Uncategorized, writing

My Vagina Monologue

I recently had the opportunity to join a group of fantastic women and perform in The Vagina Monologues. As I read through the monologues for my audition, I am inspired to tell my own story. There is so much pressure on women to stay quiet and shut up about anything related to vaginas, so sometimes you just need to break the silence.

If you are squeamish about these things I suggest you stop reading, or get over it. Being a woman is an experience that differs for everyone, and it’s important for all genders to understand that.

~

When I reached puberty, my doctor told me “Boys are going to want to touch you now, don’t let them.” He then proceeded to poke and prod me, leaving bruises on my ten year old skin.

You told me that too. You told me your biggest regret was not waiting until marriage, and that I would regret it too. It would feel wrong unless it was with the right person.

But it didn’t.

The first time a boy massaged me there through my clothes he asked “Is this okay?” It felt good. I knew I was supposed to stay stop, but I said “Yes.” I could feel happiness melting through me with each moment. How could this be wrong?

After each encounter I would not feel guilt, but worry that you would somehow be able to tell what I had done. That you could smell it on my breath, like alcohol.

You never knew til I told you part of the truth, and you shamed me. You called me a tease for not going all the way. You said “Don’t you feel gross?” I didn’t. I don’t think I would have at all if not for those words.

Then one day, after you had lifted my ban on seeing him, it happened. His eyes were filled with lust as he thrust his fingers into me. More than usual. It began to hurt, and I tried to pull him hand away but he continued, not noticing the pain I was in. I was to embarrassed of my own body, not confident enough to assert myself to tell him to stop until the pain surpassed a level I could take. I went to the bathroom and bloody clumps on what looked like veins greeted me.

I don’t know what happened to me. I’ve never told this to anyone before. But since that day it doesn’t feel good anymore. His fingers felt uncomfortable. The next guy’s did too. There was little pleasure to be gained. I prayed it was him and not me, that I had not somehow lost that part of myself by not speaking up. I don’t know what has happened to me, but I wish I could talk to you about it. About anything at all. I shouldn’t be so afraid to speak my mind, to tell a man to stop touching MY body. I should love myself, all of myself. I want to love every part of me, the physical, the emotional, my desires, my everything. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. My daughter will know this. I’m going to make sure of that.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s