If someone told me I’d write over 100 articles and publish a blog post every Tuesday for two years straight, I would’ve said, No way, that’s impossible...Read More
When I was in second grade, as recess was ending, a boy in my class, asked me to meet him near the pencil sharpener. The pencil sharpener was mounted on wood cubbies in the back of the classroom...Read More
Granted, I haven’t been a teenager for a decade. Or maybe two.
But when I was a teenager, these slogans…
Don’t Drink and Drive Just Say No Buckle Up It’s the Law
…were not in the public consciousness. They didn’t exist.
Not all slogans work to educate; but often they do.
Wearing a seatbelt went from a cumbersome task to something you wouldn’t consider not doing.
And while my generation, and the generation before me, thought nothing of drinking and driving, from what I can tell, young people today simply don’t.
And the latest buzzword is consent.
According to a New York Times article, Sex, With a Syllabus, freshman at Trinity College are required to attend lectures that are part of a sexual assault curriculum.
Sex education activist Jonathan Kalin is bringing awareness to the issue. And a number of campuses have programs called, Consent is Sexy.
“When it comes to young people today, and college, and hooking up, and drinking, and rape culture, and consent there is enough confusion that the services of Mr. Kalin are in high demand.”
The New York Times article uses the analogy of convincing a friend to go on a roller coaster ride. What if the friend doesn’t want to go, what are you going to do to convince?
And so the question is, if you go on the ride, are you giving consent?
I want to say: Yes.
While I’m sure this is not the intent, consent curriculum seems to revolve mostly around men asking for consent, not women.
Our cultural beliefs play a part in our decision-making. Sometimes, even today, women are torn, and find themselves in precarious situations. They might be persuaded into activity because they don't want to seem harsh, withholding. Or bitchy.
Drinking alcohol does not absolve us from responsibility. And men, even if persistent, in my opinion, are not responsible.
In Justin Bieber’s new song, What Do You Mean? the lyrics point to a woman’s ambiguousness. Bieber sings,
“What do you mean? When you nod your head yes, but you want to say no. What do you mean?”
Women need to be clear. They need to exert their own power, use their voices and practice agency in stating what they want, or don’t want; and then, they need to exhibit behaviors that match.
People of my generation might think consent education is superfluous because body language and participation should be good indicators of interest.
But then again, we thought we didn’t need seat belts.
A friend, Vicky, and I walked in her neighborhood, near her house. A car pulled up and the driver called us over. He asked for directions. It took a few seconds before I noticed; he was exposed and stroking himself.
When the man drove away, Vicky and I ran and hid behind bushes. Peeking through the greenery, we watched as the man circled the block. He slowed, looking for us.
Petrified, we stayed out of sight. We waited for the man to drive away again before we ran back to Vicky’s house. Her mother called the police and when they showed up, they asked us questions.
Looking back, I think we were awfully lucky. Crouching behind those bushes, in essence, made us sitting ducks. At the time, I weighed less than 90 pounds and, in my memory, the man who exposed himself to us looms large. The scary truth is that story could've ended differently.
Some kids are not as lucky. That unpleasant experience occurred just a few years before Etan Patz disappeared and he, and other missing children, appeared on milk cartons.
Those disturbing memories were elicited with the release of the movie, Room, based on the novel written by Emma Donoghue.
(I read the book, Room, a few years back and recommend it.)
The story is about a mother and son held captive in a small room. The book is fiction but it is based on a true story.
Here’s the thing that many people don’t know: Slavery exists today.
And it exists in many countries, including the United States. Cases of human trafficking have been reported in all 50 states. Children are sometimes forced to work in brothels, in sweatshops, in houses as domestic servants, in wars as child soldiers, on farms and in strip clubs.
Putting a stop to all forms of child trafficking is critical to UNICEF's work around the world.
Stop Child Trafficking Now (also called SCTNow) is a nonprofit international organization that does advocacy work attempting to bring an end to child trafficking. SCTNow targets those who sexually abuse children and aims to prosecute and convict them.
Years ago, I read The Slave Next Door by Kevin Bals and Ron Soodalter. The Slave Next Door explores human trafficking and slavery that exists in the United States today.
The book is a call to action, letting us know what we can do to bring an end to these horrific crimes.
I was scared and unsure:
Would people like what I wrote and how I wrote it?
Was I ready for the world of social media?
What if I made a grammatical mistake?
Well, I did make errors. Some I was able to fix, others I wasn’t.
And remarkably, I survived.
Reader comments kept me going.
Some of you responded directly on the blog site, some on Facebook, some on Instagram, some by private text message and many in person: at the grocery store, at parties and on the street.
(You’d be surprised how many people are hesitant to comment through social media. I was happy to learn, I wasn’t the only inhibited one.)
Tuesdays became my favorite day of the week as I woke to other bloggers liking my post and tracking how many people had read.
I heard from people I hadn’t talked to in 20 years, from people all over the country and yes, even an old boyfriend.
My work was read in Australia, Canada, Mexico, Italy, Spain, France, Norway, Germany, the United Kingdom, Portugal, Israel, Lebanon, Nigeria, Saudi Arabia and more.
A special thanks goes to my friends and family who let me write about them, their outrageous stories and vulnerable moments.
All year, friends teased that they had to watch what they said in front of me for fear they’d end up in a post.
I heard everything from, “Shhh, she’s going to write about you” to “It’s good Corie’s not here.” (Yes, people repeat these things to me.)
Looking for material or attempting to drum up good conversation, this blog has been the impetus for many a dinner table debate.
Over the course of this year, I wrote about topics that mattered to me.
Equal rights- Gay Marriage
Empathy- Still Alice
Parenting- Parenting Gone Well
Friendship- Friendship Matters
Sex- Masters of Sex
Education- Doodle Power
Addiction- Monkey See, Monkey Do
Writing- Writing: It Could Come Back to Bite You.
The Environment- Earth Day 2015.
I wrote about topics that peturbed me slightly- Pouting Face Emoji
And things that annoyed me greatly- A Tip for My Uber Driver.
And things I feared- Fear: The Good The Bad and The Ugly.
Writing about these topics made me focus on them, and in writing Gone Girl No More, I faced my apprehension, put myself out there, and finally got headshots!
Daring greatly (I'm a Brene Brown lover) I'm posting them here.
Help me choose the new From The Core photograph so I can get rid of the blurry one on my About Page.
Tomorrow is the anniversary of the night my husband asked me to marry him so this is kind of a double anniversary for me.
And it’s appropriate that my blog about relationships and my marriage share an anniversary because as long as I’m married to my husband, I’ll always have plenty to write about!
P.S. Thanks for reading!! And don’t forget to pick a headshot favorite!!
According to the New York Times article, Let’s Talk About Your Sex, I’m not alone. Even couples therapists don’t talk about sex.
Or at least, they didn’t until recently. And shockingly, couples therapists aren’t required to have any training in sex.
But there are provocative voices emerging in the field of couples therapy and the questions these therapists are asking and the ideas they are probing are gaining my attention.
A few months back, in a blog post titled, Your Brain and Love, I recommended Stan Tatkin’s book, Wired for Love. The premise of the book is that if you understand your partner's brain and attachment style, you can defuse conflict and build a secure relationship.
I am now reading Hold Me Tight, by Sue Johnson. She is the developer of Emotionally Focused Therapy and believes we are emotionally attached to and dependent on our partners in much the same way that a child is on a parent for nurturing, soothing and protection.
Both books emphasize safety, loyalty and attachment as the foundations for intimacy.
But the New York Times article also mentions therapist, Ester Perel, who I wrote about in a blog post called, Desire and Marriage: A Pardox? She believes that the current conversation around intimacy and sex are limiting, that while an affair can be an act of betrayal it can also be about expansion and growth.
Dr. Nelson, the author of The New Monogamy: Redefining Your Relationship After Infidelity, is also noted.
Both Ester Perel and Dr. Nelson believe that a marriage is not over after an affair. They are broadening the conversation, not speaking in absolutes, asking important questions. They are curious, studying.
In regards to an affair, Ester Perel speaks about being an investigator as opposed to a detective. A detective wants to know where and when and with who. An investigator wants to get to the meaning of the affair.
The New York Times article attempts to position Sue Johnson against Perel and Nelson and I’m wondering why we feel the need to turn their ideas into opposing ones, a battle of it’s either this or that.
Why can’t we look at their ideas as this and that?
All of the therapists mentioned above are adding to the conversation about what it means to partner with someone you love. They are changing the dialogue, challenging old rules and supporting new ways of being in relationship. Some of their beliefs (like how an affair can draw a couple out of deadness or that your couple bubble comes first, even before your own children) can feel frightening or downright outrageous.
But they are talking, stretching our beliefs, and I admire that.
Not too long ago sex wasn’t taught in school. People feared that talking about sexuality would encourage kids to have sex prematurely. But some were having sex anyway so why not educate them, give them information that could prevent them from contracting a disease or getting pregnant.
Dr. Nelson trains therapists to ask a couple about sex in the first session. “If you’re not talking about sex, you’re perpetuating the idea that they shouldn’t be.”
So in an effort to move out of darkness and into possibility, I agree, Let’s talk about sex.
Is it true that men are chumps for women in pumps? A new study out of France says that men are more helpful to women in high heels. Is that why we wear them?
The first time I can remember being wowed by a pair of heels was when Olivia Newton John wore red stilettos in the movie Grease. Her beauty mesmerized me, even as she danced, a bit wobbly, as if dancing on stilts, singing You Better Shape Up to John Travolta. Given how good she looked to me, her discomfort and clumsiness seemed irrelevant.
I bought my first pair of heels, red Candies, just a few months later.
I was 14.
And I loved those shoes.
Some historical accounts show that heels were worn by men, and not women, as early as the 9th century in Persia. Other accounts say heels grew in popularity around the time of Louis XIV in France. High heels were symbols of power and dominance, allowing men to tower over other men. Heels were initially associated with class, status and privilege. Around the 17th century upper class women began to wear heels and by the 18th century, men stopped wearing them, deeming them impractical.
Heels went out of fashion for a while but then made a comeback in pornography, mostly pinups for men’s barracks during World War ll.
It wasn’t until after the war that the stiletto was invented and fashion aligned with erotica. While we may have had a desire for higher heels; we simply didn’t have the technology. But in the 50’s it became possible to create higher heels by putting steel in the heel, and crafting high heel shoes became an art form for striking and innovative design.
Presently, at the Brooklyn Museum, there is an exhibit, Killer Heels: The Art of the High Heeled Shoe. I loved the exhibit, and viewed the shoes on display in awe, appreciating the genius and beauty in the designs, captivated by the red soles on countless Louboutin shoes, gold leather Salvatore Ferragamo wedges from 1938 and silk creations from as far back as 1650.
But then there were the shoes from China that women who had their feet bound wore; and my heart literally clenched, my stomach turned. I went home and read about foot binding and how a woman’s foot was broken and bound in order for it not to grow. As a result feet would be smaller, more dainty and womanlike. This process, foot binding, was excruciating, feet deformed and women crippled. And yet the desire to be beautiful, and maintain high status, according to some cultural belief, allowed this to go on for centuries.
Is it so different today here in America?
Our back hurts, our calves are tight but go to Barney’s 5th floor any time of any day. Go to the Bergdorf’s shoe salon. Those floors are so crowded you would think they were giving the shoes away. On the contrary, prices have climbed as shoe departments have grown in size. It seems we can’t get enough. Of course flats are displayed too; but that’s not what catches my attention.
What fuels our desire for heels?
Is it Carrie Bradshaw from Sex in the City? Does her desire for Manolo Blahniks glamorize the high heel?
Are women more attractive in stilettos?
Or have we been conditioned to think that high heels are beautiful because celebrities and fashion models are pictured in them?
Here’s news: in 2010, at an Alexander McQueen fashion show a model took off her deadly sharp stilettos, protesting, choosing not to walk the show for health and safety reasons.
Are high heels the new cigarettes?
There was a time when Lauren Becall and Humphrey Bogart made smoking look cool. But in case you didn’t know, Humphrey Bogart died of esophageal cancer. As people got educated and became aware of the hazards of smoking, things changed.
So feminists, like the surgeon general, warn us. They proclaim that heels are unsafe and detrimental to the well-being of a body, our backs and feet compromised. And maybe that agenda has been successful. The image of the heel altered from something beautiful to something irrational, which leads one to believe that flats are just cooler. Image accounts for a lot. And possibly, in time, these shifts in thinking will change things for future generations.
Often, comfort wins out, and I wear flats; but while I believe there is nothing as uncool as wearing high wedges or heels to the beach or a poolside, sometimes, I do it anyway.
Even though it might not be considered the height of elegance or class, I have been known to dance barefooted at the end of a long night. Yes, I can be defeated, or more precisely, “defeeted” by my shoes.
And yet, I won’t stop wearing them. I gawk at them in wonder in magazines, on department stores shelves, on other women’s feet and in museum exhibitions. They are inexplicably alluring.
In Kinky Boots, the Broadway show, there is a song called, Sex Is In The Heel. And maybe that’s it.
After all, John Travolta responds as desired to Olivia Newton John as she struts in those red stilettos. He sings, “And I’m losing control ‘cause the power you’re supplying, its electrifying.”
High heels are instruments of power. And I, along with many other women, buy into the idea that they elongate your legs, make you wiggle when you walk and give you a taller, thinner silhouette.
Even though logically, I want to say those are silly, superficial reasons to wear high heels, on some primitive level, I’m seduced by them. Just as men are.
They are masters of sex all right, masters of getting out of it.
According to Denise A. Donnelly, an associate professor of sociology at Georgia State University, who studies sexless marriage, an estimated 15% of married couples haven’t had sex with their spouse in the last 6 months to one year.
Isn’t that strange? We live in America, the land of the free, and of hot Hollywood sex. We are a sex-craved culture. So, what’s up?
It seems that even singles are affected wanting less from partners, preferring to hookup rather than to build a relationship. But interestingly, hooking up is on the decline as singles choose virtual relationships, flirting via phone or computer with no intention of meeting one another.
It’s true hearts are unreliable; but are humans going through a metamorphosis, evolving into beings that don’t need intimacy?
Can we really protect ourselves from the fact that someone could stop loving us, leave us (emotionally or physically) or they could die?
In the Showtime series Masters of Sex, and in actuality, Bill Masters and Virginia Johnson pioneer studies in human sexuality, devoting their lives to sex research. But their real life story feels like a cautionary tale. Virginia Johnson gave up her dream of getting an education to work with Masters. She submitted to a sexual relationship with him as part of her job; and ultimately, she married him. Only to be left years later when he fell in love with someone he knew from his youth.
The lesson to be learned seems evident: You can’t be left if you leave first, or if you abstain, and never show up in the first place.
Sure it’s scary to connect deeply with another person; but maybe then engaging becomes worth it.
Sex therapist, and author of Passionate Marriage, David Schnarch, helps partners maintain a connection during sex. Read an interview with Dr. Schnarch who says that good sex is not about elevating your heart rate; it’s about elevating your heart.
Quickies, sexting, hookups and sex with your eyes closed keep us from emotionally attaching and being vulnerable.
Now that’s what I call safe sex.
My husband doesn’t look at me like that. We have to discuss this. Why doesn’t my husband look at me like that?
Laughing so hard I thought my stitches would pop, I wrote: I just sent my husband to buy me stool softener. Maybe that’s why.
(In thirty years of marriage I’ve never asked this of my husband but post-surgery...)
Anyway, isn’t that the point? When you live with someone, share a life with someone, a real life, can there be mystery?
My final text before going to sleep was, You can’t compare three months of dating to twenty-five years of marriage.
But I woke thinking about this.
According to Ester Perel, a NYC therapist and best-selling author of Mating in Captivity, “Desire needs distance, freedom, dream, mystery. It is that very freedom that allows us to maintain desire that also has the risk to separate us. The freedom posits risks but without freedom we don’t maintain the intensity of desire.”
It seems impossible to have distance, freedom and mystery in an intimate long-term relationship. But Perel writes, “Reconciling the erotic and the domestic is not a problem we can solve; it is a paradox we manage.”
There is a well-known cartoon by Sam Gross that was printed in the New Yorker. Two snails are talking. They are staring at a scotch tape dispenser and one snail says to the other, “ I don’t care if she is a scotch tape dispenser. I love her.”
The shapes of these things appear the same but what else is known? This is what we do in the beginning of a relationship. We see some things and we conjure up the rest; part fantasy, part denial. And the distance and mystery stokes yearning.
Ester Perel asks an important question in regards to her work on desire.
Can we want what we already have?
At lunch the other day my friend sipped a glass of white wine and announced that she’d convinced her daughter’s orthodontist to lie. She’d persuaded him to tell her daughter that her braces wouldn’t come off in June, as he’d promised. They’d need to stay on until September. “She’s going to sleep away camp and I don’t want her kissing any boys,” she explained.
“Genius,” the friend across from me laughed.
“What!” I almost choked on a piece of bread. “You can’t do that to her.”
“I can and I did,” my friend said with assuredness.
“I’m going to write about this,” I said as if the threat would knock some sense into her.
“Go ahead,” she said unfazed.
This is why I don’t go for lunch, I thought.
As I sat there, I remembered the summer of 1976. Camp Blue Star, the year of the bicentennial. I was twelve. I had a boy’s haircut and braces. At camp that summer, I cupped fireflies in my bare hands and roasted marshmallows around campfires. I swam in the lake and did macramé. But what I waited for all season was the dance, The Social.
Two days before camp ended, the night of The Social, I borrowed a new friend’s jeans and wore a bra for the first time. This was not a small leap, this transition felt gigantic, and as anxiety producing as if I were face to face with a hungry lion. At the dance, I was nervous and self-conscious. I stood on the side watching until Roller Coaster of Love played and a really cute boy asked me to dance.
My parents were somewhat conservative (although at the time my father drove a red motorcycle; and my mother, a petite Jewish woman, grew an afro) and so in a way sending me to camp that summer was an act of faith. In me. I had to take care of myself. I had freedom.
After the dance, that boy walked me back to my cabin. And behind a bush, the most exciting thing happened. We kissed.
I experienced a lot of new things that summer. On a hike, I saw a snake for the first time and near a blackberry bush, a bee stung me. I got a high fever, and in the infirmary, alone, I missed my mother.
Wanting my friends to know that controlling their children wasn’t a good idea, I said, “You can still make out with braces.”
But they wouldn’t relent. To them, kissing was a gateway drug. They had their beliefs and I had mine. I wouldn’t trade my experiences at sleep away camp for anything in the world, not even the moment I found out my trunk didn’t arrive, and amongst strangers, I had no clothes. I built muscle. I figured it out.
There are times you have to let go: with your children and with your friends.