We need your genius.

Someone I love very much had a long chat with me last night. (Online typing, since I’ve lost my voice!). Shall I give her an awesome-sauce nick-name?
How about Kick-ass? She wrestles better than any of the guys I know!
She is also one of the most vivacious, energetic, cheeky young women I have had the pleasure to know. (And I’m not just saying that because she will be reading this!)
This is sort of a lead-on from a post I wrote a while back, which was basically a letter in combination to my 15 year old self, my cousin, a friend with an eating disorder, and the idea was inspired by watching Kick-Ass play around with food on a visit we had.
At the time I didn’t know if there was anything going on or not. She called me and asked if the post was about her and I explained that I had been concerned about some stuff but it wasn’t only about her.
Yesterday she chose to open up that she had an eating disorder in the past.
This scared the hell out of me because I feel totally unqualified to be a proper mentor for this sort of thing. I’m the only person she has chosen to share this with.
From experience, the mental state of self hating and body dysmorphia sticks around for years longer than the actual “eating disorder behaviour". This is the HUGEST frustration for me; not least because of that Kick-Ass is actually stunningly beautiful and always has been captivating looking.
No-one should be wasting their youth, strength and fun years feeling less than perfect. No-one should struggle to see something they like in the mirror.
No-one should feel uncomfortable about gaining weight out of fear that people will not like/love/ find them as attractive as they used to.
Kick-Ass is brilliant and independent already and she has so much strength of will. She will be able to get herself back on track in a good relationship with her body; I just want to provide some resources to undo the message that has been banged into her by the main stream media.

So here is what I want.
She has been surrounded by teen media and all the drivel that goes along with that.

Give us some linky love to your favourite body/women positive you tube hits and blog posts.
Give us some words of wisdom that have helped you in your recovery and personal growth.
Give us some resources available in Australia for young people.
Give us your love and understanding.

So give it up ladies and gentlemen, lay it on us.
Much love,
Scuba Nurse and Kick-Ass.

Who is questioning whom?

Last week over a glass of wine I was subtly (or not so subtly) insulted by a friend.
Her question?
Do you ever worry that people will perceive you badly once they know you are a Feminist?
My response was “are you worried that I will perceive you differently having heard you saying that?”
She looked baffled, and quickly changed the topic.

I work in an industry where if we stop selling our products we no longer have jobs, and perception is everything.
We recently did a seminar on branding. Not just branding our industry, workplace and product but also ourselves.
It made me think about my own personal brand, how I dress, communicate and express myself with both my colleagues and staff that I am teaching.
Part of this is my identity and how much of that I give away.

Deliberately I don’t give much away at all. My friends at work know I am living with my male partner, that I am interested in musical theatre, that I love the beach, belong to a gym, write for a “women’s interest blog” and that I had a car accident in the past.
My colleagues I don’t socialise with know I have a partner, used to be a nurse in the OR and am based in *******. Further out from there and I hope all they know about me is my work ethic and education/professional history.

My beliefs have very little part in my workplace.
In the same way that when I was a nurse I had to give good, empathetic care to drink drivers and child molesters; in business I have to be pleasant to red neck assholes and over privileged men.
All of this is much easier if they don’t KNOW I think they are assholes.

Information is power, and the less people know, the more they will assume that you agree with them while you smile and nod, and the more they will tell you- therefore the more power you have.

So actually, yes, I do worry that people will judge me by the labels I give myself.
So I try not to use them.
For example I use partner, not boyfriend because it is none of their business what level my relationship is at, or who it is with.
I don’t discuss my politics and unless I am seriously pushed I don’t identify my beliefs.

I found it interesting that disclosing that she was concerned about the image of feminism revealed more about her than it did me.
I now assume she may not stand up for herself, that she may not put her career first, that she is perhaps not particularly interested in fostering mentoring in medicine and business for young women.

Not fair assumptions.
Certainly not positive.

It is interesting how much we give away just by questioning someone else’s identity.

Tits and Teeth, or why perverts have a lower IQ.

There is a saying in show biz...
“Tits and Teeth ladies!”
Translation? Don’t forget to smile and stand straight.
For a very cheerful person with an 14 E-cup rack like me it’s not something I have to consciously try for, and quite often something I get judged on without even realising it has happened.
Hunting for work clothes involves keeping eyes open at all times for items that cover without looking like I’m wearing a mumu. If I do find something both flattering, that fits, and that covers the girls I buy two or more in different colours.
As long as I look tidy, and shoulders, cleavage and legs are covered I'm happy.

Last week I was away at a work conference.
There was a black tie gala night where I knew there would be a parade of wealthy women in designer outfits, and there was an expectation of high level dress.
I tried on every dress in NZ (or so it felt) and even tried making one in a bit of a last minute rush.
Eventually I grabbed a basic dress which I planned to wear a top under because the bust portion just didn’t provide enough coverage.
While in Melbourne I found a dress in my size just like I was hoping for. Black fabric with a hint of shine and a heavy weight to support a curvier figure it ended at just above the knee and was a V neck with wide straps. With a bust reducing bra, it was just within the boundary of sexy but not inappropriate.

I was going to include a photo here but honestly, having spent the night being “slut shamed” I cringe at every picture of me, and feel that typical kick of adrenaline and taste of vomit in my mouth.

The dress was supposed to be worn with a bust reducing bra which accidentally got left in Melbourne in my hotel room.

So on the night I panicked... what to do?
Wear the other dress with the t shirt under? No –what a waste of the new dress
Wear the new dress with a t shirt under? No. That’s going to look silly.
Wear the dress without a bra and risk breasts heading south, or worse north when I dance? Not a chance!

So I put on the most appropriate bra I could find and looked in HORROR at my image in the mirror.

I looked lovely.
Knock out lovely.

Attract too much attention lovely.

This neck line would have been frumpy on a C-cup but on an E my bust was under pressure and so formed two globes (not in season this year ladies – far better to have empty drooping bosoms with bony clavicle between.)
So the dress wasn’t low cut, but it sure did show off the area.

I gave myself a pep talk in the mirror about it being no worse than a strapless dress on a skinny girl. I reminded myself that there would be plenty of stunning necklines and I wouldn’t be the only one and even measured the distance between my nipple edge and the neckline above it to reassuring myself that the fabric came right up to a good height (12cm/5 inches to be precise).

I held my head high and walked out the door.
Within 3 minutes of arriving (after saying hello to my boss but before getting a drink) a male co-worker who works not only in a different office but a different country was posing in a hilarious fashion for photos staring at my tits.

Gosh that’s so funny. Nothing quite like having to laugh at some ass-hat’s idea of a joke, when you are actually feeling harassed.
I jokingly posed for another picture holding his head straight in front and laughed to diffuse what felt like one of the more awkward moments in my life.
After that it was comment, after comment, after comment.

“Great cleavage”
“Nice to know you can party with the best of them”
“WOW”
“You are letting your hair down.”
“Your tits are AMAZING.”And of course the visual jokes, ogling, pretending to motorboat etc.
A few of the women made comments – none ‘bitchy’ to give them a bit of credit.
“Great assets”
“I wish I had cleavage like that”
“Holy cow, you are going to have all the attention tonight”

The thing was, I stayed sober, was behaving myself and didn’t know half these people.

The country manager bless her; looked me up and down and said “That dress is gorgeous – I’d ask where you got it, but I wouldn’t look half as good on me”.
Flattering; but not about one specific part of my body.

I spent the night wishing I had a shrug or shawl, and eventually went and cut it up on the dance floor with the girls, rather than sitting and waiting for the next (what felt like) attack.

What amazed me was that another woman wore a dress that was literally down to her navel – one of those glamorous ones that have a split between the breasts.
Not one comment.
NOT ONE!
Other than the fact that her dress had less overall coverage the only main difference was that she was almost entirely flat chested.

So I wore something not hugely different to anyone else but because of my bust size (which I can't choose) I spent the night feeling like it was my fault if I attracted men like flies.
They couldn’t possibly help themselves from being creepy – they were “right there”.

Interestingly enough the most brilliant men and women in the room, the ones in the top of the company were pleasantness in itself and held long and interesting conversations without once mentioning or staring at my breasts.

It seems susceptibility to creepiness is linked with a low IQ.

If I was giving myself advice I would be yelling about the behaviour of my colleagues and giving me big hugs.
But from this perspective I just felt ashamed and embarrassed.

In fact, I still do.

I’ve been very careful to say I “felt like I was being harassed” not that I “was being harassed”, because I did, and do feel like I was to blame.
What is wrong with this picture?

Depending on who is watching...

This is a public service apology.

I wore tights yesterday.... Don’t judge me.
I've changed my stance from wanting to ban lycra, (a rash judgement call made in revulsion of budgie smugglers one particularly droopy summer) to living in it!
I work from home when only doing office stuff, and go to the gym after work, so it seems silly to change pants when no one sees me during the day.
Aaaaany way.
Every now and again at the gym there is someone usually female, (the guys love themselves way too much to wear gym clothes from last season) wandering around in a pair of tights so worn that you can tell the underwear style through them.

What do you do in this scenario??
I've been torn between pretending I didn’t notice, wondering if it was a style choice, and wanting to offer them my jacket to wrap around their waist.

I’ve usually assumed that they don’t know and I pretend that neither do I.
It seemed fair to me! I don’t know her; why do I have to be the one to break the Endorphin induced confidence bubble?

Last night I trudged up the stairs in my gym clothes at the end of the evening.
Yes, yes, I know; Feral! I should have showered earlier bla bla bla.
And my boyfriend blithely called out from behind me

"Hey I can see your Ass."

*sigh*
Yeah, I know; tights dont leave much to the imagination from a down hill view."

"No really, I can see your butt, ALL of it... Its nice, you are wearing **insert description of underwear here**"

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?"

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no.

I have been going to the gym for long enough to see absolutely NO physical results, but my ass has apparently been working so hard it's trying to escape through my pants.

Awesome.

So to anyone walking behind me for FSM knows how long, I am SO sorry.
My butt should not be your view.

On the upside, in order to get rid of the cringy shame of people seeing more of it than they should, I have written a list of awesome things my ass does, to convince myself it was not a bad thing.
It was an HONOR for all those Lucky people yesterday!

It has travelled around the world and leaned against some pretty awesome monuments for photos.

I can spin really fast on it when wearing jeans and on a hard floor.

It is narrow enough to fit through doors, yet sturdy enough to use to shove open the jammed front door in winter.

It has brought joy to countless children on it for piggy-back rides.

It did a large majority of the work while climbing to 5,200 and hanging out at Mt Ama Dablam base camp.

It protected my pelvis and coccyx from certain doom in my car accident.

It did almost all the work keeping my head above water whilst white water kayaking.

It provides perfect padding each and every time I fall. Not once have I broken my hip.

It is the most marvellous cushion when on a picnic, or remote camping trip.

I can use it to provoke either lust or laughter in a few simple motions(depending on who is watching.)

It can be relied on to provide warmth to curl around for my bed partner.