More Sex? Challenge Accepted!

Sometimes, I feel like my husband and I are strangers. We come from two entirely different backgrounds. We have had exceptionally different life experiences. We are interested in different things. Yet, for some reason, somehow, we managed to find a commonality in each other.I still wonder, occasionally, how we're still together given our differences.

In the beginning, we were amazing. Too perfect almost. You know the time when everything is awesome, lovely, and you are certain that your partner grows unicorns in their hair? The time when people roll their eyes at your new, annoying, overly affectionate love? The kind when you have never spent any time apart? That was us. In the first two years, maybe three, of our relationship, we spent no less than two nights apart. We were engaged after three months of dating. We had a kid by our third year together. Recipe for disaster? Maybe, but none of this was ever totally intentional. We are both just incredibly intense persons; when we do something, we want to do it all the way, or not at all. It makes sense that we were this sort of couple in the beginning.

I can't argue that it was a little unhealthy; we became so dependent on one another that we began to lose our individuality. We didn't realize that coupledom needs individuality. In order for a relationship to be great? You need to have your own identity. So we struggled, as we both lost ourselves, and then dealt with the impact of the loss of our former selves. We threw a baby into the mix, which caused more transitions for us. We floundered as we tried to figure out this new baby, and our new selves.  There was, honestly, a lot of resentment with each other. We broke up and made up, we fought and cried. We crawled through the proverbial mud, desperate to figure out if we could still find a way to make this relationship work.

The biggest issue with starting out with that much intensity is the immense disappointment when it ends. Because it does. There will always be a lull, there will be some point when you look at your partner and think, "What am I doing?" There will be days when you'll be glad to see them go to work, and days when you'll pace by the door ready for them to arrive home. Sometimes you love each other more than you ever thought possible, and other times, you'll loathe the sight of them. There will be times when you will ashamed of how selfish you've been, or regret those words you said in frustration. Then there will be times when you just can't stop thinking how damn lucky you got. Occasionally, you'll go through this thinking in the space of one day, even one hour.

Marriage is not what they tell you. It's blood, sweat, tears occasionally with little pay off. Sometimes, it's just awesome.

We're edging closer to a decade together. We've got into a routine that's comfortable, a little dull (very dull), and sometimes we just forget how important our relationship is. We've finally figured out how to communicate with each other. We've finally figured out that we are severely different. We've finally figured out that it's okay. Yet, we're stuck. How do you rekindle that blind passion when you've hit that milestone in your relationship where you are the same, yet different, and still together?

So, I suggested to The Hubby last night that we do a month long challenge. Of course, he was eager to oblige. I told him that I hoped it would bring out that passion again, or at the very least connect us a little differently, and help us get back to those organic roots of understanding what the other needs.

For the next month, we're going to have sex every day. Yes, 31 days of sex.

Let me be honest. Our sex life, as we've struggled, as suffered astronomically. I blame myself. Between feeling very un-sexy, and my issue with physical affection from childhood abuse, I struggle to be intimate. It's hard. It's vulnerable and when you are not having the greatest time in your marriage, it's difficult to make an excuse to have sex. It is for me anyway.

Image Credit: Jean Koulev

We're not the average couple you read about in the news articles. We don't have sex twice a week. In fact, we'll often go months without having sex. At one point, it had been almost a year. A full year. Without sex. A full year without making out, or engaging one another in any sort of foreplay because we were both so angry with one another. Sex was off the table, and for my affectionate husband he interpreted this as me saying, "I hate you. I don't love you. I think you are gross". 

I wasn't thinking any of those things. I just was so angry with our emotional relationship that I couldn't be bothered to be loving with him in a sexual way. I thought he wasn't interested in me, and I thought he didn't find me sexy. We began to drift, further and further apart, and when that happened? It got terribly ugly.

So we're trying this. Not out of obligation, but because we just want to re-ignite our relationship. What better place to start than with sex? Even on the days when we're not connecting, it gives a reason to connect, to do something for the other person, and to maybe even take out our frustrations a little.

I'll be doing weekly updates on the blog, but will be tweeting about this experience on Twitter as well with the hashtag #MamasideSexChallenge. Talk to me about your experiences with sex in your marriage, what you've done to get past the dry patches. What do you do to spice up your love life? What about your sex life? If you have kids, how did it change your relationship? What sorts of things make your partner sexy?

Ready? Set? Let's get sexy! (say it like Sean Connery for a laugh).

Too Fat To Be Cool

"Go to the grocery store and pick up some things, please?" I posed to The Hubby. 

Comfy at his corner of his couch, he looked at me, and I could see the annoyance in his face. He'd just gotten home. We have one car, I should have texted him, I should go out myself- all of these would be things that I should have done prior to asking this of him. 

"Can't you go?" he asked, his eyes fixated on the television. 

I pursed my lips. He had no idea that I had stepped on the scale this morning and then cried. He had no idea that I had stayed up all night, while he slept with his back to me, and looked up the possibility that the meds I'm on had contributed to this influx of weight. He had no idea that today, I didn't want to be seen. 

"I just don't want to go out," I mumbled. 

"But you were in the house all day, and I'm tired," came the reply. 

Now, you must know, my husband works hard. I know all wives say this, but mine really, really does. He works at least 10 hours a day, sometimes more. He is generally tired when he comes in the door, and understandably so. Most days, I'd jump at the opportunity to go to the grocery store, alone. Today? I wasn't in the mood for the public eye. 

"It's stupid, but I just don't want to go out today. Can you just do this? I'll even make a list too," I said, I could hear pleading in my voice. 

I heard him breathe that breath of annoyance that means, "You are frustrating me, I won't say it, but I'll show you in my body language, and I'm rolling my eyes because this is stupid". 

Again, I swear, he's not a jerk. 

"I don't want to go out. I don't want to go out, because I don't want people to stare at me. I don't want people to judge me because I'm fat," I blurted out. 

That piqued his interest. He looked at me with wide eyes, and raised eyebrows. 

"You are joking, right?" 

I shook my head. 

"No, really. This is a joke, right?" 

I shook my head harder, and said, "No, it's not, I swear". 

It wasn't a joke. The last time I was at the grocery store, I heard someone say, "I don't know how people like her do it. I could never be okay looking like that." I had looked up expecting to see someone who was completely disshelved, walking home from a night of partying. No, they were looking at me, these two women. I quickly put my head down, grabbed the strawberries I was buying and scurried away. 

The strawberries had mold, and my husband complained. I didn't tell him why they had mold, I just shrugged my shoulders because as a grown women, how do you tell your husband you didn't look because someone was insulting you in the produce section? This wasn't the first time I'd been spoken about like this in public. I'd been enjoying an evening browsing a local wine store, when someone's cart of wine had tipped over. I had bent down to pick it up for them, because, I do things like that for strangers, and the guy glowered at me, and muttered, "Fatass" under his breath. He was at least 20 years older than I. Again, I scurried away, head down. 

I've had more than one occasion since moving where this has happened. Sometimes there are no words, but it's the way people look at you, registering you for a half a second, and then pretending like you don't exist. It's smiling at someone, and having them completely ignore you, but hold the door open for someone else. It's hearing the words dumb and stupid associated with the size of your butt. It's hearing someone ask how someone like Him, could end up with someone like Me. 

The Hubby did go to the grocery store that night, and we never spoke again about my confession.

It's not that I don't love who I am. Guys, I'm awesome. My pant size has nothing to do with who I am, I know this. You should know that I know this. 

Yet. There is something incredibly demoralizing, after spending a morning feeling all kick-ass about who you are, and what you do, to walk into the grocery store, looking just like everyone else, and hear people judging you. To see them doing it. How do you carry yourself back to life when real life hates you because you don't fit into a specific sized jeans? How do you find that self-love for yourself when everyone is telling you that you are not worthy of attention or love because you are over-sized? 

Enter Mike Jeffries.

He made these comments in 2006 explaining why Abercrombie & Fitch doesn't like fat girls. It doesn't make it any less ridiculous, it makes me wonder why it's taken us so long to talk about it. Yes, on the whole, he doesn't seem to be someone I'd ever want to associate with personally, and his words pretty much drive that point home. However, the shock value of hearing someone speak those ugly words obviously hasn't worn off. To me, as I read the first piece that went viral, I felt sick. My inclination that the world, some of it, is judging me as lesser than because of my size? It's correct. It's not in my head, and my lack of confidence because of that fact is not entirely my own doing. People hate fat people, some just aren't nearly as ridiculously open about it. 

This bullying of us fat folk is obscene. When I began gaining weight, due to medication, I noticed a size-able difference in how people treated me. Where I used to get jobs immediately, I was now getting the elevator look, and a pathetic smile. I wasn't even fat then. My own Mother, when I had seen her for the first time in over a year or more told me,  "Wow, you've really packed it on". I spent the rest of our trip, a short one, feeling like I was pathetic. I heard about a good friend who told everyone how fat I'd become. She stopped wanting to hang out with me, and of course, I was glad to know she was that sort of friend.  However, I stopped allowing anyone to take my picture because I didn't want anyone to have ammunition. I didn't want to give myself ammunition, and as such there are few pictures of me and my kids. Because I feel like I don't deserve to be noticed, and sometimes, I don't want to be. 

Any time I mention fat culture to someone? I'm told I'm imagining it. Like, when I have mentioned to my husband after a social gathering that someone was ignoring me or making fun of me every time I spoke, and I got the distinct impression it was because he hated how I looked. It'd happened before, but this time the viciousness was rather apparent. The fat girl is smart? Shut the front door, it's impossible. The (skinny) Hubby always rolled his eyes at me, because he's never been denied respect based on how he looked. 

The culture of hating on fat people, and making grand assumptions about why they are fat, or inferring that we're unhappy because we're overweight? It's all a form of sophisticated bullying. It's the same as the barbs the really skinny girls get about eating more burgers, or purposely self-harming themselves to be that skinny. It's all bullying. We're obsessed with how people look to the point that we equate happiness with size, or a lack of intelligence with how someone looks. Although, it seems no one is truly happy to tell us just what size is just right. We're all wrong.

Unfortunately, I haven't made it to that place where I can own my curves, and love them. I want to love them. I want to say, "I'm fucking incredible", and just sashay, hands on my hips, out of the room any time someone says something terrible or ignores me, because screw them if they judge me for what I look like. I just haven't figured out how to do that. Mostly because every time I go out, there is someone, or something (like a store) telling me I'm worthless because of my size. 

Yes, I'm still buying into the fatshaming culture, because, the brand is alive and well. I admit it. 

Little by little I begin to try to fix me, by changing how I view myself: Through someone else's eyes.

I really don't think we should be shrugging our shoulders at the things people like Jeffries say. Because, those words are harmful, not helpful, especially to the young people in our world. If I can barely decipher the culture of fat, as an adult, how do we expect our younger generations to do it?

Jeffries should know that his clothes, the ones likely made in a sweat shop in a third world country are not cool. He's not cool, and us fat people? We are cool.

At least, I think I am. 

Leaving The Mormon Behind: Official Name Removal Letter

It happened. It finally, really, happened.

Yesterday, I received the final letter of confirmation that the Mormon Church had removed my name from their records. After a drawn out battle of phone calls, text messages, and letters, two months later, it's finished. 

I can officially, Officially say that I am a certified Ex-Mormon. I even have the letter to prove it. 

Honestly, I'm not sure what this means for recovering from Mormonism on the whole, but it definitely feels liberating to know that I have cut the ties, literally. It's taken me years to work up the courage to write that letter. I was always worrying about the impact it would have my relationships with close friends or family that are still devout to the religion. Maybe the timing was just right, but for now, there seems to be a peaceful balance of respect and boundary that we're all sitting on. 

There is this sense of loss with the relief that I've been feeling. When something was such an intricate part of your childhood, and you had to refinish yourself in order to rid yourself of the damage so to speak, there is a but of a mourning period that comes along with it. I'm not sad that I'm not Mormon, nor am I sad that I don't affiliate myself or my life with it. In fact, the sadness comes from realizing how much of my life, my time and my relationships were solely predicated upon it's precepts, teachings and principles, that I may have lost out on opportunities that I could have taken had I been more open minded. 

That's the past though, and going forward, I'm excited to embark on this life without religion. Without an expectation that my kids participate unquestioningly. Without being told where perfection lies, and how I should obtain it. I've learned that our own individual perfection comes from being content where we are, and not based on rules that we've been told we must obey in order to be happy. To me, it's just simple- do what makes you happy, be what makes you happy, and give back to the world the same love and happiness. 

And this, this whole process has been a remarkably happy process for me. Of course, it's been frustrating, but at the end of this day, I'll be able to sit back and feel peace. I've made a decision for me and my life that has, and will continue to bring me the same sort of "spiritual" experience that I was missing throughout my time in Mormonism. 

If you are holding back on doing this, the name removal process, I challenge you to do it. There is something about standing up to the bully and winning in the end that makes it incredibly satisfying in the end.