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Weekly Roundup 8/30/14

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Where I’ll Be

I’ll be at the Women’s Community Center on Saturday September 6 at our Volunteer Work Day sprucing up the Center! Have a skill to offer, in kind donations to give? Let us know!

Do you love tacos? Beer? Supporting reproductive choices? If so, then come on out to the TacoOrBeerChallenge at Mi Madres at 1:00 pm and also make a donation to an abortion fund while you eat and drink with amazing people.

Articles You Might Like

This is a must read on race, reparations, Ferguson, and blackness in America by Ezekiel Kweku.

Distressing tactics used by Ferguson cops here at Mother Jones.

A gorgeous article with art showing what it takes for the privileged to live in luxury.

Coffee? Naps? How about both? This article recommends coffee right before a nap for maximum wake up effect.

When Bisexuals get left out of the marriage conversation by Eliel Cruz.

Are you an introverted extrovert? Or an outgoing introvert? Find out here with this really amazing article about recharging your engines when you appear outgoing and social.

Read this from Jessica Luther about the new laws on abortion facilities and hospital privileges.

Actions and Events

Ongoing
The Taco Or Beer Challenge for Reproductive Justice! Join all of us, Dan Savage and Time Magazine in eating a taco, drinking a beer, and supporting abortion rights. Many thanks to Andrea Grimes!

Saturday August 30

Cine Resistencia presents Sleep Dealer

Sunday August 31
No Pouting In The Dojo by Cathy Chapaty at Bookwoman

Tuesday September 2
A public forum on police accountability. Please join.

Wednesday September 3
Come on down to the Dionysium for the Power Show

Thursday September 4
It is the Day of Bey. Celebrate her birth with a party like no other!

Friday September 5
Bloq Party with QPOCA!

Spirit opens at The Vortex. This looks to be a gorgeous show!

Austin No Shame! Have something to share? You can do it here!

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The Women’s Community Center Housewarming Drive

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From the Women’s Community Center Blog!

The Women’s Community Center of Central Texas will be officially opening its doors on October 4, 2014 with an open house from 11:00am – 3:00pm! We are seeking housewarming donations to help us get the Center spruced up and ready!

We want the Center to serve our community as a great place to learn, work, have fun, and be safe, so we want to provide the most welcoming environment possible. If you have or can donate any of the items below, we will be receiving donations on the following days prior to our grand opening.

Taking donations until 9/5/2014! But contact past that point and we’ll happily meet you to accept your gifts!
Monday & Friday: 10:00am – 2:00pm
Tuesday-Thursday: 10:00am – 7:00pm

If none of those dates work, just email julie@womenscommunityctx.org and she’ll set up a time to receive your items!

Kitchen:
A set or two of dishes
Glasses and mugs
Silverware
Serving trays
Dishtowels and cloth napkins
Pots and pans
Soaps and cleaning supplies
Outdoor broom
Laundry supplies

Bathroom:
Hand towels and towel sets
Diapers, wipes, and sanitary supplies

Office and Co-Working Space:
Printer paper (inkjet and laser)
Pens, pencils
Legal pads
File folders
Short extension cords and surge protectors
General office supplies-paper clips, binder clips, post it notes etc.
Art supplies – markers, glue, poster board
Children’s Area:
Books for all ages – inclusive, bilingual and Spanish language, and female protagonists appreciated
Inclusive non-violent toys for all ages
Crayons and drawing paper

Quiet Room:
Books and media – women’s empowerment, gender, sexuality, feminism, health, meditation, yoga, spirituality (inclusive of all kinds), self-help and support
Blankets
Pillows

Plants:
We are seeking sturdy outside plants and holders for our window boxes. Are you a green thumb? Let us know!

Thank you so much for your generosity to the Center! We can’t wait to welcome you at our open house!

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Amplify

Shaun King has had more information, more quickly and more accurately on Ferguson, than anyone else I’ve followed over the past two weeks. He’s been doggedly pursuing the truth, the facts, and has been tireless in pointing out hypocrisy and media bias throughout the protests, rally, and police brutality. He’s smart and accomplished and social media savvy. Very savvy. You should follow him here on Twitter, right now.

He’s been a light of hope, at least for me personally, because he’s insightful and focused on the goal-ending racism. He’s been attacked viciously for his work, but he’s brought amazing ideas and possibilities to the table and tweeted them all.

Yesterday, he posted 7 new policy ideas to help eliminate and prosecute police brutality. He gave me permission to post them here. All these are his words and I’ll leave you to ponder them and then go to Change.Org to add your voice in on the policies.

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This all seems pretty damn reasonable to me. Human, even. What do you think? Amplify his tweets, share the petition, make some noise.

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Back To School

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For many of us in Austin, today is the first day of school. My eldest is starting high school (which is hard to fathom), and all across the city there are thousands of first day outfits, backpacks, and supply bags ready to go. There are nervous parents poised with a camera and teachers prepared to engage minds, and often hearts, in learning. I am grateful to those teachers who do so much, and often get so little, for so many.

There is so much to learn. Literature, reading, algebra, geography.

History.

I worry we don’t do enough about history. I worry we teach the wrong history, the history of the winners, but not the history that matters. Of how we truly got to be who and how we are, right now in America.

There has been so much pain over the past two weeks. So many hearts broken over and over again, as if they weren’t broken and bruised enough before by racism and an endemic violence of white privilege, like a virus as Andrew O’Hehir put it so powerfully in Salon. It’s Ferguson but it’s so much more, going back monthly, yearly, since our inception.

The history is right in front of us, living still and happening in an endless loop, and yet I don’t think this truly gets taught in our history classes, in our school-day curriculum. Not at least until College, and even then it’s often an elective or selected major.

I think we have to change this. We have to truly teach our history, all of it, to our children now, so that they may change how the future rolls out.

I’m thinking about this, with my children still sleeping tight in their beds, their bags ready to go and their outfits picked out and I wonder how we make that happen. We can go back to school at powerful places here, or here, but we must join in. And we have to teach real history so we know the truth.

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Weekly Round Up 8/23/14

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Where I’ll Be

I’ll be at the New Movement Rally for Michael Brown on Saturday the 23rd. I hope you’ll join me.

I’ll be performing as part of Out Of Bounds with Testify Storytelling on Friday the 29th, telling a very funny story. At least I hope it will be!

Articles You Might Like

There have been a number of articles out on Ferguson, too many to list, though my Twitter TL is filled with them.

Read this from Jessica Luther about ways you can help the people of Ferguson but also how to help in your own town.

I would also suggest reading Elon James White, Shaun King, Feminista Jones

Actions and Events

Ongoing
The Taco Or Beer Challenge for Reproductive Justice! Join all of us, Dan Savage and Time Magazine in eating a taco, drinking a beer, and supporting abortion rights. Many thanks to Andrea Grimes!

Sunday August 24
There is a topless march for shirt free equality. Bare All!

Stand Up For Mental Health Comedy Show

Monday August 25
Are you a liberal Austin Democrat? Happy Hour Here!

Tuesday August 26/em>
Can we end sexual assault in sports? An online conversation with Tawkers.

Wednesday August 27

Out Of Bounds Improv and Comedy Festival Begins!

Thursday August 28
Playful Intimacy with the hosts of Camp Frolic

Friday August 29
Testify Storytelling at Out of Bounds

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What To Do? Look Local

Jessica Luther has a really wonderful post up about how to help Ferguson, but also how to address issues in our own communities.

For those of us who don’t live in Ferguson, or Missouri, or even remotely close to Missouri, it can feel futile watching from afar, wanting to be part of a solution that can help end the pain that community is experiencing.

But here’s the thing. Wherever you live, there are problems in your community that are looking for solutions. And there are probably already people in your community working on them (this is true in Ferguson, for sure).

She goes on to link a number of events and rallies here in Austin that are happening from Saturday the 23rd forward.

Saturday, August 23, at 5pm: “#TheNewMovement :: Justice for Michael Brown and What MUST Come Next. At Givens Park (3811 E 12th St, Austin, Texas 78721). Description from the FB event page:

This Saturday evening at Givens Park, I’m asking everyone in the City of Austin to come out and have a very frank and open conversation about police brutality in America. Being that police brutality is something we deal with heavily in Austin already, this last incident is far from an isolated event.

Furthermore and MOST IMPORTANTLY, we will be discussing FEASIBLE PLANS OF ACTIONS for the future of OUR black and brown communities throughout the country.

We will also have stations with on hand for individuals that have been having trouble processing their thoughts and feelings in the past week for people to vent and get their feelings out.

For any further information, contact Chas Moore.

There are several more listed but please check out Jessica’s post for yourself. She has links on history, police issues, and ways to help Ferguson.

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August BedPosts!

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There’s no place like home, and BedPost Confessions missed the warm intimacy of our home at
THE NORTH DOOR!

So we are going back!

Join us, back at the North Door, where we have a STELLAR lineup for you to celebrate our return home ~

✰ Mike McCown with a story about sex & connection
✰ Teacher Kate, with an ode to handjobs and dry humping
✰ Ebony Stewart with a story about being a sex ed teacher
✰ AND the inimitable, HILARIOUS, Holly Lorka!

★★ PLUS YOUR CONFESSIONS READ ONSTAGE! ★★

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Emceed by Julie Gillis!

We will have, as usual, amazing giveaways by Little Shop of O’s, Glo’s Goodies,
Karuna Sessions, Sexy Delicious Things, and Package Menswear.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ THE BASICS ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

★★ WE ARE BACK AT THE NORTH DOOR! ★★

8/21/14 BedPost Confessions @ The North Door
[One block East of I-35 on the corner of Brushy Street and East 5th]
Tickets are $10 at the door
The ND Lounge opens at 6:30, show doors open at 7:15, show starts promptly at 8:00
POSTS

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Walking Cliffside With A Tether

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Discussions of mental health issues below:

When I started puberty I noticed that before my periods I would get extremely depressed. Overwhelmingly so, with feelings of dread and despair. Oddly, just 7-10 days after that threshold, I’d feel lovely and strong and capable. My periods weren’t entirely regular (I could thank a high prolactin count for that) so it took a long time before I realized that my moods ran parallel to my cycles.

In college, I got on birth control and that calmed much of my PMS down, but still the pattern was there. Dread, despair, a sense of complete not-rightness in my body. Lethargy, self-hate, distortion of my experience of myself, extraordinarily negative self talk in my brain closing down anything kind. Then, after the period, full-bore ahead with clarity and happiness and extroversion. In my mind it always took the image of walking alongside the edge of a cliff, windy and overcast, the sea and rocks below. Some weeks I was far inland, some weeks walking parallel with the edge, the ocean just in sight.

This pattern wasn’t mild. In fact, there were weeks of missing classes, dropping projects, alienating friends and partners. I talked to my mother and she mostly said we were just moody people, that most of her female relatives had bad PMS. She did share with me stories of severe mental illness in our family which mostly took the form of bi-polar disorder.

There were extreme cases. Attempted suicides and worse. Much worse in fact so bad that I don’t want to write the words down, what happened. No one spoke of those stories to me until they had to, it was such a monster in our families closet. Those stories scared me very much. The rest of the family, hard drinkers and moody, were fine,so she said. My mother reassured me, while I suffered from depression at times, it was just PMS and it was just that. I’d never been manic, not that I could tell, and I’d never had an episode that lasted longer than the PMS week, maybe two weeks depending on my cycle. Still, it was really really frustrating to have a cycle in place of unipolar depression and good weeks.

Later, as I aged, I heard about Pre Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder which is an extreme form of PMS and is related to hormones and serotonin in the brain. Aha, I thought, there it is. Whenever I’d get off the pill, the PMDD would boil over. Back on it, things simmered down to a mostly manageable temperature. I considered taking Prozac (or Serafem, as the PMDD version was branded), but my family’s history with mental illness and the stigma attached, I held fast to this idea that I was fine, I could manage it with vitamins, exercise and carefully scheduling projects and maximum on my good weeks so that if I had to hide out (because my brain wouldn’t let me work) I’d be ok and so would the projects.

This went on all through my 20′s until I had a child at 31. I stayed home with Owen for about 6 months and I had the regular baby blues that new mothers get. But mostly, I thought I was fine. What I remember about that time (and especially the time after starting work again) was this sour sense of my body. An edginess and quick temper. A fearfulness I’d never had, even with all the depression. My depression was sadness, despair. This was different. It was, I’d come to find out, anxiety. Nervousness, paranoia, like my skin was scratchy inside of myself. The worst of it hit when I started a new job. It wasn’t a good position, didn’t really fit me and the woman I worked for wasn’t very nice, but the combination of the anxiety and depression with the new environment and callous treatment sent me into a place I’d never been before.

I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I was afraid of everything. I felt like a permanent victim, terrified of attracting my bosses attention for anything. I lost weight too quickly. I snapped at my husband. I cried a lot.

Eventually I got a new job, went on to work at UT, still more high strung than usual, but far more relaxed than that 6 month period of utter emotional hell.

I got pregnant again and had Evan. The feelings returned 10 fold. I couldn’t sleep. Like, not at all. Like, not even with drinking or with Nyquil. Days would go by with no sleep. Evan had colic so my diet was wrecked. It was like not having skin and feeling raw and enflamed all the time. I feel certain that my husband was a little afraid of my moods, certainly I seemed angry and overwhelmed all the time. There was no joy at all, just fear and anxiety and insomnia and a kind of self-hatred I’d never felt.

I parked at a garage on campus just off of Speedway. I’d often have to park on the 5th or 6th floor and I found myself looking down and thinking, “It wouldn’t really take much to just jump.” And then I’d walk to work. Day after day I’d think that and finally I thought, “That’s not really a rational thought, Julie.”

I went to see my OB and told her about the anger and the insomnia and maybe my birth control pill wasn’t working right. She said, “You have severe postpartum depression. And you are having rare and extreme symptoms and we have to get you on medicine right away.” I fought her on it because, well, I didn’t need medicine. Only mentally ill people needed medicine. Or people that I would tell to get help because there wasn’t anything thing wrong with getting help except when it came to me because if I need help there was something wrong with me personally, morally, spiritually.

Besides, I said, I was breastfeeding.

She implored me to take medicine. My husband implored me to take medicine. My mother implored me to take medicine. She and I had a moment where we skirted around the aforementioned scary story. The story of a relative who suffered from such severe post-partum psychosis that something very bad happened to her child and to her. Something that makes me shake even considering sharing with you because its such a tragedy and it’s so terrifying to think of and I don’t even know if it’s my story to tell, but it impact my entire family and thus my entire life, like a Greek curse that everyone avoided mentioning for fear it would appear somehow in me or a cousin, or me.

I’m not sure it’s my story to tell, but when I finally started asking cousins about postpartum depression, they all mentioned having it, and badly. And my Aunt, my poor tortured Aunt. No help for her back in the day, no help for her child, our family to deal with the legacy of what happened. Just hospitals, courts, trauma on trauma.

And me, so stubborn and refusing to take medicine out of fear and yes, shame, and yes, out of the disease itself telling me that I shouldn’t really trust modern medicine, and the constant negative self talk like a record skipping in my brain that it was probably my own fault I felt bad and that I should just try harder, so much so that I was willing to walk just that close to the cliff’s edge, quite literally.

So what happened next was that I hurt my hand, badly, gardening. So badly that I couldn’t really do much. I collapsed and told Chris everything and cried and cried and felt little and weak and horribly vulnerable like I’d just die for the telling of it all. The intensity scared us both and it was clear I needed, we needed, to address what was going on.

I went and got medicine and Evan went on formula. Within a week, I was sleeping. Within a week, I was not afraid.

I knew what that meant, it meant that what was going on with me wasn’t my fault. It was a disorder. An extreme reaction to pregnancy hormones and my brain wiring. It was the predictable result of a family that never ever talked about PMDD or Post Partum Depression or got therapy or accepted gentleness and help in the face of stigmatized mental illness. No one talked to me before I got pregnant, that this might happen to me that I might develop PPD/PPP. None of us talked at all about the experience of motherhood and what that might do to our brains.

We were all so afraid and so ashamed at the monster in the closet, the histories of relatives reaching back into the 20′s, stories of bi-polar breaks and hospitalizations. Even me, having worked at the State Hospital, I was totally unready to face and hold and take care of that part of me that needed love (and medicine) the most.

This is what stigma and silence can do.

My OB advised me to never have more children, or if I did, to immediately wean and get on meds. PPD and PPP get worse with each subsequent pregnancy. No worries, I said. Two is plenty.

My mind hasn’t really been the same since my experience with PPD. I have far worse anxiety now then I did prior to childbirth. I have struggled with self medication with alcohol, something that always lifted my mood, brought out my inner extrovert, calmed my fears. I definitely kept close to my meds during my mother’s illness and passing, but not always. Because of the oddly cyclical nature of my unipolar depression, its easy for me to forget about the pills and then get things messed up. Bourbon played a role as well, and frankly, not a good one.

Drinking never truly messed up my life, but it didn’t do much but keep me in a cycle of feeling bad in the morning (a part of my brand of depression and dysthymia) and opening a door to feeling good for about an hour in the evening fading into a sense of depression and insomnia, lather rinse repeat. My father drank bourbon, and my mother drank wine. Those two drinks make me feel close to them, or at least that’s how it seems on the surface. Alcohol seemed a tether to the past, to them, to the part of myself that people like, that I’m afraid is the only part they like, the funny happy buoyant woman that entertains, instead of the sad, fearful and anxious woman who doubts herself so much. A tether to who I am, or think I am, but maybe it was more of a weight dragging me down.

I’ve stopped that, for now at least. Maybe for good. Not sure.

Meds though, those helps. Exercise helps, yoga helps, producing work helps, connection helps, spirituality helps, talking about it helps. Sitting with it helps. That’s the real tether, isn’t it? A strong thick harness attached securely to community, anchored deep into the very rock of that cliff, into the core. It’s me attached to me, no matter how close the cliff is, that I’ll be grounded and strong and able to ask for help, support.

You are so important.

We have to talk about all of this. We have to support each other and break out of a culture that tells us that connection makes us weak, and that asking for help should be stigmatized. We are so much stronger all connected, we are so much stronger when we are able to know where we are, know our limits, and get assistance to get healthier. It’s so very hard to be able to describe exactly how tricky and cruel mental illness can be, how it lies and shape-shifts, darkens a sunny day, and plays mirror games distorting our reality. But we, we are all here. And we know what that edge feels like. We are afraid, or at least I’ve been afraid to talk about it.

I don’t want to be afraid anymore.

I want to be able to walk it, name it, see it, and sit with it. But I don’t want to be silent about it and I don’t want you to be either. I want to provide space and care for us all to find our tethers. We each have our own, but we have to connect them together. So let’s work together to do that.

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Fall

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Fall is coming.

School is starting soon and with it’s nearing comes a sense of excitement. I am one of those people who find summers difficult. Part of that may be that I live in Texas with sweltering weather that warms up swimming pools to bathtub temps, even a trip to Barton Springs leaves me hot going in and hot coming out. Summer seems harsh. The sun is too bright and the clothes are too exposing. I enjoy the lack of structure-hey the kids are out of school so we don’t have to get up at dawn-but only for a time. Fall always makes me feel whole.

Fall signals new beginnings to me in ways spring never has. New clothes, new books, new fresh notepads and folders just waiting for words and ideas to mark them. New friends and new opportunities, that’s always what fall felt like when I was young. I have been eagerly asking my children what kinds of haircuts they want, what new shirts they’d like to get. They grunt a bit, not nearly as impressed with the impending end of their summer torpor.

Fall ushers in a sacred time of renewal but also a deepening into home and hearth. That seems even more important to me now, after this summer of so much unrest, pain, war. Planes missing, bombs, relentless killings, fracking and droughts, protests for basic rights, several murderous deaths at the hands of police, a community currently torn apart by racism and police-state provocation. Now, Robin Williams. There is suffering no matter where I look, and it feels wrong in the face of the season, but it remains. The pain boils, perhaps born out of pots simmering for far too long and left unattended and ignored. It scalds, this summer. There is so much weeping from the earth, from the people, children, mothers, activists, so much that I don’t know what it will take to stop it.

I wonder if my desire for Fall comes with a childish hope that when the temperatures settle down, so too will our problems. Perhaps we all will be able to see clear and get real journalism covering real problems, salve the pain caused by institutions, start real healing.

That might very well be naive.

Still, I can’t repress a spark of happiness when I think about coming months, even if they are simply from pattern. From the turning of leaves to the rituals of Halloween, the dense sage flavors of winter foods-squash, pumpkin, soups and stews. Pecans and tamales, chile and eggnog. Fir tree scent and a caress of cold air on bare skin, I relish the energy that comes with the turning of this season.

I can see it, Fall, just around the corner. My heart lightens a little at the thought. I have to hold strong through this heat though, staying with it and not hiding away to avoid the now.

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Less Snark More Education, Please

This morning, I found an article on my Facebook feed from Buzzfeed. I own up to reading online magazines and pop sites and generally I enjoy humor and news and occasionally combined but this article really, really bothered. me.

It’s an article about doctors sharing anecdotes about the “dumbest patients” they’ve ever treated.

Here’s the link if you want to add to their click rates for the day, or if you want to read the article without giving them any additional revenue, click here on the Do Not Link site.

The article is mostly stock photos of doctors looking bemused posed beside the quoted “dumb” situations. Most of the situations have to do with sex, such as:

  • Not understanding how the Nuva Ring works
  • Not knowing that it takes penetrative intercourse to get pregnant
  • Not understanding particular vocabulary regarding how to take medicines
  • Not knowing how STDs are passed or proper use of condoms
  • Feeding an infant coffee instead of formula

All of the patient’s concerns are heartbreaking and leave them extremely vulnerable to disease, unintended pregnancy, and more, and I’m ashamed that they were used for click-bait fodder.

Instead of mocking people’s ignorance on the internet, perhaps we should all be pushing for more comprehensive education about our bodies?

These people came to their doctors because they didn’t know what was going on with their bodies, with their sexual needs, with their health. Some people don’t even have access to doctors (or are too embarrassed to ask), but post on places like Yahoo Answers. They ask questions that may seem ridiculous to all us supposedly well educated and extremely privileged folks, but it’s a huge sign that people aren’t being taught about how their bodies work all over our country.

Perhaps on the surface it seems laughable, like an article just for kicks, but at my age now, and having worked in and around sexual human rights issues for so long, it kills me to see a) how lacking our basic knowledge is throughout our country and b) how mean people are when people are vulnerable.

Right now though we don’t live in a culture where a straightforward article about the systems behind these “dumb patients” are examined (at least not on pop internet sites), we live in a click bait world. It’s callous and it doesn’t offer any real solution to the problem. No where does the article share how the doctors dealt with the situation, just leaves the anecdotes for shits and giggles.

The Buzzfeed article pulled the anecdotes from a subReddit, just as an FYI. I don’t really recommend visiting. I sympathize with the need to vent, because I imagine that doctors and nurses see so much that they can only triage in terms of information and education, but to share it like this? It amplifies the venting into mockery and makes the rest of us think that’s ok.

What are the solutions, that’s what I want to know? How do we get more education into schools, to parents, to adults? How do we treat honest and vulnerable questions as a sign of curiosity and desire for better health instead of “dumb” questions to laugh at? And how do we shift a culture that seems to nearly bathe in snark into one that honestly enjoys earnest community?

I talk about BedPost Confessions a lot, I know. It’s kind of my offering as an answer to some of those questions. We, my co-producers and I, focus on adults and combine education and ethics inside of a framework of entertainment. We select pieces that are amazing, sexy, and well crafted of course, but we look for humanity and vulnerability in our submissions first and foremost. We take confessions from the audience but we don’t read ones that are illegal or cruel (and we get some cruel mocking ones). If the confession is filled with confusion? We try to answer the question. We honor where everyone is at in terms of needing education. We want the space to feel as secure and warm as possible, knowing that people may feel that they are taking a risk coming to the show.  It’s not about “safe” necessarily, but it is about kind and loving, open to vulnerability and learning, at least I hope it is.

We work with a number of sex educators as well, all of whom have had their work cut out for them in the school systems. We offer space to community groups to come and table to share advocacy around sexual rights, and we work with adult stores who offer real educational experiences along with their wonderful wares.

I get it. Snark feels good. It’s easy. Those anecdotes or answers we find on Yahoo are low-hanging fruit for comedy. But that’s not good enough for me. That doesn’t, in my opinion, further real cultural change towards health, pleasure, and wellness. And it makes me mad. Snark may mean that people just don’t see any real hope? I think there is real hope. I’ve talked to enough people after our show, or through groups like Woodhull Sexual Freedom Alliance to know that real lives are changed when people open up and share in community with empathy and with courage. It is amazing stuff and guess what? There’s humor there, too. Our show is funny, or so I’ve been told.

It just doesn’t wind up hurting people, even if they are just anonymous folks on the internet or the audience. And if it does? I want to know about it.

We need more education, that much is clear. Can’t we do it without continuing a cycle that shames?

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