Walang Hiya - Without Shame (Part 4)

I am scared to write about this. So scared that I've put it off, pushed it back, and continue to hesitate even as I write this. The shame in this runs deep, even if it doesn't look that way outwardly.

I'm hoping that you, who is reading this, are able to read what I have to say without judgement and not perpetuate the shame that already comes with being a survivor of sexual assault.

Trauma Shame

I am very open and honest about my experience as a survivor of childhood sexual assault. Since my first year at college, I had been sharing my story at the annual Take Back the Night event. Currently, I volunteer with the Boston Area Rape Crisis Center on their Survivor Speakers Bureau. I try to speak up and advocate where I can for trauma-informed sex and pleasure education.

There is certainly still a stigma to being a survivor. People continuously attempt to make excuses as to why/when/how the assault must have happened, which always leads to some sort of victim-blaming statement. Was it their clothes or the location or the time of day? Or perhaps they just weren't clear enough or silent about their "No." It's utter nonsense, and it greatly affects how people deal with their trauma.

The shame of the trauma itself contributed to my reasoning for holding the information from my family for so many years. The shame didn't stem from being the victim, though. It stemmed from the idea that *I* would ultimately be responsible for my family's breakdown. Being Filipina, I grew up with a strong sense of family as the main community. Everything we did was for the better of the community. So, I sat in silence in what I believed was a way for me to protect my family.

Now, some might say that however my family chose to respond was not my responsibility. I am only able to hold responsibility over my own behavior, words, and actions. 

Yet, some might argue that my chosen silence might make me complicit to any other potential harm that was done by the perpetrator. That statement is just as victim blaming as any of the others. It is unrealistic to expect that the victim would have any responsibility for the perpetrator's actions, especially if they're in the midst of dealing with the trauma. And as a teenager who had yet to receive any treatment for the trauma at the time, I refuse to believe that *I* would be responsible for another person's actions, much less the perpetrator himself.

So, which one is it? What am I, as the survivor, responsible for? 

I chose to believe that I am responsible for my own healing, and part of that healing and shame eventually led me to move to the other side of the country in an effort to create space for all of us to heal. I chose very specifically to keep the perpetrator at a distance, while others in my family choose to forgive him and move on. And while it's still painful to see his face every once in a while in family photos, I recognize that I cannot expect my family to respond similarly to how I did.

I recognize the nuance of the situation, even though I feel that I was greatly harmed. For me, I don't feel he owes me anything. I don't want anything from him, not his pain or his demise. Nor do I owe him anything, not acknowledgement or forgiveness. I am okay with that.

For some of my relatives, culture and religion (for some) have taught them about forgiveness and about family as the main community. Even though he's inadvertently hurt them, they have focused on his restoration, though I'd like to assume that it doesn't mean that they love me less or that they aren't hoping that I am healing. I'd like to believe that both can coexist, even if it's difficult and painful. I am okay with that.

Thus, here I have resided on the East Coast, surrounding myself with a found family, a community of survivors and educators, and others who understand the nuance of trauma.

I am only able to hold responsibility over my own behavior, words, and actions. I recognize that the trauma can still be painful, can affect me in unknown ways, and that it's part of how I move through the world. It doesn't make me less than or more than. It's just me, and there's nothing shameful about that.

How are you planning to release trauma shame in 2018?

Thank you for taking this journey through shame with me.

Mermaid Monday with Goddess Cecilia: Philippine Mermaid Swimming Academy!

Walang Hiya - Without Shame (Part 3)

So, we've addressed body shame and professional shame this month. This week, I want to talk about pleasure shame. 

Pleasure Shame

Where could we even start with pleasure shame? Society seems to be all about making people feel bad for enjoying life. From enjoying rich foods to enjoying different types of sexual activity, there is always someone who disapproves because they can't see themselves enjoying those same things. But do they disapprove because they've been shamed about their pleasures as well? 

It can get so complicated. So complicated, so fast.

Being in the sexuality field, there are several ways that pleasure shame comes into play.

As an educator, I am constantly encouraging folks to feel secure about the things they find pleasurable, as long as it involves continuous conversation and consent. Too often, the common thread behind many of the questions I get are about feeling "normal." Yet, if pleasure itself was normalized as well as the idea that pleasure can be as individual as humans are from each other, I don't know if this quest for feeling "normal" would be as common.

The other side of the coin is then feeling like perhaps they're "not adventurous enough." While some people might feel shame from feeling pleasure with activities that might not be as accepted in society, such as kink or BDSM, there is also the shame someone might feel from being "vanilla." 

I worried about this as well, as a Sexuality and Pleasure Educator who is in a heterosexual, long-term, monogamous relationship. Am I not kinky enough to be able to speak about kink? Am I too a part of mainstream culture that I wouldn't be able to understand the relationship woes of other people in different types of relationships? I'd like to hope not, and I recognize that there's always more to learn. I also don't think that enjoying "vanilla" makes me less of an advocate for pleasure.

As a sex toy retailer, I often hear, "Oh, I don't need sex toys because I have a husband/boyfriend." I recognize that it's gendered, and it's still the most common statement I hear about why someone doesn't feel like they need or want a toy. I think it's fascinating that there is an implication that their pleasure comes from whether a partner can GIVE it to them, rather than from them having control of it themselves. It seems that there is still this idea that owning a sex toy means that someone is having difficulty achieving pleasure, either by themselves or with a partner. Or that owning a sex toy makes one lonely. 

Sex toys can be a fantastic tool to help someone understand their bodies and their pleasure better. They can help with keeping things fun and adventurous with a partner. They're certainly not necessities, per se, but there is no need for shame when it comes to having and perhaps even preferring sex toys.

My hope, especially with this little exploration in pleasure shame, is that the conversation shifts away from shaming messages about how, when, and with whom people enjoy pleasure. There will never be pleasure in a "one size fits all" category. The more we accept that, perhaps the less pleasure shame there will be.

How will you be releasing pleasure shame in 2018?

........To be continued and concluded next week!

Walang Hiya - Without Shame (Part 2)

We first explored loving your body without shame. This week, I want to explore a type of shame that doesn't come up very often if at all, even in conversations about self-care. 

Professional Shame

As a child of immigrants and being an immigrant myself, there was this inherent pressure to live up to the American Dream. We came to this country to have more opportunities, to rise into the middle class, and to live a comfortable life. 

Living a comfortable life means job stability after higher education. At least, that's how it feels in my family. I'm sure there was hope that I would become a doctor or dentist or some other well-paid professional. Instead, I studied psychology, pursued a Masters in Social Work, and chose a career in sexuality and pleasure education. 

I joke about how I chose a path where I could help people, even if it meant that I couldn't pay my own bills. Even though I am also in the retail side of sexuality, I ultimately choose passion over profits.

Even more so, I chose a completely nontraditional path. One that my parents have struggled to understand, and perhaps have even been embarrassed to explain what I do to others. I can't tell you how often I've heard my mother say that I was working with "weird" products or that what I was doing was "weird." I also can't tell you the number of times my mother has suggested that I go back into school to get a business degree. This is tame based on what I've heard about others.

A career in sexuality, even the educational side of it, has its own specific type of struggles. In a society that devalues bodies based on their appearance, emotional intelligence, and pleasure, it is not uncommon to be given strange looks once you explain your career. I've heard of countless partners who become insecure, angry, and abusive because their partners are involved in the sex industry. In Athena's, there have been too many distributors who left because the were not getting any support from their partners. They were made to feel shameful of their interest in sex toys, when the real shame is that their partners made them feel that way at all.

Of course, when it comes to people who are supposed to care for us, we want them to be happy. Not just "happy," but "happy with us."

At the end of the day, I certainly want my loved ones to be happy with and proud of me. I want them to be proud of what I do and how I'm helping others. And yet, I know this is not what my parents wanted for me, so I can't say whether or not they are actually proud. I also know that I am happy with my chosen career, even with all its struggles. I have found community, friendship, chosen family. I have learned so much and want to keep learning more. At the end of the day, I chose my own wants and needs.

I've certainly felt shame around my profession of choice, especially since I know it wasn't part of my parents' American Dream. However, here's what I believe to be an interesting conundrum. Is it not part of the American Dream to pursue what I'm passionate about?

There has been a long history of people choosing paths that they felt they had to take. Perhaps there's a family business, or a sense of feeling like their path was chosen for them by parents and society. There's also nothing wrong with that choice, especially if it's one that brings you joy and pleasure. 

Could you imagine, though, if people were able to make a career out of something they were truly passionate about? If they were able to make a career from something they enjoyed, even if it's generally considered a "hobby"? If they were able to explore their interests before retirement? 

A job is an obligation. The work you do is the piece that matters. That passion and pleasure in the work can define your profession. There's no room for shame in that.

How will you be releasing Professional Shame in 2018?

.......To be continued next Friday!

Mermaid Monday: Ep 10 Self-Care Beyond the Spa!

Walang Hiya - Without Shame (Part 1)

When I was young, one of the Filipino phrases I often heard was, "walang hiya." It means "without shame" or "shameless." It carries a negative connotation, and often used to shame folks into changing their behavior. 

It was not something I wanted to hear my parents say to me or about me. This led to me trying to make decisions that would please my parents, and I would feel so ashamed if they were disappointed. What I didn't realize was how ingrained shame became in how I related to the world.

Body Shame

I don't know if I would have ever considered myself skinny. I remember being told to watch what I ate, not to eat too much, and yet to make sure I finished all the food that was on my plate. I remember a relative once telling me to hold on to my utensils until I was done eating everything. I remember not even being a tween yet and weighing myself every couple of minutes one day, just because I was curious about how my actions affected my weight.

At one point, I believed that my age and my weight had a larger relationship with each other. So, if I were 10 years old, I should weigh 100 lbs. If I were 11, I should weigh 110 lbs. If I were 20, I should weigh 200 lbs, and so on. Clearly, that's a skewed view of the Body Mass Index.

As my weight increased as I grew older, as I started taking birth control pills, as I indulged in late night eats during college, I struggled with the weight I was unable to release. When I would go home from college and, later, grad school and visit my relatives, my grandmothers would often grab at my upper arms and declare whether or not I had lost weight.

It's been a long and difficult journey, and it has been filled with lessons along the way. I went to the gym because I felt I had to, though I learned that I enjoyed guidance and a class structure more than going to the gym just to use machines. I tried Whole30 and being "paleo-light," or so I called it. In the past two years, I've been loosely following the Fit Girl program. Through these nutritional journeys, I've learned more about my eating habits and have learned the value of having prepared meals, if only for the sheer amount of time and money saved during the week.

Every time I failed at the gym or at eating, all those negative messages and feelings of shame zoom through my brain. Yet, something didn't feel right.

In all that time of comparing my body to other bodies, I realized that the standards I was striving for weren't build for a Filipina body. The standards were built and created by white men. Nutritional guidelines don't incorporate meals, fruits, or veggies that were prominently used in my culture. My comfort foods were not the same. I truly felt that I would have to give up my culture in order to fully follow any weight loss plan.

It's taken many years for me to actually learn to listen to my body. At 35 years of age, I've come to learn how much my body can do, and about what I need to do for my health and self-care. I recognize that I enjoy movement, mainly through dance. I've even come to enjoy jogging as an opportunity for me to interact with my neighborhood and with nature. I recognize that food is an important part of how I live, and it's also a way for me to connect with people I care about. 

It's certainly still a work in progress, especially as I continue to age and learn more about what my body needs. I still feel shame once in a while, especially if I'm interacting with family members. However, I have decided that if it makes me feel like I am in any way less than for my curvy body, then I will choose to walk right on out.

How will you be releasing Body Shame in 2018?

....To Be Continued Next Friday!