Some are too embarrassed to share the name. Others find the name hilarious. We have had Mrs. Va-Jay-Jay, Knish, Kootchie, Princess Pee Pee, Stinky, Potty, Box, Sassy, Snorker, Hole, Mary, Puppick, Patootie, Jamido, Ya-Ya, and V-Zsa-Zsa. I would laugh, too, if it wasn’t so sad. We call a penis ‘penis.’ Can you see the roots of a woman’s internal chaos when she has nothing but these poor word choices to name the most beautiful and powerful part of her body?” (Thomashauer, pp. 72-73)
Further to this point, I recently read an article about a production of the play The Vagina Monologues at a theatre in Florida. After receiving a complaint that the play’s title was offensive, it was changed to The Hoohah Monologues. The original title has since been restored, but the message that this incident sends is that “vagina” is a bad word, so bad in fact, that it is not suitable to be out in public.
It all starts with the words available to us—how much power they hold, the deeper meaning that using or not using certain words conveys, and the implicit conditioning for women to be ashamed of and suppress less or un-acceptable parts of ourselves, which can include our sexuality.
I still remember a teaching from a yoga class I took several years ago, when the instructor spoke about the definition of the word “yoga” as union, and how this is the goal—to be one, united, whole person, instead of fragmented bits and pieces that change and adjust to every environment. For instance, you have one self for work, one for home, one for your friends, a different one when you are alone with your partner, and are constantly self-monitoring, creating limits, and keeping yourself in check as you move from one situation to another. In our culture, it is nearly impossible to completely remedy this fragmentation, as there are still strict codes about what is and is not appropriate to wear, discuss, and act like in various situations, and this can benefit us in many ways—feeling comfortable in the workplace, for instance. However, systematically denying or being ashamed of our own sexuality leaves women fragmented, and feeling diminished. Writing about sexuality is an extremely courageous, powerful, and even rebellious act, and by doing so we can start to tap into that hidden place, awaken and allow it, and move towards making ourselves whole.
Personally, it is very scary for me to write about sex and sexuality, and to admit and further acknowledge that I think about and even have sex.
A Touchy Subject: Integrating Eroticism In Your Writing
By: Jennifer Garam (View Profile)
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I'm experimenting with adding eroticism (in small, but tasty, bites) to my own writing, and it's a fruitful challenge. Each time I do it, my writing improves and my level of self-acceptance increases (at least a little). I got started by participating in an erotica writing workshop. Some excellent writers there produced smart, sexy, funny, moving pieces ... but couldn't find a place to publish them. So we found a publisher, produced two books, and have been having a blast at readings. Admitting that you're a sexual being, writing about it, being part of a beautiful book, reading in public, giving the book to friends, selling it, seeing it in bookstores ... this is powerful, transformative work. And good fun! http://www.hotflashessexystories.com
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