Straight Talk About Sex

This post is rated R.  I can't help it; I have to talk about it.  It's something about which I feel so strongly, and I just don't hear this viewpoint put forward often enough.  I know that my position will be offensive to some, and to all of the women who want to stick up for their husbands or sons, I get it.  I really do.  My husband is one of the good guys, too...but he also thinks I'm right about this.

In the first place, you have to buy the argument that male and female are hardwired, in other words, that there is something inherently different about a man's brain from a woman's brain.  I have met very few mature adults who won't cede this point, but they exist.  The classic example is a woman's need simply to talk about a problem and hope for a sympathetic ear, and a man's instant instinct to jump in with possible courses of action.

Well, these differences are reflected in the two genders' attitudes toward sex as well.  Don't take my word for it: pick up any of a dozen studies, turn on Oprah or Dr. Phil, or talk to your clergyman.  I'll wait.  Back with me and convinced of the veracity of that statement?  Okay.  I'm not saying that men don't derive emotional pleasure from sex, and that women don't get anything out of it physically.  However, let's just say that, often, the primary motivation for each gender differs.  Now that you know where I'm coming from, allow me to come to my main point.  It has to do with the epidemic of teen sex in this country, and let me just be clear from the outset: I blame feminism.

Feminism sold women a bill of goods.  In its most militant form, it told them that they were just like men - that they could act just like men, and that they should be able to do so with impunity.  Unfortunately, this attitude ignores the very basic fact of hardwiring.  I'm not going to go into feminism more deeply here. That's a rant topic for another day.  All I'm going to say is that when feminism told women to view sex in the same way that men do, it hurt them far more than it helped them.  Women don't view sex in the same way that men do.  Asking them to pretend otherwise only sets them up for pain, especially when they've been (re)programmed to wonder what the big deal is.

As sad as I think the collateral damage of feminism is to adult women, I think the effect on teenage girls is nothing short of tragic.  I've been saying this since I was a teenager, and the older I get, the more convinced I am that it is true: teenage girls don't get (much of) anything physical out of sex.  Without going into unnecessary details, I think it's pretty clear what I mean.  In the past, it was teenage girls (even women, for that matter) who said no.  The guy pushed things as far as he could go, and the girl held firm after a certain point.  That's just the way things were.  Why were they that way? Well, societal norms had a lot to do with it. Religious upbringings that stressed celibacy until marriage certainly played a part.  You definitely can't rule out the intact family, since girls who have Daddy at home are less likely to go looking for him in some guy's arms.

So what's the antidote? Again, you'll have to grant me that teens having sex is not a good thing.  I don't care if you think sex before marriage, outside of marriage, and every other which way is dandy, if you know a teenager, you have to admit that she is probably not capable of making very mature decisions regarding relationships.  Heck, if you know your average 20 year old, you'd likely say the same thing.  Even if you think that teenagers (male and female) are able to make informed decisions about sex, can we talk about the teen pregnancy rate? Babies having babies? Children growing up without fathers? And, yes, abortion?

So the antidote.  My father taught me the antidote when I was a teenager.  See, I was raised when society still lifted an eyebrow at a pregnant teenager, although we had a couple at our school.  I was raised with a religious viewpoint that stressed celibacy until marriage.  And I did have Daddy have at home.  Still, the thing that made the biggest impression on me when it came to the issue of teenage sex was my Dad's concise summation of men.  So much more than "boys only want one thing, and they'll do anything to get it," my Dad instead told me something I find of great value today.  He told me that I would never understand men.  He told me that even the nicest and most religious boy would gladly take whatever I made available, and that it would always be my job to set the tone in the relationship.  That *that* is where being a nice boy comes into play.  A nice boy respects the boundaries set by a girl, and that it was my obligation to set those boundaries.

Boundaries aren't only about saying, "You can touch me there, but not there." Boundaries are so much more about appropriate clothing and appropriate conversation, and appropriate environments.  They are all about setting that tone.  Do girls today even know what that means? What kind of tone do you set when you wear a skirt that would work better as a scarf? When you wear strapless tops even to church? I know, I know, the well-indoctrinated feminist response is, "I can wear whatever I want. I don't have to change my clothes just so guys won't have dirty minds!" Got some news for you girls: guys are visually driven.  If it's not for sale, don't put it in the store window. Are you really wearing that outfit so a guy won't look at you? Boundaries and tone...

I have so many more thoughts on this topic, but I'll let it go -- for right now.

Disclaimer: I am a practicing Roman Catholic, and my views on premarital sex are governed first and foremost by the teachings and Traditions of my Church.  I don't care if you're a practicing (or fallen away) atheist, wiccan, pagan, animist, or whatever, this post is equally applicable.  I wouldn't want my Catholic friends to think that I didn't understand or was ignoring Church teaching on human sexuality, though!

When Does My Real Life Start?

I can't count the number of women I have heard asking this question.  It happened again yesterday as I was chatting with the woman who works behind the desk where my daughters take dance.  She is Catholic and the mother of four, including a daughter my age.  She was telling me that she had to figure out what she was going to do when she grows up.  She was not unhappy as she said it, but her comment made me very sad for her.  Did she truly consider the last 60 years of her life a trial period? A test run? Filler? When did she think her real life would begin? Would there be some great Constantine-like sign in the sky to indicate to her that a great shift had taken place?

It's not that I don't understand why women make this comment.  I will be the first one to admit that daily life feels like a treadmill: you run as fast as you can only to find out that you've gone nowhere.  The best case scenario is that you haven't fallen and injured yourself (wait - is that only me to whom that happens on the treadmill?).  Still, it is on the treadmill of life, though, that everything happens.

On a treadmill, you may have physically gone nowhere, but have you accomplished nothing? Of course not.  You've worked out your body and, probably, altered your mental state somewhat as well.  It's not the getting from A to B that is important in this case: it's what you did in the time you were given.

Isn't life just like that, too? For we who believe in heaven, it's not really about getting from A to B in a straight line, is it? We know our starting point (conception by the grace of God and the union of our parents) and our ending point (death and eternal life).  It's about what we do along the way.  We may do the exact same thing every day, but even if the names and faces don't change, if we're lucky our attitudes do.  Especially when you're a mom, you can't rely on external indicators and rewards to measure your progress in life.  How do you measure a promotion after all? Potty training? Doesn't quite do it for me.  As moms, our indicators of progress are best measured by our attitudes.  Have we become more patient over time? At least more aware of our tendency to be impatient? Have we learned not to respond to the drama that children just naturally seem to create? Have we learned to make everything we do a prayer?


I sure haven't managed that last one.  Many years ago, I asked my grandmother how to pray.  More specifically, I asked her which prayers to say.  I was enraptured by her prayer books held together by rubber bands, and by the fact that she would ride her exercycle and shuffle through those prayers every day.  I wanted the secret to her success.  Imagine my disappointment when she told me to make every aspect of my daily life a prayer.

This wasn't the magic bullet that would jump start my lukewarm prayer life! I wanted the specific list of litanies, novenas, and consecrations that would make me the kind of woman my grandmother was.  How ironic.  What made my grandmother who she was was her LIFE, along with her selflessness, the suffering she'd endured, and her faith. Every day, she wrapped it all up in a neat little package and offered it up to God as a prayer.

The risk we run in wondering when our real lives will start is in missing out on them entirely.  I firmly believe that all of us must make a choice - a choice about our lives. Don't just "fall into" a life or a lifestyle and then wonder how you got there or, if you find this happening to you, resolve either to live that life with a sense of purpose or to change it.  Don't be a SAHM because you can't find a job.  Be a SAHM because you feel it to be your vocation.  If you find yourself in the role of SAHM less than willingly, resolve to fully embrace it for the duration.  As long as you have to do something (and assuming it is morally, ethically, and legally right!), embrace it fully.  Doing so can make all the difference between merely going through life and LIVING life!

I am not insensitive to the fact that what I am saying is not as easy as it sounds.  Just read http://mylorica.blogspot.com/2011/01/who-am-i.html for proof that I know it's not always easy to live the life you've chosen.  Again, though, I firmly believe that purposeful decision making and living will serve you far better than being dragged along for the ride.  Put yourself in the driver's seat, grab some best friends to fill out your vehicle, and go about the business of living your life.  Don't wait for what may come; fully embrace what is already here.

The New Roman Missal

Ad orientem.  It means "to the East" and for centuries, it's how the Mass was celebrated: both the priest and the parishioners facing the altar and worshiping as one.  Of course, Vatican II did away with all of that old fashioned jazz.  So, how's it working for you? Do you find that the Mass is about the celebration of the Eucharist...or about the personality of the priest?

Since the phasing-out of the ad orientem Mass, the Liturgy has become more horizontal and less vertical.  That is, the emphasis has come to be placed on the connection between parishioners, rather than on the connection between the parishioner and God.  Horizontal worship is exemplified by the liturgically incorrect holding of hands during the Our Father (don't believe me that it's liturgically incorrect? Read through the GIRM - the General Intercession of the Roman Missal and find the page wherein it instructs the faithful to join hands during the Our Father.  I'll wait.  Satisfied?), while vertical worship is exemplified by the old-style folding of the hands with palms and fingers pressed together and pointed upward.  I know, I know, it's *hard* to hold your hands this way (although all four of my children, okay 3.5 of them, manage to do so all through the Mass) when clasping them down by your belt buckle is the same thing.  Isn't it? Well, actually, posture means something.  Either you're hanging out with a buddy, clasping your hands for lack of something better to do with them, or you're reverently praying during the Mass? Which is it? If you have any questions about proper posture and gestures during Mass, Adoremus clears them up nicely.

In any case: ad orientem.  When the priest worships in the same direction as the people, he is placing the focus back squarely where it belongs - on the Eucharist.  The congregation is not focusing on the priest - on his hair, his glasses, his tics, his mannerisms.  Further, the priest is relieved of his temptation for some, burden for others, of entertaining his congregation.  Some priests are adept at remembering their role, their only role, during Mass, while others seem to view the altar as their personal stage.  Every word is milked for drama; every gesture is calculated for maximum effect.  The celebration of the Mass is not the Fr. Fred show.  There should never be any confusion about that.  

Who Am I?

No...this isn't a post on my existential crisis.  Existentialism is for college students who wear black, smoke, and think deep thoughts.  More importantly, it is barren, empty, hopeless, and too angst ridden even for me.  No, I ask who I am because lately I have been wondering.  Has it ever happened to you that you go to bed secure in the knowledge that you are (for me, at least) a Catholic, homeschooling housewife who writes on the side, but whose main job is to secure heaven for her four children, but wake up the next morning, look in the mirror, and have trouble remembering much if any of that? You move through the day on autopilot, doing the things that you must do to keep your home in working order.  You teach your children, get the meals, say your prayers, meet your writing deadlines, etc., but all of a sudden, it doesn't feel like you.

It's not that you don't love your children.  Or your husband.  Never that.  It's more that it feels like you've been dropped in an episode of Wife Swap, and you're living someone else's life temporarily - that you'll wake up the next morning and feel like yourself again.  That instead of going through the motions, it will feel as if you are fully embracing your vocation the way you used to.  Has that ever happened to you? Or is it just me?

This is where I wonder what nihilists, existentialists, atheists, and all of the other "ists" do when this feeling comes upon them.  What is there to do but either turn to despair, acceptance, or rebellion.  None of these paths will bring back the life that fit you like a second skin so recently.  In fact, they tend to guarantee that you will likely not see this life again.  The greatest comfort in a time like this, sometimes the *only* comfort is prayer.  You don't have to feel it working.  You don't even have to believe wholeheartedly that it will.  God doesn't work like that.  Faith doesn't work like that.  You may turn to prayer because you know that it has comforted you in the past, and you trust in the power of precedent.  As a political scientist, I'm a big believer in precedent.  The one virtue you have to practice diligently, though, is perseverance.

I would never compare this feeling of alienation from one's "real life" to a dark night of the soul, but when you desperately want to feel like yourself, I'll confess that the metaphor comes to mind.  As with the dark night of the soul, though, God is never absent.  It bears constant repeating that God does not turn from us; we turn from him.  I'm a big fan of "fake it 'til you make it." Do the things you've always done.  Pray like you've always prayed.  Have faith that the feeling will pass.  Realize that the Devil would love nothing better than to see your family torn asunder, and if the heart of the family can suddenly no longer find her footing, and surrenders to that feeling, he has made a start.  If you are an "ist" instead of an "ian", my heart goes out to you, and rest assured that I'll pray for you, because I do believe that this feeling comes to all eventually, and that prayer is the shortest, most direct, and best way through it.

Who I Am

I am a writer.  I am not a mommy blogger, which is one reason I resisted blogs for so long.  I have been a writer since I was a child, and I will be one until the day I can no longer conceive a coherent thought.  The fact that I get paid to write is incidental; I write because I must.

Perhaps because I am a writer, I am committed to writing the truth.  I don't whitewash anything.  I am of the opinion that pretending (fronting, if you will) doesn't do anyone any good.  Everyone struggles.  Everyone has problems.  It may be our joys that give breath to our lives, but it is our sufferings that truly unite us.  No one feels alone in her joy.  Too many of us, particularly women, feel alone in our suffering.  As a Catholic, I will be the first to tell you that suffering is redemptive, and I truly believe that it is.  As a woman who struggles with a melancholic personality and, yes, depression, I'll be the first to tell you that sometimes I just want to know that there are others out there who understand what I'm going through.  Just so you know, I am so opposed to ending sentences with prepositions that it is taking everything I have in me not to change that sentence to "...others out there who understand that through which I am going." I'm told, though, that people don't talk like that.  Maybe they should.

I'm on the cusp of 36.  I always say that you're only as old as you feel; that makes me about 74.  I have four children, 6-9.  I have been married for 15 years.  I've always loved the quote from the movie "Titanic": A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets.  If you continue reading, you're sure to learn some of mine.