SHAME

*** This article contains references to sexual harassment/assault and mental health conditions, such as eating disorders. If this is not for you, please do not feel you have to read.

I will also be using the terms ‘woman’ and ‘man’ throughout, interchangeably with ‘female-presenting’ and ‘male-presenting’. This phrasing is not meant to exclude anyone, as this topic is not restricted to cis-gendered individuals, and is purely used for legibility.

Mild expletives

The first taste

I’m in the office of a GP at around twelve years old. My mum is sitting in the chair to my left, while the GP is on my right, tapping at her computer as she loads up my patient file. She asks what I’m there for — my shy twelve year-old-self. How can I find the words to express what’s wrong? I have hardly been taught the language, and even in a room full of women I knew that it was odd to say these things out loud.

It was a doctor’s surgery, and I couldn’t say “period”.

My mum began speaking for me, as I greatly desired, looking up at her with what was probably fear in my eyes. I started my period at around the age of ten, which is fairly average, and after three years of getting used to these changes in my body, it was as if someone had switched it all off. My period stopped as my weight dropped.

I was what you may call a rotund child. From my earliest years I was “chubby”, and I remember the aversion to that that I began to feel as I progressed through the years at primary school. I was four when I was first bullied for my size — by another four year-old — which raises two questions. Where did they learn this behaviour from, and why do I still remember it?

Our experiences in childhood truly do have a massive impact on our adult minds. Whatever happens, be it good or bad, beneficial or detrimental, will stick with us if it provokes a strong enough reaction. Subconscious effects can change us as fully-formed adults, such as a fear of dogs because of a loud bark when we were two (NB: personal vendetta).

My desire to lose weight came from many origins. This was the 2010s: the praising of people for thinness was fervent, as it always has been, and the inception of widespread and immediately accessible media was hugely impactful on the lives of many children.

Returning to the surgery, I’m nervous. The GP begins to ask me a checklist of questions, including the greatly anticipated “could you be pregnant?”. Now, I believe that I am a rather good liar — take from that what you will. But alongside this fact comes an issue: sometimes, when I am telling the total truth, it looks like I’m lying. I flush red, I get fidgety, I won’t meet someone’s eyes. So with the GP’s eyes burning into my soul, I likely seemed a little evasive. She asked me a couple of times, before asking my mum to leave the room.

I felt so confused and angry. Why do you not believe me? I’m a goody-two-shoes. I never break the rules! My mum and I are so close and you think I’ve lied to her about this?! Whatever “this” was. My mum has often said that she regrets leaving, that she shouldn’t have left me, but I understand — if a professional is telling you something, you tend to believe it, right?

She went to stand outside the door, and I was left in the room with the GP. She turned to me. She asked me if I could be pregnant. My first thought, since I knew it had to involve a boy, was in the realms of ‘no one would want me, I don’t have a boyfriend, I’m not linked to anyone like that because I’m not a popular girl’. There are two interesting parts to this: firstly, my clearly very low self-worth. I felt “chunky”, remember? In my eyes, I was frankly unloveable, because no boys would be attracted to the big girl (which is completely untrue). This lack-of-worth mentality never leaves you, and it’s part of one of the biggest forming events of my life that I live with every day.

The second part is a representation of the world around me. Children are extremely susceptible to outside influence, and so when they are told something or see an advert on TV, they register all of this information as different degrees of fact. Thus, promiscuity was connected in my mind to popular girls, to the Sharpay Evans archetype. This hyper feminine aspirational state of “popularity” was desired by us all, and perhaps it was merely the connection of pretty girls with attentive boys that cemented the idea of their contact. It didn’t have to mean sex: to us, it just meant that they were wanted, they could be loved.

At that age, I had no idea what sex was. I don’t think anyone does until they do it for the first time. There was a vague knowledge there that it was intimate, but if I knew then what I knew now, I don’t know how the GP’s accusations would have made me feel.

That is what they were, and I will stand by that vehemently. Her accusations made me feel so small, so speechless. She made me feel as if my own mother would be so ashamed of me that she had to leave the room for me to tell her the truth.

All I could do was keep saying “no”.

I was made to feel shame for something I had never even done, did not even know anything about. I didn’t feel listened to, and we should not take the words of children lightly. They are human beings like the rest of us, and if that GP had acknowledged my feelings then, maybe I would have been able to see sex as less of a taboo when I was actually old enough to do it.

Hindsight and relationships

It is a vulnerable place to be: sitting in one’s own insecurities. There is a discrete position we are put in when we open up to someone totally, wilfully, with both people having their expectations.

But these expectations can be dangerous.

Not only do we begin to project our own ideals, however innocent these may be, onto the person before us, but the fabric of these ideals chains us into a dream of what the relationship could be. For example, the concept of being in a relationship and the status that gives us in society. You begin to see glimmers of hope in the little things that they do, even when there may be something wrong.

It leads us to ask: how will we ever form meaningful relationships when one’s body is the other’s currency? 

It has taken me a long time to see what may be described as sexual harassment at various points throughout my life. I wonder whether many women feel the same, accepting stares or touches in nightclubs, because “it’s just the way things are”. The increasing awareness surrounding these topics in recent years has been invaluable. Anyone who has experienced these actions may now feel that, if they say something, they will be taken seriously. They should not have to feel ashamed.

At this point, some may accuse me of making something out of nothing, that the perpetrators did not know I didn’t want it, that it is harmless and normal so why is something wrong? It is, afterall, what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it? Is it my fault, because I didn’t say “no”?

However, when we place blame at the victim’s feet our vision becomes so blurry as to blind us against the improper conduct of millions. Any female-presenting individual is subject to constant sexualisation, and in doing this society paints us as the promiscuous, the sexed body awaiting its liberation. If we are indeed liberated, however, we are tainted. If we are not, we are prudes.

We are made to feel ashamed either way, sometimes even by our own partners.

There can be shame within a relationship on multiple levels. Firstly, of not being good enough or not fulfilling what they want from you. In addition, after a break-up in a relationship of this kind, another form of shame may set in, particularly when an ex-partner still frequents your life. For not only does one have the memories and emotions that one has begun to process, but there is now the added shame of what the partner has seen of you.

In Srinivasan’s stellar work, ‘The Right to Sex’, she discusses the intensity with which the plethora of available videos, primarily from a male perspective, paint the woman as object and fill the minds of the viewers with what they think sex should be. Not only does this reveal the prominence of this media in the lives of developing young minds, but it also emphasises the inadequacy of the current school curriculum in teaching us about sex. Boys can be so shaped by those images that they cannot see beyond them. They are not looking into the eyes of a lover but the eyes of an object that porn teaches us to inflict with our desire.

What separates us from puppets is the warmth in our veins.

Speaking with Grace Campbell

Having recently read her book ‘Amazing Disgrace’, in this section we’ll use the words of Grace Campbell to illustrate some points that — now she has vocalised — make me feel like I can phrase, too.

When someone validates your feelings of raw confusion and brings you clarity, it is truly the most magical feeling. I am lifted from my seat, a transcended version of myself that no longer exists in the body that she feels she does not belong to, because it was taken from her when she didn’t know any better.

One of the many things that Grace allowed me to reflect on while reading her story was my own connection with my sexuality. For a while I’d felt incredibly uncertain of who I was and what I wanted. I’d been made to question my wants and told who I was too many times from multiple angles, and all I needed was for someone to tell me that you don’t need to rush. Experiencing and sharing are the masters of growth, and only by starting these conversations can we recognise that we are not alone.

I felt as if I could connect with Grace on many matters, so much so that it almost felt like fate that I’d found this book in the first place. I’d actually gone into the bookshop for something else, but when I looked at ‘Amazing Disgrace’, I felt this shiver down my arms. There was no way I could leave it behind.

One of the things I saw myself in was the pressure Grace felt to look a certain way, both through her peers and through the growing entity of social media. As she says, the latter and the children of that time were ‘going through [their] adolescence’ simultaneously. Therefore, not only did we have the usual bratty combat of the tweenage, but we also faced a ‘Skinny Bitch’ culture, which told us to ‘exercise for hours every day’. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same as I was pre- my own disordered relationship with food and exercise, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’d change it. My experience has fuelled me even further towards fighting for those who are in a similar position. Books titled with phrases like the one above still exist, if on the more secretive side of the internet, so there is more work to do.

On top of this, I related with Grace on the matter of sex. Between the chase for a man, where ‘feeling wanted… gave [her] a purpose’, as well as her direct encounters with sex, allowed me to reckon with the confusion I’d been feeling at the time. Her somewhat graphic depiction of the first time she was asked to perform oral was so raw and brave that I felt grateful for her story, because I knew how she felt. It was ‘what was supposed to happen’: the hair-pulling, the masculine persistence, ‘…so [she] accepted it’. After, there is an incredible feeling of shame, particularly when the man subsequently leaves you.

The double standard between the treatment of women and men in the realm of sexual activity is startling. Men are made to feel superior the more partners they have, or may speak openly about how they act during sexual encounters. On the other hand, women are told that they cannot be too out there or vocal otherwise risk being labelled ‘a slag’. It is these precise labels that give manipulative or abusive men what they think is a license to act. If a woman is provocative, he can touch her anywhere. If he has had sex with a particular woman before, he can do it again whenever he pleases, as she has already said “yes”. Women are treated like ‘goal posts’ who are ‘taught that we have to please men above all else’. And this, as Grace puts it and I myself have felt, means a ‘whole generation’ growing up and learning about sex in this environment are made to ‘feel like squatters in their own bodies because of the actions of someone else’. What classes as abuse may be much broader than a lot of people think, and I encourage you to look at websites such as Rape Crisis UK to explore this. Grace’s message is clear: ‘don’t expect the person who has survived… to accept your apology’. Ultimately the ‘shame [is] on you’.

Menstruation, masturbation, and the sociopolitical agenda

Why is it that we must speak under our breath when we talk about our periods? Or we open our phones secretively when we need to search whether it’s normal to burn or itch down there?

Why did I say ‘down there’?!

Because that is the thing precisely. Our need to closet our thoughts and fears surrounding sexual health, particularly as female-presenting individuals and those with the female sexual organ, are deeply instilled into our history. Ever since the days of the concealed ankle, a “properness” has been connected with muting these kinds of thoughts. Of course, I am not suggesting we start screaming from the rooftops about the state of our breasts and vaginas (even if those with penises do this exact thing). Surely, however, we should be able to walk into a hospital without feeling shame when we follow the arrows that say ‘gynaecology’.

From that first experience in the GP’s surgery, I was left with conflicting shame. Shame around talking about my period, shame around losing it. Without a period there was something wrong with me. I could no longer be accepted into the swathes of developing girls around me, but would forever be trapped into a child-like state.

There are a few keystone moments in the female life. One is born, one becomes a woman, one marries, one has children. And then? There are those out there who feel that this does not matter, for once a woman has had a child she has fulfilled her purpose. But what if I could not fulfil that purpose because I had not undergone the previous steps?

Herein we have the paradox of womanhood. While we are told we cannot discuss our bodily functions openly, including periods and sex, these very things are said to be our primary function. Furthermore, while for men it is almost a thing of pride, women cannot speak about things that machismo culture deems “unwomanly”, such as body odour. Indeed, many people who menstruate are subject to ‘period poverty’, which describes a state in which they do not have access to the essential products to help them during that time of the month and beyond.

It is a usual part of our culture for female-presenting individuals to wax, or feel they need to wax. The pressure is not always conscious either: many women have expressed how they feel “clean” once waxed — myself included. But we must ask ourselves whether it is our personal emotions or the eyes of others that decide whether we are unstained with what may be named “unfeminine”.

Furthermore, young girls are made to fear sex. In their inability to start conversations around it, and the reluctance of those around them, they are trapped in an inescapable loop, where they must find out about sex largely through their first and subsequent encounters. Even mothers may feel they cannot speak to their daughters on the subject because they do not want to embarrass them, from a fear of losing their daughters as they grow, or from their own deep-seated shame.

By not talking about sex we leave the inexperienced of all genders open to manipulation. Sexual harassment and assault is not to be taken lightly, and the more we talk about the dangers and the joys of sex, the more we can protect our children from the former as well as allowing them full access to the latter. Women are made to feel shame if they fail to please male partners and are also left ashamed when they act without desire. As Grace Campbell says, we feel ‘ashamed that [we] didn’t back [ourselves] more’.

In a related way, masturbation is seen as dirty, illicit, and selfish. However, there is nothing selfish about self-love and satisfaction, no matter how we express it. In fact, in a society that glorifies male pleasure, it is confused and misguided that female pleasure is seen as shameful. The male orgasm is prioritised, male satisfaction treasured. In this way, we do not only reinforce the inability of women to speak about their sexual desires and activities, but we also forment the shame of saying ‘no’. By being told that they are the arbiters of male pleasure, those socialised as female are pressurised to perform or act even when they themselves do not want to. Since they know this, either implicitly or explicitly, those socialised as male then seek this behaviour for validation, creating a dangerous cycle of entitlement.

A note to science

The gender disparity in scientific research, describing the coverage of female-associated health conditions specifically as well as the male-led assessment of gender-crossing diseases like diabetes, has lead to a general lack of acknowledgement for female health. This feeds into drug development with a neglect for female sex hormones, as well as the deficit of knowledge and recognition of female-linked conditions.

An example of this is urinary tract infections (UTIs). This “taboo” condition, in which infectious bacteria gain access to the bladder, is recurring and can lead to severe side effect, such as kidney dysfunction and sepsis. Therefore, it is essential for us to recognise the struggles of many women living with this condition, instead of flippantly telling them to “have a hot bath”. The reasons UTIs are “unmentionable” are two-fold. Firstly, they are linked to feminine and post-sexual hygiene, and thus if a woman expresses her discomfort or suspicion at having a UTI, she is looked upon with disgust. Secondly, people become uncomfortable regarding public discussions of vaginal health. The difference for men when discussing sexual health is clear in the availability of treatments. While men can gain over-the-counter medication for erectile dysfunction, women must go to a doctor for antibiotics to combat UTIs. One might argue that this is simply an unfair comparison, since the two are caused by different things and have different degrees of symptom. New investigations into an oral UTI vaccine in the United States, however, explicitly shows that the possibility was there for pharmacist-provided medication — it was just not recognised.

Something I would like to highlight here is the positive experience I had with a gynaecologist regarding the loss of my period. He was attentive and optimistic, giving my mum and I an idea of what to expect as I grew and what to do if it still hadn’t come back over a given time. The purpose of my story and this section is not to demonise the medical system, but to encourage its betterment. By investing more in female health research, and not dismissing women’s claims as hysterical or overdramatic, we are able to work our way to a better system for all.

Conclusions

After my different experiences of shame, I have finally developed into what I feel to be myself, and that feeling is so magical I cherish it everyday. This gave me a license to become closer to the people who had felt before as if they were just out of reach. They were my friends, but behind a screen, an invisible barrier that forbade me from opening up. In identifying the barrier and surpassing it, with the help of a few fortunate meetings, I became Lily again — friend, writer, singleton.

As it stands, I have been left with a fear of sex. Of what it can be, or is able to be, when you feel truly loved. Of the pain. Of the memories. Of not standing up for myself again — and again. ‘The victims and the survivors are the ones who carry the shame’ in most cases, and these emotions compounded with ‘flashbacks’ leave us questioning where we stand. I feel so afraid. So afraid in fact that it has made me reconsider wanting children.

What power certain men can hold over us.

But I refuse. Because one day there will be someone who deserves me. Or maybe there won’t — but that is okay. There doesn’t have to be the perfect person out there because I’ve already found them, and she is less than a centimetre away. Our minds and our bodies can feel so disconnected, like separate entities that we cannot reconcile, but for the first time (perhaps since my day at the GP) I feel as if I can touch my skin and call it my own.

People in your life can take so much from you, often in a way that changes you forever, but they can never take that.