of your well-lived life. --Rachel Maddow, Smith College Commencement 2010

friday links

I had a nice lovely list of links for ya'll this weekend...but Blogger ate it!

So here's the short batch that I scrounged up.

Is semen really an antidepressant?

For all my soon-to-be-grads: how to become a grown-up. GULP.

A workout that can truly build better body image? Hell yeah.

Why I hate my giant penis. Funny and well-written!

Much love,
The Sheriff

body commentary

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Today's post isn't about cat-calling (I've written about that quite a bit, but good Lord, they constantly come up with new disgusting outrageous shit to yell out their cars), but a different sort of bodily-attention that's been on my radar lately.

If you're any extreme of the spectrum (short/tall/large of boob/pale/insert adjective here), you've probably had someone come up to you in almost disbelief and exclaim "Wow! You're really tall (or short or whatever)," a phrase I can admit to exclaiming. But it gets a little more personal when it's something like "Look at you, so perky!" as an elderly lady said to me last week in the locker room while I was changing. I didn't know her, we weren't talking, but she found it perfectly appropriate to make commentary on my body. I and many large-chested friends have had many folks tell us "Your boobs are big!" as if this is supposed to be a revelation. Wait, really? They're large? THAT'S why my sports bras are so uncomfortable and I can't wear strapless dresses without looking trashy-trash. Thank god you were here to relate that to me! I'm free at last.

But sometimes, these words are intended to be complimentary. Despite my vulnerable position of being butt-ass naked, the elderly lady meant no harm and posed no threat to me in her words: surely she meant them to be nice and maybe I even reminded her of her once perky self too. Still and all, she had no right to comment like that on my naked body, pleasantly or no. The Albright Sex Fairies are well-known for our lavish compliments to each other where we gush about how lovely/gorgeous/sexy we are for our various physical attributes.

But does this kind of commentary just encourage envy and jealousy? Is it just harmless, if occasionally stupid and uncomfortable to hear? I think it's a careful line to walk, especially because the glow from a good compliment can last for days. However, it also reinforces the idea that external validation from friends, family, and strangers is more important than how you feel about your body, mind, and soul, and I don't like that.

What say you?

Much love,
The Sheriff

little girls and body image: maybe not as bleak as it seems

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There's a lot of panic (much of it well-deserved) about little girls and body image. How affected are they by images of celebrities photoshopped, perfected, scrutinized bodies? What about all of the princess-obsession and merchandise from Disney? How about the ever-early over-sexualization of young girl's bodies? All plenty of fodder for a bleak outlook on the future for these girls, and as someone with a six-year-old niece, it worries me sometimes.

But occasionally, there's a little sign of hope, that maybe all these girls will turn out okay (hey, and maybe even like their bodies along the way!) anyway.

Yesterday, I went to Six Flags (for ten bucks! Hell yeah!) as part of a Smith senior week trip. Like the little kids we are at heart, the Librarian, Lady Lola and I went on the superhero themed swings after a string of roller coasters. A girl of about six or seven was sitting in front of us, and the Librarian told her how nice her pink cape looked and we chatted for a bit about it. Quite the gregarious cute little kid.

I turned to L and L and noted that it seemed kinda ridiculous for the Batgirl painting on the swings to have a four-pack AND huge boobs and we all agreed that it was absurd, talking about the evolution of both male and female comic book characters into these incredibly ripped freaks instead of the moderately in shape individuals they started as in the 20s and 30s.

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The little girl turned to me and said, "I didn't know girls had abs." I froze for a second. This is a teaching moment! I need to say the right thing or I could fuck up this kid with one errant comment! I said that some girls do, some girls don't, and that you don't need to have them. She nodded, paused for a moment, and said, "Yeah, I think they're weird." SIGH of relief from the Sheriff, and I said I thought they looked odd on Batgirl too (calmly, even though I wanted to give her a hug).


Despite giving me a mini-panic attack, this conversation made me assured of quite a few things. Number one, little girls definitely notice the images around them and the things that older women seem concerned with. Number two, they also have their own thoughts and perceptions, even from an early age, and when those thoughts and perceptions and ideas diverge from the beauty norm, we should gently encourage them, without being overwhelming (and hanging children we don't know).

Do you have any little girls in your life you worry about? When do you first recall being aware of beauty expectations?

Much love,
The Sheriff

friday links

Guess which college is one of the most economically diverse? Yup, it's Smith!

I want to be Dr. Ruth: ride your partner! 

This infographic about size differences across different size 8s is crazy. Solid proof that this crap is bogus.

More of size-related drama in this NYT article.

A divisive issue in college: Are you a Mac or PC person? Based on description, I'd be Mac but I'm too cheap to really buy one.

Women surpass men in advanced degrees! YAY achievement!

One week's worth of food according to various cultures. Makes me feel incredibly blessed.

Much love,
 The Sheriff

sex education

One thing that college has made me vividly aware of is how much high school education varies across this country and internationally. It's especially fascinating to take a look at sex education, and see where we're really failing our youth by not properly teaching them about their bodies, the risks, and the joys of boning, or equipping them with the skills to explain what they do and don't want sexually (or otherwise, for that matter. A look at any high school yearbook shows how lost people are, generally evident in ridiculous fashion choices about being "different" and "edgy" and showing how "unique" they are...not that I did any of that).

I'm sure it won't shock you that I think comprehensive sex education, starting in middle school, is the least that we owe teens navigating their hormone-flooded schooling years. Of course, the internet is helpful these days if you have a question about any kind of sex under the sun (Scarleteen is a particularly great resource), but there is also particularly terrible information on the internet and just plain untrue things. But I think our schools already have the platform, audience, and space to distribute this info to kids and get it right, so why not?

In considering this, I was really curious about the various messages my friends received in sex ed in school, and thought it would be interesting to just put some of them up.

Young Sheriff went to a pretty rural and small public high school in southeastern PA, and did not get any sex education until junior year. Yep, 11th grade, which is really silly when you think about the fact that a high school junior is 16 or 17, and the average American teen loses their virginity between ages 15 and 16. I don't even recall learning about the body parts because until 11th grade, health was all about JUST SAY NO TO DRUGS.

My health teacher was a great guy, but he also was misinformed about a lot of things: we got into an argument once because he told everyone that Plan B was the abortion pill, and I tried to correct him but he shot me down, even after I looked it up and went to the pharmacy to get information. We spent one class period (90 minutes) on birth control, and at least three on STIs. He also gave us a metaphor of sex being like chocolate: you could be with a Godiva (delicious), a Hershey's bar (pretty satisfactory), or one of those gross chocolate coins (eh, but hey, it's still chocolate!). But if you only have sex with one person and wait until marriage, you'll always think they're Godiva and why bother exploring with anyone else? This made no sense to Young Sheriff, obviously.

The Librarian told me that her school (also a public in southeastern PA, though decidedly more...money) brought in a woman who was pro-abstinence to talk to them about sex. She constructed the metaphor that hookups and casual sex take your self-esteem and crash it on the rocks repeatedly, and it is only by holding out that we can build self-esteem.

Wick went to a pretty rural and small public school in western Massachusetts and got abstinence-only education. I'm continually shocked that in a state as liberal as MA that abstinence-only is the standard, but she recalls some conversations that strayed from the "don't-give-it-up-till-you've-been-down-the-aisle" line.

Sunshine went to a private, co-ed Catholic school in California. In high school, they did separate the girls and boys for what she thought might finally The Talk, at least about menstruation. While she never found out what they talked to the boys about, they talked to the girls about engagement. What? Yes. They discussed how long an engagement should be, the qualities a diamond should have, when it is appropriate to get engaged...you know, all vital information about sex and sexuality.

I'm so curious to hear other people's experiences with this--did they give out condoms in your school? When did you start sex ed? Any ridiculous metaphors to share?

Much love,
The Sheriff

booze and banging: how do we navigate consent?

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A weekend at any campus other than Smith reveals the deep and enduring bonds between college weekends of stressed students eager for release, sex, and alcohol. Our rules for boozin' it are fairly restrictive but most people respect them or break them discreetly enough that it's a non-issue (and as a Head Resident, I sincerely appreciate that...keep on keepin' on, sneaky drinkers). Of course, our campus is largely composed of women who were far too nerdy to do much drinking in high school and so learn their limits here (Sheriff included), so these rules do keep it relatively safe, especially for n00bs.

Other campuses are decidedly not like this. I visited Bard College this weekend to see my best friend during Bard's bacchanalian spring fling. It was a blast, but also a little unnerving, watching ambulances cart multiple people off. And of course, lots of people wandering off for more private locations, which got me thinking about booze/substances, consent, and sex.

General Lee has written about this topic before, and he makes a lot of great recommendations about how to be sure you're doin' it and hooking up with intentionality and consent. But boozey encounters are so ingrained in college (and from my limited glimpses so far, the Real World is full of alcohol-fueled sex too), I figured it was worth looking at again.

Obviously, no one who is obliterated can give consent. This hardly needs to be stated, and my deep hope is that only an absolutely tiny minuscule percentage of any population would think that someone who has been vomiting or can barely stand is in any shape to decide if they want to have sex. But what of the less fucked-up among us> It's unrealistic to think if your intended object of lust (or yourself) has had two drinks that you shouldn't go for it, simply because that's how the majority of the college-age demographic spends their weekends (except for perhaps the cape girls here at Smith. Wanna seduce them? You're on your own. I have no advice for that realm). Even better is the fact that alcohol makes you bolder: it's easier to act on the gut instinct and go for it, to say what you want without censorship after a shot or two. The alcohol-fueled mingling of warm bodies feels really incredible, and it's fun when it's done within reasonable range of drunkeness.

Except that often, it's not. I've had my fair share of sex I barely remember (damn my small stature of love of whiskey!) and even when I know it was consensual, it still feels bad the next day to have banged and not be able to recall the details. It feels weird. Maybe even dirty. And for many men and women, being tipsy is all they need to forget to use protection, to get swept up in the sloppy passion, and BAM you've got a STI or a pregnancy scare on your hands. College is notorious for the morning after regret vibe, which while I've yet to fully experience, is a pretty common Smith phenomenon thanks to Smith Goggles (a condition under which straight women here take the first hetero man to cross their path for want of other options. Ladies, you can do so much better than that gangly freshman from UMass!). Worse yet is perhaps that you're not entirely sure the other person wanted what occurred between you: as General Lee put it, nothing is less sexy than rape, and alcohol consumption by either party fuels the possibility of assault, a fact that is unfortunate given its benefits.

So all my ladies (and men) drinking and banging: be aware. Count your drinks. Count your hookup partner's drinks too. And don't be afraid to postpone the pleasure if you think either of you is too drunk to give consent or find it enjoyable. I promise, the sex will be way better that way! Consent and agency are hot.

Have you ever had a booze-fueled hookup? Or a night you regretted later? Talk to me.

Much love,
The Sheriff