Like a girl? Like a boss.

The last time I gave any great thought to a maxi pad commercial was when I wondered who the hell they thought they were fooling with that blue liquid shit. Let’s be honest ladies: Nothing. Like. That. Then today all over my Facebook news feed (which is where I get all my news in Sri Lanka) my friends were posting this advert from Always. It features some young women and a boy at a casting call where the director instructs them all to do things ‘like a girl’. Fight like a girl, run like a girl, throw like a girl…you get it. Anyway, many people thought that this advert was really poignant and I suppose it is, but mostly it's just more bad news for women.

These young women in the commercial who when asked to do things 'like a girl' threw pathetically and ran ungracefully whilst fixing their hair are old enough to know better. The little boy is not, so I’ll cut him some slack. Years from now his parents will play that commercial at his wedding and he will be doubly mortified that he a) was in a commercial for maxi pads and b) that he was a sexist prick. 

I digress…these young women in their 20’s and 30’s, when asked to throw ‘like a girl’ threw nothing like they would throw. They threw the way someone in a full body cast would throw. When the director explained to these women that they were doing themselves a disservice and asked them if they’d like to try again; they all jumped at the opportunity and even went on to make bold statements like ‘why can’t running like a girl win the race?’ Well, it can. Why do we as women need someone's permission to be strong? To be sexy? To be who we really are? 

The whole point of this campaign is to empower young women to keep throwing and fighting and running like girls. The commercial states that between the ages of 10 and 12 most girls lose their confidence and are already feeling undervalued in their tiny social realms as well as in the bigger world. So why then do we continue to lose confidence even when we’re old enough to know better?

In this commercial, when the director later asked a group of 7-10 year olds to do the same actions ‘like a girl’ they all kicked major ass. They all fought strong, ran fast and threw straight. Being a girl is not a handicap and at 10 years old we know that, but at 25 we have no clue. Did we forget? Or are we just conditioned to become caricatures of ourselves? I have a vagina and I am a perfectly capable human being. I can do anything you can do and I do it ‘like a person’.

So who is this advert targeting? It’s targeting women. Those 10-year-olds aren't buying maxi pads. It’s targeting us women who have no idea that running like a girl is just regular fucking running. The same women that believe their vaginas spout blue liquid once a month. We need to recognize that this is a problem. We are selling ourselves short every day. We can physically and mentally do everything anyone else can do, but if we don’t believe this ourselves how the hell are we going to fight for the big stuff like equal pay and better benefits? Do we think we don’t deserve these things? My genitalia is not a determining factor as to whether or not I'm good at anything. Except maybe having a penis. My vagina means I'm really bad at that.

The reality that some women still see themselves as less than just because of their gender is so sad. And that fact is put under the spotlight in this advert. All these fabulous little girls reminding us of who we once were are great, but the tragedy is that many of us have become these young women who have no idea who we are.  A maxi pad commercial is not inspirational. You are. Now go fight this busted-ass system like a girl. 

Stop with all the raping

Another woman is found hanged in India. The third in two weeks and all three are suspected gang rape victims. We all remember the unbearably tragic incident where a young medical student was gang raped by a group of men on the back of a public bus and then thrown from the moving vehicle in 2012. That story cut something inside of me and inside the rest of the world deeply, but despite our global condemnation and revulsion at such a crime, these incidents continue to happen and actually appear to be on the rise.

According to the National Crime Records Bureau rape incidents have increased in India by ten times since 1971. In 41 years the country has gone from 2,487 incidents of rape to 24,923 in 2012 (NCRB). Of course, as we all know, these are only the incidents that have been reported and in countries where women are marginalized or seen as unequal to men it is less likely that women will report an incident of sexual assault.

So why is this happening? I've heard so many excuses batted around that it’s hard to know where to start. Some blame Bollywood culture for propagating the image that a woman is just a possession to be obtained and though at first she may protest, she can always be won over. Most disturbingly I've read the argument that ‘boys will be boys’. What the fuck does this mean exactly? In an article posted on TIME.com under the heading ‘Opinion Feminist’ Mallika Dutt very rightly observes ‘Let’s stop saying that half the human race is inherently aggressive, predatory and incapable of transformation’ Yes. Let’s. In Uttar Pradesh, an incredibly densely populated area with highest amount of HIV infected individuals in the world ‘three to five rapes of women and girls, mostly Dalit occur daily in Uttar Pradesh alone.’(NCRB) This has to stop.

I work in Sri Lanka 6 months of the year and it’s here too. Every time I come back it’s here a little more. Lurking and threatening just beyond the periphery. The reluctance of Indian authorities to impose stronger punishments for rapists is sending a dangerous message to India and the rest of Asia. ‘Boys will be boys. They make mistakes’. These are the words of Mulayam Singh, the head of Uttar Pradesh’s governing party. Mistakes? A mistake is pulling a girl’s ponytail or pushing her in the sandbox, not forcefully penetrating her and then hangining her or throwing her from a speeding bus. These are not ‘mistakes’ these are acts of unspeakable violence and we as women are systematically being asked to shut the fuck up about it and accept that it may happen to us. It may happen and no one will give a fuck if it does.

We teach the girls who volunteer with us to make a scene: to shout and to push and to never accept someone else’s hands on your body. Are we setting these poor girls up for failure? What India’s government is saying is that if she makes a fuss you silence her. You kill her and you’ll get away with it. This is terrifying. As a woman and as a woman living in Asia this is terrifying.  We need to do more. Arming women with knowledge and weapons will never be enough if men are not equally armed with knowledge and they can use their body as a weapon.

Don’t rape. It’s simple really. Why do we not teach our boys not to rape? I refuse to believe that every man has it in them to commit this crime, but we should be talking about it just in case. ‘Boys will be boys’ is bullshit. This dangerous ignorance is costing freedom, security and lives. No one deserves to be raped and no rapist deserves to be free. We need to do something about this. This isn't a foreign problem. It’s a human problem. 

Are we there yet?

It's Saturday morning and I'm supposed to be asleep. I've been surviving on about 4-5 hours a night and packets of Hawaiian biscuits for sustenance. I'm supposed to be asleep, but this beautiful, sunshiney Sri Lankan morning has pulled back my blankets and coaxed me awake with its smells and sounds.

I'm nearly at the two week mark of my time in Sri Lanka and it feels like I've been here for months. The weather is cooler, the storms more intense and the obstacles feel at times like stairs too steep and dangerous to attempt, but they have been attempted and for the most part I have stood at the top and wondered how the fuck I made it up. I made it with the help of the incredible people I work with and with the help of being too stupid not to try.

Putting people on planes and keeping people from getting on planes has been the sum of recent events. Every day I feel a little helpless, a little important and a little sad that on that day I couldn't do more. But I also feel a little proud that shit got done. No matter how small it seems, shit gets done. My heart is engorged by working with the best team with the best intentions. My heart is broken for sometimes falling short and for having to make decisions that no one wants to have to make. I'm constipated both emotionally and physically and have reached all new levels of intimacy with my room mate due to the walls of the toilet not reaching the ceiling.

However, despite the cozy conditions we are living in luxury and there are no complaints from either of us. As seems to be that pattern with me and moving in Sri Lanka, the house that was chosen as our residence never actually prepared for our arrival, despite the month's notice and we were met with plywood and dirt where there was supposed to be beds and cupboards. As a solution we have been moved into a hostel with air conditioning and wifi. We have a kettle and according to the gossip, we're married. We will leave this beautiful oasis tomorrow and move back in with our previous family.

These past few weeks have been filled with dirty-ass butt pants, wanting two things and Big Mackrels, and they have been great. I'm both terrified and excited for the rest of the summer and looking forward to meeting the rest of the inspired and inspirational people who will come here and make this place theirs. It is all very much the same but different. And that's just what I wanted.

Again. But different.

Tomorrow at 4am I leave for the airport. Once there I will check in, probably browse Boots and other stores buying too much ibuprofen and maybe some preventative thrush tablets. I'll eat food I don't want and probably a coffee I won't drink before I board the plane to Sri Lanka via Doha.

It's been nearly a year since I last departed for Sri Lanka and 6 months since I've been back. I feel like many things have changed, yet most things haven't which is what I'm anticipating feeling in Sri Lanka and that is comforting. The places will hopefully feel more familiar, the food will be more delicious and the toilets won't be such a surprise. But there will be all new people. All new people to get to know, to look after and to worry about. All new fears for them and dreams they're achieving and times they just really want to fucking go home. All new hospital visits and infections, broken toes and lice. All new families and places to sleep and things to try to understand.

These are the reasons I love my job. No day is ever the same. I can never be bored and the times when I want to just kick something are the times when I achieve clarity and when I remember why I'm doing what I'm doing. Why they are doing what they are doing. I work with the best. I learn from the most skilled and compassionate people I've ever known. At times I feel like a total fraud. Like a psychopath who is learning how to pretend at emotion and trying to convince people that I'm really legit. Like I can be trusted. But the truth is I feel absolutely everything. I feel it in a way that my face can't convey and my mouth can't articulate, but I feel everything that happens and everything that I fear will happen and everything that doesn't happen. I worry all day and my sleep is fragmented with more worry and then I start another day of the same. Almost the same.

I wonder about Steve. How he'll be this time around and if he'll ever betray the veneer of perfectly fine, perfectly calm. I know his heart breaks a little and he probably has no idea that my rhythm is out of sync as well. The murmur which becomes much more of a groan is his. It's always more difficult for the one who stays behind. Who does all the stuff you do together, but alone. Who has no distractions except for the distraction of the empty bed, the lack of washing up. No more clothes I left in the basket for the wash that were actually already clean. Nothing to get annoyed about or to change the emotion he feels for me. Just the constant space until I can fill it again.

These months away from the UK will be jam-packed with crazy and laughter and fatigue. Each day will bleed into the next and before I understand that a month has just passed, it has. The melancholy doesn't last and the highs are really fucking high. I just hope that there's still space for me and that this time around will be some of what it was last time. Ideally I'd like a few less vagina punches, but I know that's asking a lot. I want smiles and challenges and plenty of sweaty hugs. I want tuk tuk drivers with neon smiles and sarees that require sunglasses to admire. I want plenty of EGB or I won't get any food and I want to shop at No Limit and buy something I might actually want to wear at home. But mostly I want it all to be OK and for everyone to have a beautiful, transformation time just like lat time. I want it all again. But different.

Woman writes blog in pants with no makeup.

This week saw me tie up some loose ends at work, get my huur did and, drink with two of my favorite women and get in one fantastic Facebook argument a la 9th grade. I was slightly ashamed of myself for indulging, but the topic I was fighting about is something I feel incredibly strongly about. I am super passionate as you may have noticed, and am not afraid to look like a dick in front of the kingdom of of Facebook (not really. I don't have that many friends) And all of you. After our debate came to a natural end I couldn't believe my luck when I found this listicle that so beautifully demonstrated what I was trying to say. I posted it on my Facebook page yesterday.
Go on. Have a look and I'll wait.

I adore The Vagenda and this exercise has cemented that love in a deeper place in my heart. Never afraid to tackle women's issues and be direct, it is one hell of a publication. What they are asking us to do here is to challenge the headlines that we see every day, that we find acceptable every day and see them for what they truly are, superficial, sexist bullshit that should not stand. Not one of the articles pictured is one I'd want to read. Every headline, no matter the actual subject includes a play-by-play about how each woman looks, what each woman is wearing or in poor Amy Adam's case, not wearing (makeup. GASP!) How is this fucking relevant?

Photo by: http://i226.photobucket.com/albums/dd296/casedawg230/stophatin.jpg

Answer: It's not, but we as a society have become so desensitized to this scrutiny that we are complicit in it, and by being complicit, we are propagating the idea that a woman's appearance is newsworthy. Now I'm not saying this can't happen to men. It does, but in a different way. Men are often sexualised in the media without context. Let's take Heat's Torso of the Week for example. Yikes. Total sexism there ladies and we are to blame.

Even in the articles I'm discussing, if you look at #2 there's Diet Coke's Hunk of the Week. Really, ladies? This is a thing? There is pressure on men to look great too, of course, but rare are the articles chastising men for leaving the house with a hair out of place. #5 would not be newsworthy if we were talking about Benedict Cumberbatch's nipples, but Rhianna's are worth reading about. We've all got them, people,and sometimes they like to play peek-a-boo. Stop being a pervert, watch the fucking game and get your eyes off my tits!

The most fucked up point to make here is that nearly all of these articles were written by women. I was asked a very interesting question earlier in the week which was 'can women be sexist to each other'? The answer is fuck yes. All this talk about 'shapely legs' #6 and 'enviable figure' #5 is fucking sexist. These authors might as well have been wolf-whistling as these celebs walked by as well as chronicling their physical attributes above all else.

It should not be important that Jennifer Garner has a nice rack under her frumpy shirt. Poor Clare Danes in #13 is just trying to go for a run, but the author comments on how she is displaying her body. Who doesn't run in leggings? Is this really fucking print worthy and why are we sexualising this woman when she is quite clearly doing nothing of a sexual nature? If these articles were written by men I believe more people would see the problem, but because it's us women-folk visiting these expectations and limitations on each other it often goes unnoticed.

Notice it. We as women are hard enough on ourselves, let's not be hard on other women too. Even if they are celebrities that we will most likely never meet. It's bullshit. The reason we are so hard on ourselves is because of all this vacuous nonsense flooding our brains and taking up space where our confidence and empathy should be.

I challenge you all to not pick up that US Magazine, or that Heat magazine. It's full of stories designed to make you hate on other women. And none of you are malicious. I know that, but it happens without us even knowing it. Read magazines that make you feel god about yourself. Myslexia or The Vagenda.

Let's change the conversation. Let's make it about who these women are, so we can be inspired in a positive, healthy way and not about how they look. I know that I as a woman would hate to think I was being judged in the same way. Let's cut this Mean Girls shit out and start being more supportive of each other.

Congratulations! You have piss poor judgement!

I hope my friend doesn't kill me for writing this, but it's been bothering me for days now. I actually sat up this morning and ran through all the possible options and came to the conclusion that there is no worse question to ask a woman than 'are you pregnant'? I thought of 'are those real'?  or 'are you on your period'? even the old high school throwback 'do you smell fish'? After careful consideration I decided that I would rather be asked those questions for eternity than have someone ask me even once 'are you pregnant'?

It is never ever fucking OK to ask a woman if she's pregnant. Ever. In fact, I find it hard to believe that in the history of the world anyone has ever thought that this was OK unless you're a god damned doctor, then you can ask away. What can possibly be gained by asking someone this highly personal question? And what are you insinuating with your query?

Photo by: http://imgur.com/C4Q2A

There are events in everyone's lives that are top of the tree in terms of personal importance. I myself am childless, but I imagine that being pregnant is one of them. I have friends and family members who planned for months how they were going to tell everyone the big news. Recently a video of a man finding out he's about to be a grandfather via a fortune cookie went viral and brought a tear to even my cynical eye. Most women I know believe it's bad luck to discuss a pregnancy before the first three months, so how the actual fuck someone has the big, bold vagina or testes to walk up to woman and ask her to divulge this, the innermost workings of her body, her biggest secret ever, her most joyous moment which is hers alone to share at the fucking water cooler floors me. I feel enraged that we are so invested in other women's bodies that we feel that to ask this is in any way acceptable.

Why are you asking me if I'm pregnant? What if I am? What does that have to do with you?
What if I'm not, but I've been trying for years and something isn't working? What if I recently miscarried or I just had an abortion? What if I'm still pregnant with my baby, but it has died and I still have to give birth to it because I'm too far gone. This is some dark shit, and it's shit I wouldn't want to discuss with some nosy-as-fuck work colleague. You have no business knowing. If I'm pregnant and I want you to know, you'll  know.

We are all allowed to put on a little weight if we want to, or if we don't. I don't want to have to worry that if I have a big lunch some idiot is going to assume I'm cultivating a fetus. It's just a curry. In the media today we are so fixated on other people's lives, other people's relationships and other people's wombs. It's not natural and it's unfair. Let's all try a little harder to focus on ourselves and our journey and let others do the same.

No good will ever come of asking someone this question. Their feelings will always be hurt and you will always look like an asshole. Wait it out, do not steal their moment. Let them tell you when they want to and how they want to. And if they never tell you and there is never any baby, you'll be so glad you never asked.

Size REALLY matters.

Yesterday I was searching the internet for information on Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred. This workout DVD is my saving grace before bikini season and the only thing besides Steve I've been able to remotely commit to. In my search I came across another blog: Nurselovesfarmer.com. heard of it? I hadn't, but now I'm a subscriber. This girl is adorable. But more important than her advice on disposable diapers, what I discovered on this woman's blog hit me in the face harder than that time I got jumped in 8th grade.What I found was this: See Sarah's photo here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pediatricnurse/13202580774/

According to this beautiful woman I have the same measurements as her when she started her 30 day workout regime. Her. Exact. Measurements. Look at this
Bust: 37″
Natural waist: 30
Waist: 35″
Hips:  37.5″
Thigh: 21.5

Read more on Nurse Loves Farmer: http://www.nurselovesfarmer.com/2014/03/one-week-shred/

According to Sarah I should look just like her. Photos don't lie. But I look nothing like that. Do I?

I have body dysmorphic disorder. I am by all accounts mentally ill. Now don't hold the telethon just yet. I don't see it as a weakness. I am fully aware of my illness and although I don't completely understand it and can't ever beat it, I can live with it and my case is fairly mild. I don't suffer anxiety due to my appearance, but I do struggle day to day with how big or small I actually look. I genuinely can't tell.

So, what Sarah's blog revealed to me is that I might actually look she does and have no idea. I an see what she looks like, but I can't see what I do. Living with body dysmorphic disorder is never dull. One day you feel like you look too thin and the next you feel like you could grout your whole bathroom with the cellulite on your thighs. This is what went on in my head this morning in the shower: 'is that my arm? Fuck. It's enormous'. Every day what I see in the mirror is a surprise. For those of you who knew me in my 20's...why did you let me leave the house like that? I really needed a bra and a top with a back on it. Just a whole fucking top. Is that too much to ask?

The reason having this disorder is so damn tough is that clothing manufacturers do nothing to assist me in my quest to find my actual body size. In my closet right now I have jeans that are sized 10-14 (6-10 US). And the fucked up thing about this is they ALL fit! How is that possible?

Now I know those sizes are not for very big people, but I also have trousers size S-L. Is a size 10 (6 US) large? Am I a large person? I guess I am because I just ordered 3 swimsuits for my vacation all size L, but I wear a size 12 (8 US). How can I process this information? Sometimes I hold up jeans in front of the mirror to see if I think they look big. I lay them on my bed to see if the angle helps me to assess the size of them, but my perspective of the clothes isn't the problem it's my perspective of my body. In reality I have no idea whether I am fat or not and it doesn't help that I can't trust brands to be consistent with their sizing.

Talk about a first world problem, but it is a problem. And for someone like me it makes a big difference to how I feel about myself, as it's the only way I can measure how big I am since I genuinely can't see it. Clothing designers need to help us out. They need to standardize their sizing so we can all feel confident in our own skin. It doesn't feel good to buy those size 6 (10 UK) jeans in the US knowing that when I get them home to the UK they will measure as larger than my size 12 (UK 8) jeans. It's deceptive and it can be dangerous. For people like me who don't constantly check themselves, that size 6 may be enough to convince that person that they are a healthy weight and size, when in reality that size 6 has a 32 inch waist and should really be labeled as a size 10. I nearly passed out last Christmas when I had to ask the girl at Nordstrom Rack to get me a size 4. I am not a size 4, and the jeans I was swapping out were not a size 6.

It's a false economy to sell us pieces whose sizes are inconsistent and it makes shopping online nearly impossible. In a world where obesity is an epidemic, manufacturers need to start being more honest with consumers and we need to start being more honest with ourselves. As much as I'd like to be a size 6 I want to know that size is an accurate assessment of my measurements and not just a designers' ploy to sell more clothes.