The Anatomy of Silence (Previously pulled for possible publication)

Growing up, there were topics we never discussed in my household. I remember being 12 years old and asking my mom about my body and sex. Wide-eyed, she turned to me and said, “Ladies don’t discuss things like that”. In hindsight, I recognize that as a problem, but I can't blame her. She was a child of the 50s, growing up in an era where the notion of women discussing sex openly, or even parts of their bodies, was unheard of. My great-grandmother never spoke about it with my grandmother, who in turn never spoke about it with my mother. The four of us are multiple generations of women, yet we share the same societal influence. 

Early on, the world had a way of letting me know that women weren’t supposed to be "too sexual". We weren't supposed to discuss sex, or even our bodies, and those who did earned a dose of shame. In grade school, I took issue with boys engaging in said behavior and getting a pass for simply being boys. Yet a teacher hissed at me for using the term “vagina” during a sex-ed presentation instead of “privates”. Saying “penis” was okay. It was stated by my classmates with impunity, and that's when I understood – our sexuality, women’s sexuality, is to be controlled and concealed. 

It’s a disparity rooted in gender stereotypes that imply a woman’s worth is tied to her perceived purity. Slut-shaming, a pervasive form of social stigma, further perpetuates gender inequality. It denies us the freedom to express our desires, ambitions, and sexuality without fear or judgment. Consider successful female celebrities with broad dating histories. They are often shamed just for having poor luck in dating. This treatment of women serves as a stark reminder that the many expressions of  our desire and pleasure are still not valued. Usually, our sexual assent is met with indignity and discomfort. 

Women have been taught to be ashamed of their desires and to suppress their curiosity. This only leads to crippled sexual autonomy. In my teens, like many girls, I was curious about sex. However, because of my Christian upbringing, exploring anything to do with sex came with shame and a feeling of immorality. To be fair, my experience with Christianity was well-intentioned, but viewing sexuality through a lens of suppression morphs into silence and shame. This does more harm than good. Clearly, I've overcome this, but back then I felt like I was breaking some moral code for simply being intrigued by sex in general. 

As I matured, so did my curiosity. I turned to books as I always do. Through the voices of women like Anais Nin, Erica Jong, and Catherine Millet, I found myself in their writing. I can't tell you how it happened, but I think it's because I was experiencing the minds of confident women who were a little naughty and unapologetic with their words. They were open and curious about the world. They were me. The more I educated myself on female empowerment and sex, the more it became clear that my lack of exposure to positive sex talk really harmed my relationship with sex. I wasn't comfortable with my body and as a result, I lacked the confidence to express myself sexually. Not having the courage to speak up in bed is a one-way ticket to bad sex. That's where I drew a line. I needed courage and fast. 

The first step was getting acquainted with my body. You can't tell your partner how to please you if you don't know what gets you off. I won't go into explicit detail about this part of my journey, but I will say I couldn't name each part of my own anatomy until I was 30. If you're a woman reading this right now, chances are you are asking yourself, "Wait...could I name each part of my anatomy?” This widespread anatomical unfamiliarity is no accident. As science journalist Rachel E. Gross details in her book Vagina Obscura, a long history of medical misinformation has systematically obscured the female body. This legacy is reflected in a 2019 U.K. study where a significant majority of women could not accurately label a diagram of the female genitalia. Most women have an inadequate level of sexual knowledge about their own bodies. There’s no shame in this, especially when it’s the result of not having comprehensive and inclusive sex education. 

Women are judged for being open about sexual autonomy and pleasure. We should be encouraged to understand and explore our bodies and sexual ambitions, but something needs to be addressed first. The hard truth is, as women, we hold a lot of negative judgment about our own sexuality, and especially that of other women. It's an unconscious effect of centuries-old ideology that can be traced back to the Madonna-Whore complex. 

If you're unfamiliar, it's a theory by Sigmund Freud that places women into two categories: the pure, saintly Madonna, and the sexually liberated, morally corrupt whore. According to Freud, women could not be sexual and virtuous at the same time. His theory reeks of misogyny; nevertheless, this mindset is embedded in all of us, whether we like it or not. Despite that, we are armed with choice. Still, we are up against a patriarchy that revels in policing women’s bodies for insidious reasons under the guise of upholding moral correctness. So many people are under the misconception that the demand for sexual equality only resides within the right to be promiscuous – it does not. The essence of sexual empowerment is respecting that everyone has the right to determine the boundaries and parameters of their own sexual experiences, free from judgment and condemnation. 

Sexuality is a fundamental aspect of everyone’s identity. To critique the way a woman chooses to express herself is a waste of time, considering there is no “right way” for anyone to convey their sexuality. If anything will dismantle this way of thinking, it’s knowledge. The path forward starts with replacing silence with specific conversations. It means integrating pleasure-based education into health curricula, championing books by women about their full experiences, and, most personally, asking ourselves the simple, radical question my mother couldn't answer: “What do I want?”