Bodily Autonomy- End of the Month Controversy

Having a uterus makes life complicated.

It shouldn't have to. After all, more than half the people on the planet have one. But along with the uterus comes, theoretically, the ability for it to become occupied.

And there is an intense debate raging in this country about who an occupied uterus belongs to.

As a person with a uterus, I think this is pretty clear. I think it's a black and white proposition- the uterus is mine, and I get to do what I want with it. I can donate it to science when I die, I can have it removed if it becomes diseased, I can take medications to regulate how and when it sheds its lining, I can have it surgically altered so that my eggs can't reach it.

This is called "bodily autonomy." It means I have the right to do what I want with my body, uterus included. And we, as a culture, care a lot about bodily autonomy. We care about it so much that we make sure it's protected even after death.

That's why you can't just harvest all the kidneys and livers people on those wait lists need from conveniently dead people. We respect the wishes of the dead, and if before they died a person said, "Please do not cut open my body and give my kidneys, liver, lungs, heart, valves, corneas, or any other parts to other people. I would like to be buried with them, according to my own traditions and customs," we say, "Okay, cool! Keep your organs!" And then we let them take their parts to the ground with them.

I know, this is very morbid. But follow me for a minute here.

There is a small but organized and vocal minority that says all of this bodily autonomy changes the moment a woman decides she wants to control how her uterus works.

See, birth control doesn't just prevent a woman from being pregnant. It's so much more. It allows women to count on a precise 28 day cycle, which begins and ends on the day of her choosing.

I can't tell you how many working women I know who coordinate their birth control with a weekend, so that if their period comes heavy or uncomfortable, or brings with it mood swings or migraines, they know they'll have those symptoms over a weekend- minimizing the impact on their jobs.

I can't tell you how many women I know who neglect the "off week," and simply eliminate their periods from their lives for months and months on end.

Having a period is a tremendous inconvenience, but it is much less so when you know precisely when it's going to happen, or that its associated complaints will be minimized medicinally. I would think, for this reason, that any employer who wanted to get involved in the process or whether or not their female employees had access to birth control would opt for yes.

Who doesn't want to ensure that their employees won't get nauseated or headachey or depressed on a monthly basis?

And considering the notorious "mommy tracking" women experience, being passed over for promotions and opportunities because their employers fear becoming less of a priority to them than their children, the additional protection of ensuring a lack of pregnancy is kind of icing on the cake.

So why on earth would an employer want to deny their employees access to birth control?

It's because of this idea that a woman's bodily autonomy ends where her uterus begins. This small, vocal, organized minority believes that a uterus really only serves one function- to produce more humans.

So if a woman takes a step that might prevent her uterus from producing more humans... they can't have that.

We have a problem in this country, in that this small, vocal, organized minority has a lot of money, and with that a lot of power. And they're using it to promote an agenda that people with uteruses aren't really people, and shouldn't enjoy the same right to bodily autonomy as people without a uterus.

It's because of that vocal minority that women who experience the tragedy of still birth are being charged as murderers.

But it's not just the uterus that's up for legislation and prosecution. More and more, it's any distinguishably female characteristics. A woman in in Arkansas was arrested for drinking a beer while breastfeeding, and charged with child endangerment.

Yes, drinking and breastfeeding is generally bad. But breastfeeding is hard, and many doctors and midwives have advised women for centuries to drink a little beer or wine to ease painful or stressful letdowns. This woman drank two beers over an hour and a half, and as a human being and legal adult, that is her right. But is it child endangerment?

Would somebody have called the police if it was champagne, and she was at a wedding?

More and more, I fear the answer would be yes. Because that small and vocal and organized minority is organized. They are waging a campaign to shame and humiliate women who dare use their uterus, breasts, or ovaries as they please.

Because when you have bodily autonomy, it means you're a person. Like any other person.

And that means you have the right to equal pay. To fair treatment. To privacy between you and your doctor.

Each step this small, vocal, and organized minority takes to remove another organ from a woman's bodily autonomy is another step towards their proof that women aren't human anyway. And once a woman has no right to control her uterus, her breasts, or her ovaries, what's next?

Vaginae? Feet? Brain?

We're not collections of disparate parts, to regulate and control. We're people. With the same rights to control what we do with our parts that corpses enjoy.

And whether or not you agree with abortion, I think we should all be able to agree on that.

Becoming A Hero

I don't like the phrase, "Things happen for a reason." Enough terrible things have happened to me and my family in my short time on Earth to resent the idea.

I much prefer, "Things happen." Because they do. Things happen constantly, and yes, some people experience worse than others. And you can't exactly choose how you respond to these things. You can't control experiencing fear, or sorrow, or anger, but you can conquer it once it's already there.

And once you've done that, you can decide what you want to do with the experiences you've had.

That's why I joined the RAINN Speaker's Bureau.

I've talked about it before on this blog, a couple of times. But let me tell you, that is a far cry from what it's actually like to stand in front of a room full of people and actually tell your story. Not just any story, the events leading up to and including the worst you've ever known.

But it's not just sharing the story. It's giving it a broader context. Using it as a tool to teach.

A few weeks ago, I was invited to speak at a high school, for 120 high school juniors and seniors. Their teacher is a remarkable educator. He invented an advanced health class that teaches students about health and sexuality, with all the uncomfortable conversations that entails. Students are only allowed in by teacher referral, and only upperclassmen in good standing.

Each year for the last eleven, the students in this class do a mock date rape trial. Students are given roles, from medical examiner to judge to defendant. This class is one of those formative experiences. One of his former students went on to go into law, crediting this experience solely as her motivation.

For the first time in the eleven years this class has existed, all four sections' mock trial juries came back with a "not guilty" verdict.

And for the first time, the teacher reached out to the RAINN Speaker's Bureau to have a survivor, of events nearly exactly like the story he constructed for his students, come to speak to his class. For forty five minutes. For four separate groups of students.

And that person was me.

There's something you experience every time you talk about sexual assault. It's a certainty that somebody is going to call you a liar. To deny your story, to tell you that if events happened as you described, you are still to blame.

Walking into a room of teenagers who found a date-rapist not guilty is that experience under a magnifying glass. Already, this group of teenagers- a notoriously judgmental and self assured group- has decided that the assailant, in a case nearly identical to yours, was not at fault.

What can you possibly say to explain the truth?

The day before the presentation, I lost my voice. Completely lost it. I spent a whole day chugging hot tea, avoiding raising my voice, and swallowing spoonfuls of honey. But when I showed up I was still hoarse and quiet.

As I stood and started to speak, the students stilled themselves to perfect silence. It might have been the only way to hear me. And while I spoke, my hands shook.

But with every word, as they stared and listened, my voice got a little stronger. After twenty minutes, my hands had stopped shaking.

I didn't just tell my story. I told the kids they had been right to choose a not guilty verdict. That rapists nearly always get off scot free, that victims are usually blamed and hushed and ignored or made to disappear. And I told them about the notorious Reddit thread where rapists confessed, and provided us with a rare glimpse into what really goes on in the mind of someone who commits sexual assault.

And I talked about rape culture- I explained that the ideas they had about a girl "asking for it" because she was drinking were wrong. I explained that everything about the way our culture addresses sex and sexual assault comes from the fundamental idea that it's a woman's job to avoid being raped, as though rapists are phantoms, or weather patterns.

I talked about consent, what it is and what it isn't.

The kids asked questions, and I was shocked and impressed by the depth and candor of their questions. I was amazed by their insight. And I answered them as honestly and candidly as I could, no matter how painful.

I spoke for three hours, and it got a little easier as it went on. After each class a few students came by to ask more questions, privately, to say thank you, or to engage in a quick conversation about rape culture.

And I was floored.

By the time I got home my voice was worse than gone, and I felt exhausted in a bone deep, emotional way.

But I felt like maybe, just maybe, I had really done something that made a difference.

I told those kids that what had been missing from their trial, and from all rape trials like it, was somebody who could stand up in court and say, "He knew, without a doubt, the victim didn't consent." I told them that now everyone in that class had the ability to be that person, because everyone in that class could explain to their friends, their siblings, their parents what is and what isn't consent. So everyone in that class had the power within themselves to prevent sexual assaults from happening, by preventing rapists from becoming rapists.

I think it hit home for many of them. I hope it did.

And as for me? I feel empowered. And perversely enough, I feel fortunate. This is something I could do for the rest of my life. With my life.

Things happen. And I'm glad I've found a way to give them meaning.