A Mother’s Story: Teaching My Daughter to Love Her Future Body

A Mother’s Story: Teaching My Daughter to Love Her Future Body

A Message From The Creator

A Message From The Creator

Women’s News: What I Know About Sex Now That I’m In My 20s

Women’s News: What I Know About Sex Now That I’m In My 20s

Women’s News: What I Know About Sex Now That I’m In My 20s


Megan Baldwin

Writer, Needle In The Haystack Project

What do I know about sex? Did I want to have it? Or did I feel as though I had to? Why did I want to? When did I feel ready? Am I any good at it? Why did it sometimes make me feel empty? Or excited? Alone? Drained? Terrified? In love? Alive? When was the right time? Would two drinks make it easier? Or four? Did I do something wrong? Put it where? Should I leave now? Where is my bra?

At 28, I know that for me, sex is an endless series of questions, many of which I can never quite find an answer to. But some I have. Here they are:

1. If you’re late to the party, you’re not alone. I was a late bloomer, and I liked it that way. For years, sex seemed far too grown up for me, I liked imagining, playing, dreaming and so I never quite understood why girls would take boys to the middle school locker room. When I was teased for not ‘going out’ with anyone, I didn’t care enough to sit next to Michael McClean at the movies, but I cared enough to make up fake ones. This continued through high school and even into college. Even once I started having sex, I still felt completely unprepared to be doing so, because I wasn’t in love.

2. It doesn’t mean you’ll be together forever. I know that few consider love a prerequisite for sex. I realized this when I was still the one waiting to be hit over the head by it. It probably sounds silly, but I have a tendency to romanticize, well everything, love most centrally. I believe so hard in it, wishing completely for a connection that you don’t want to look away from. I also am the most stubborn person ever, so I didn’t mind waiting for what I believe is out there.

Then it snuck up on me one cold night at a bar. I knew it because I had picked him out months earlier. I had seen him around school every now and then, and though I had no idea who he was, I was certain that if we met, we would have sex, and it would be something. Something was probably too certain.

3. It can awaken a lot of fears. I couldn’t even warp my head around being that close. When he held my hand, it felt like someone was pushing my head under water. I needed to drop it to breathe. I felt consumed. I would get close to sex, the first sex I thought could actually mean something, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Then I would sit up in the bed like someone having a bad dream and get up and walk out the door in the middle of the night. No explanation. So eventually the potential something dissolved into nothing.

4. It is about connection. I know now that there isn’t much to be said for meaningless sex. I have had a nice buffet of it: from so bad it totally kills the buzz you thought could take you through anything to the kind where all you want is to keep doing whatever it is that you’re doing, though it is now 2 pm on Sunday and you should probably go home and rinse off. I know there is something comfortable about this kind of sex. It doesn’t interrupt your day-to-day plans, require much time or attention, and comes and goes when it pleases. When it is gone, it doesn’t hurt more than a finger prick. There aren’t many questions, but that’s because because it isn’t really anything worth asking about. It is easy to forget this sometimes; after a few drinks, or when you just feel lonely. But when Uncle Jesse told DJ Tanner that sex really meant something, I believed him. I still do, though I have grown up enough to see, it doesn’t mean everything.

5. Don’t use sex as a mechanism of control. I do this. I will give and then take it away. I’d go home with guys and not call them back. I would try to test them to see if it’s me they want or just the sex. I intuitively protect myself because I am terrified of what will happen if I ever let someone in. That doesn’t make it okay. But playing power games isn’t fair to the other person, it doesn’t make you feel any better about sex, and it makes you feel worse about yourself.

6. When you feel something, stay. Maybe that is the best lesson of all, for me, anyways. I know that I am not the very fragile girl who could barely hold someone’s hand. I’m over getting drunk before sex so I won’t feel how much I’m not feeling. Like it or not, I have grown up, and while maybe it would be hard for me not to bolt in the middle of the night, I would want to try.

7. The meaningful kind exists. I have had bad sex, fine sex, and good sex. I have known the relationship wasn’t right because of how wrong the sex was, and I have been deluded into thinking that maybe my intuitions were wrong. And at times I have worried that I have placed too much significance on sex, wanted too much from it. Can it live up to my expectations? Will I be let down? Could I pick myself up if it hurts when it ends?

At 28, I think I’m almost there — at the point where I can look the connection in the eyes and hold it there. I don’t know if I will ever have an answer to some of my questions, and maybe that is the best part about sex. The fact that no one really does. Maybe we are all a little terrified, unprepared, excited, and the unknowns of what it will look like, feel like, be like is bit of the pleasure in it. So I know now that it’s not about knowing everything but being brave enough that when something that feels like the real deal — sex you feel good about — sneaks up, you just go with it.

Read More:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/megan-baldwin/what-i-know-about-sex-in-my-20s_b_2662148.html?utm_hp_ref=women&ir=Women

A Message From The Creator


A Mother’s Story: Teaching My Daughter to Love Her Future Body


Kim Bongiomo

Writer, Blogger at “Let Me Start By Saying”

I was sitting on a toilet, feeling surprised and kind of insulted, when I realized I had an opportunity before me like no other.

It began with the need to pee: first my 5-year-old daughter, then me.

As I was sitting on the toilet and she was washing her hands, still without pants, she declared, “Mama, you have fat legs! Not like mine — look at mine.”

She then ran her hand along her twiggy little leg, like Vanna White on some cruel version of Wheel of Fortune.

I looked down at my lumpy pale thighs in comparison, squashed against the porcelain throne’s seat like bread dough that refused to rise.

In a flash I was back in the kitchen of the house I grew up in, talking to my own mom.

My mother said some disgusted comment or another about what I was eating, and how one day I’d know what it was like to have hips like hers.

I was befuddled. Already well into my teen years, my hip bones simply protruded from my body at sharp angles, then smoothly dipped towards a flat stomach. I poked at my hips, feeling nothing but skin and bone.

“I don’t get it — how can bones get fat on them?” I was genuinely curious. I looked to her for an answer.

My mom got all flustered and her voice shook. “You wait and see.” Then she ran from the kitchen, locking herself in her bedroom.

That scene was twenty years ago, before I truly understood how much my mom hated how her hips looked.

If I had been a more sensitive girl back then, her reaction to my thinness and her desire to be thinner could have made me fear weight gain. Made me think it was normal to be disgusted by my own changing body. Made me believe in one ideal physique, which was not genetically in the cards for me.

I refused to let this conversation end as badly as that one could have.

I took my eyes off my blubbery thigh and looked at my daughter.

“Good job, you’re right! There is more fat on my legs than yours. When you become a grown-up, you get all sorts of beautiful curves like this. Isn’t that exciting?”

She looked at her little legs, then mine, then back to hers. Then she smiled. “I’m gonna look like you when I’m a growned-up?”

“Yep. And I looked like you when was 5. It’s kind of fun getting to look different when you get older, dontcha think?”

She started hopping excitedly, and replied “Yeah! And I get bigger and older every day, Mama!”

With a smile on her face, she dashed out of the bathroom feeling confident in her current skinny legs, and looking forward to what the meat of Motherhood will do to her hips twenty years from now, leaving her pants and a hopeful mom in her wake.

Read More:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kim-bongiorno/teaching-my-daughter-to-love-her-future-body_b_2490815.html?utm_hp_ref=women&ir=Women

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