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birth, Body, doula, Honesty, Practice

A Year of Birthwork in Review

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January 11, 2018

- birth, Body, doula, Honesty, Practice

In 2016, while meditating on my personal and professional development, and contemplating my desire to be of greater service, the word just kind of popped into my head… “doula.” My heart jumped a bit when I said the word aloud to myself, and I felt a spark jump in my belly. Why it came to me in that moment, I can’t explain, but it stayed with me. I sat with it silently for a week before I even started researching. A month later, I ordered Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth, and registered for my first birth doula training. On January 14th, 2017, I attended my first birth as a doula. It was a beautiful and transformative experience, from which I learned an incredible amount. Most importantly, I learned that birthwork just feels… right for me. Each birth that has followed has been beautiful in new and truly amazing ways, and I am in awe of just how much I can find myself inspired, and also flooded with new information and new questions each time. Every birth reignites the same spark I that felt the first moment the word “doula,” came to me. For the past year I have been relatively quiet about these experiences, but not due to lack of passion. The work and study I have found myself a part of in this past year are just, simply put, sacred. While it is important to me to keep much of what I experience with my clients confidential, I see the value in sharing stories in order to remove the stigma surrounding birth. Many of the people I interact with who are family-building feel isolated from their friends, colleagues, and communities. So much of fertility, pregnancy, birth, and the postpartum period is seen as taboo in our society – a truly ridiculous view to have on processes that very literally give meaning to life; our individual origin stories. For me, it has been impossible to separate birthwork from social justice. In my mind and heart, this is radical and subversive work. Since I began my studies, I have found myself regularly infuriated by everything from the exclusive and assumptive language that is used in perinatal care, to the unbelievably racially disproportionate statistics on maternal mortality in the US. Considering all of the above, I am mindful before I speak, post, or publish anything about my birthwork practice, because – as always – I hope to capture the love in birth, not to perpetuate the culture of fear that too often surrounds it. As with anything sacred, I believe that birth should be revered, and not discussed in vain. So in a humble attempt to avoid exploitation… here is my brief public reflection on my past year as a full-spectrum doula: Every Birth is the Right Birth There is no wrong way to build a healthy, happy family. I do believe it is important to educate yourself, and to prepare for labor to the best of your ability. Arm yourself with information. Build a toolbox. And then breathe through the ride. I don’t believe in strict birth plans; I believe in labor preferences. Ask questions. Be flexible. It doesn’t matter whether you choose to labor standing, crouching, or laying down; at home, a birth center, or in a hospital; with or without medication – as long as you’ve prepared yourself, stood up for your preferences, and have your baby in your arms at the end of labor. We can give power back That being said, we can give power back to those in labor. We can stop treating pregnancy like an illness, and labor like a medical emergency. As a doula, my job is to empower; to educate my clients so that they can form their preferences, and then to give them the tools to express their preferences to their partner/family/primary caregiver. We, as a collective can give power back by not imposing our beliefs, experiences, or opinions on others who are building their own families. It is always right to just hold space As the doulas, friends, partners, siblings, parents, colleagues, community members… of those who are having children, the most powerful thing we can do is hold space. Be dependable. Answer the phone, invite them to tea, or show up with dinner prepared. Ask them to share their experiences, whether they’re pregnant now, or had children over a decade ago – and then actually listen. What are they feeling in their pregnant body? Or, what was the birth of their first child like? How long was the adoption process for them? Or, how many rounds of IVF did they go through?  These are the conversations that will slowly, but surely, shift the cultural narrative of what it means to be pregnant/labor/give birth/breastfeed or bottlefeed/raise a child/build a family. Listening to another person describe their most human experiences will make us each more human in our own right. Holding space in the labor room heals birth stories. Holding space for new parents will heal humanity.
That’s all for now & thank you for reading. Look for more from me in 2018, including a pieces on “Why hire a doula?” “What does it mean to be a full-spectrum doula?” and also specific birth stories and reflections (always with permission, often in collaboration).  
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Honesty, Loving Kindness, Practice, Yoga

An Open Letter to My Yoga Students: What I Will Never Do

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June 6, 2017

- Honesty, Loving Kindness, Practice, Yoga

Photo by Joe Longo Photography at Yoga Home

  Dear yoga students, I promise I will never take photos or videos of you in savasana. I will never take or post any photos of your practice without your consent. I will never touch you without your consent. I will never comment on your shape or size. I will never sexualize the cues that I give to you. I will never scold or judge the way that you choose to exist on your mat, physically, emotionally, mentally… and I will never tell you that you aren’t allowed to leave the practice. I will never force you to do anything. I will never be upset with you for taking another teacher’s class or developing your own home practice. I will never fail to remind you that you are your own best teacher. And if I mess up and I do one of these things, which I will from time to time – because heaven knows, I am human – I will own up to it and apologize. I promise to never do anything to make you feel unsafe during your practice in the ways others have made me feel unsafe during mine. And, if I do make you feel unsafe in any way, please tell me, because I will always be receptive to that feedback. Now, how can I make you feel more empowered? In gratitude, Jenna
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Healing, Honesty, Practice

On being silenced… and then silencing mySelf

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April 20, 2017

- Healing, Honesty, Practice

Image and poem by Rupi Kaur.

I haven’t shared any of my writing in months. Not on this blog, not even privately with my friends. The past several months have been a period of serious transition for me. Catalyzed by the end of a meaningful romantic partnership, in the past four months I have moved, and I have begun following my heart down the path of birth work as a doula. I have also *gulp* began dating again. Through all of this exciting and positive change – through which I have accessed some serious self-empowerment – I have so much to process and share, and yet I have been silent. Why? I guess I didn’t want to admit that these changes were a result of a break up. That the end of my relationship had such an impact on my productivity. And, since I am still close to my former partner, I didn’t want him to be upset by any of the topics I might write about. I know, I know… When I expressed the above reasons to him last week, he was rightfully upset. “You have been silenced and your creative power has been stifled by almost every partner you have had, I don’t want to do the same,” he said, and encouraged me to write about whatever I damn like. Leave it to this special man, who I consider one of my gurus, to hit me with some seriously honest perspective. I hadn’t even considered that through all of the change I was experiencing, I was falling into the old habit of being silenced. Only this time, I couldn’t blame a partner, or a family member, or a teacher, or society at large for silencing me… I only had myself to blame. Why had I allowed myself to be silent? To suffer without sharing? Fear. It is always fear. This post is simply to say I will be exercising my voice through writing more regularly again. To say, hey, this part of me is still here. I won’t let fear hold me back from doing what I love most – sharing and connecting to others through honesty and written word.
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Healing, Honesty, Mind

Why we need to talk about rape culture

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October 11, 2016

- Healing, Honesty, Mind

#notokay #notokay #notokay Thank you, Donald Trump. No, really… thank you. If it weren’t for you, there wouldn’t be such a massive conversation around rape culture happening not just nationally, but globally. Thank you for being your authentic, complicated, problematic, violent, aggressive, despicable self in the public arena. Thank you for inadvertently pulling an ongoing conversation about rape culture into the limelight along with you, and giving it the attention it deserves. Also, thank you Kelly Oxford, among others on social media who invited women (and men! and transgendered people! and ALL PEOPLE!) to share their assault stories and instigated the #notokay movement. Politics aside; The questionable future of the US aside (though it’s hard to ignore)… There is something more important going on here. A nation is waking up. An entire body of people are being forced to realize that things are not okay. That not only do we silently accept and abide by rape culture daily, but that there are countless survivors who have been forced into silence. Why are so many silent? Because, rape culture.  Because we feel alone. Because we have been so consumed by the culture that surrounds us that we convince ourselves that our assault wasn’t a big deal. Because that very same culture tells us that rape and assault are something to be ashamed of. Because it’s easier to grin and bear it than it is to believe that our rights will be protected. Because petty criminals go to prison longer than rapists. Because we suppress it in order to survive. Because when we tell our story, even to a close friend or family member, we run the risk of being victim shamed or blamed. Because when that stranger calls us “babe” or worse, physically, aggressively, sexually approaches us… we freeze. Because when we organize an anti-rape culture rally, we are threatened by “male extremists.” Because our reality is that we may never feel safe in this life.  Although the comments made by Trump, and the social media attention that has followed can be extraordinarily triggering… we as a People needed to be triggered. And, as difficult as it is to own your experience as a survivor of sexual assault, more survivors need to speak up. This is not an occasional violation, it is a regular atrocity.  Two years ago, my memory was triggered by a powerful training experience, which inspired me to publish a piece of writing in which I owned up to an incident that occurred when I was 19-years-old (link here). At the time that I was writing this piece, I believed the rape referenced was my only repressed sexual assault. Over time, with support and with continued self-work, I have realized that my sexual trauma runs much deeper. The earliest sexual assault I can recall today occurred in 7th grade, at 12-years-old. A boy sat next to me in science class during a movie screening and put his hand in my pants and up my shirt. When class ended, I rushed over to a friend and told her what happened and she didn’t believe me, or maybe she just laughed it off. Unfortunately, the boy in question had the same class as me immediately after, and during that class he sat next to me again and continued to touch me. Why did this 12-year-old boy think it was okay to behave this way? Who taught him to do these things? And, equally as important… Why did no one teach me what to do if such an assault were to happen to me? Who to turn to? How to defend myself? We need to talk about rape culture in order to change it. We need to own up to our shared identity as survivors; we need to share our personal experiences, in order to reduce the stigma associated with sexual assault.  We need to teach our children about rape culture earlier in life (along with race relations, sexuality, and social sustainability… to name just a few). We should be educating our children far earlier about sexual assault and how to address it. We need to be talking about rape culture. Period. We need to stay angry. We need to stay inspired. We need to wake up and do something. Speak up. Act. Vote Smart. Respect. Compassion. Love. Don’t let this era be our last proud one as Americans, and as global citizens. You can help it get better from here, don’t sit back and allow it to get worse.
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Toeing a Critical Line

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September 1, 2016

- Honesty, Intention, Mind, Miscellaneous

As the the child of an academic, and a student of the liberal arts, I hold in high esteem the ability to think critically… And, (as a Being doing my very best to appreciate this life incarnate) I also desperately try to avoid harsh, unjust, unnecessary, pessimistic criticism of the world of around me. Where is the line between critical thinking and plain old criticism, and how do we toe it gracefully? At the very core of critical thought, there is a need to find fault, and a need to tap into negativity. If we are to analyze a work of art, a scientific study, or a political policy, we need to be able to see both the good and the bad. In my childhood home, and in the classrooms I have been privileged to study in, I was praised for criticism. I was praised for looking at the world presented before me and finding its faults. I was praised for being able to see these faults, mull them over, explain them in depth, focus on them, and (only sometimes) offer a solution to them. All the while, I was also being conditioned to see the world through a particular lens, with a particular set of biases. This complex relationship to critical thought made me believe that there was always a right and wrong answer; that critical thinking is objective. Wrong (ha! there I go again). We criticize based on what we perceive. Perception is subjective. I don’t know about others, but I am not convinced that this very important point was made clear to me during my days as a university student: critical thinking is founded on subjectivity. The practice of critical thinking, of criticism, once came with rewards; now, it comes with struggle. Perhaps others can relate to this experience. I look back, and think about where this landed me. On one hand, I am well educated, employed, able, and articulate. On the other hand, I feel stuck in a rushing flood of negativity, against which I am tirelessly swimming upstream. How do I hold true to my identity on both sides? How do I continue to challenge my environment, to be an agent of change – for certainly we have to think critically in order to have the necessary direction to enact change – and yet, still remain optimistic, positive, and Light?  How to survive? I need my critical thinking skills to avoid falling victim to the fear and dis-ease of the modern world. I also need an optimistic spirit, an ability to see the best, not the worst, in order to remain sane… even happy. Criticism, like all negativity, has its roots in Fear. We decide that something is wrong, that it is faulty, because somewhere deep down we fear what our reality would be if it were true. 2+2 = 22?! Wrong! If that were true the very Earth would crumble beneath my feet! (And this doesn’t mean that 2+2 does, in fact, equal 22, only that we should question why we are so quick to say it is untrue.) Only through the lens of Love can we make trustworthy judgements. Self-awareness is my only solution, as it often is. I must continue to observe my thoughts, my emotions, my involvement, and my energy. I am not alone in this. I need to ask for support from friends, for them to be a sounding board without pushing me deeper into the strong current of negativity. Only through self-awareness might I have a chance to understand when I am purpose-fully using critical thought, and when I am being unjustly critical.
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Review of Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear

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July 21, 2016

- Honesty, Mind, Miscellaneous, Practice

I am going to come right out and say it… I did not read Eat Pray Love. I can’t tell you why exactly, but something about Elizabeth Gilbert’s popular book, its movie adaptation, and the hype around it all really rubbed me the wrong way. I do eat, pray, and love. I also read books, but I couldn’t get myself to pick that one up. I don’t know if it was the colorful cover (it probably was), or the key word “fear” in the subtitle, but something caused me to buy her new book, Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear. I bought the hardcover, in fact. As soon as I started to read it, I was struck by the self-deprecating thought, “Shit. Elizabeth Gilbert is writing about fear much more articulately than I ever will. I should probably stop writing all together.” I was also struck by the thought, “Shit. I was supposed to write this book, not her! It should have been me!” Funny, not just because both of these lines of thinking are absurd, but also because, fast-forward a few page turns, and Gilbert spoke directly to those thoughts. Damn. “Okay, I guess I will keep reading then,” I told myself. …And then I proceeded to put the book down for two months, with a mark at page 91. Perhaps not so coincidentally, I also didn’t publish any of my own writing in those two months. I guess I should say thank you, Elizabeth Gilbert, for the massive blow to my ego. You broke me down, but when I picked up the book again this week, you managed to build me back up. I know no one can see me, so I want you to know that I am shaking my fist aggressively and looking skyward, thinking to myself, “damn this league of female truth-teller/self-help-y writers which I have found myself a part of!” In order to set a framework for her book on creative living and fear, Gilbert makes a valiant attempt to convince all readers that they are creative, whether or not they are an artist by trade. This is something I too believe, so I didn’t take too much convincing, and I have to wonder if anyone who selects this book for themselves would take much convincing. Still, she does so beautifully:
So this, I believe, is the central question upon which all creative living hinges: Do you have the courage to bring forth the treasures that are hidden within you? … The hunt to uncover those jewels – that’s creative living. The courage to go on that hunt in the first place – that’s what separates a mundane existence from a more enchanted one.
What struck me the most about this book was Gilbert’s description of the relationship between creativity and fear. Because I consider myself a creative, and my partner considers himself one as well, we often find ourselves revisiting the same ideas as we discuss art. The idea that good art comes from dark places/human lives are complicated and art should be a reflection of that/you need to make yourself so, so, so vulnerable as an artist. Rarely, though do we directly discuss the relationship between fear and creativity, which is a little bit funny to me, considering my obsession with fear. Gilbert describes clearly the difference between bravery and fearlessness, “Bravery means doing something scary. Fearlessness means not even understanding what the word scary means.” The proverbial ‘they’ say that people who take (physical) risks typically only get hurt in one of two cases: 1) they are so scared that they are paralyzed by fear, or 2) they are so fearless that they forget to consider risk. Both are irrational states of being. So, we need the middle ground – bravery – in order to intelligently take risks. Fear is necessary in order to create. “In fact,” Gilbert says, “it seems to me that my fear and my creativity are basically conjoined twins – as evidenced by the fact that creativity cannot take a single step forward without fear marching right alongside it.” When embarking on a creative endeavor, Elizabeth Gilbert speaks to her fear:
Dearest Fear: Creativity and I are about to go on a road trip together. I understand you’ll be joining us, because you always do. I acknowledge that you believe you have an important job to do in my life, and that you take your job seriously. Apparently your job is to induce complete panic whenever I am about to do something interesting – and, may I say, you are superb at your job. So by all means, keep doing your job, if you feel you must. But I will also be doing my job on this road trip, which is to work hard and stay focused. And Creativity will be doing its job, which is to remain stimulating and inspiring. There’s plenty of room in this vehicle for all of us, so make yourself at home, but understand this: Creativity and I are the only ones who will be making and decisions along the way. I recognize and respect that you are part of this family, and so I will never exclude you from our activities, but still – your suggestions will never be followed. You’re allowed to have a seat, and you’re allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote. You’re not allowed to touch the roadmaps; you’re not allowed to suggest detours; you’re not allowed to fiddle with the temperature. Dude, you’re not even allowed to touch the radio. But above all else, my dear old familiar friend, you are absolutely forbidden to drive.
I absolutely love this analogy, and will add it to my toolbox for living Love Over Fear. I highly recommend reading Big Magic, and would love to discuss with anyone who has. Who knows, maybe I’ll even pick up a copy of Eat Pray Love now… just maybe.    
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Processing: When is the Right Time to Advocate for Others?

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April 29, 2016

- Honesty, Intention, Practice

As I sit down to write this, I wonder how to even begin. I wonder if I even should begin, since I am still feeling a lot of anger. I am not feeling love. I am feeling confused, frustrated, and conflicted. With the help of powerful teachers and a strong community, over the past few years it has become very evident to me that part of my role in this life is two-fold: 1) To be an advocate for those who aren’t always seen or heard, when it is appropriate, necessary, and wanted. (To clarify, here I am referring specifically to peer advocacy – taking action to represent the rights and interests of someone other than myself). 2) And when it isn’t an appropriate time to advocate for others, for one of many possible reasons… To be compassionate towards all people/beings/things, and to acknowledge the diversity of those whom I share this life with. This is still new for me, and it is something I am learning to express effectively, so bear with me. Right now I am struggling with the difference between the two folds of this role. When should I, and when I shouldn’t I, take a stand for others? When should I back down? Is it always going to feel right when I do take a stand? Conflict is an ever-present element in advocacy. I, like many others, do not like conflict. Conflict doesn’t make me feel good, but it is sometimes necessary. What spurred this reflection? Facebook. Ugh. An argument on Facebook that I instigated in response to an insensitive post by someone not very close to me, but still connected to me. I wasn’t looking for a fight – at least not consciously. To instigate, I simply asked what I thought to be a provocative question, one that might at least cause the person to consider compassion as an option. And, like most Facebook arguments, it got way out of hand from there. While the details of the arguments made on each side aren’t relevant here (although they are still infuriating to me), I do think it is important to note the topic of the conversation: The use of public bathrooms by individuals who identify as transgender. I identify as queer, in that I feel that my gender and sexuality lie outside of the norms set by our society… But, I at this point in my life I do not think of myself as transgender. So as soon as this argument blew up, my first question was: “Was this an appropriate time for me to advocate for this group of people?” Well, maybe not. I mean, no one asked me to stand up for them in that moment. No one asked for my voice. I was triggered by the insensitivity I saw nonetheless, and I felt moved to say something. To me, this looked like an argument about fear and love. So maybe it was an appropriate time? I am still unsure. This argument, which had a lifespan of over two weeks, ended with me stepping down. It was clear that I was not going to make any headway or change this person’s opinion in the slightest. So I unfollowed the post, and removed the person’s posts from my newsfeed. If we couldn’t agree to disagree, I figured that was amicable enough. I was wrong… this individual continued to send me unsolicited information regarding their position, and each message sent contained increasingly hateful language, so I blocked them completely. Should I have said anything in the first place? Should I have backed down once I did? Why am I still so angry? I am mostly writing this in the hopes to release some of that anger, but I welcome any productive conversation surrounding the questions I am left with.
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Thinking about trying Yoga? Show Up.

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April 5, 2016

- BestSelf, Honesty, Practice, Yoga

As a yoga teacher, people reach out to me on a daily basis to mention they are curious about yoga, or to ask how to begin a practice, or which studios and teachers to try, etc. Which is AWESOME!! It seems that more and more people are interested in yoga each day, which fills my heart. The most difficult, exciting, and exhilarating chapter of a yoga Practice is the beginning. But… No one can convince you to try yoga unless you already want to, not even me. I have to constantly remind myself that it isn’t because so-and-so doesn’t care about or support me that they don’t try – or, try and then dedicate themselves to – yoga. The practice of yoga finds us each at the right time (or it re-finds us and sticks the second/third/fourth time). At the start, you will most likely be the only person holding yourself accountable for showing up to your mat. And to be successful, you need to know why you are showing up. This is what I ask those who reach out to me… Why do you want to try yoga? Answers might include (in no particular order):
  • mitigate chronic pain
  • exercise within the limits of an injury
  • gain flexibility
  • gain strength
  • learn the poses
  • learn to breathe
  • learn to meditate
  • improve sleep
  • improve posture
  • alleviate depression/anxiety/mental dis-ease
  • feel empowered
  • cultivate self-love
  • de-stress/calm/center
  • cultivate compassion/patience for others
  • gain community
  • make time for Self
  • heal
Or any combination of the above… All of that’s great, there is no wrong answer! Yoga can help with that! That desire is the first step, and an important one to acknowledge… But, I hate to break it to you – yoga is not a quick fix. There are no quick fixes in life anyway, not really. I’ll say it again: Yoga is not a quick fix. Time for some tough love… If you want to ______________ by practicing yoga, you have to Show Up every* day. Every fucking day. Especially the days that hurt; the days when you cry because you don’t want to Show Up. The days when you think, “no one but me will know that I didn’t go,” are the days you need to hold yourself accountable the most. If you were hoping for a quick fix, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but don’t be discouraged. Do the best you can. Show up *every day that you can, and show up as your BestSelf. It’s not going to be easy, but soon (maybe this month, season, or year) you will forget about whatever it is you came to “fix” in the first place, I promise. Some people feel a special spark, a pull, you could even say they feel magic, when they take their first yoga class. If that is your experience, then you are more likely to Show Up again… But if it isn’t, you have to have Faith. The first time I stepped onto my mat there was no magic… It was when it became a habit – a Practice – that I was transformed. Don’t be afraid to Show Up. Reach out to a teacher you know, or a nearby studio about offerings for beginners. Ask me! Ask anyone willing to help you find what is best for you! Ask for what you need! Just ask. You will be supported. There is a whole amazing community out there waiting to meet you at the edge of your comfort zone. There might even be a whole amazing and totally unknown piece of yourBestSelf waiting to meet you, too. The only piece of etiquette you need to know before your first yoga class: Show Up & Keep Showing Up.
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Reframing: Street Harassment & Healing

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March 23, 2016

- Body, Healing, Honesty, Loving Kindness, Practice

It is a beautiful day in Philadelphia, and I decided to walk the mile-and-a-half home from the regional rail station through North Philly, instead of taking the subway. I had every intention of using the time to mentally prepare to get home and edit writing I had already done so that I could share it, and instead, I was inspired to consider and write about something new. I don’t have a car. And I’m afraid to bike on the city streets. So, I get around on foot and by using public transportation. And it’s worth mentioning right off the bat that I am new to city life. Sexual harassment is an every day occurrence for me. And one that I can’t help but notice and process. Sidebar: If you have found this and it is hard for you to understand why street harassment is not an acceptable way to interact with others, perhaps you are thinking what’s the big deal, anyways? Or, how do you even define street harassment? I encourage you to seek the wealth of both experiential and research-based information on this problematic behavior. Or, reach out to me individually. It is not my goal in this piece of writing to address this multi-faceted issue in great depth, but I hope you choose to explore it and form your own opinions. Here are my thoughts on street harassment today…. At the start of recovery from my sexual assault, everyone I passed – especially men, especially in uncrowded areas – registered as a predator to me. I was afraid of everything and everyone. It was a visceral, survival-based, gut-wrenching experience of fear. Even passing someone who looked at me, who did nothing more than witness my physical form, felt like harassment. If someone were to catcall me, or comment on my appearance, it would just about always end in panic, and usually tears. I felt no ownership over my body. I hadn’t confronted the reality of my story, my shadow, and I felt helplessly weak. At this time I was living in the suburbs… I can’t even imagine how I would have recovered my sanity if I had lived in the city then. Years of healing later, and months ago… When I first moved to the city, harassment was much more triggering for me than it is now. I was in the process of uprooting and re-grounding my life, and as I have found my roots here my sensitivity has decreased. I’d like to think this isn’t just because I’m becoming jaded, though I’m sure that plays its part. As a woman… a young woman** living in Philadelphia, there is no way to avoid street harassment. Not only are there simply more people in the city, but this kind of harassment is also culturally accepted here. And the more time you spend on foot, particularly in neighborhoods outside of the Center City District, the more you will be exposed to it. When I moved to the city this fall, I was prepared to brace myself and just ignore the calls and comments that I knew were inevitable. Easier said than done. In my case, I couldn’t help having a physical reaction to harassment – a little jump, increase in heart rate, nervous sweat… It wasn’t nearly as intense as it was years ago, but definitely jarring. I’ll just put my headphones in and listen to music instead, I thought. Then I realized how much more unsafe I felt (and was) when I was unable to hear my surroundings. So I started putting in my headphones but not playing any music. Maybe men won’t harass me if they think I can’t hear them. Wrong. Now they weren’t always talking directly to me, I just got to hear the disgusting ways they objectified my body out loud to themselves and their friends. Next, I found ways to avoid areas/times that I discovered I was more likely to be called out. This was a reasonable solution, but sometimes meant taking a cab or uber… a pricey solution to avoiding fear. (It’s worth noting here that I am not talking about avoiding actual danger, in which case, YES I would always pay for a ride and take measures to stay safe. I have never felt that I was in a truly unsafe area or situation, just unpleasant and uncomfortable). Over the past several months, I have made it a practice to confront the fear of walking alone and being the object of harassment. I confront this fear not just out of necessity to function and get around the city, but for the sake of confronting it. Today, as I walked through North Philadelphia, I noticed a real change in my experience with street harassment. I felt was fearless, but aware. I had no bodily reaction to the men who addressed me in an unwelcome and inappropriate way. I didn’t feel a noose of anxiety closing around me, or hear the voice in my head that used to tell me all the ways another person might be about to harm me. Why? Here’s what I think has shifted for me… I am in control of my body. I feel ownership over my body. It no longer feels like my body, because of its size, shape, sex, gender, race, or any other projected quality is powerless. This is a new normal. Maybe this is where becoming jaded comes in. Or maybe, it’s just learning to self-regulate in a new environment. I am able to see the good in others. I don’t see predators walking towards me down the sidewalk. I see beings capable of Truth, Love, and Kindness. I see people whom I want to know, even if only through a moment of eye contact or a smile, not people I want to run from.  I recognize that in my fear I was projecting negative assumptions on others – and while sometimes warranted, at their root these assumptions were still unfair. So today I walked past the unwelcome commentary with Fearlessness, open ears, a high head, and no waver in my stride. And with those who addressed me with Kindness, I connected through Love.       **I believe that factors such as sex, gender, age, race, appearance, etc. play into this narrative, but am not prepared to discuss their role in a educated and informed way. If anyone reading this post would like to engage in constructive conversation surrounding diversity and street harassment in a large city, I encourage you to reach out to me personally via the contact section of my site. I would welcome and appreciate an appropriate forum to explore this topic.  
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When Did I Become A Woman?

By on

February 14, 2016

- Healing, Honesty, Loving Kindness, Mind, Miscellaneous

When did I become a Woman? It’s not that today was the first time I saw these curves staring back at me, naked in the mirror. But today was the first time I loved them.   …Even the belt of softness around my hips. …Even the hole above my belly button where a piercing used to adorn. …Even the dimples on my thighs.   And I asked…   When did I become a Woman? It wasn’t the first time I bled. Or had sex. Or made love. But, the first time I lucidly dreamt of my own child suckling at my breast.   When did I become a Woman? It wasn’t when I was raped. Or harassed. Or heartbroken. Or hurt. But, when I was willing to admit I had been victimized.   When did I become a Woman? It wasn’t when I fell in love with a man or a woman. But, when I had the gall to own my fluid sexuality.   When did I become a Woman? It wasn’t when I put on a dress. Or a bra. Or had a manicure. But, when I felt beautifully human.   When did I become a Woman? It wasn’t when I learned about feminism in school. Or history. Or was rallied by my friends. But, when I realized on my own as I sat reading current events just how much the movement meant to me.   When did I become a Woman? When I realized I was graced by power not weakness. When I chose to be a Woman.    
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