Confessions from a recovered mean girl

I used to be a bitch. Straight out- I was a mean girl. My insecurities and lack of self-worth resulted in me transferring my own self judgement onto others.

I grew up surrounded by men and patriarchal misogynistic men at that. Women were less than men, they were objects and their bodies were open for opinion. I learnt quickly that to survive in this world that I would need to see the world the same way that they do or become a victim of it.

I’ve been that woman who puts down other women. I used to pride myself on not being like “typical” women. I would shame women to men about being needy, controlling or emotional. I would criticise what they were wearing, if their behaviour was appropriate or not and if I thought they were “easy” or a “prick tease”.

Last week I  was reminded of who I used to be as I attended an ice hockey game between Canada and the USA. Apart from me having a hell of a time yelling and screaming in a way that is only really socially appropriate at sporting games, I happened to sit next to two well presented women and out of sheer proximity I was privy to their conversations.

Mostly, I tuned them out as I was more interested in the game and the company that I was with, however during one of the breaks, I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. It went a little something like this:

Person 1: Have you seen her lately?

Person 2: Yeah, I saw her last week. She was wearing those shorts again-ergh!

P1: Really? Yuck, she really shouldn’t wear them. She has huge thighs and tonnes of cellulite

P2: I know! She just swans around in them as if she thinks no one notices. She’s really got to stop

P1: I mean, I’m all in for body positivity but she takes it too far- it’s disgusting.

At this point I tuned out, I had to. In order to not cause an outright riot and fly off the handle , I kept my thoughts to myself. I was hurt, upset and disgusted.

I was upset for their “friend” who clearly wouldn’t know what was being said behind her back. I was saddened for these two women who felt the need to speak so venomously about someone that they care about. Most of all, I felt for us as women.

All the old feelings of inadequacy came rushing back. Right here next to me was proof that people do judge and more often than not they are the people that we call friends. I recall having similar conversations about my friends in years gone by and how desperate I was to feel like I belonged- oh the irony.

I put down others to make myself feel better- the ultimate bully has insufferable low esteem. As someone who now loves themselves, has great self esteem and works hard to see all people as whole and complete, the conversation I overheard was heart breaking.

We have had to fight for every right we have, our bodies are compared against a computer program and we are still treated like ornaments by many people around the world.

Yet here we are, fighting each other. Putting ourselves down and shaming our own. Haven’t we been through enough? Don’t we get enough shaming from the media without us throwing in some more of our own?

I know why they felt the need to say what they did. I understand the feelings of being threatened and therefore climbing on top of others to bring themselves back up but it still makes me sad.

I set a challenged for you. I challenge you to stop the bitching, stop the judging and stop the shaming. We have all done this and like these women, you may not even be aware that you do it. If you have time to judge then you don’t have time to love.

Self-love starts from within, there is no doubt about it. If you are judging others and putting them down ( even in your head) then you are walking down a very slippery slope.

Every time you judge someone else, you are judging yourself. Choose your thoughts and words wisely.

Let’s lift each other up and show ourselves how magnificent we truly are.

Love Katie Nicole

x

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'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.