Happy Birthday to US!

My family is currently in the middle of what we affectionately call "The Birthday Week from Hell." It just so happens that my eldest son turned eighteen on Sunday, I turned 45 yesterday, and today my Beloved achieves the milestone of sixty. Having three birthdays in one week, and only several weeks from Christmas wreaks havoc with heretofore beloved birthday traditions. It simply isn't practical to go out to dinner at the natal one's choice three times in one week. Or have three different birthday cakes. So, we're slowly evolving new traditions. My ever so patient husband gets the worst of it; by the time his sacred day arrives, we're birthday-ed out, and he barely gets any celebration at all.

I myself had a lovely day. I got emails and phone calls from family and friends back east. My boss sang "Happy Birthday" to me on the phone from his vacation in Vegas. I left work early to do a few errands, then picked up the family and went to our favorite restaurant in Ventura - "The Panda." It's an amazing Chinese buffet with six tables of everything from sushi to pizza to crab. The hostess always remembers #2 son and makes a big deal over him. My family also gave me lovely gifts. One of my favorites is from my husband; a silver necklace with the major symbol from each of the major religions. The woman who designed it was at her booth at "Ojai Day" and I fell in love with it right away. She added another charm with kissing dolphins over the words "ALL ONE." It's very much my philosophy. The names we give God are semantics. If one calls it Nature, or Aum, or Buddah, or God, or Abba or Goddess - does it really matter? We are somehow all created by Something, born with nothing but our hearts and hands and brains. Somehow, the world was created. Does it matter the name we give the Creator? It IS.

Uh oh, my inner existentialist is coming out.

Anyway, back to the festivities - tonight Beloved's present is to not have to cook dinner; so I'm trying to find something appropriate to bring home. He might get one or two other presents as well, if he's lucky.

I sure am.

Justice, Sex, and Weight

Shakespeare's Sister has a post about the 17 year old girl who has been convicted of filing a false report of rape in Oregon.

I'm horrified at the case, and just as horrified, though unfortunately not surprised, by the number of female bloggers that I respect and admire who have shared their stories of sexual assault. Almost every single woman I know has experienced sexual assault in her life. Yes, that includes me, at the tender age of 12, and no, I didn't report it. Who would have listened to me? It was my fault, after all... So I gained a hundred pounds and wore oversized men's flannel shirts and hid behind my hair so that no man would ever want to do that to me again. It worked, for a very long time.

It's interesting that last year, after I had lost 120 pounds and everyone started to tell me how good I looked, I suddenly gained the weight back. Fast. And it wasn't until this summer, actually, that I started to think about why I gained it back that I had a revelation. Even after thirty years, I was afraid. Afraid of myself, and the power sex has over me. I mean, I got over so much; I came to terms with knowing it wasn't really my fault, that sex does not have to be a power struggle, I even learned to trust men again before I was twenty. I thought I was doing well. But since it was my first boyfriend that raped me, a very popular wrestler, two years older than me, for heaven's sake - well, I was thrilled with his attention. He gave me my first kiss, and I was so overcome by fear and joy and wonder and the feelings that flooded me that I literally ran from him, blushing, at the age of eleven. Later, he dated me all of twice, the second resulting in the rape. I enjoyed the attention at first, I wanted him, in that idealistic blind crush that teenage girls have. I loved the feelings inside my own body that he inspired, right up until I wanted him to stop. So now, I discover that losing weight brings back the feeling of headiness, and the fear of my own sexuality and lack of control. It's so complicated. So I went back to hiding mode. Gaining weight to avoid the issue.

Thank God that my husband is understanding, even when he doesn't understand, not really. And that he loves me fat, thin, screwed up or happy.

I'm not even sure, re-reading this post, that it makes sense. It barely makes sense to me. There is so much to consider in any discussion of rape; feminism and power, self-esteem, personal responsibility, differing perceptions of same events. Violence. Inequality and double standards. And that's even before you get to how intensely personal it is to the individual for whatever reason. The one good thing to come out of events such as this is the open public debate. As long as sex is a four letter word and considered as being intrinsically dirty or sinful, these abuses will continue. The more we talk about it the less demonized sex will become, and hopefully those who are abused will be less afraid to seek justice.

I might try to post more on this later, if I can make more sense of the confusion in my head. Feel free to leave your comments.