“Short Skirts, Scrapes & Secretive Scars,” was my first post on this blog. I originally wrote it on LinkedIn, two years ago, after Brock Turner’s light slap on the hand for being convicted on three counts of felony sexual assault.
Now, two years later, how far have we come? As a society, we are shaming and blaming the victims of sexual assault.
I am sitting here fully aware of my own contribution to rape culture. When I was younger, I thought I’d asked for it by the clothes I wore, my outgoing, flirtatious personality, the fact that I was a dancer, etc.
I undervalued myself. I under valued you, but didn’t even know I was doing it. I know it now and now is what matters.
Enough victim blaming and shaming. Enough. #MeToo
Continue reading “My own contribution to rape culture”
DISCLAIMER: If you are my Dad, or maybe even my Mom, or someone who doesn’t want to read something you will likely consider risqué, STOP READING! It is not my intention to shock, alienate or embarrass anyone. My intention is to put it out there to all readers or anyone who will listen, that being a woman with an intense and thriving sex drive and especially post-trauma, is not only extremely healthy, but is to be embraced and celebrated. For some of us, we go through incomprehensible shit storms that we may believe cause damage (NOT PERMANENT) and battle scars. (BATTLE SCARS ARE PRETTY HOT.) For someone who finds inner peace and especially inner and outer sexual peace, well… who needs to be quiet about that? Not me.
Please… let’s stop feeling victimized and ashamed, period.
If you think you wish to read on, first, take this subliminal test:
Continue reading “The Har-moan-ious Melodies Created from Dissonance”
I was young, ambitious and was sure it was all my fault.
In the early 90’s, I was an overbooked public speaker, spokesperson, trainer, speech writer and producer for a slew of Fortune 500 companies. Looking back on that vibrant and successful career, I often shake my head that I didn’t have full appreciation for how much I got paid to see the most beautiful places in the world.
Instead, I felt sort of lost, feeling like I wasn’t doing anything that really mattered in this world.
In those days, I wore a lot of skirts. Some of the skirts were short. Sometimes, the skirts were short and made of leather. Once, I worked for a well known Japanese firm, and was provided with a fire engine red bustier, a tiny lace skirt and 4″ stiletto heels. Continue reading “Short Skirts, Scrapes, & Secretive Scars”