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In full, “Ask Dr. Ruth” is a study in frankness, both in how Dr. Ruth is unabashedly open about her own life experiences and in making discussions around sex accessible to the too-often-repressed public.
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I accepted the various forms of physical and emotional abuse from my partners because they filled this void and reminded me of my father.
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I refuse to accept the narrative that I and other women are responsible for their assault. I’ll wear a short skirt, get drunk at a party and flirt with men all night — it doesn’t mean I am asking to be assaulted.
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By having sex, I’ve tried to sever ties with the culture that equated my worth to my unpierced hymen and has so blatantly taught me, along with other Armenian women, that our virginity is the sole source of our value. Although in the eyes of many people in my community, I am impure for having premarital sex, I am at peace knowing that I had sex on my own terms.
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It wasn’t until I started journaling and addressing the root of my pain that I realized how my trauma had impacted my sex life. Being a survivor of violence has meant unlearning my dangerous coping mechanisms and unpacking my unhealthy relationship to sex.
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The residence halls, as you will soon discover, are simmering cesspools of teens living on top of one another, complete with clogged bathrooms, unwashed sheets and the lingering smell of weed. Such an environment makes for prime seduction — no joke, I found my first two serious boyfriends in campus housing. When you are crammed in with a bunch of people your age, there will always be that smoking hot person you eventually pursue.
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In a calm tone, my mom asked me, “Did you use protection?” We were sitting on her bed when she turned to me with a knowing look, certain that I had had sex. After all, she had left me and my boyfriend at home alone for the first time earlier
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Since then, I’ve been learning and relearning how to fully embrace my sexuality. I thought that the ending of my relationship would be the last time my body and sexuality were directly policed — but I was wrong. I am still constantly being regulated and policed by society’s toxic expectations of what it means to be a bisexual woman of color.
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Though Thursday is an ostensibly unsexy day of the week, take up this Valentine’s Day in stride to celebrate your relationships, friendships or yourself.
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My body is composed of a slender torso with wide hips, cellulite and stretch marks, a warm vagina, a wart on my toe, cupid’s-bow lips, perpetually cold hands and a pair of sumptuous, pale breasts. My wide forehead lives behind thick bangs, and I have calves that double in size
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