On Vagina

Well, I finally broke down and got Naomi Wolfe's Vagina: A New Biography. I thought it might help me out with my sexuality, but I think instead it led to a fight with my husband.

The other night when we were supposed to do it, he did what he usually does—laid down next to me with his eyes closed like he was asleep and started rubbing and scratching my back. I usually do the same thing and if we don't pass out and fall asleep we might start kissing, I might start stroking him and it might lead to sex. Or, it might lead to me complaining about why he always lays there with his eyes closed.

See, Naomi Wolf told me that the adoring male gaze is part of the "Goddess Array" and that I need it to feel special and get turned on. It kind of made sense. After nine years of marriage I do get the feeling that he doesn't even look at me, pay attention to me or notice me, really. I feel pretty fine about how I look and so I don't need his gaze for self-esteem, but I do understand how, if he gave me more of a signal that he saw me, I might respond with a little more fire than I do.

So, I called him on the eyes closed thing. He defensively gave me a bunch of excuses that it was awkward for him to stare at me when he was so close, that his eyes couldn't focus well, he didn't even have his contacts on. It kind of made sense what he was saying, but, Naomi said he should be looking at me.

He's also supposed to treat me like a Goddess—this is never going to happen.

One of the things I value about my relationship with my husband is our friendliness. We are friends. We are friends who have sex. As much as I may be into my power as a woman, I don't think he is ever going to look at me as a Goddess. That's not to say I don't think I am worthy. I do. It's just not who my husband is. And I don't think he's the type who would grow into it and I'm not sure I want him to—it sounds kind of smarmy.

There's a lot that's good about the Vagina book, but there's a lot that's corny—and suspect.  Lots of reviews get more into it (The New Yorker, Jezebel, Feminste, WIRED...) so I am going to stick to a my personal reaction rather than anything societal or overarching.

Many times while I was reading it, I couldn't help but wondering, what about the guys?  It was all, women want this...women need that. It seemed to have an undercurrent of...men just want to get laid and so they need to do all this attentive stuff for their women and the men will get better sex out of it. There was this unspoken assumption of men taking the lead sexually and that men were kind of monolithic in their sexuality. I realize the book wasn't supposed to be about men's sexuality, but it did seem to assume a lot about that.

I like the idea that our bodies (our vaginas) should be sacred and private and not abused or made fun of. I don't think it's revelatory that if women are raped it damages them wholly, not just physically in their vaginas (Wolfe has much to say about rape as weapon of war and such, and I just kept thinking, of course, of course, these things destroy women's self-confidence and lives overall).

It makes sense, too, that a woman with a satisfying sex life in a good relationship would have the happiness, peace and wellness spill over to other areas of her life, like work and creativity, as well. However, I don't think that it has to be vaginal sex only and I don't think that an otherwise healthy woman who has not been raped or otherwise damaged and abused but who may not be having amazing vaginal sex will necessarily suffer in other areas of her life. Sex is not everything.

I don't say this just because I don't have vaginal orgasms (never have). I say it moreso because I'm not that interested (at all?) in having vaginal orgasms. If it happened, cool, but I don't feel like I am missing something and am not now driven to pursue it. Of course, maybe it's a shortcoming in me that I don't even care. But, to me, it's not the kind of orgasm my husband gives or doesn't give me, or even the sexual techniques at all that are important, it's the attention and care overall (yes, sometimes lacking) but I don't think it has to be so prescribed.

Wolfe does say in the book that she doesn't mean any of this to necessarily be prescriptive, but more of an a la carte assortment of things she found out in her research and connections she made. I question much of what she calls "science"—she relies a lot on rat studies to make her cases. She mentions as an aside a sugar rush from semen and I just wonder how much a guy would have to cum for the amount to, chemically, really evoke anything physiologically in a woman that she could really feel. One Amazon reviewer lists suggestions for Google searches pointing toward articles critical of Wolfe's interpretation of the science: Neuroscientists take aim at Naomi Wolf's theory of the "conscious vagina"; Naomi Wolf's "Vagina" is full of bad science about the brain; Pride and Prejudice, by Zoë Heller (The New York Review of Books); Feminist Dopamine, Conscious Vaginas, and the Goddess Array; Of Mice and Women: Animal Models of Desire, Dread, and Despair; and Upstairs, Downstairs; `Vagina: A New Biography,' by Naomi Wolf (The New York Times).

Also, the tantric coach who charges $150 per hour for "yoni" work, including hands-on massage grosses me out.

I enjoyed reading about different historical mores related to the vagina, although certain parts of the past and certain current practices within cultures that denigrate women were troubling. If anything, it made me grateful to be a grown woman in the West married to a kind, if not stunningly tantric, man, even with the porn-addled consciousness that supposedly ruins us all. (I think some people of my and my husband's age may have escaped exposure to and getting hooked on or damaged by some of the more distasteful or harmful porn.) I have to be careful not to focus on ways my husband may not be treating me like the Goddess I allegedly am. Maybe try and come up with some ways to quietly evoke this in him, because my direct requests for things like eye contact don't usually work. I'm not sure knowing what I know now after reading Vagina will improve my sex life, but maybe that wasn't the point. It was her personal discovery, not mine.

That funny feeling...again...

So I have that funny stomach-buzzing, tight-chest/heart anxiety feeling again. It's not a physical problem like I am going to have a heart attack or be sick or anything. I know what it is. It's anxiety. I can't pinpoint what caused it (causes it) but I can give some details on a bunch of little things that I think contribute to it...maybe.

I think it's at it's height right now because I need to run or do some exercise to burn off a bit of the frustration I've been feeling—except I can't because I have a client call in about 35 minutes (well, I did, til she postponed it another 15 minutes, and will probably then also be late, which means I could have ran or done some exercise and alleviated myself somewhat of this feeling, but now I can't because I'm on to writing to fill the time til the client call...ugh).

It may have started yesterday when I took my kid to this fancy-pants playground. She'd been there before and then she's been seeing it in a video she has and she kept asking to go. School was out yesterday, it was unseasonably warm, and so, we went. I was glad to take her somewhere special that she wanted to go, but I myself am not super crazy about the place. It's nice that it is 100% handicapped accessible, that's great. But it's, like, a 30-minute drive away and it's kind of in a shi-shi "neighborhood" (you can't really call it a "neighborhood" exactly because it's in a suburb with rolling hills and multi-acre lots, but anyway...) and there is always this weird mix of "the beautiful people"—moms with $700 riding boots, Chanel sunglasses, blown out hair and makeup—and then the nannies. Of course, there are "tourists" like me who go there, too, sometimes...and like this mom of a kid from my kid's old preschool who I saw and was trying to avoid.

So, I was having some fun walking around, following my kid around as she played "Froggy Fairytale Land," pretending she was a frog and leading me on a tour of her homeland, avoiding some bad guys here and there, achieving some little adventure goals along the way. Being with her lights up my heart I love to watch her facial expressions when she talks, love to hear her voice, her ideas.

I have to admit sometime I grow weary of her fantasy play, though, and I have to tell her so, now that she is getting older. She had woken up wanting to play mommy and baby animal, so we were hyenas. Then she wanted to be a pet cat that I was adopting. In the car ride to the playground, she was a dog who was going to marry our real dog. I couldn't take it anymore. It takes a lot of effort for the adult mind to engage in imaginative play like this while at the same time being grounded in the real world, taking care of the adult things that need to be taken care of like making and cleaning up breakfast, responding to emails, and...driving! I told her I feel kind of lonely sometimes and really would rather just talk to her as her real self. I told her I like her, I don't want to talk to a bunch of different pretend animals all day, that I want to talk to her. She seemed a little disappointed, but she "got" it and then I engaged her in a real-life conversation.

Back to the playground. After indulging in some fantasy frog play, she wanted me to play hide-and-seek. I generally don't like to play hide-and-seek at playground (or places other than our own yard) because after all, it's my job to watch my kid and know where she is and it makes me nervous to not know where she is. But, I gave in. The first couple hides I cheated and watched her, doing that thing all parents do where they pretend not to be able to find the kid and then they pop out and laugh and it is all so cute. The final hide, though, I actually lost track of her. It's a sprawling playground with lots of structures. So, I was wandering around looking for her for what felt like quite a while. I was a little panicky, but not extremely so. She's not a baby or toddler anymore. When I was her age, I probably went to the corner playground all by myself, so was it really a big deal that I couldn't find her for a few minutes? But, then I started to get a little panicky and mad. And to boot, the children of that mom from the preschool that I was trying to avoid were following me around. I don't know if they recognized me or my kid. I do know that they know I was looking for my child and they were tailing me, in a way I felt pretty sure was mocking or making fun of me. Maybe I am too sensitive or reading too much into it, but to me, it is rude and disrespectful to follow someone around this way. I never did like this mom (or her friend who was there with here awful kids too). It was so infuriating. I told the kids after several pauses and dirty looks to stop following me and that it was rude what they were doing. The friend of the mom collected them shortly after that, not acknowledging me, and it's not clear whether they noticed me or not. And shortly after that, I found my child. I scolded her mildly, but didn't want to take my frustration out on her. I just told her we weren't going to play hide-and-seek at playgrounds anymore and I told her about the awful children following me and she said "I'll protect you from them!" She is the best.

So, that caused me anxiety. Then, coming home, I had to make sure the child did her homework —which I'd lost cleaning off my desk of the gazillion papers the school sends home. Since I lost her homework, I had her make her own little booklet. All they do is color pictures and identify words with certain letters in them, a task which is far beneath my kid's level anyway, and I always make her do some element of extra work, like actually writing out the sentences in her own hand on lined paper, or something like that. While supervising her homework, I have to field a bunch of emails from an annoying person about issues that are really beyond my purview. But, I have this thing where I try to please and look like I am doing all I can to help. Still, when asked about things I don't really understand or control, it makes me very anxious.

Now, though, today, I am also feeling anxious because I miss her. Days when it is just me and her are even better sometimes than weekends with all three of us because they are like the golden baby days of..."just us"... I love having my husband home, too, and the time for myself that having him also parenting allows, but there is a different dynamic when he's home that's sometimes more chaotic (read, less under my control) than when it's just me and her. Now it's just me, alone, with my work and I miss her face and her words.

Kind of comforting, but not really

I recently finished Comfort, by Ann Hood, that I'd set out to read as maybe a bit of a lesson on how not to be so anxious about my own child—losing her, either through death (kind of an irrational fear for every day) or through just her simply doing what kids do and growing up.

I learned about Hood through an essay she wrote following the Newtown, Connecticut, tragedy in December where young schoolchildren were gunned down and killed.

Hood writes really well. She captures the love of a mother in beautiful detail. I felt like I could really identify with all the things she notices and loves about her daughter. Many of her daughter's quirky qualities reminded me of my own child. I found myself sobbing in the beginning, wondering whether it was really a good idea to read the book, as I was getting really emotional. I thought of my parents. They'd lost a child, just a little baby. She was not even one year old. I don't remember her at all.  I just remember getting swept up by some friendly paramedics as they rushed us...somewhere. Really, that's all I remember. I thought that any shortcomings they had as parents are just totally forgiven because they'd lost a child.

My connection to Hood kind of ended, though, in her coping. I guess that is OK. We all have to find our own ways to cope and of course hers would be different from mine and, of course, I don't really know what mine would be til it would happen. I do know with a good amount of certainty, though, that I wouldn't adopt another child, and I don't already have that other, other child (her older son) that Hood had.  Aside from the other children, Hood seemed to be quite comfortable financially. Writer job. Big house. Ability to take really great vacations. She'd had a nanny before for her children (including the daughter who'd died), too. I think having other children probably makes a big (the biggest) difference and is something I would not have.  This scares me, and so my takeaway is that I just have to be present and savor life as it is and try not to worry. I'm not a huge worrier, compared to other women, based on things I hear from people and things I read, but still, it's easier to tie that concept up in a little concluding sentence than to actually live it...

Habit breakers

I came across this article yesterday—on new research showing that we're more focused and creative in the great outdoors—and it really struck me—I needed to get out into nature. I'd skipped running outside all weekend, trying to do new workouts and get over my lingering cold issues and so by then, I was longing for it. I didn't feel like running, however, after doing this new DVD for the first time Saturday, my muscles were still ridiculously sore. (I really like Cathe Friedrich. She's no-nonsense, really fit and older than me! An inspiration of what I could become, fitness wise, if I get my act together...On the other hand, I can't say I love the new yoga DVDs I got, a Tara Stiles set. She's kind of mumbly and the moves were really hard on the one I tried to do, with her offering no modifications and I miss the sanskrit terms, which add an air of specialness to it. Anyway, I want to like her, but we'll have to see... )

I decided to walk around the local lake and take our dog—both new and different things for me as I usually run and I usually do not take the dog. It was really nice and I like to think of it as a bit of a "habit breaker." I need to do more of these habit breaking things, and hopefully a book I'm reading, Mindfulness: An Eight-Week Plan for Finding Peace in a Frantic World, will help me. The book is about mindfulness-based cognitive therapy (MBCT), which has some good science behind it supporting mental health, peace and well being. (Yes, I am giving meditation another go, even after my disappointment over the summer.)

Each week of the reading will have two parts to it: a meditation exercise and habit breakers which are meant to free readers from their everyday, cyclical thinking. And, oh, do I need this. I am in quite a rut, but I do see trickles and flashes of sunlight way ahead of me at the end of some tunnel. The habit releaser for the first week is actually to sit in different chairs or alter the position of the chairs you use. I'll do that while I'm working and eating. I do tend to sit in the same seat of the sofa all the time. (It will be good for my sofa, too to not be worn in the same place, ha ha!)

The walk around the lake was more immediately profound, though. It had the benefit of being outdoors, away from a screen and gave me the sense that I was doing something special and nice for someone else (my dog) at the same time. I learned, too, that it might be a good idea when I run to leave the headphones at home. While I don't always have the time it takes to walk instead of run, and most of the time I do want the exercise of a good run rather than walk, I could probably benefit more from the mind-clearing, rather than grooving to mid-90s gangsta rap, trying to convince myself the lyrics don't matter and its the beats I love.

New year, new me?

It's been a looong time since I've blogged. I kind of gave up on the arguing over parenting articles vibe and went in search of a new identity. It's been a long time coming. Longer, certainly than the September to January lull of the blog. Now, as the mother of a school-age child, now 40, everything looks different. I'm forced to confront getting old and my life maybe not becoming much of anything more than what it is and being OK with that. Some ways I'm dealing with that is grooving on the cosmos and science, studying Buddhism and mindfulness and trying to get fit again, but in new ways. So if I continue blogging, I anticipate the posts will fall into those areas.

I recently came across this article on a study showing that people rarely imagine correctly what their future selves will be like. Basically, we can look back and retell in good detail how much we've changed over the past ten years, but when asked how we expect to change in the next ten years, we don't expect to much.

In the last ten years, I've gotten married and had a child, which changed me a lot from what I saw was a kind of rambly hedonistic comfort seeker to someone striving for a purpose, if only to raise a happy, healthy child and get by in life. Gosh, typing that out, it doesn't sound like I have a purpose, exactly, now, either, except the child raising part. What a lame mess I am!

And yet, I've come to a place where I can look upon myself with a degree of compassion. I am, after all, OK. I like myself, even knowing I should lose 20 pounds, don't have enough money saved for retirement, will probably just have a middling, but pleasant and well-paying job the rest of my life (if I am lucky) and even though I am not always the best mom and wife. Why do I like myself? I guess the alternative is too sad-sack and I've at least learned at this point in my life that I can't approach others with compassion unless I am compassionate with myself.

Holiday to a deserted island

I've decided. I'm taking a holiday to a deserted island. On this island I will meditate, read books, get to know my husband and kid better and just take a break from all the bullshit. So yeah, husband and kid, not truly a deserted island, and of course, I may see friends and neighbors and such, but the idea is I am staying off Facebook and Twitter for the month of July, and starting a little early, today.

This will be a challenge. Eschewing Facebook, I won't be able to post about my many adventures, how I am taking my kid to see Brave tomorrow, how we're going to the beach, how we're going to see fireworks and it will be my kid's first time. But, I also won't get in frustrating discussions about breastfeeding vs formula, the Affordable Care Act, or having to scroll and scroll and scroll through countless inane pictures of cats and ugly babies saying trite things with poor grammar. I'll miss others' posts about timely news items, the awful state of the Supreme Court, banking systems all over the world, corrupt churches and child molesters. Since I get a lot of tips on news items from my Twitter feed, I'm staying off there, too.

I worry about not being informed, but this is only for a month (for starters) and it's summer. I'm supposed to be sipping cold drinks, vegging out poolside and enjoying long, lazy days with my family, right? Right?

I will, of course, still have to work for my clients. Gotta pay to keep the AC running, after all. But, this is a much-needed break to heal my hamster wheel brain and cleanse my sullied heart. I feel tainted by my angry, contentious thoughts when arguing points with friends, even if we keep it civil (some can't even do that). I feel like a hypocrite reading Pema Chödrön and the Dalai Lama and then pounding out points meant to take someone else's view down.

Often I listen with half an ear to a story my husband is telling me about his day or something he read or heard, while I read the latest "mommy wars" article, or learn of yet another non-fiction book I must read, or form my latest counter argument in some online debate. The other day while running our local trail, I saw a couple in their 60s strolling and it hit me—someday it's going to be just me and him again and so I better keep in touch with him. We share a physical space, responsibilities, bills, sex, but honestly, my consciousness is more often keyed into to drivel on the internet. How ridiculous is that? My focus should definitely be on my life partner who I am supposed to be in love with!

And, of course, I won't even start on how I need to pay more attention to my child because that is so obvious.

So, if you'll excuse me, my plane is now boarding!

Challenge: Play more and find a way to make it edifying

I'm having mothering problems. My kid wants me to play a lot more than usual lately. (Maybe it's that preschool is out and instead of four days, she's just going to camp just two days—and of course, she's become used to being with us all day long now, and mostly engaged, after having been on vacation all together as a family for two weeks.) I don't really like playing, though. I feel sad about not liking playing.

One of the big problems I have with it is illustrated in the photo above—kids this age are disorderly. I am an order fiend (to my own standard, I'm sure some people "worse" than me would come into my space and be appalled—it's all a matter of degree). It is extremely difficult for me to find my place in the midst of this disorder. To her, I think, it somehow all makes sense. She's playing classroom. The Duplos in the middle are the schoolbus. The ones on the left are (were?) the classroom. The foam bits on the right are the playground. Presently, in the picture, the animals are hiding the paint they spilled with those paper towels. The paint is marker she drew with on the yoga mat.

Why it is so hard for me to pick a role in this story line and act it out with one of the figurines? That's all I'd have to do, right? My mom used to do it, I think. And yet, I have so much trouble with it. My kid tends to tell me that something I do when I try to do it playing isn't quite right and I (rather immaturely, I admit) get frustrated. I mean, I'd rather be reading or something, and I feel like I am doing something for her by playing and so she should be grateful for my play rather than critiquing it. Then again, if I am doing it for her, why shouldn't she have it her way?

I think I would actually enjoy playing—or doing art or crafts—in such a way that I am teacher. But, my kid doesn't really let me play that role. She kind of likes to run the show. And her show doesn't always (doesn't usually) make sense to me. She makes up words sometimes. Has arrangements I don't quite get. Sometimes she'll come up with something really cool and brilliant, though. But usually, my regimented adult mind can't get past the disorder.

In searching out ideas to help me, I mostly found academic/scientific information saying it wasn't necessary (or necessarily even good) for a child's development to have an adult play with them. But I'm not only concerned with my child's intellectual development (which I think is on track). I am concerned with our relationship.

I have to somehow overcome this. I feel like I should play with her, at least sometimes, and probably more than I do. I want to instill in her a sense that she is worthy, fun, a valuable and interesting person that people should want to engage with and so I don't want to reject her by not playing with her. And, practically speaking, she is an only child, so she has real needs for interaction. We do playdates, but it's just not feasible to do them every single day. I may crave alone time as a world-weary adult, but she is fresh and new and has much to share.

This is where getting high would come in handy—ha ha! I would be able to play so much better if I was high. Not high, I just see messes that I will eventually have to help clean up and my mind is pulled to real life, real issues I want to sort out by reading or writing. But, I digress. I need to expand my consciousness sans chemical aid and make this work. For me as much as for her. It could be a great opportunity to release myself from some of my neuroses. I mean, why this need for order? Have I always been this way? I don't remember being so touched by this need throughout my whole life.

I feel like I used to be so much a better mother to a baby than I am to a kid. Babies you just hold, feed, and you still have your brain to yourself. A kid kind of takes over your brain, if you give it half the attention it needs, or at best splits your consciousness in two somehow. No wonder I feel so nutty a lot of the time!

I have to face this challenge, though. I have to somehow find a way to play with her, ignore the messes and tap into how the make-believe storylines and dialogues might be able to teach me things. And she's been patiently waiting for me to join her by that crazy block pile, so, here I go...