Friday, March 18, 2011

Hear Her Roar: Bri

When I was 14 years old I was sexually abused by a 25 year old man I didn't know; he did things to me that made me think that I was dirty or damaged and I was afraid of and hated my own body for a very long time. I viewed myself as disgusting and unclean, I felt that whatever innocence I had was ruined, and I couldn't look at myself anymore. I first happened upon the idea of forgiveness when I started finding that the internet had stories of many girls and women that had the same thing happen, and worse things happen to them. I decided to submit a photo of myself for use as a model buy the lovely Jessica to partly take back some power and control, and to prove to myself that I was beautiful and what happened to me was not my fault, and that it didn't ruin me. I am 19 now, and I have started to heal from the things that have hurt me, and from the fear I have, and the beautiful decoration that was modeled after me has done so much to help me down that path.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Hear Her Roar: Jamie



Can you see them?

Haunting my most precious part of my being.

Stealing my essence.

Hiding in my creative Soul’s center, choking the snake curled at the base of my spine.

The demons are heavy in my energy center from which I am supposed to vibrate at my highest level of well-being.


Instead of being able to honor that vibration and move through the veil to see all truths, I see only darkness.

There is no light.

And in that darkness I am cut off, not only from honoring the beauty of myself, but the flow of trust towards my husband.

Pain overshadows. Fear dominates. Shame reigns.

I have surrendered.

But I am awakening.

Because I am loved.

I have nothing to lose.

Everything to gain.

I desire to move back and forth through the veil.

To experience my power in its highest form.

To trust.

To be one with all that is.

One with the person that loves me infinitely.

I see the light.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Hear Her Roar: Emmerson

Growing up as a young girl, no one ever told me that my vulva was supposed to be beautiful. My mother had a terrible word for it- bunny ( I still cringe when I share that with people today) and instead of telling me I should be proud or happy, she would chase me around the house asking if I had “washed my bunny” . She was a believer in far too many old wives tales about growing up and menstruation, so shaving, periods, tampons, smells, and the like, were all things I had to learn on my own.

I remember at 14 I talked with my best friend about oral sex. We discussed how gross it seemed to give blow jobs, but oral sex for us, was totally out of the question. Somehow we had both swallowed the lie that we were gross, and having a man down there would be subjecting ourselves to humiliation and taunting instead of pleasure.

Adolescence brought me more insecurity, as I compared my body to the images I saw in magazines, porn on the internet, and art. I knew I wasn’t doing something right, whether it was not maintaining my bikini line, not shaving everything off, or having darker skin colors because of my mixed race. My first, and last sexual interaction with a man was virginal and innocent, there was no investigation of each other, just plain vanilla intercourse.

It was a few years later, after I had read the vagina monologues, after I had gone to a leadership camp and became a banner waving feminist, after I had taken my first gender studies class at college, that everything changed. I fell in love with a woman. The first time I had sex with her it was as if my mind had moved to an entirely different place. I realized that I loved her body, and I knew exactly how to take care of it. The next day, I sat outside, realizing that if I could love her body, I would really be loving myself, validating myself. All my relationships since then have not only confirmed this revelation, but have also been opportunities for me to ‘spread the good word.’

That changed everything.

Since that relationship my confidence, my outright superiority complex, has ballooned. I worship all things vulva, whether they be constructed, or altered. I envy the trans men, who during their transitions sometimes grow clitorises large enough to penetrate. I gaze at my menstrual blood, thinking of the power it symbolizes. I never question the beauty of my body, having learned that my vulva is completely unique to me. My scent, my ‘textbook uterus’ (thanks obgyn!), my fascinating, wonderful, awesome clitoris, my Marilyn Monroe beauty spot ;). These are all things I have learned to not only treasure, but also hold as a badge of strength, sexiness, and power.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Hear her Roar: Elizabeth

When I was eight, I was sexually abused by my babysitter. For years, I felt disconnected from my body and uneasy with any sort of idea of sexuality. It took me over nine years to become fully secure with myself and I still struggle with it sometimes. I think it is essential to feel confident about yourself. I spent a decade cutting my arms and legs because I couldn't accept what had happened and love myself regardless of it. Now, I can say that I am happy with who I am, and I appreciate all that I have been through.