A word on fuckability

This word has been in or around my consciousness for many years, yet today it seems to have permeated me and in combination with some fairly powerful revelations of my misogynistic rearing I have come to notice how much I have been ruled by this word or rather its impact on my being.

Girls do and girls do not. I certainly wasn’t raised a princess, more of a subordinate to my 4 male siblings and father. Now, there is no way that any of them would feel that I was raised as less; I was loved, taken care of and played an important role in my family.

What they (my male relations) probably do not or did not realise is that the undertones, pre suppositions and general demeanour towards women started me on the back foot; I’m sure my mother didn’t realise this either being under the same rule set.

You see, I watched a porno for the first time when I was about 6 or 7. It was a cartoon porno but still portrayed a woman being penetrated explicitly by not only independent army dicks with walking balls but monkeys as well. She pretended to like it. I pretended to know what it meant.

I overheard conversations of my brothers and their friends talking about who they would fuck, why they wouldn’t fuck this chick unless she had a bag on her head and what “hot” women look like.

I saw it on screens, in magazines, conversations and observing my male counterparts in public. I saw it and felt it first hand when I “bloomed” at age 11. I suddenly became interesting to men. I pretended to like it. I thought I was meant to like it.

For my entire life I have been called beautiful, yet all I wanted to be was “hot”. I wanted to be leered at the way my brother’s friends leered at the hot girls at school. I wanted them to want me, not because I had a great personality or I was beautiful. I wanted their lust, I wanted their attention. I wanted nothing more than to be fuckable. I thought I was meant to want it.

I well up as I write this. I’m disgusted to think I grew up in a world where that was all I thought my value was, to be fucked. For men to want to fuck me. I dieted so that I could be skinny and more men would want me. I cut myself when the pain of looking like a grown woman at 15 was too much to bear compared to the (what I thought) perfect girls who were short, skinny and with perky boobs. They were fuckable. I was a big, friendly, giant and hated it. Lucky I had big tits- my saving grace of fuckability. Sigh.

I once thought that my love hate relationship with my body spawned from media and societal pressures and I guess in some way it has. What I now know is that I was born a woman and raised to believe that that was somehow a bear I had to cross. I was to watch the men play sport and laugh along when I was called a spastic or unco for trying something new- I stopped trying. I was to accept that men dictated my value. I was to accept that “boys will be boys” when they spoke of my genitals, teased me while they gawked at my breasts and treated my friends like sex objects. I secretly wished I was the sex object.

All that, it would seem was my reality. I actually never knew that I needed or wanted feminism (or equal rights for those of you who find that word abhorrent) because I was raised to think I was a strong, independent woman. I could go get a job, I could vote, I could leave the house unaccompanied and I wasn’t expected to get married right away. I thought that the bra burners of my foremothers had done all the work and I was set free and easy. All that “feminist” crap was for women who wanted world domination not equality. Mm? I wonder where I learnt that one.

Despite identifying as Bi, I have never felt the same need from a woman. I have never felt the need to be fuckable, yet as this is all I have known I find dating women an interesting as unusual experience. I don’t know where my value is anymore. I’m not sure what I’m meant to do if I’m not trying to solely be the eye candy of my partner.

I reflect on the day I went from long luscious hair to a shaved head. I instantly went off the “fuckable” radar and it was liberating. People talked to me because they were curious and the energy of their conversations were that of respect and curiosity rather than “how long will it take me to bone her?”

I have enjoyed taking the immediate equation of sex out of the picture and to be seen as a whole (yes my sexiness included) not as an object of a man’s  (or woman’s for that matter) pleasure. I used to do pretty well anything to get the attention of a man and like most women have been treated disgustingly by men willing to take advantage of that.

Well, in some ways my “fuckability” has gone up. I now say “fuck you” to those people who try and define me and others as objects. I say “fuck ‘em” to the haters that assume females deserve less. I say “ fuck your beauty standards” and dress however it suits me and I say “Fuck yeah” to the incredible humans who have brought my voice to light on a subject that society tells us should be in the dark….or back in the kitchen.

P.S A few bits that have inspired me lately. Worth watching.

http://www.newsner.com/en/2015/12/a-daughters-words-is-moving-millions-dear-dad-i-will-be-called-a-whore/

http://iview.abc.net.au/programs/australians-on-porn/DO1509H001S00

                                      Before and after... a fuckability 180.

I hate my body.......

…..but I wish I didn’t. I hate how scary it is to post a partial nude picture of myself on social media when the above statement is true.

I’ve been lying to myself, for years, for decades really. I’ve actually convinced myself that I love myself and my body, that I don’t care about what others think about me and I am proud of my body despite it not falling in line with societies “ideal” body.

Being someone that is confident, someone that has never really hid my body and someone who tends to make her friends feel comfortable about their own bodies by getting my kit off, I always assumed that I didn’t have any body image issues.

I’m a strong advocate of loving your body. As a confidence coach I am passionate about helping women to be comfortable in their own skin and I firmly believe that your body should be more about function that feature. I believe that we need to define our own sense of self worth and value irrelevant of our bodies.

I hear many people talk about beauty standards and defining your own. To me we are still focussed on being beautiful and not on being a person of value. Defining your own beauty or knowing that you are “beautiful” just the way you are, is still placing an enormous amount of value on what we look like, but I digress.

Writing now, I feel like I could spruik for a thousand years on how who you are and what you bring to the world should have far greater value than how you look. I’m angry at the media and social norms for teaching us that we need to be something that we are not and I disagree vehemently with the idea ( and delivery) of the objectification of women in the media.

I’m pissed because I believe in fucking it all off and rocking out to your own rhythm. I believe that everyone and every body has the right to feel attractive, worth while, sexy and valuable. I believe in all of this, I believe desperately in loving your self not matter what you look like.

Except I don’t. * Sigh* I don’t. I know all the above rant to be true or at least I wish it was. It’s complicated because I know it to be true yet I still hate my body. Deep down I hate it. I convince myself that I am proud of it but if I am brutally honest with myself, I think it’s shit.

I think it should look different in almost every way. It should be lighter, it should have less fat, a lot less. It should be shorter but not too short, it shouldn’t have wide thighs or a round, squishy stomach. It needs to have a gap between it’s thighs.  It should keep the large breasts that I adorn yet they should be firm and perky, not soft and tear dropped. My curves can stay yet they should really be more defined, I should have a slimmer waist and a firmer ass. My arms need toning because the tuck shop lady floppy bits are really not ok. My skin should be clearer. My teeth need to be whiter and straighter. My feet are too big, I have too much hair on my body in some places and it’s not thick enough in others. My eyes should be brighter, my nails more shapely. I should have less visible veins and more prominent features. Blurch!!!!

Absurd isn’t it? My veins are too big? What the actual fuck? Insanely enough, I could keep going.

If you’re exhausted by reading this, then know that I am too. For many of you, you probably have an even more extensive list.

I’ve been lying to myself. I do honestly believe that loving myself as I am is my given right and if we go a litter deeper we might even find that I do love my body (Ahh yes, all the contradictions!). You see I have no problem getting nude, in fact I think it’s awesome. I have no issues in sharing my curves and accentuating my shape. When I think about my body outside of the messed up messages and imagery I have received over my life, I actually think I’m pretty hot.

Here comes the but. I have realised that I feel ashamed for loving my body. I feel that being over weight means that I have no right to be comfortable in my own skin. Even when I’ve been lighter I have never thought it was ok to feel sexy or attractive or more importantly, of value. I’ve been brainwashed to believe that there is something fundamentally wrong with me; that I need to change myself somehow in order to get that little bit closer to perfection. I’ve been lied to that loving myself is not ok, nor should it be. In order to be accepted I must dislike my body and even better if I hate it and myself to boot.

It’s socially acceptable to talk about the bits we hate about ourselves, I have always been seen as a weirdo for accepting my body. I should be ashamed of my body, particularly if I am overweight. How dare I exercise regularly, drink plenty of water and eat good food most of the time, be overweight and be ok with that.

No matter what we look like we are taught to hate our bodies by the messaging splashed all over society. Everywhere you turn there is someone telling you to shape this, change that, enhance that, tone this down, get fitter, lose weight, be taller, improve this etc. What it’s ALL saying is that you are somehow not good enough the way you are and by buying (or buying into) the next big thing, then maybe you will be good enough, but unlikely.

I still struggle with this, being aware of it is only the beginning of the journey. I do love my body, coming to terms with the fact that the world thinks I should be ashamed of it is where my journey continues. Clearly I care more about what the world thinks of me that I have previously been ok to admit.

So here I am, just me and maybe what I really mean to say is; I care what others think of me and I wish I didn’t. I'm hoping this helps.

I'm female, so my only value must be in the way I look

There has been a tonne of talk on social media of late about feminism, gender inequality and the sexualisation of women.

So I've been watching. Watching the action of men; of women; what people are saying and what is not being said. Watching crowds of young and old interact and watching myself to how I am responding to all of this and how I feel about it.

I was raised in a family with 5 men in it. I was taught that females don't fart or shit ( causing me great digestive problems still to this day), taught that women are to keep their legs shut at all times even wearing whilst pants in their own home. I was taught that women cleaned the house, took care of the kids, did the groceries AND worked a full time job. I was encouraged to be a lesbian until I was 21 to avoid arsehole men as if being over the age of 21 would help me with that.

My family raised me to believe that not only was I not good at sport ( because I am female derr?) but that I should play a " female" sport like netball just so I had something to do other than sit in the canteen with my mother during football season. I listened to my brothers objectify women from a very young age. I soon learned that me having big breasts was a good thing as men liked that, but I would struggle to find a boyfriend because I was overweight; " you'll bang the fatty but you wont take her home to meet the folks". I had to be careful though because my boobs aren't perky and I couldn't possibly have my " saggy tits flopping about".

Mental note: always wear a bra. I did. For years, even during sex, I hated my breasts that much that i would leave my bra on during sex for fear that it would be the turning point for the guy and he would leave in disgust.

Pornography lay about my house, openly hidden on blank tapes that I stumbled across from the age of 6. Again, I learnt that to be valued and valuable, I must be sexy. I must present myself in a way that is attractive so I can receive love. I was never taught that I am love. I was never taught that I do not need to do or be anything to deserve love- I already deserve it. Wholeheartedly.

I wished I was a boy for many years of my childhood. They had more fun than I did. They were allowed out at night, allowed to spread their legs in public, wear whatever they wanted and didn't have to worry about if their boobs were big enough for us girls to like them. They didn't wear make up, have to shave their legs or think about what their hair looked like.

* I put a caveat here as I know that men too have their challenges in adolecence and worry about their attraction levels. I'm female and can only speak for myself.

I've spent a lifetime trying to look better. To be thinner, leaner, prettier; really just more attractive, and I know I'm not the only one. The presupposition here is that I am not good enough. That deep down, the way I look will never be good enough. " If only I was more attractive, I would be worthy of love".

I believe that we teach others how to treat us. Everyday when you set boundaries or not, you create your own rule set for the way people get to behave around you. When we buy the magazines, watch the shows, talk about each other, judge each other on everything and mentally beat each other up, we are fulfilling the fucked up limits that have been set upon us.

Every time you put on make up, do your hair, spend hours in front of the mirror and even more hours fidgeting with your appearance for the sake of wanting to be more attractive, you are telling yourself that how you were born is not attractive enough. Not only that but you are telling yourself and the world that what you look like is more important than who you are.

Feminism begins in each of us, men and women. As a woman, I feel as though it is our responsibility to remember that we are already worthy of love. That what we look like needn't be as important as who we are and who we are becoming.

Stop judging yourselves and each other. We all have value, we all have a gift to give. Saying that every woman is beautiful is lovely and all but it still stipulates that somehow what we look like is important. I'm here to tell you that it's not.

Look at the current beauty standards you hold yourself too and ask yourself if you were to never see a mirror or someone else again, would you still do it? Why do you shave your pits, why do you wear make up, why do you do your hair? Your answer very well may be that you like it. That for your own self you do it and that's great.

I challenge you. Drop one beauty standard for a week or even a day. Go out without make up, grow your pits, go braless. Challenge yourself and the beauty standards.

We may not have created the standards but we sure as shit abide by them.

Go forth and become a better person irrelevant of how you look.

Peace.