The stupidest argument in feminism...

So, right before I met Casey, I went through a nasty breakup. The kind of breakup that makes you move across the country just because you can't function. Yeah, one of those. When I first moved here, I decided I was going to be a lesbian, and never shave again. (Hey, I was 19, and that's how it worked in my head.) I met Casey three weeks later, decided I wanted to sleep with him, and immediately shaved. (Once again, 19.)

Seven and a half years later, I'm in a whole different world, but now I'm highly amused by the shaving argument that takes place in the feminist world. Not so much with the feminists I know in real life, because we are all very live and let live, but with the broader online community.

I was in the shower this afternoon, and spotted my razor, decided not to use it, and started thinking about how my body hair has manifested as I've changed my views and grown up.

I started shaving my legs in third grade, I think. One of my best friends, Kim, was a year older then me, and already was. My mom told me I wasn't allowed, but I went and did it anyway, at Kim's house. I think my mom just gave in, at that point.

If only I had realized what she was trying to save me from. My mom was right. I certainly didn't need to shave. I'm a redhead, and my body hair is very light, and very fine. You couldn't even see my eyebrows until I was 12! But, I was a very awkward kid with a desperate need to fit in, and it's what all the other girls were doing.

When I was 17, I started shaving off all my pubic hair. Coincidentally, that's the year I started having sex. I honestly have no idea what my friends were doing with their pubic hair, but I know we lived in bathing suit land (East coast of Florida) so we were all at least grooming well. I thought it was sexy and fun, and made me look older. How fucked is it that to look older, I shaved off my pubic hair, which would have only made me look more juvenile?

When I was 19, I was certainly influenced by what society told me, regarding body hair. If I was going to be with a man, I needed to shave. If I was going to be with women, didn't have to.

These days, my grooming still goes in phases. Until about the last year, I was a bit of a tomboy, but now I found the femme part of me, and am reveling in it. When I started wearing dresses daily, I started to shave a lot more, until I realized the only one who cared was me.

Sometimes, I don't shave for months. Casey and I once had a legit fight over this issue. (I was tired, hungry, up on my feminist high horse, and he was commenting on my body hair?!?! How dare he!!) I shave for special events, like when I modeled for Dr. Sketchy's, but then didn't shave for a month after. Sometime in that month, I got sick with the stomach flu, and desperately wanted to shave, because the physical sensation of the stubble was freaking out my overly sensitive skin, but didn't because I couldn't stand in the shower that long. I shave for new lovers.

Shaving can be my way of feeling pretty, and if that's not feminist of me, because I'm just buying into all the crap that they teach us we have to do as girls, then so be it. I do it when I feel like it. I don't believe there's any right or wrong way to be a feminist, as long as you're thinking about your actions. Some days, I just love the way smooth legs and clean sheets go together. Other days, I have five minutes to shower before my kid tears up the house, so we're lucky the showering happens at all.


I often have a hard time expressing what I think in writing (too many years of writing research papers), but I think what I'm going for here is that it shouldn't matter. You can shave your legs, or not. Just, always, think about your actions, and why you do them. And then do what makes you feel good.

I only look like a soccer mom...

I am queer. I a married to a cis-gendered man, and we're busy raising a pretty magical and crazy very soon to be four year old. I am femme. Sometimes, those things make me feel invisible to the community I most identify with.

Let me preface this by saying that I have the most wonderful friends who know all of these things, don't care, and love me, regardless.

But, the rest of the world only sees the lady in a dress, with a grown man on one arm, and a little one on the other. Unless I shaved my head, I am never going to 'look' queer, no matter how one does that, without being on the arm
of someone else who 'looks' queer. This frustrates me like you would not believe.

I know that femme-invisibility has long been a problem. I know that I am not the first queer chick to fall in love, get married to a dude, and have a baby. I know I'm not the first person to find my community after doing all of these things, but it sure feels like it.

Casey and I have an open marriage, meaning, for us, we date outside of our primary relationship. He dates women, sometimes straight, sometimes not so much. I date people. Sometimes, I date men. Sometimes, I date women. Sometimes, I date people who identify as trans, gender queer or anywhere along that line. Like I said, I date people.

These days, I am primarily interested in dating women. This can be a very frustrating endeavor, to say the least. I don't look like I fit in. I have a wedding ring on my finger, and my answer to what I do is "stay at home mom." I feel like I am automatically discounted as a dating encounter due to all of these factors.

Needless to say, I am willing to provide the information for someone to know I am all of these things, yet totally open to dating, and then I sit back and wait for them. Dating me is hard and I don't want someone to think they're getting some other sort of deal. Often, this means I don't date. I used to (before Casey) be aggressive in the dating scene, but not so much anymore.

I honestly don't know where I'm trying to go with this. I guess this is more of a vent, and a plea that you don't discount the 'straight' girl out at the gay bar as just that. You never do know...

I like my body, but...

Last night, I went to the Dyke March fundraiser, a dance party at North Star. A great time was had by all, and I had some very funny, and very awkward moments with some wonderful friends.

As the evening wore down, I was talking with a couple of friends, as the subject somehow seemed to turn to our weight and body image. A good friend mentioned how she wanted to lose about 15 pounds, so she could be "smokin' hot". This is a normal, average sized girl, who I already (and everyone one Earth, it seems) think is smokin' hot. She then exclaimed, "but this is coming from a girl who used to weigh 240 pounds!"

As it happens, I weigh 240 pounds. There. I just put it out on the internet. When I say it in numbers, I start to freak out a little, and think about how awful that is.

But, when I look in the mirror, I am pretty ok with that number, how I look, and where it's all placed. In fact, I think of myself as a pretty girl, with pretty fantastic tits, if I do say so myself.

How did I get to this point, though? I've been told all my life that being overweight is completely unacceptable by everyone from the media to my mom. I think the answer is sheer determination. I decided a long time ago that my self worth was not going to be determined by a number on a scale, and I haven't let it be. And, not surprisingly, the more I like my body, the more others do, as well.

Would I like to lose weight? Sure. I love clothes and fun dresses, and there are more options when I am smaller. But, overall, I'm pretty healthy, so I'll go with that. I have good cholesterol, good blood pressure, I eat better then I ever have in my life.

When I attempt to lose weight, I obsess. I think about nothing but food and my weight. I refuse social opportunities, because there might be food and drink there. I bring all of my self worth down to a number on a scale, and how much that number changes. I hate that feeling.

Until I can figure out how to do this in a way that is mentally healthy, as well as physically so, I'll keep what I have.

I love when my husband forces me to think...

I have some pretty amazing, feminist men in my life, not least of them, is my husband. Now, I know he would not identify this way, but that's exactly how I see him. He often makes me rethink my perspective, and I love that he challenges me so.

Recently, my family participated in the topless march here in Portland. It was really important to me that we show up, as a family, as I was using that forum to teach our son about bodies. Casey was supportive from the first time we talked about it. Of course, he was all about the boobs, but also realized that it was important to me, as a person of size, that I represent that, and show our son that everyone deserves the same rights, regardless of BMI and the size of one's mammary glands.

Today, I was discussing with Casey how the woman who organized the march had mentioned organizing another version of the topless march in Farmington, a college town about two hours north of us, where my in laws just happen to live. I mentioned how I would love to help organize and participate in another march, but I don't know how comfortable I am with potentially running into one of his brothers. Talk about an awkward moment at the next family gathering! Casey remarked that if I wasn't comfortable with people who I care about seeing me, not just strangers, then maybe I was missing the point.

I have spent the last few hours absorbing this statement. He is absolutely right, of course. (I can write this, knowing he doesn't actually read this blog.) The people I should be least ashamed to show my body to are loved ones. There is no fear of rejection there, or shouldn't be, anyway. They already love and care about me. Yet, I know I'm not totally comfortable, nor would his 15 year old and 18 year old brothers be.

I know that those young men are one of the major demographics I should be reaching with this march. They are one of the groups that need to be challenged with the thought that breasts are not just meant for sexual pleasure, that just because a woman doesn't look like Britney, does not mean she is not attractive or have worth.

So, where do I go from here? Do I participate, knowing that it will be uncomfortable if I run into family, but will most likely at least provoke conversation around the dinner table? Or, do I stay home, ashamed to show my breasts in a place where teenage boys might just happen to be?

I guess when I frame it like that, the answer is pretty obvious.

Stay at home mommyhood

So, one of the things that feminism means to me is that I get to do what I want with my life, and not have it questioned.

This week, I have entered into the world of being a stay at home mom. It is temporary - just for the summer. It was a good decision for my family, financially. (The cost of daycare and what that means for our society is a whole 'nother rant.) I'm excited to spend the summer with my kid, at the playground, at the beach, tromping through state parks, and parked at the kitchen table with art supplies on a rainy day.



Yet, every time I tell someone that I've become a stay at home mom, I have to justify it, like I just did. In my head, it means I'm less then. Not educated. Kept down by 'the man'. I know, know, know that these are wrong assumptions. I don't even have those assumptions about other stay at home moms. They're some of the strongest women in my world, and they all chose the role that they are in.

Why, then, do I have those feelings about myself when I find myself in this role that I chose?

I grew up with a lot of second wave feminists in my life. I was strongly encouraged to be something "important", ie, doctor, lawyer, President. My own mother was a hairdresser for the earlier part of my life, doing the single mom thing, and doing a very good job at it, for the most part. The latter half, she was, and still is, the kind of mom for a local doctor's office/surgeon complex. The whole goal was for me to be 'more than' any of those things. I was going to be the first to graduate college (I'm starting, again, finally, this fall.), I was going to be something.

And, yet, I am something. I am a mom. I hate to be so cliche, so trite, but, really, what job is more important? I am going back to school in the fall. I've supported my family for the last 5 years, so I could have my turn at going to school.

My goal for the rest of the summer is to not explain myself when someone asks me what I do. I will simply reply with, "I am a stay at home mom." I won't justify. I won't tell them, "but I'm going back to school in the fall!" I will just be what I have chosen.

Welcome

I have finally decided I have enough to say to join the blogging world. Before I spew my rants on you, I should tell you who I am, and where I'm headed with this, hmm?

My name is Kelsea. I'm 26. I'm female-bodied. I'm a mom. I'm queer. I'm married to a fantastic man. I'm fat. I'm femme. I'm in an open relationship. I'm a feminist.

My goal here is to challenge myself to look at things in my world through more of a feminist lens, with particular attention to being femme and fat in a world and cultures that are not particularly impressed with my being either.

Sometimes, I'll talk about feminism. Sometimes, I'll talk about being fat. Sometimes, I'll talk about being femme. And sometimes I'll put all of those things together.

It should be fun.

So, new readers, who are you?