Tag: sexeducation

My dissertation was about sex! :o

My dissertation was about sex! :o

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 2 Comments

Considering that quite a few of you took part in the research, it won’t come as a surprise that I wrote my dissertation on whether physically disabled women are perceived as sexy by the societies they live in. (Big big thank you to everyone who took part btw). I don’t really fancy plagiarising myself here though, so I won’t go into the minute detail of the dissertation, but since so many of you contributed and were interested in the topic, it’d be rude of me to not give you the low-down of why I chose it, and what I discovered. So buckle up kids.

If I’m honest, my diss was partly another effort to understand why my love life insists on being so dire. In my first year of university, I wrote a blog about how a friend had asked me whether I thought my disability had ever hindered lads from asking me out or taking things further with me, and what I said then remains true for me now: yes, it has, but I’d be shocked to see anyone admit it. From all my research, and from what I’ve literally seen, able-bodied people are tentative to date or be intimate with physically disabled people (whether maliciously or not), and for the ones with the disabilities, this has at best resulted in being ignored or passively rejected, and at worst just straight-up abused.

The work that I’ve done so far is minuscule when compared to how much work needs to be done. I looked at ‘physically disabled women’ in particular but even that phrase is kind of hollow because it doesn’t even begin to describe the vastly diverse group of people it’s trying to categorise. Furthermore, I didn’t have the words or time to study the impact of race, gender, economic background, type of disability, and all the other aspects which would inevitably influence the experience of sexuality for individuals. I also didn’t have the opportunity to talk to disabled people directly; I used a tonne of literature, but nothing can come close to hearing the words from the ones who feel it. So, whilst my work was informed and (I hope) useful, to call it the tip of the iceberg would be a huge understatement, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I continue to write about this for the rest of my life.

Nonetheless, the overarching theme of this dissertation was one of acceptance and optimism from most of the people who answered my questions. What I will say though, is that often your optimism was naive; it was comforting, but it didn’t really line up with the reality of the world. People gave the correct response by saying that it shouldn’t matter if you have a disability, and it shouldn’t matter how that impacts sexuality because anyone can find love, sex isn’t a fixed thing, and disability shouldn’t ever threaten a person’s ability to experience pleasure within relationships. Only, saying that something shouldn’t happen, doesn’t make it not happen.

For months, I’ve been exposed to the disabled experience on a level that I’d never seen before: for the first time, I was reading and listening to things that felt totally relatable rather than 85% there. The fact is that like all of the ‘isms’, ableism is so ingrained within our society that just because I have a disability, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have prejudices against the disabled community. There’s plenty to unpack there, but I think I’ll leave that for another blog (or two, or three…). But to generalise, the truth is that we’re so concerned with looks and frightened by what we don’t personally understand, that the disabled body has been persistently and systematically defined as undesirable and in need of a cure. To put it even more plainly: I’m disabled, so that means that my body is wrong, so it can’t be pretty and it definitely can’t be sexy, and if someone does find it pretty, then that’s not because of the disability, it’s despite it.

Obviously, there are grey areas here, and each individual can (and is) judged to be beautiful, desirable, and every other positive adjective by individual people. But finding one disabled person gorgeous doesn’t a perfect society make. There need to be some HEFTY changes when it comes to what ‘society’ and individuals understand disability to mean because for pretty much all of history, it’s equalled a mistake that we should ignore and just wait until it dies (or kill it before it lives).

So…how did it feel to write this, when I was sort of writing about myself? Well, it wasn’t great to hear that disabled women are far more likely to experience abuse (psychological and/or physical) within romantic or sexual relationships than able-bodied women. Nor did it feel amazing to read countless experiences of disabled people like being asked to leave restaurants because their appearance might put people off their food, or being persistently pushed to the side and dismissed as irrelevant and pointless. It also almost brought me to tears in the library to read women say that it’d been easier for them to tell people who’d assumed that they couldn’t have children because of their disability that they were right when they weren’t actually right because they could have kids, but the support for disabled women just isn’t there since everyone assumes that they can’t have kids anyway and if they can, then they shouldn’t in case they pass their disability on. But again, that’s not even scratching the surface.

Disabled people aren’t the weak, infirm victims history and modern culture paints us out to be and there are so many examples of fulfilled, happy lives with a disability. However, I share the sentiment that I read basically all of the disabled community expressing, in that the worst of the ‘struggles’ I’ve already had and the ones I’ll continue to have aren’t because of my Spina Bifida, they’re because this world is doing its absolute best to ignore me until I croak.

The thing is though, I’m a loudmouth who’s got a loooot of years left and I plan on making people talk about this because, regardless of whether you’re disabled or not, it has everything to do with you. I hope that in some small way, my blog or whatever else I do in the future can contribute to disabled people actually being listened to and valued because we deserve your attention.

If I can manage that, then that’s a win really innit?

P.S.

Can we all pls manifest that I get a good grade on my diss lol IMAGINE

Is physical disability really that much of a turn-off?

Is physical disability really that much of a turn-off?

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I remember in my first year of university, I was asked by one of my friends whether I thought that my physical disability had ever meant that people found me less physically attractive. (He had perfectly sound intentions by the way, and knew that that type of questioning wouldn’t offend me, so we’re good.) My short answer was yes; not because of any insecurities, or because I was fishing for pity-filled compliments, but yes because I’d seen it happen right before my eyes. I’ve seen lads begin to chat me up, then at the mention of a disability, turn the other way, and I’ve consistently had more success on a night out when I wear trousers to cover my shoes, or when the place is too full and too dark for anyone to see.

As real as they seemed, these were still always just suspicions derived from body language and facial expressions. So I’d wonder. Could it really be true that the sight of some metal bars on a young woman’s shoes is enough to intimidate? Is physical disability that much of a turn-off?

This week I read an article where George Robinson (the actor who plays Isaac in Sex Education) spoke to the BBC about sex and disability: two words you rarely see mentioned in the same sentence. I won’t summarise the article here as I’d prefer you read it yourself, but one part which really hit a nerve for me was when the reporter wrote that in 2014, 44% of the British people asked said that they wouldn’t consider having sex with someone who was physically disabled. And I emphasise ‘consider’ here because that wording is particularly cutting.

I could go on and on unpacking this statistic, but what I’d like to first draw your attention to is the fact that the term ‘physically disabled’ describes a hugely diverse group of people, and yet it seems that society associates it exclusively with paraplegic wheelchair-users. That in itself is mad and highlights so many issues in society’s narrow understanding of disability, however, my main concern today is the suggestion that physical disability strips a person of their sexuality. If you’re disabled then you have no sex drive, you’re unable to have sex, or whatever type of sex you can have isn’t normal and is shrouded in stress and embarrassment, and you’re not sexy.

Frankly, I never thought I was sexy. And I attributed that to the layers of misogyny which group young girls and women into the boxes of cute, pretty, sporty, or sexy. (We can unpack those toxic elements of the patriarchy another day). But now I realise that it was my being disabled which contributed to the surprise and disbelief I felt if someone called me sexy. I’d just never known that I had access to that word because no one who looked like me had ever been described as it. At least, I’d never seen it.

Thus in my late-teens, when talking to boys and developing crushes on them, I’d always envisioned that my disability would be peripheral in our relationship and it’d be something that I’d prefer him to ignore as much as possible. I’d want support when I really needed it, but if I had ever gotten a boyfriend then I’d wanted him to treat me like a ‘normal’ girl. Depressingly, hindsight makes me realise that 17-year-old me was equating ‘normal’ with able-bodied. Then when I went to university I started speaking to a lad who never once asked about my disability, after months and months of talking. I found myself conflicted because it was sort of what younger me had always wanted, but older me didn’t see how we could ever start a relationship if such a big part of my life was going to be ignored: it didn’t seem practical.

So now I’ve decided that I want something truly radical: I don’t only want a romantic partner to be interested in and tolerate my physical disability, I want him to find it attractive. I want him to look at my surgical scars and find them as beautiful as he does any other part of me. I don’t want to have to reject my disability in order to feel sexy. But as any reader of my blog will know, I’m yet to experience much more than a casual relationship with a lad so I can’t end this on a Disney note where I say I’ve found everything I’ve ever wanted and here he is *ta-dah*. Nonetheless, there’s one specific experience I’ve already had where I got a glimpse of what it might be like.

One morning I woke up next to a young lad I’d slept with a few times before. I cared for him, and enjoyed his company, but I didn’t have any romantic feelings towards him. I was used to him being affectionate by moving my hair out of my face as I slept, or kissing my shoulder, but on this particular occasion he took it further, as I woke up to feel him carefully tracing the curves, indentations, and lines of the lump on my lower back. That lump is the root of my disability, and it’s been something I’ve tried my hardest to look at as little as possible, let alone touch. So as I woke up, I realised what he was doing, and I lay there as he gave the most emotionally and physically vulnerable part of my body more love and attention than even I had ever given it. It was nice: I felt safe.

That young lad, even though he probably had no idea what he was doing, emphasised just how important it is that when I find someone I want to be with, they have to understand and love my disability as much as they love every other part of me. It’s not something to be ignored, and it’s not something which strips me of my sexuality: people and prejudices do that. But I don’t believe that the 44% statistic is rooted in malice; rather, it’s rooted in ignorance and a misunderstanding of disability. We all want love and to feel wanted, but I don’t see why my physical condition should decide whether I qualify for that or not.

I’m physically disabled, I have a sex drive, I enjoy sex, and just like everyone else, the details of how I like to have sex are only your business if I decide that you can make it that far.

Let’s talk about sex, bby

Let’s talk about sex, bby

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Talking about sex in a super honest way is rarely done, because if you bring it up, a lot of the time people start to feel nervous, uncomfortable, anxious, self-conscious, etc, etc. And these reactions make perfect sense: sex is one of the most intimate things you can do with another person. However, it’s also nothing to be afraid of, so we should probably start getting more aware of how sex-positive we really are.

Sex-positivity, in the way I understand it, is the recognition and acceptance that sex is a totally normal part of a person’s life. It’s something most of us do, and society should normalise talking about it; especially in the sense that it should be enjoyable for everyone involved.

That sounds pretty simple, right? If you’re sexually active, then you should be enjoying it, and comfortable enough around your friends/family/sexual partner/s to talk about it. But unfortunately, sex-positivity isn’t practised by society as much as it should be.

For women, the idea of sex is both empowering and oppressive. We can take our sexuality into our own hands and decide who we want to sleep with and when, but whilst we’re empowering ourselves and our female friends, there always comes a point when you wonder whether doing this is making you seem like a bit of a slut to the wider world. And nobody wants to be a slut: that kind of reputation rarely ends well.

So we use the word with each other. And by trying to reclaim the term, women are somewhat able to fight against society telling us how much sex we should be having, because after all, my sex life is nobody’s business but my own.

This attitude, however, doesn’t mean that sex-positive women aren’t self-conscious, nervous or conflicted when it comes to sex. You might be totally fine with the concept of a one night stand, but then when you have one, thousands of years of female sexual oppression might start creeping into your head to tell you that you’re a slut and you’re making a fool of yourself. It happens; sexism’s a bitch.

Generally speaking though, sex should never be a thing that’s only appropriate for each gender to speak about amongst themselves. At school, I never saw how it made sense to separate the boys and the girls for the sex education talks. I obviously need to know the details of what’s going to happen with my body, but there’s a whole other half of the population that I’m actively not being told about. So when I develop relationships with that gender, there’s this huge barrier between us already, and I don’t see how that’s helpful.

Sex encompasses so many ideas and emotions that are vital to our relationships with ourselves and each other – regardless of gender. Politics, history, science, philosophy, psychology, anthropology: you name it, talking about sex would probably make parts of it make more sense. But aside from all that nerdy stuff, sex is fun, so why not talk about it in the same way you talk about all the other things you enjoy? That way, when it isn’t fun, you’ll feel comfortable enough around someone to tell them why.

Sex education

Sex education

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

This week I’m on my period. So for the past few days, I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing painful cramps, mood sWINgs, and a whole lot of bleeding. Too much information? Well tough.

Even though I have my period once a month, and it’s an entirely healthy part of my life, society encourages me to never talk about it. Then a direct consequence of this, is that women generally know very little about how their bodies work, and how to take care of them. And the men around them know even less. So no one knows anything, and half of the population’s physical and mental health is put at risk.

Not ideal.

But I’m not talking about everyone being able to regurgitate the facts they learnt in science – although you should be able to do that. This is about acknowledging the hormones and the pain women feel whilst on their periods as legitimate. We’re not overreacting: it f**king hurts. And as funny as it might be to see a girl cry over her bobble snapping, those hormones do genuinely mESS you up for a couple of days. I mean, sometimes we literally wake up in a pool of our own blood.

So, periods are intense and tedious enough: I don’t need society telling me that I should be embarrassed by them too. Nor do I need people to tell me how/what I should feel/wear/say/think when no one is taking an interest in my body or me anyway.

At the same time, I don’t know much about what male bodies go through. I know they don’t have such a dramatic time of it every month, but that doesn’t mean it’s always smooth-sailing. Like puberty, that doesn’t sound like a walk in the park for a boy – physically, or psychologically.

The point is that we never ask detailed, comprehensive questions about our bodies. But we go further than not asking: we stigmatise the topics so much so that it becomes ‘gross’ or ‘uncomfortable’ to even think about going there at all.

For women especially, getting to know yourself intimately isn’t normalised, so a lot of us just don’t do it – by ‘intimately’, I mean both sexually and biologically. A lot of my female friends have never even taken a mirror to have a look at themselves, let alone experiment with masturbation. Whereas a huge proportion of my male friends know their genitals as well as any other part of their body – maybe even better.

So if we’re saying that women barely know anything about their own bodies, and we then take that to talk about health and safety, how could we ever know that something is wrong, if we don’t know what we look like when we’re healthy? Then on a psychological level, how is it right that we’re so disgusted by our own bodies? We won’t touch or get to know ourselves but we’ll let some random lad who might ditch us next week do whatever he wants? I dOn’T tHiNk sO.

Conversations about our bodies shouldn’t be separated according to whatever genitals you were born with, because we don’t exclusively socialise with people of the same sex. We need to ditch the euphemisms and the pressure, so we can learn to look after each other and ourselves more effectively. After all, knowing this information will definitely save someone’s life one day – maybe even your own.

Like a virgin

Like a virgin

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

This week I want to talk about the one thing that FILLS the minds of people of all ages, especially those around my age and younger: sex – more specifically, losing your virginity.

It’s a big topic since everyone’s sex life is such a huge deal in today’s society. People put so much pressure on when and how they should lose their virginity, that the act itself is made out to be this big, momentous, personality-shaping, potentially life-ruining moment. To a large extent, I agree that the details of when and how you have sex for the first time are massively important, but not for the same reasons society forces us to believe.

First of all, I don’t believe that there’s a ‘right’ age to do it (except past the legal age obviously). Whenever you choose to have sex, as long as you’re both safe, able to change your minds and feel ready, then so what if you’ve known each other for years or for hours? There’s no need to build it up to be this moment where you need to have been in a relationship for years, on some romantic weekend away, with rose petals on the bed. Let’s be frank, for most people it’s kind of messy and uncomfortable and anticlimactic. Oh, and for most girls, it hurts like a B**** (!) for the first time: yeah, they don’t mention that bit in the movies, do they?

Also boys/girls (but mainly boys): if the girl bleeds, then just be a nice guy and don’t freak out about it. You may not have known that sometimes that happens (and that it’s tOtally normal) but equally, the girl might have had no idea either and your reaction will be a big deal in how she feels about it and herself – both at the time and afterwards. Speaking from experience, the boy I lost my virginity to wasn’t a saint in how he treated me overall, but when I bled he didn’t care one bit so neither did I – if you’re reading this buddy, thanks for that. Xx

Having worked at a girls’ school and just generally being surrounded by people, it’s clear to me that popular culture’s airbrushed narrative of sex and the loss of a person’s virginity is toxic for the individual. You have girls and boys with these unrealistic notions of what sex is going to be like, ultimately ending with disappointment when their reality doesn’t match what they expected. I have so many friends who’ve felt like they nEEded to lose their virginity before University, or in the first week, just so they didn’t have to carry the shame of not being experienced in that area. Sex is a super intimate thing to do with someone, and like everything, you get better with practice.

Personally, I don’t have anything against one-night stands – hey, if you’ve got an itch to scratch, then do you (!safely!) – but I very strongly believe that they should NOT happen through someone being ashamed of being a virgin. That shouldn’t even come into play.

So, if you’re reading this as a virgin, then please don’t force yourself to rush into it just because you think you need to, and don’t expect it to be perfect! I mean, I lost my virginity at 17, but at 20 I’m still yet to thoroughly enJOY sex because, fun fact: it takes a lot of females years of being sexually active and a few sexual partners to get the full experience we all hear so much about. So if you’re in that position too, then it’s cool man, you’re not the only one. Plus, just because you don’t have an orgasm doesn’t mean that it’s not fun.

If you’re over the legal age, feel ready, and are safe (in every way), then you’re good to go. But if you aren’t ALL 3 of those things- even if just 1 of them isn’t right- then like I told my Year 11 girls who asked me about this when I was a Teaching Assistant, the braver and more worthwhile thing to do is just wait until you can tick all 3 of those boxes. Looking after yourself is a l w a y s a good idea, especially when it comes to sex – and that goes for e v e r y o n e.

Losing your virginity might be a bit of a flop orgasm-wise, but as far as I’m concerned sex should always just be fun. So do it with someone that you like and feel good around – that way, it’d be hard not to enjoy it.

A n d u s e p r o t e c t i o n k i d s !