In a world that already disturbs me in a lot of ways. Before I write this post I need to make a couple of things clear. Number one, this is very much an opinion piece and number two, I don’t care how you identify in terms of whether you’re a male who identifies female, etc. That’s your journey and only you can take it. I also need to say this post is all over the place. There is a point and purpose, it’s probably not as clear as it should be here in the beginning. This post is more about just getting my feelings out than doing it in a professional manner.
I’ll start by saying I’m a female who identifies female and I always have. I was a pretty, large breasted female before I was out of seventh grade. Considering the events in my life that occurred both before and after that time, I could have identified very differently, but I didn’t. I’ve always known I was a heterosexual female. As unpopular as that is to say, it’s true. Before you go back to my prior posts and say you’re a Christian, you’re biased, etc., let me say I left the church when I was fifteen. I’ve only been a practicing Christian for the last ten years. Beyond that, I was in theater in high school so I’ve always had gay friends. If I’d wanted to be anything other than what I am, I could have chosen that path. Considering I was molested by my father before I was in Junior High, and by my youth director before I left the church, I could have hated men. I didn’t.
I went the other other way. I just stayed away from boys and men. I was terrified someone was going to try to touch me in ways I didn’t want to be touched without my permission. The fact boys and men couldn’t look me in the eye because they were too busy staring at my breasts didn’t help matters. The sad thing is, in spite of all that, I still wanted a normal dating life. Truthfully, I was torn between knowing sexuality is normal and not wanting anyone to make me feel dirty again. Not wanting to touch or be touched in ways I knew were wrong. So, I was totally screwed up before I was eleven or twelve.
All of that being said, I’m a human being first and a woman second. One who is loosing both her humanity and her womanhood through the rampant depersonalization of our culture. I am not part of the “Birthing People,” or people who breastfeed or people who menstruate or people who go through menopause or people who bear children or any of those other crazy labels becoming so prevalent today.
I’m a fifty-seven year old woman with a solid grounding in reality who believes in right and wrong and in absolutes. I’m also a woman who believes you have the right to believe and feel however you want. However, these new labels disturb me because part of why I think I survived all the physical, mental, and sexual abuse I’ve suffered is because I always had absolutes to hold onto. I knew I was a woman. I knew I was an abused woman. But I also knew I was a survivor and not a victim. That doesn’t mean I didn’t have a lot to work through or it didn’t take many years to heal. It just means I didn’t take my own life because I did have certain values instilled in me that taught me to fight and not give up. When everything is fluid, you have no absolute to hold onto because you and your life are whatever you say they are. I can honestly tell you I would have probably committed suicide if I hadn’t held the personal belief that suicide was wrong for me. I thank God I had those beliefs for they are the very reason I’m still here.
While I’m not willing to call myself a “Birthing Person” or any of those other dehumanizing names, I will claim to have been a woman of childbearing age once upon a time. If I’d ever had children, I could have been a pregnant woman, a mother, or even a breastfeeding mother/woman. I have never been a “People” of anything. I don’t care how you identify – you’re still a human being with human dignities. When you become a “People” you’ve lost what makes you a person. You might as well be a Borg from Star Trek TNG and part of “The Collective” instead of the very special person you were created to be.
Just my personal opinion.
Until next time,
Calla
Tori Lennox Author 