The failure of niceness

I've faked orgasms.

I've "zoned out" during sex I wasn't really into because I thought it would be impolite to stop my partner, and what the hell, it couldn't hurt anyone. Right?

I've done things I didn't really want to do sexually because the other person seemed nice and I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

I've ignored my body and willed myself to get through sex because I'd initiated it, and something happened through nobody's fault to ding my arousal because female arousal is willful and insolent sometimes, and I felt I owed my partner satisfaction. Because hey, I'd started it.

Most of the time, my partners never seemed to notice.

These things aren't sexual assault. I've experienced that too. But they ARE part of a larger, systematic culture of patriarchy that tells women that our bodies are not our own. That our desires should make us ashamed. That our voices don't matter. That we must placate. Be polite. Don't start trouble. Think of the other person's feelings. Be nice. Be nice. Be nice.

Enough.

Our culture does not respect women. It does not value our voices. It values our bodies only as vessels for reproduction, and it does not value our choice in that matter either. It hears stories of a woman who goes to a man's house, maybe expecting to have some casual sexual fun, who discovers that things are not the fun she expected and feels unable to leave and unable to directly, explicitly say no. And they blame the woman. Why didn't she say no? Why didn't she just leave? Why was she so vague? Why didn't she scream, cry, fight back, run? Why'd she go down on him anyway? What a whore.

I have screamed. I've cried. I've tried to fight back and failed because my assailant was bigger than me, and because he thought my protests were part of the game he was taught by our culture to play. Because he thought, once given, my body would always be his to do what he wanted.

That was the worst time. But it's not the only time I've done things sexually that I wasn't completely and enthusiastically present for. Because the pressure to be nice, to not hurt others' feelings? That shit's there ALL THE TIME. Especially if, like me, you are a survivor of sexual violence and emotional abuse. If you've been told -- and who isn't, especially women? -- that your only worth is your body, and even that's not worth much if it doesn't meet insane cultural pressures, so you better be grateful that person's even looking at you. You better do whatever they want because you won't get another chance. Because you don't deserve it. Because their pleasure is more important than your honesty. Don't rock the boat. Don't be The Difficult Woman.

And in general? My casual male partners haven't noticed the difference. That speaks to something deeply broken in our culture. It speaks to a desperate ignorance of what female pleasure actually looks like. It speaks to a comfortable laziness that isn't driven to learn what works for others as long as it knows what works for itself. It speaks to a discomfort with awkwardness, a fear of looking like you don't know what you're doing, a deep-seated desire to be seen as masculine and assertive and to BE IN CHARGE, because you ain't shit if you're a pussy.

We're all broken. Our culture fails us in empathy.

It tells us that we are objects for others' consumption. It tells those in power that they can use that power to demand what they want, and if it is given, however it is given, then that is enough to satisfy the little idol of "consent." It reminds us, and women especially, that if we do not react in whatever way the culture has deemed "appropriate" in that moment, we are trash that deserve what we got. It empowers some people to take whatever they want without thinking, and it makes others afraid of resisting that colonization because we know what can happen if we resist. It makes us all terrified of honesty.

I've been through years of therapy to process the impact of sexual assault and emotional abuse. And I've been lucky to have some positive healing experiences. Seeing myself in Sarah's boudoir photos a few years ago showed me a self I had never seen before: gorgeous, erotic, fun, identifiably me, flaws and all. And I have had the exceeding good fortune to have a couple of intensely caring partners, both male and female, who have helped me learn to love myself again, to see myself as a beautiful and desirable person whose needs and wants matter, whose appetites are the topic of enthusiastically mutual conversation. I have gradually learned to own my body and my desires. It's taken work and awkwardness and pain, but now I feel comfortable stopping sex acts that aren't working for me and asking for something else, even if my partner looks like s/he's having a good time. I don't fake orgasms anymore. I view my body as a delicious and magical gift that I am generous enough to share with people who will treat it with the respect and enthusiasm I deserve.

I bet you winced a little at that, though, didn't you? "Arrogant bitch," you might have thought. For just a second. It's okay. I thought that too. That insecurity is always there. A woman shouldn't say such things about herself. But why shouldn't we all feel beloved in our own bodies? And why shouldn't we demand that others treat us with that same compassion when we gift them our magic? And why shouldn't we be awed and delighted when someone gives us the gift of theirs?

This last year has woken something in me. I will never again be silent. But I recognize how much work it has taken me, and how much privilege I have had in getting here. We can only get through this to the other side if we are all here for each other, wherever we're at. And we have to be willing to have the brutal, honest conversations that reveal our flaws and imperfections and uninterrogated assumptions that have caused others real pain. Other women have already paved the way by starting these movements and sharing their stories and demanding to be heard.

Me too.