Purity, Chastity, Virtue - Sex By Any Other Name...

The name "Elizabeth Smart" is being seen in the news a lot again lately. Her story weighs on my heart and her courage and openness inspire me to do more for my own daughters and other women. You can read the latest from Elizabeth here. It is an encouraging read.

Like Elizabeth, I grew up in the Mormon faith. I still practice that faith, though I freely admit to anyone that I am an "unconventional Mo." We can talk more about what that means another time. Also, like Elizabeth, I experienced repeated sexual abuse. I was not kidnapped, and most of the abuse I experienced was not at the hands of a stranger. Most times, my own parents put me in the hands of my abuser/s, and to this day I have no idea if they have let that sink in. I don't know if they are still claiming ignorance. It's only been in the last 5 years that I've been able to talk to ANYONE about it EVER. And tonight was the first time I ever shared this with my daughters, sparing them all details, of course. My experience lasted from sometime after I was born (my first memory is around age 3) until I was about 10 and acted up enough that I was able to avoid the abuser/s altogether, or he was finally afraid of me.

As a Young Woman, ages 12-18, we often had confusing, embarrassing (I was embarrassed for my leaders, mind, more than I was for myself, or about sex) discussions with strange and disturbing object lessons/analogies about our purity. The big, overused story of my generation was ABC Gum. ABC Gum, if you don't know, is Already Been Chewed. Our virginity was compared to a pristine, non macerated piece of chewing gum (probably the really white kind, like a Chiclet, or maybe the stick kind with pretty sparkles of chemical trickery). As non macerated white sparkly gum virgins, we were desirable and whole and pure and chaste and virtuous. But, if we shoved our non macerated white sparkly gum virginity/purity into the dirty hands of boys (or girls) and they chewed us up touched us inappropriately or penetrated us in any way, then we would be discarded unceremoniously and every other human on the planet (but especially boys) would find us revolting. Yeah. About that.

The newer generation of Young Women are fence posts. You can drive nails in them, and the nails can be yanked free, but the holes are there forever. (Never mind how one might find it difficult to reconcile the Atonement after such a story, but I digress.)

Annual panel discussions with our Bishopric and youth leaders were no more helpful. In fact, I feel they were worse and even more harmful. They were certainly confusing. Most of the time, the 3 men (Bishopric), and our male and female youth leaders, sitting before us and answering our anonymous questions about dating and sex couldn't even agree amongst themselves about what was appropriate or not. One thought no kisses anywhere prior to marriage. One thought a kiss on the hand or cheek. Another thought a light kiss on the lips (closed mouth) would be fine. WHAT?! Get it together, guys! This is GUM we're talking about!!!!!!!!

But seriously....you know what I want my children (not just my daughters) to know about sex? First, I want them to know the correct terminology for their sex organs and sex acts. Seriously. That's basic.  Additionally, I want them to know all the good and wonderful things about sex. Sex should be fun, sex should feel great, sex can be full of laughter and passion and love. Sex can make babies. Sex can be awkward and fumbly. Sex should absolutely be part of a mutually committed, safe relationship. You should not be ashamed or afraid to discuss sex with your partner (or your parents when you have questions). I want them to come talk to me when they hear well-meaning but ludicrous and potentially harmful analogies from teachers they look up to.

I want them to understand consent.  I want them to value other human beings, and themselves as human beings. Even as human beings who might make regrettable choices. I want them to understand that the only person who gets to regret his/her choices is the person who made those choices. I want them to know that I love them unconditionally, that Heavenly Father loves them unconditionally, and that mistakes don't define us but can help shape us. I want them to understand and exercise personal accountability...and forgiveness if needed. I want them, most of all, to understand that their entire worth is not wrapped up in their sexuality!

My Room

The Burrows Home belongs to the Burrows Family...and when I say it belongs to the Burrows Family, what I mean is, sometimes this home is chaotic and maybe everything isn't just the way I would like it all the time ever. I have a husband. I have 3 children whom I homeschool. They have a giant dog and 2 cats. Outside the home, I have 5 chickens. Our home is regularly tidied and usually somewhat sanitary, but it is difficult to have everything clean and beautiful all the time. And...I can't really have pretty things because EVERYTHING gets broken around here. So I've settled for a simple, humbly appointed, mostly sanitary, sometimes tidy home. It isn't MY home, after all. It is OURS, and I want everyone to feel comfortable and at ease here in our place away from the outside world. A place where we can all be ourselves and enjoy one another's company without pretense.

BUT...I do need that one place where I can close the door and feel peace too, where I can be at ease and be myself, where everything does not get broken, where pets do not reside with their aromas and their shedding, and where I can enjoy some quiet time as I craft, create, write, read, or work. And sometimes sleep when Nick snores too much or I can't get comfy in our shared bed (or when the chaos of untidiness is too much for me in the master bedroom, which my husband has rather appropriated with his mountains of clothing and STUFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!

So, a few months ago I laid claim to the guest room. The picture at the top is the guest bed. The cats are normally entirely unwelcome, but someone had left the door open this day, and they did look awfully sweet. I snapped a picture and then shooed them off with my lint roller, and then promptly rolled away any evidence that they'd been here. I just love my bohemian bedding and piles of pillows! This is a bright and happy, yet calming and centering space. I must have had myself in mind (and didn't know it) when I chose the bedding.

Here below we have a recent find. It came to me from a photographer who no longer needed it as a prop. It was painted an aqua/turquoise color, so I brought it home and sprayed it down with a couple coats of mustardy yellow and hung it up to display some fun and happy memories and small paintings of my own. I apologize that the photograph is a wee blurry, but the lighting in here is not good for photography. It is, however, perfect for ME.

The painting below was done by my Great-aunt Mildred, and it hung in my grandparents' home for as long as I ever remembered, until my grandmother died. Grandpa stored it in the shed for a time. My mother got it, and then she gave it to me. It was in an awfully old frame, which literally fell to pieces as it was handled. There was no glass or anything to protect the painting (which maybe isn't a valuable masterpiece, but which has a story and sentimentality, and I love it). So I reframed it this week and hung it above the bed. It is rather larger than it looks here, so almost serves as a headboard for the queen-size bed.

Here we have an old wooden vessel of some sort. I have no idea its original purpose, nor how old it might actually be. This is another piece that belonged to my grandmother and I don't remember a time it wasn't there. I used to play with this as a child. It was everything from a witch's cauldron to a butter churn to a chamber pot in my imagination. Often, I slapped a big, round, red polka-dot pillow on top and it was a giant mushroom for the fair folk. I believe it was also a Barbie hot tub at some point. My Aunt Debbie got this after Grandpa passed and wanted me to have it. I couldn't say no because I do have such memories of it, so it has come to live in my peaceful room filled with things I love.

Last, we have another art piece. This one I commissioned, telling the artist only that I wanted something inspired by the Iron & Wine E.P. Woman King. I cried when this is what I received. I was so moved by her capturing (and her rendering of the Woman King resembling myself) everything about the music that speaks to me so strongly. This piece is 36X72 and fills a wall for me. It is the first thing I see each morning and the last thing each night. I LOVE this painting!

In this room, I sit quietly. I read. I pray. I meditate. I paint. I draw. I write. I work. I listen to quiet music. I watch my chickens from the window. Sometimes I get a good night's sleep. I love this room.

My Daughter's A Teen - The Emotional Challenge of Parenting

Loving mothers love their children. I don't want to devalue another mother's love and devotion to her children by assuming that I appreciate my motherhood more because it didn't come easily. It took several years for me to have my first baby, and I experienced several difficult miscarriages throughout my childbearing years. That colors my every experience as a mother, and I mindfully cherish my role because I understand what it means.

My daughter turned 14 this month, and she has truly been off in the world (though not too far) with a great deal of fledgling independence this summer. This was her 3rd year at Young Women's Camp. 5 days there. She was able to attend Youth Conference because the cut-off date was her actual birthday. 3 days there. She is currently at EFY for 5 days, and this is the furthest she's ever been from me without at least her dad. None of our familiar local ward members are there supervising. It was a big step, and I encouraged her in taking it. Not without some heart flutters, mind you, but with excitement for her as she grows and finds her way. She has been so eager to go, and she saved part of the registration cost herself.

Isabel and 2 other girls from our ward set off on the 4-hour drive with the other girls' dad Monday morning. By 4:00 I was hearing from Isabel and she was crying and having a tone that was so far from her bright, adventurous spirit that I was ready to jump in the car and go get her. Nick and I prayed for and with her, and I was restless all night hoping she'd feel better after a good night's rest. She wasn't home even 48 hours between Youth Conference and EFY, so I thought it was possible she was just exhausted. By this morning, she sounded slightly more hopeful, but I still felt something was off. She called again when it was time to settle into their rooms tonight and there was a clear shift for the better in her mood. I felt so much relief. I knew I couldn't leave her there through the week if she didn't come around, but I wanted to give her the chance to rally. She shared about her day and some of the fun they had, and I mentally put my keys away for the night.

Isabel has always been a steady thing. Happy, content, easy-going. "Seeing" her out of sorts really turned my world on its ear. I find myself wondering if I struck the right balance of protectiveness and faith in her that she would find her way. I am not a helicopter parent, so I'd hate to startle her by suddenly squashing an opportunity for her to learn and grow free from my intervention. But what if I fail her by not coming to the rescue when she really needed it? I think I succeeded, but I won't be surprised if this comes out in therapy someday. There has to be some therapy fodder in here somewhere.

I've spent the last 14 years mindfully parenting in precisely the opposite manner to which I myself was parented. I'm hoping to minimize the damage to my own children, but I feel almost as if it is impossible that they won't be angry at me for something someday. How can someone with so much baggage not shove some of it off on their own kids, right?