Self-love and self-care are probably the greatest and most valuable gifts one can offer to themselves, and I am slowly learning it. However, there are those dark moments which fill me with self-doubt and an intense feeling of hating parts of myself.
A few days ago, during a doctor’s appointment, I engaged in an extended stream of consciousness which ended up to the conclusion that I sometimes hate being born with a vagina.
Let me be clear on that: I don’t hate it per se, I think it’s a beautifully complex part of a person which can give infinite moments of pleasure (and sometimes, pain). What I hate in fact are the practical implications of being born with it.
Feeling regret over having it hit me while I was staring at the ceiling with my legs open and an inanimate object stuck up in my vagina. I was in the middle of a Pap test and a check up on what is going on inside.
No woman or person with a vagina in the history of modern medicine has ever been excited to go to their ob for a check-up or test. What is there to be happy about? You remain passive (at least physically) while something penetrates you. You can feel it coming, you tell yourself that you need to relax, but no matter how many times you’ve been through it, you just can’t seem to get used to it. Of course, going for a check-up can sometimes be a matter of life and death. Thousands of women were able to detect cervical cancer in its early stages because of this process, which makes it even more stupid not going through the test. Uh, I hate it, but I have to do it!
Although an unpleasant process, very few women in fact talk about it, at least in my experience. The majority of men, I think, have no idea what happens to a woman at her annual exam. Taking off your underwear, lying still with your legs up on stirrups while the doctor examines you with a speculum, which used to be a cold, metal tool, by the way (disturbingly, it kind of reminds me of The Handmaid’s Tale scene when Offred passively lies on her back, while Commander Waterford rapes her). I guess what bothers me the most is how detached I feel from my own body during the procedure – it’s like my body is there, but I look at it as an outsider; I have no control over it, but I can feel the discomfort, the pain.
Moments like these, when I kind of hate having a vagina, feel like I am compromising my feminism instead of trying to embrace my body, and guilt takes over. Because of it, I get period pains every.single.f*cking.month, I have to get naked in front of doctors, I have to endure the pain of childbirth if I ever decide I want a kid, and I am always afraid of getting raped every time I walk alone at night, and the list goes on. Yeah, it really sucks sometimes.
Having a vagina nowadays comes with so many issues that are obviously not biological, since a lot of them have to do with how others view and control your body. Therefore, having a vagina is a political issue rather than a biological one. In some countries, abortion is still illegal, and those who wish to interrupt their pregnancy often resort to unsafe methods or have to be burdened with extra expenses to travel to another country in order to do it.
Even contraception pills have a political aspect. During the 50’s, when women first gained access to these pills, it was celebrated as a focal point in the freedom of women over their sexuality. However, a few decades later, a lot of women using these pills report dramatic changes in their mood and even depression, while research into male contraception methods are still strangely underdeveloped.
A lot of the discussion in overcoming issues stated above is often directed to women taking action, which sounds more like advice: do not go out alone in the night, have a pepper spray in your bag, don’t wear provocative clothes, don’t have sex to avoid getting pregnant, etc. But why aren’t we trying to change the culture in general, instead of the way we act, when the latter does not in any way constraint anyone’s freedom?
“I think it’s a response to terrorism. From the time we’re little girls, we’re taught to fear the bad man who might get us. We’re terrified of being raped, abused, even killed by the bad man, but the problem is, you can’t tell the good ones from the bad ones, so you have to wary of them all. We’re told not to go out by ourselves late at night, not to dress a certain way, not to talk to male strangers, not to lead men on. We take self-defense classes, keep our doors locked, carry pepper spray and rape whistles. The fear of men is ingrained in us from girlhood. Isn’t that a form of terrorism?”
― Sarai Walker, Dietland
It was only recently that the traditional speculum was redesigned, having in mind the comfort of the patient, as well as any psychological factors that may arise (especially for sexually abused victims, the procedure may trigger memories). Although redesigning the speculum only addresses a small part of the problem, it is still a promising step towards changing the culture in general.
There has been a lot of discussion lately, especially with the global #MeToo movement, to deviate from the need to advice women and girls to go out at night alone, to dress ‘properly’, to carry with them a defence object, so as to avoid getting raped or even killed.
Instead, the discussion has been slowly shifting to changing the overall attitude of not the victims but the offenders, to make people finally understand that no means no, or to put it simplistically, to respect the other person. I think what we are currently witnessing is a global revolutionary wave against the patriarchal status quo which has been exercising its power over our bodies for so many years, while at the same time recognising that it is not enough to get women involved in the struggle, but men also. We need to cultivate a culture that does not breed perpetrators, sex abusers, rapists, sex offenders instead of telling ourselves to be more careful.
Learning to love yourself entails learning to love every single part of it – both your physical attributes as well as the personality peccadilloes. I realised that my occasional unhappiness over having a vagina was not always because I did not fully embrace it, but also because it sometimes became a source of fear.
Heartbreakingly, I realised that until I am no longer afraid to go out alone in the night, I shall never be at peace with my own body.
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