Wednesday Bubble: Let’s talk about sex…again
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzfo4txaQJA]
True confession: I’ve already posted this video previously but I love the song so indulge me won’t you? And while we’re at it, let’s indulge in these two completely divergent headlines:
Middle-aged Americans unhappy about sex vs. We may be broke, but at least we’re having more sex than ever before!
Um, Okay. So..are we or aren’t we?
The first headline belongs to a Washington Post article highlighting results from a recent Associated Press survey of Boomers (45 to 65 year olds). The findings? In summary, “faced with performance problems, menopause blues and an increased mismatch of expectations between the sexes, middle-aged Americans are the unhappiest people of all when it comes to making love.” For example:
- 24% of 45 to 65 year olds express dissatisfaction with their sex lives
- Nearly three in five women and half of men have stopped experimenting and claim to know all they need to about sex
- 48% of men’s expectations are not being met in the bedroom in terms of their partners not desiring sex however, two in five men in this age group have problems with sexual functioning, compared to 19% of women
The second headline belongs to a piece that appears on an Irish website regarding a Durex survey geared towards a slightly younger age group (25 to 34), but like the AP study, also makes comparisons to younger and older groups. Not only does this piece highlight results of the large study that appeared in the Journal of Sexual Medicine suggesting that Americans of all ages were having more sex than ever, but also reports that:
- The ‘over-55’ set is having sex at least once weekly
- Almost three-quarters of respondents believe that sex gets better with age
- Women are as eager as their male counterparts to have sex
- A growing number of Irish men and women are broadening their sexual horizons and re-engaging in the Swinger scene
Confused yet? Which of these bubbles needs to be burst?
All three of these reports are surveys, although only one qualifies as a bonefide study (the National Survey of Sexual Health and Behavior). And this particular survey doesn’t necessarily highlight major issues when it comes to sex and Boomers. Even more ironic is that the AP survey appears to have been done for a website that features an article on sex over age 50 that actually disputes the findings.
Wow! So, shall we talk about sex? I mean, really talk about it. I truly don’t believe that the generation that brought sexual exploration out of the closet is driving it back into the closet and abandoning it altogether. Life changes, physical changes, environment changes, relationship changes…sex changes. Let’s talk about something that matters for a change, like the “why’s,” “how’s” and “what if’s.”
I’ve said it before and I will say it again. No matter what life transition you are in, work it, don’t let it work you. That includes sex.
Read MoreWednesday Bubble: Good Girls & Inner Hags – A Woman’s Journey to the Self by Amy Palko
I first discovered the gorgeous Amy Palko on Twitter. And it was not too long before we began to exchange quips. Then, I had the privilege of meeting Amy at a small pub last year on her home turf and I knew that Amy was an inspiration to women, an artistic, creative lovely soul with a purpose, a connector, supporter and a goddess in her own right. Thank you Amy, for sharing ways that women can love their entire selves and discover their inner goddess.
At the start of this year, I took a risk. I did something that perhaps only a few short months before, I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing. I bought a ticket for the overnight train to London, and booked myself a place on Vena Ramphal’s workshop Tearing Up the Good Girl Script.
Because, you see, I have always tried to be that good girl. It was always my endeavour to find a way of being myself in such a way that I would stay acceptable, attractive even, to those that I met. I have always tried to ensure that my femininity was primped, polished & painted.
I was attempting to tame the untameable – and I was exhausted with trying.
It was the realization that I was engaged in a futile attempt that led me to London. When I arrived at the venue, my feet frozen were numb from the cold, and my eyes were heavy from lack of sleep on the crowded carriage. My body felt slow and sleepy, my mind was dulled, my senses sluggish. I had shut down. My soul had closed itself up tight like one of those frosted rosebuds I’d just seen in Regent’s Park.
Because we atrophy when we try to craft ourselves into some cultural ideal of femininity. Like the Classical Greek and Roman sculptures of the female form with their smooth limbs, their passive smiles, we render ourselves impermeable, fixed, numb. A beautiful, cold surface with none of the wonder of womanhood. None of the earthy, creative, sumptuous feminine spirit that makes us feel whole, grounded, conscious, and alive.
During the workshop, Vena asked us the question, “Where in your life are you trying to be good instead of being happy?” And I was struck with the realization that it was in every area of my life. Every single aspect of my life had become a carefully choreographed gender performance of what I knew others found acceptable, manageable, approachable, feminine.
As my northbound train left the station Vena’s question still echoed through my consciousness. And I no longer felt slow or sleepy, dull or sluggish. Instead I felt a bit raw, a bit tender, and maybe even just a bit vulnerable. Just a little bit. A chink in my carefully constructed veneer now scored the patina of pleasantness and passivity… and it felt good. I felt alive.
Now it is the end of the year. A year when I learned to say no. When I learned to reveal those parts of me that aren’t nice but are authentic and true. When I learned that revealing those parts, that side of me which I had always assumed was not acceptable, actually made me more, not less. More of a woman, more of myself. Me in the raw.
So, it is perhaps unsurprising that 11 months on I find myself reading Emma Restall Orr’s book Kissing the Hag: The Dark Goddess and the Unacceptable Nature of Women. It seems fitting – almost a way of bracketing my experience of 2010.
As I turn the pages I am reminded of my awakening, my tearing up of my good girl script, and I know my journey is just beginning. I still have lessons to learn in embracing my inner hag – that dark goddess that resides in us all and who refuses to be plastered in cosmetics, refuses to be aestheticized.
As Emma Restall Orr says so evocatively, “womankind is not often sunlight upon soft ripples, spring dew upon petals, the smiling and gentle ease of mothering comfort; grace, silence and obedience are not qualities that the average woman can sustain for any length of time. Sugar and spice and all things nice isn’t the whole recipe: we too have snips of string and apple cores, bugs and slugs, tails, snouts, conkers, splinters and mud in the mix. Gloriously, it is not our failings but our very nature that is constituted of black clouds, cacophony, sudden storms and wild, treacherous mire. Here, in the muddy, bloody, raw essence of woman, we glimpse the face of the hag, the pith and fibre of woman that is just not nice.”
My good girl script is torn to shreds and my inner hag dares to show her face, her heart and her soul.
Is yours?
About the author…Amy Palko is a writer, photographer, academic, teacher, spiritual seeker, home-educating mother of 3. She plays many roles in life, but the thread that runs through each is the sacred feminine.
Read MoreAging and wrinkles and menopause. Oh my.
In my weekly research, I ran across the following headline:
White women’s skin may show wrinkles sooner
The story? That after menopause, white women develop wrinkles more quickly than their black peers — not as a result of differing levels of estrogen and its decline — but because of aging.
Okay. Um. So what? Is this really news deserving Google search result after search result? And why does it matter? Is this yet another racial divide we need to concern ourselves with, that is, that my black female friends are going to look better than me in 10 years time? Moreover, do I care?
In all fairness, the news was based on a study of 21 black and 65 white women in their 50s who had gone through menopause. The study’s goal was to evaluate skin elasticity and facial wrinkles. And while skin elasticity, which was found to be equivalent among all women despite race, is thought to be related to estrogen levels, wrinkling, which is at the skin’s surface, is believed to be subject to aging and the environment. This is not conclusive but merely speculation.
The overall message is that younger white women might want to limit sun exposure to stave off some of this wrinkling. Good advice. For black women in particular, it’s not that they won’t wrinkle but that they may not wrinkle as soon as their white friends.
Of note, this small study is part of a larger trial that is examining the effects of hormone therapy on heart disease. And as a substudy, the researchers will be collecting information on how hormones might affect (or benefit) skin aging. However, data have already shown that the reality is inconclusive when it comes to hormones and aging skin.
That’s the scientific part. Now, let’s get the larger issue.
Another wrinkle has developed in the story of discrimination (sorry for the pun): how we can add race to the “aging sucks” equation.
As women, we are already guaranteed the disappearing mirror, invisibility dilemma as we age. It interferes with our self-esteem, our relationships and our careers. So we botox and implant and lift and smooth to keep the ‘dream’ alive. Now, researchers have not even provided another reason to hate ourselves but also, to abhor friends who are racially different than we are and may have an advantage when it comes to their appearance.
Want to hear something really ironic? Research shows that as women, we possess the ultimate weapon against aging: our friends. Black, white, hispanic, asian, native, round, thin, tall, short…yup, all flavours, all sizes, all colors. Our friends will keep us young and they will keep us healthy too.
So can we spend a bit more money, time and energy on issues that really matter to our health? Wrinkles? They just are.
Next.
Read MoreWednesday Bubble: Taking on self-doubt. One recipe at a time. Guest post by Wendy Scherer
It never ceases to amaze me. We are capable, empowered, smart, successful women. We’ve achieved things that our mothers could have only dreamed of achieving, have had kids, families, husbands, businesses, relationships….the list goes on. However, when self-doubt starts to creep in, it cripples, it blocks our pathways, it wreaks havoc on every cell of our being. However, sometimes, all it takes it a moment to step back, reassess and move on, hopefully, strengthened with the knowledge that we can take on the world. Yes. We. Can. Here’s Wendy Scherer’s story.
It’s not that I didn’t start out believing I could cook…I grew up in a home where I was taught that I could do anything. I was encouraged to take on every new challenge. And, in many cases, I was successful. Thinking back, I wonder if this track record is what led to my eventual downfall.
I’m a terrible cook.
I know you’re thinking that I’m being dramatic. But really? I’m not. Allow me to back up a bit… (wooo eee wooo eeee…. you know like in the movies….)
My mom made dinner every night. Nothing fancy, but I liked it. I loved her brisket and stews. I dreamed of egg and noodle casserole (who eats like that anymore?), and her sweet and sour chicken was really tasty. But I never helped her cook. I don’t even remember why. Maybe I had homework. Maybe she cooked while I was in school. Maybe I thought I was too much a feminist to ‘have to’ cook. I have no idea. But I did bake with her. I loved making desserts. And I loved baking challah. It was all so scientific and logical. And relaxing. We would talk and bake. I remember it well. Baking is so low-key. So calming. There’s a different kind of pressure in cooking a meal. The meal is the core. If dessert isn’t so great, whatever. If the meal goes uneaten, that’s it.
Moving right along. I grew up.
My first year of college, I lived in a dorm. I ate most meals in the dining hall since I had a meal plan. (I also ate at the greasy spoon where I worked that year since I got a free meal with every shift I worked.) The following 2 years, I lived in a group house with 9 other students. We had 2 kitchens. I still had a restaurant job, so some meals were eaten out, but mostly, I ate canned vegetables, mac & cheese (blue box), tuna, and Ramen noodles. It’s a wonder I lived to tell the tale. My senior year, I got an apartment. Still, I barely did more than assemble a meal. But then….I met a guy. After a while, I invited him over for dinner. Truthfully, I never doubted I could whip up a great meal and impress the heck out of him.
Not the case.
I served him lasagna that was so liquid-y that I couldn’t even serve it with a spoon. And the garlic bread that I made? I smelled it burning as we finished our lasagna soup. (That guy is still a friend and he still reminds me of that meal now and again. Oy.) Still, I had the confidence of youth. This was a one-time disaster. Right? Not really. And I don’t know if I never bothered to read the recipes through or didn’t understand the directions or simply did not have enough interest, but after a while, I resigned myself to very simple assembled meals. But boy did I bake. I made pies and cookies. I made bread. I loved the therapy of it all – the kneading. The beautiful results. The smiles when I gave it away. I baked and I baked and I baked.And then I got married. I had big plans. Big plans, I say. I got cookbooks for my shower and I was going to become a good cook. I was going to make something besides desserts and reservations.But he had ‘rules.’ He didn’t like cheese or sauces. He didn’t mix this with that or whatever – basically, this did not become a learning experience. We ate like crap. Even I didn’t like what I threw together. Top that off with (and you are not going to believe this), he expected me to cook every night. Hey wait! I had a full-time job, too!
Fast forward.
Single again. Lots of dating. And that means lots of meals out. Finally, I was eating good food. I was trying new things and really expanding my food horizons. But I worked long hours at an advertising agency and ended up grabbing dinner on the nights I wasn’t going out. Then, I met my current hub.
The first time he cooked for me, I was amazed. It was like a restaurant meal with accompaniments, garnishes and it tasted great. One meal led to another and then we got married. We tried cooking together. Sounds fun, right? Nah. Not fun.I cooked sometimes. I tried. Really. Really. Hard. And knowing that I wanted to become a better cook, he’d provide constructive criticism. You know, so I could learn. I’m a sensitive girl. It wasn’t working for me. And since he made fabulous meals every night, why should I bother?
Some nights, he’s not here (the horror!). Early on, I’d make the kids some hotdogs or spaghetti or throw something in the crockpot. I mean, even I can make basic soups. Every time I tried something harder, it seemed no one was very hungry that night. It didn’t make it easier to try again, trust me. But. I am a capable person. I really can’t believe how awful this made me feel. So like Lucy and the football, I’ve decided to try again with a different tact. I’ve started subscribing to the Six O’Clock Scramble and I cautiously say that sometimes, I’ve been successful. The Mulligatawny Stew I made last week was delish!
The truth is, if I’d felt more support and had less self-doubt, I could have done this years ago. But I didn’t. Why now? Or should I ask, what have I been waiting for? Or maybe I should ask, why bother? Here’s the thing. It sucks to feel insecure. I’m confident in my work, in my ability to be a good friend, good wife, good mother, good daughter. I’m informed, interested, always learning. I feel good about myself. But this thing is hanging out there. I’m a bad cook. It feels like a hole that I can’t climb out of. And my reaction to ruining a dish by burning the onions or not cooking it through or even the kids not liking it are simply out of proportion to the severity of the problem. And I don’t seem to be able to lessen my reaction, my sadness, my anxiety.
I’m done. I am not going to allow myself to beat myself up over this any more. It’s cooking, people. It’s not brain surgery. There are no lives at stake here. And the kids – well the kids will live if they miss a meal.
There, I said it.
I’m going to be 50 years old next year, and I’ll be damned if I can’t make myself (or anyone else) a decent meal. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was afraid of failing here. I am. But I have a plan. (I always do better with a plan.)
- Read Cooks Illustrated every month. I realize the recipes are challenging, but I’ll be reading for the explanations of food preparation.
- Stop blogging while Andrew and the boys watch The Food Network. I’m certain I can learn something about flavors and technique if I’d just pay attention.
- Take responsibility for one meal a week. One. That’s not much, right? I can plan ahead and not feel the pressure of ‘what’s for dinner?’
- YouTube. I’m going to watch and learn the basics. Knife skills. Sweating onions. Dice, mince… you get the point.
- Start small. Easy stuff.
- Lighten up. Try to laugh at the burned rice.
And more than anything, I’m going to cut myself some slack. I can learn how to cook. I can do this, right? I don’t want my kids to see me fail. But even more, I want them to see that it’s okay if I’m not the perfect cook but I am trying to learn and improve. That would be a better life lesson for them. And a better life lesson for me, too.
So, I’m bucking up. It’s time. And while I’m at it, there are a few other things I’ve been putting off. That blank canvas, for one thing….
So this is my public, official kick in the butt. If not now, when?
About the author...Wendy blogs at Finding Blanche http://findingblanche and photoblogs at http://wendyscherer.com and is on Twitter @wendyscherer.
Read MoreNewsFlash! Unsightly cellulite? Shock it away!
Every now and then I have to share some exciting news. And honestly? I don’t even know what to think about this one:
Got cellulite? There may be hope! (Do you hear the angels singing?!!!)
As women, we are both blessed and burdened with extra padding around the thigh and buttocks area. These days, thanks for JLo, some women are even trying to pack some extra stuff in their booty, and when they can’t they can even enhance their rear-ends with Booty Pop. But all kidding aside, while it might be great to have some extra junk in the trunk, the unsightly bumps due to numbers of large fat cells in fatty tissue can be downright difficult to overcome or get rid of, even with ample exercise, weight training and a proper diet. Indeed, aging in connective tissue can lead to an imbalance between the body’s ability to produce and breakdown fat, causing even more cellulite.
The news…German researchers are studying if shockwaves aimed at the thigh region plus intensive gluteal strength training can help solve the cellulite problem. Over 12 weeks, roughly 200,000 women under age 18 or over 65 are receiving:
- Six sessions of shockwave therapy (given every 1 to 2 weeks; 2000 focused impulses) plus twice daily gluteal exercises consisting of 15 quadruped hip extensions and 15 quaduped hip extensions with the leg straightened, or
- Six sessions of sham shockwaves (given every 1 to 2 weeks) plus twice daily gluteal exercise as described above.
Cellulite is measured (or graded) on a scale of 0 to 3, ranging from no dimple when skin is pinched to skin alterations or dimpling both when women are standing and lying down. The results of this study, which are not available yet, will focus changes in skin elasticity based on this scale, self assessment on appearance of thighs and buttocks and on any changes in blood or oxygen flow in thighs.
Wow! I’m excited. Cellulite is a challenge, no matter how much exercise you do. This is one procedure I might get my arms (and legs and butt) around! Shock it baby! I’m in!
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