I come from a family where it was never hinted that my parents may have different expectations for my sister and I than from my brother. I went to a school where I was encouraged in all subjects, including math and science, and then to a university where I took every opportunity to question the validity of prescribed gender roles in my assignments. I married a man who has no desire to separate ourselves into the traditionally male and female roles of running a home, but rather wants to be my partner in all matters, from financing our household to choosing the home décor. Considering this background, for me it is easy to forget that this experience is not universal, not even within my own age group. I usually go through life believing that we are on the same page when it comes to gender roles and equality – at least for big picture issues like pay equality – so it is always a shock to realize that this is not entirely true. I have been disappointed in this way many times, so I’ve decided that it’s time to come up with a plan to deal with those unpleasant moments that snap me back to reality.

When it happens

No matter how callous or insensitive your peers’ remarks sound to you, remind yourself that: a. the likelihood that slapping someone will make things better is slim to none, and b. everyone is entitled to their opinion. Your peer can think that all women must happily give up their careers when (I doubt the word if would be used in this scenario) they have children, and the most you can do is strongly disagree. I remind myself that a belief like this one has probably been cultivated over a lifetime, so no amount of screaming will change the offender’s mind in a single conversation. To me, the better option would be to simply let the person know that I don’t agree and explain why (admittedly, I can use some practice at this, it is difficult when emotions are running high). If your peer is interested in continuing the conversation, the ball is in their court.

A few hours after it happens

Once I’ve had enough distance from the event to stop replaying the conversation in my head and lower my heart rate, I want to think about what I can personally do to make the world more equal. Since in this particular scenario I am disappointed that pay equality is not considered important or a priority, I’ve decided to find out how the company where I work fares on pay equality. I could see myself making a career there, so it’s important to me to find out how my paycheck will compare to my male peers as I advance. If I do not like what I find, I want to find ways that I can help change the situation, especially considering that I live near the city with the worst gender pay gap in the U.S.

Days after it happened

After deciding what my big-picture course of action will be, I want to move forward without dwelling on the conversation that upset me. You have already explained your position to them and devised an action plan based on the situation; holding a grudge against your peer won’t help you achieve further gender equality. Especially if it is a person you see often, nothing positive can come from letting the mere sight of them put you in a bad mood. It will only be a strain on your daily life.

Though my plan was inspired by an experience dealing with gender equality, it can apply to other scenarios involving race, sexuality, ability, and so on, and situations where inequality intersects many variables. It can be disappointing to learn that your peers are not as open-minded as you thought, especially when it seems like they do not think inequality is a serious issue. Instead of harboring negative emotions towards the people that surround us, I want to use these interactions as fuel to my fire to create a more equal world.

Have you ever been in a situation where you’ve been disappointed by your peer’s views on inequality? How did you react? Let us know in the comments!

Written by Sully Moreno

That may be one of the strangest things I’ve come to realize since my separation. I mean, I know how to love my son, but how do I love another human being in a healthy, relationship-type way?

Most of my relationships have been dysfunctional at best, and downright abusive at their worst. I was codependent, afraid of being alone, and consistently seemed to settle for whomever would have me.

Oh sure, I found passion along the way, so I know I am capable of feeling and experiencing it. However, the relationships in which I was most passionate also turned out to be the relationships in which I was treated the worst. I would latch on to these guys who treated me like garbage, like I was disposable and unimportant, and felt like my heart would burst with love for them.

But was that really love? Or was it just a sort of obsessive desperation?

Nowadays, I really couldn’t tell you. I’ve learned a lot over the last 15 years since I started dating, about myself and about what healthy relationships should look like. There should be mutual respect, common interests, room to explore other interests both separately and together. There should be trust, honesty, communication, and a healthy sex life.

I’ve met people since becoming single who are intelligent, funny, charming, witty, and attractive. I felt comfortable with them, could talk to them openly and honestly, but when it came time to consider the possibility of dating them, I felt nothing, not even the barest hint of a spark.

So far, it seems I’m the only one who didn’t feel that special “something”. I’ve gotten the impression that these folks would all be interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with me, and I feel terrible that I cannot reciprocate.

However, I’ve learned from my past relationships that settling for something less than what you want never ends well (and end it will).

What exactly is it that I want then, you may ask? Well like most people, not only would I like to find someone with whom I share common interests and all the things I listed above, but someone with whom I can finally feel passion again. Not in the obsessive, write-songs-about-them sort of way (though it would be nice to have some inspiration to write sappy love songs again!). I’m talking more like that instant connection that you feel in your gut and in your heart… that this person is someone you could seriously see yourself spending copious amounts of time with, and not just as a friend.

I realize that it hasn’t been very long since my husband and I separated, and that of course there is no rush to find someone. I can’t say that I feel like I’m in a rush, but there are definitely times when I feel lonely and miss that passionate connection with another person. It’s been so very long since I’ve felt that way about someone, and I can’t help but miss it.

I see friends who are madly in love with their husbands or wives and think, “Why can’t that be me? Why haven’t I found that? What’s their secret?”

It makes me angry that I can’t seem to connect with anyone the way I’d like to. I don’t want to force that connection, but at the same time, it seems like I may be alone forever. I know I’m not the only person who’s felt this way, I can’t be. I know it’s probably silly to think I’ll be alone forever and that I’ll never find someone that I can be truly happy with for the rest of my life… but right now, that’s kinda how I’m feeling.

Can you relate? Share with me in the comments and let’s talk.

Written by Sara Hanna
You can read more of her work on her blog Ruffles, Roses, and Lace.

Where there is a woman making a choice about her own body, somewhere there is someone with an opinion about that choice. If she wants to wants to wax her body hair or let it run wild – someone has an opinion about it. If she wants to shave her head or dye it pink – someone has an opinion about it. If she wants to eat cake for breakfast or only eat fruit – someone has an opinion about it. So why would it be any different when a woman makes the decision to have surgery to prevent breast cancer? It should come as no surprise that when Angelina Jolie publicly announced in The New York Times op-ed piece ‘My Medical Choice’ that she had a preventive mastectomy, many people jumped on the bandwagon to voice their opinions.

In came the inevitable “RIP Angelina’s boobies” comments and the “there were other options dummy.” Right, I’m sure she made the decision to go under the knife without doing her research to make the best possible decision for herself. I’m sure Angelina is probably reading your comments now and thinking damn, I wish someone had told me earlier so I didn’t have to get my boobs removed.

What is important is that she is shining a light on an issue that does not get spoken about enough – particularly the genetic test that helped aid Angelina and her decision. Of course people need to make their own decisions when it comes to their health, but opening the doors to the option of preventing illnesses and removing a stigma is not a bad thing. Most importantly, focusing on taking good care of yourself despite hectic careers and family lives is not easy but worthwhile.

“I wanted to write this to tell other women that the decision to have a mastectomy was not easy. But it is one I am very happy that I made. My chances of developing breast cancer have dropped from 87 percent to under 5 percent. I can tell my children that they don’t need to fear they will lose me to breast cancer.”

Aside from the inevitable negativity, there has been an outpouring of support as well, from this hilarious comic about the response to her article and the inspiring story of CNN’s Early Start host Zoraida Sambolin announcing plans for her own double mastectomy.

“Life comes with many challenges,” Jolie wrote. “The ones that should not scare us are the ones we can take on and take control of.”

Written by Laura Anderson
Follow her on twitter and check out her blog!

There’s been a lot of talk about feminism in the media lately. Katy Perry and Marissa Mayer aren’t into it, Sheryl Sandberg sort-of is, etc. But the concept that looking good is an integral piece of achieving complete gender equality (call me old-fashioned, but “feminism”, to me, means thinking that women and men deserve equal opportunity, equal pay, and equal rights and access) seems ridiculous.

Elizabeth Wurtzel, who is shockingly successful, strives to look great. Not to further her career, or have a family, or save the world, but to look great. This desire is what her article talks about, as if her gym routine and diet regime and skin-care regimen are the things to be proud of, rather than her writing credentials (impressive) or her alma mater (not mentioned) or how nice she is to others (not very, based on the article). She talks about how her mother wouldn’t even go to the laundromat without lipstick and high heels and how this has given her this great, fresh take that looking good translates to feeling good. And, to an extent, I can understand that. The effect of a new shirt or my favorite pair of boots on a shitty day is incredible, but that’s personal and specific to me. Not so for Ms. Wurtzel. She universalizes this phenomenon. Her article implies that all women love clothes and all women should care about looking good. If she, at 45, can look this good, we, at 20-something, have no excuse for looking like crap.

“I simply believe it is common decency to be presentable,” she says, after listing the skin cream and lip balm she always wears, no matter how late she is or how hungover or how anything. She equates sloppiness to a “wounded world”. Because forgetting real problems for a moment, nothing embodies the vagaries of living in Manhattan so much as 20-something girls who have “given up” by looking “sloppy”.

Wurtzel puts looking good on par with academic excellence, athletic prowess, and workplace performance. And, for some, I’m sure, it truly is. But when Wurtzel says that “not everyone is born beautiful but absolutely everybody can become so,” I think she is missing the point. My singular goal in life is not, actually, to become “beautiful”. Nor is that the goal of any of my friends. We are graduating college in three weeks. We want to be OBGYNs in developing countries. We want to be civil engineers. We want to be the CEOs of Fortune 500 companies. We want to change the landscape of public health. We want to be writers. We want to be lawyers. We want to run advertising firms. We want to be teachers. We want to be actresses. We want to build rocket ships. We want to be politicians. We want to fix public education in America. We want so much more than to just be beautiful.

Written by Samantha Jaffe

Because wouldn’t it be so awful for Abercrombie and Fitch clothing to be associated with homelessness and homeless people, because homeless people are so gross and disgusting, amirite? The video above says that it is striving to make Abercrombie and Fitch “the #1 brand of homeless apparel”. Maybe you’re thinking there’s no issue here because at least homeless people are getting some new duds and they were purchased from Goodwill, so what’s the big deal?

The big deal comes in when homeless people are being exploited to prove a point. Many homeless people are already widely disenfranchised and lacking a platform to be heard or to get access to the resources they need. By attempting to make a brand look bad by associating it with homelessness, the message is that homeless people are so gross, dirty, shameful (insert negative attribute here) that by associating the brand with these types of people, we are really making the brand look shitty, because these people are so shitty! get it? It’s all such a laugh! This type of “activism” is a farce. It contributes to and propagates a culture wherein homeless people can be used as props to further an agenda. This isn’t how you treat people. This is how you treat disposable objects. It isn’t funny, noble, or helpful to try and stick it to Abercrombie and Fitch by using homeless people as the medium for your message. Would the American population at large be comfortable with any other minority group being used to make a brand look “bad” by associating their clothing with that group? Sub out “homeless” for any other minority group and see how that sounds and feels. Pretty shitty, right?

Giving clothing, food, needed sundries, time, and other resources to the homeless or people who are in need is an awesome thing. But this isn’t about giving to the homeless. I don’t see any real or actual concern for homeless people in this “movement”. I see homeless people being used as the butt of a joke. The punchline? “Hahaha Abercrombie! You want cool and attractive people in your clothes and you claim to be exclusionary, so we’re going to give your clothes to homeless people because you would hate that!” The implication here is that homeless people are not cool or attractive and the brand can’t be exclusionary when worn by an already excluded group. This only “works” because homeless people are already part of an othered and excluded group, often left out of mainstream society, denied access to basic resources and the ability to have their needs met. Can’t.Stop.Laughing.

People who want to give to the homeless can do so at any time. Do it today! But giving a certain brand of clothing to the homeless in an attempt to make that brand of clothing look bad or unsavory or less-than-desirable is only possible when the population or group receiving the clothing carries the stigma you are trying to attach to that label. This doesn’t make Abercrombie and Fitch look bad. This makes Greg Karber and everybody supporting this “activism” look like an insensitive douche canoe who thinks homeless people are disposable props to be used to further an agenda, and that’s pretty sad and disappointing. Wanna help the homeless? Try not furthering the stigma surrounding homelessness by insisting that a brand being associated with homelessness would surely be less desirable or wanted. Wanna stick it to Abercrombie and Fitch? Easy Peasy! Don’t give them your money! It’s a simple solution that doesn’t involve stepping on the backs of the homeless in place of a soapbox.

Are you giving Abercrombie and Fitch to the homeless? Do you think using the homeless to prove a point is whack attack? Meet me down in the comments and let’s talk about it.

Written by Sara Luckey
You can tweet with her here, talk beauty with her here, or engage in a conversation about current events as viewed through a sociopolitical, feminist lens here.

Except wow. It’s suddenly really hard to breathe.

Don’t try to reason with them- you’ve read enough online articles to know it’s their loss. Watch through the curtain of the window as they walk past the willow tree and out of your life. It will seem mature, sensible, grown up even, to offer a hug goodbye, and kind of them, generous, when they accept. Hold on too long, make them release first. Out of everything to be angry about choose that. The hug. They let you go too easy, too fast, too eager. Don’t they know you’re worth fighting for?

Struggle to stand. Kneel on the floor instead. It will feel safe to rest your forehead on the ground. Child’s pose. It’s not weak to need looking after, baby girl.

Rally the troops. Go out as you are, pick the corner booth, and have somebody else pick up the tab. You probably haven’t cried yet. You will. Tomorrow morning when you wake up alone, hungover and with nobody beside you, no morning text message to greet the day, and no plans for dinner because you always have plans for dinner together on a Friday. Now there is no together and the loneliness will hit you like a tsunami. You’ll cry then.

Tears, like sweat, are saltwater, and you need hard work to get to where you’re going. Eat the ice cream and the pizza, then threaten to throw it back up when the tears become sobs, become gulps for air, and love, and desperation. It will ache too hard to feel good for you. Grow. Grow in spite of the pain. It’s going to happen anyway.

Send the text message. Sit your phone on the edge of the sofa and stare at it until it doesn’t bleep. When you mom calls tell her everything because she’s the only one listening. Picking apart the experience means you make it last. Repeat ad infinitum- holding on so tight will exhaust you so much that letting go will be a welcomed relief.

Don’t shower. Cry less. Facebook stalk. Hit “like” to remind them you exist. Beat yourself up when the gesture isn’t reciprocated. Delete. Add. Delete.

Walk many, many places. Marvel. Treat yourself to new nail polish, new dresses, underwear nobody will see but that reminds you of your sex.

Text all of your single friends and have them take you out. Mix your drinks foolishly. Pick a victim and take them home. Lie awake all night as they snore beside you and swallow down the bile of your disappointment. Surely this isn’t it. It isn’t. Don’t worry.

Date disastrously. Be too broken to get past a first meet. Send verbose emails with too much detail about how you thought you were ready but aren’t- you just can’t do this right now.

Be alone.

Learn to understand this new version of yourself. Play with the films you see, in a part of town you don’t know. Embody Joan Holloway or Katherine Hepburn and wear something fabulous to a gallery and see the possibility in the everyday. Dine out alone- it’s character building. Order a vibrator online, watch a lot of porn, miss the weight of somebody on top of you.

Be terrified. Sign up for the class, talk to the barista, take the trip. For god’s sake take the trip. We have multiple selves- experiment with them all as the landscape changes. Allow yourself the privilege of change.

Discover what you didn’t know you’d lost. Cut your hair. Remember that you were once in love and be proud that it hurts a little less every time you forget to forget. Find the courage to thank them, in your mind, for forcing you to become better than you were.

Start to wonder what it might feel like to love somebody else- you know, in theory. Stop blaming yourself for your singledom. Act surprised when you’re asked out. Stand in stocking feet when you’re already ten minutes late, thinking of an excuse not to go, inventing reasons why it isn’t worth the heart gamble.

You can’t go. You like this one. You can’t do it all again- you promised yourself. You don’t need anybody else now.

Leave the house. Give into it. At least now you know you can do it solo, if you need to. You’ve survived.

Written by Laura Jane Williams
Author of I’m Fat (and still get laid). You can follow her on Twitter here.

I do, however, want to talk about who defines oppression and privilege. I have posted a lot about this on social media and discussed it with my friends, but it is important that these conversations are being had on wider scales, and I am honored to have the privilege to expand my audience through this wonderful publication.

I’m going to first give some basics about my identity. I am heterosexual. I am able-bodied. I am not indigenous, meaning I am a colonizer of the land we all live on. I come from a middle class family. I have a lot of privileges. I am also a woman. I am a person of color. I don’t have certain privileges. I don’t have certain privileges, and when I personally experience discrimination or prejudice against me because of those privileges, I am allowed to say something.

I am sick of being told that I am not allowed to define if someone is being racist or sexist toward me. I, as being a woman of color who has consistently been treated differently or looked down upon, am allowed to define the oppression that I face. I have the ability to define whether or not something happened to me because of my race or gender, as opposed to just something happening to me. And people without certain privileges have those abilities too. Too many discussions in our world are dominated by the oppressor. Our conversations, the ones about how institutions block certain people from attaining privileges, should not be dominated by the institutions. They should be dominated by the people who experience these injustices themselves.

This might sound like common sense but it is not exacted in our communities or world. Our conversations on problems that exist – global patriarchy, neoliberalist policies enforced by our own government, the occupation of Palestine, the prison industrial complex, the privatization of education, the deportation of immigrants…the list can go on — these conversations are all dominated by the discourse presented from the side of the oppressor. And the ones speaking as the oppressed are labeled too “biased” or “emotional” or “passionate” or “crazy” or whatever other trigger word historically used to exert supremacy over people of color. I am a woman of color who experiences different treatment because of it and I know how to define my experiences, but moreover, my “biases” don’t make my opinions invalid – they fill them with strength.

My experiences should speak for themselves. Women of color continuously being silenced for their ability to define their experiences should speak for itself. I am sick of being told that my ability to define the experiences of marginalized communities is not valid despite my firsthand experience. I am sick of being told I cannot discuss these issues seriously because I am too emotional or crazy. We, people who live in these communities, are not crazy. That word is used simply to oppress. We are strong and we are educated. We continue to talk about the communities we come from because every issue, every space, every opportunity, is different for us. Race and gender (and other identities I don’t have the privilege of speaking about) should be included in discussions of every issue because despite what some might think, it is always relevant. We don’t live in a post-anything society. We exist in an institution of oppression that silences those who deserve to speak against their own pain and anguish.

I’m sick of having my stories told by people who have never taken a walk in my shoes. I’m sick of being told I can’t define whether someone is being racist or sexist. No matter what, these concerns should be taken seriously because I am the one who understands the experience.

We will not be tokenized. We will not be blamed. We will not be stereotyped. We will not be “saved”. We will not be silent.

Don’t be silent. Define your own oppression. Take your experiences seriously, and don’t let yourself be questioned.

Written by Anisha Ahuja

Don’t get me wrong, I have visited the gynecologist at least once every year since I was 17, and several years I saw them a few times more. I only did it because I knew it was best for my health. I have never gotten over my first experience with a gynecological exam because it was truly traumatic.

In early December 2007, I was a high school senior. One night, around 12:30am, I woke up with a wrenching pain in my abdomen. I’d never been woken out of a dead sleep like that before, and gut-punching menstrual cramps were not foreign to me. I was in so much pain that tears started streaming down my cheeks from the sheer stress of it. I knew I needed to tell my parents. I couldn’t even roll over I was in so much pain, so I reached blindly for my phone and called them. They rushed from their room to mine and alternated rubbing the area that hurt, asking me how it felt, and giving me some Advil.

My dad was worried that because the pain was concentrated on my right side (though not exclusively) my appendix was going to blow and decided it was time I go to the hospital. My mom drove me and we arrived around 1:15am. Even though the Advil was starting to kick in, my core was so sore that I could barely shift my hips. They admitted me and set me up with an I.V. and fluids. In order to determine it was my appendix, they needed to prove that it wasn’t anything else, and so began the assorted tests, pokes, and prods.

After about the fourth test, it was 4:00am and my pain was still subsiding, but I was sore as hell and they hadn’t yet determined if it was my appendix. The on-call doctor double-checked my personal history and told my mom that she wanted to conduct a pelvic exam to rule out anything with my reproductive system. My mom consented, and they took me a few halls over to an exam room.

I’d never had a pelvic exam before. I didn’t even know what that was. I mean, I knew what sex was, I hadn’t done it, but I knew friends who had, but I didn’t know that a pelvic exam meant going “up there.”

The nurse who escorted me told me I could leave my panties on for the walk over. When the on-call doctor had me sit on the exam table and put my feet in the stirrups, she started laughing at me.

When I was in place the way she wanted, the doctor shoved the speculum so hard and so far inside me that she ripped my hymen. All my senses went black; there was never anything else but agony. I screamed and cried, begging her to stop, yelling “no” over and over again. But she kept going. Later, my mom told me she’d heard someone screaming; I was the only one in the E.R. that night.

When the doc finished, she pulled out the speculum and commenced a rough exam with her fingers, telling me I needed get used to this because you need these exams every year. Great, terrify me more, why don’t you?

The supervising nurse was kind to me and tried to wipe the tears from my face while she held my hand. The doctor finished and had me sit up. I sat on the very edge of my butt because I was in too much pain and too shaky to sit up all the way. The doc looked me over carefully: the tears and snot on my face, my sickened complexion, my blood-stained hospital gown. Then she lifted an eyebrow, snorted and said, “I kind of feel bad now,” and got up and left the room.

The nurse got me a new hospital gown and a pad to wear on my underwear before taking me back to my room. I collapsed in my bed and sobbed to my mother who panicked at my distress. I had to change the pad twice before I was discharged at 8:00am because the blood kept soaking them through and they didn’t want me to become infected.

After a C.T. scan a couple hours later, they determined that I had inflamed cysts on my ovaries. Not an ectopic pregnancy as the on-call doctor had thought. That doctor raped me with a speculum because she thought I was being dishonest about my sexual history. What’s more, a doctor is bound by the law to stop treatment when the patient asks. She did not stop any of the times when I begged her.

I was violated by that woman, that doctor, that person who was supposed to look out for me. The trauma still stays with me. Up until I was about 22, I cried at every gynecologist visit, no matter how kind or gentle they were to me. Every visit I could see the socks I was wearing when I was 17: mismatched with catchy stuff on the bottoms so you don’t slip, one white sock with cats and hearts, one blue sock with a smiling moon and stars. I used to love those socks. I didn’t realize how much it had affected me until I saw a therapist when I was 22 and it all erupted out of me.

I want to talk about this. I don’t want this experience to happen to any other girl or woman ever again. I want you to be prepared. I want you to demand respect from your care providers and most of all, I want you to make these visits a priority. I was violated and taken advantage of because I didn’t know my rights or what to expect.

As a disclaimer, I do not have a medical degree, I never went to medical school, and all of the information I am providing below I have obtained from my own gynecologist, the American College Obstetricians and Gyencologists, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and Planned Parenthood. According to my research from these sources, this is what you need to know about going to see the gynecologist:

What is a gynecologist? Gynecology is a branch of medicine that is dedicated to the health of women, in particular, the health of their reproductive system. So, a gynecologist is a doctor who specializes in the health of women, particularly their reproductive health.

My reproductive health? You mean the health of my vagina and my uterus? Yes, but your reproductive system is so much more than those two parts. Let’s make a list: There’s the Bartholin’s glands, the cervix, the clitoris, the Fallopian tubes, the labium, the ovaries, the uterus, and, finally, the vagina.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. What are all of these parts for? Well, above I listed them in alphabetical order, here, I will do my best to explain them in tract order from the inside of your body to the outside. Ovaries are two egg sacs in the average woman’s body that secrete estrogen and progesterone. The former being responsible for the appearance of secondary sex characteristics and maturation and maintenance of reproductive organs, while the latter prepares the uterus for pregnancy and the mammary gland for lactation; both hormones function together to promote menstrual cycle changes. Fallopian tubes are two fine tubes leading from the ovaries to the uterus, allowing the passage of egg(s). The uterus directs blood flow to the pelvis and external genitalia during sexual response and accepts a fertilized ovum when serving a reproductive function. The cervix serves as the opening between uterus and vagina and allows sperm and menstrual fluid to pass. The vagina is a cylindrical sex organ made of fibrous and muscular tissue that has functions in childbirth and sexual intercourse. The Bartholin’s glands are two glands near the opening of the vagina that secrete mucous for lubricant. The labium are the externally visible lips, and serve as protection for the clitoris and the openings of the vagina and urethra. The clitoris is the most sensitive sex organ and the primary source of sexual pleasure. The vulva, which I didn’t mention in our alphabetical list above, is the overall collection of external sex organs.

Okay, so now we’re all caught up with the biological apparatus of the average woman’s body.

Why do these parts need a specialized doctor to look after them? Your reproductive system is one of the most powerful and most vulnerable systems in your entire body. It determines your physiological sex and responds to your sexual attractions. It’s also centered around an orifice. Every orifice in your body is at risk, that’s how we get sick. The average baby is born perfectly healthy, but once they begin using their orifices, they are at greater risk for an unwanted microscopic problem to enter their bodies. We don’t touch our mouths after touching doorknobs or using the public restroom because we don’t want to bring in any dangerous germs. Stands to reason that we should have the same concerns about the opening to our reproductive system and these concerns should be managed by someone who specializes in the health and well-being of that system. You have a dentist for your mouth, you have a gynecologist for your reproductive system.

I keep hearing you say “reproductive system,” but I’m not planning to get pregnant and I’m not even sure I ever want to reproduce. Maybe so, however, the reproductive system’s name doesn’t depend on whether or not you actually reproduce. It’s name depends on the system’s abilities, and the fact that the average woman could procreate if she so chose. Whether or not you want children should not determine if you see a gynecologist. A gynecologist is responsible for the health of your reproductive system, whether or not reproduction is the goal.

You’re talking about orifices letting things in. I’m in a same-sex relationship and I’ve never had sex with penetration, do I still need to go to the gynecologist? Yes! An orifice is still an orifice. If there is a space for something to come in or something to come out, it has the potential to bring in something that is harmful, whether or not it’s sexually transmitted. It’s not about sexuality, it’s about sexual health. No matter how you do or do not choose to express yourself sexually, you are a sexual being and so this part of your health matters. And vaginal sex isn’t the only sex I’m talking about. If you’ve had oral and/or anal sex, with or without penetration, this rule still applies.

But I’ve never had sex. I don’t need to the see the gynecologist, do I? Actually, you should. Let alone whether or not you will reproduce, or have sex with penetration, it’s also not entirely about the act of having sex. Even if you aren’t having sex, problems can still arise. Abstinence (and I mean from everything: vaginal, anal, and oral), or even the fact that you might not have found the right time or person for that experience, might prevent STIs and HIV via a sexual encounter, but you can still have UTIs, yeast infections, cervical cancer, polycystic ovaries, HIV (be careful around the blood or needles of other people), etc. The list goes on an on. Remember how I said earlier that your body’s goal is to survive? That doesn’t mean it can prevent every problem from arising. When something becomes too major for your body’s immune system to handle, it will do it’s best to throw up warning signals for you to recognize and go to the doctor. Seeing a gynecologist regularly means that there is a better chance of these issues being caught early before things get out of control.

Okay, I hear you. When do I need to start going to the gynecologist and how often do I need to go after my first visit? The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists recommends that girls begin seeing a gynecologist between the ages of 13 and 15. They suggest that you begin going this early in life even if you aren’t having sex in order to build a relationship with your gynecologist over the years so they understand your health and what matters to you most when it comes to your health. See your gynecologist once annually. If you are a new patient, your gynecologist will talk to you in order to complete a detailed family history (of illnesses). At every visit, they will begin by weighing you and taking your blood pressure.

Other instances in which you should see your gynecologist aside from your annual visit are: if it has been three months or more since your last period; if you have stomach pain, fever, and strong smelling yellow/gray/green vaginal fluid (indicative of Pelvic Inflammatory Disease, a.k.a. P.I.D.); if you are having problems with your period such as heavy bleeding or bleeding that lasts much longer than unusual; you have not gotten your period by age 15 or within three years of your breasts starting to grow; if you’ve had your period for at least two years and it is still irregular or comes more than once per month; if you are having sex and have missed your period. You can also ask your gynecologist questions regarding cramps, acne, weight, depression, contraception, and STIs.

I’ve heard of pelvic exams and pap smears. Do I need one? It is recommended that you have your first pelvic exam and pap smear once you become sexually active (orally, vaginally, and/or anally) or at age 21, whichever comes first. After that first exam, you should see your gynecologist at least once a year. If you are sexually active, your gynecologist will recommend you be tested for STIs. If you consent, they will use the swab taken from your pap smear and run the extra screenings for STIs with that sample. These screenings can take several weeks to get the results, and your gynecologist will call you if tested positive for anything. If you do not hear anything after a few weeks go by, it is safe to assume that all of your STI tests came up clean. To be tested for HIV, you will need to request your gynecologist screen you for it and then submit to a blood test, in which your gynecologist will prick your finger for a blood sample; you can get the results within 10 minutes.

After you have had several clean exams a few years in a row, your gynecologist will often recommend that you only have a pelvic exam and pap smear once every two years, although you should continue going to visit your gynecologist once annually. If the results of your pelvic exam and pap smear come up abnormal or you are having menstrual or reproductive issues, you may need to have these exams more often than once per year.

Your care provider will also probably conduct a breast exam, where you lie back on the exam table and they lightly and strategically rub and press different parts of your breast tissue, neck, throat, and tongue with their fingertips for any signs of lumps or swollen lymph nodes. To check your breasts, your care provider is going off mostly feel and not sight, so if you would prefer they do this part of the exam with your dressing gown on, you may ask them to do so, and they should comply by leaving your dressing gown draped over your chest when conducting the exam.

What is a pelvic exam and a pap smear? Are they different? How are they performed? A pelvic exam involves the doctor visually examining your vulva and inserting a speculum in your vagina. A speculum is a metal instrument often referred to as “duck-lips” for its comical-looking apparatus; when inserted into the vagina, your gynecologist will squeeze the base of the instrument in order to widen the “duck-lips” and open your cervix for examination. Once your gynecologist removes the the speculum, they will insert two of their gloved fingers into your vagina, while placing their other hand on your pelvis, alternating between both ovaries. A pap smear takes place while the speculum is still in use. While the “duck-lips” are open, your gynecologist will insert a long Q-tip through them to take a quick swab of your open cervix and pick up some cells for screening, primarily for cervical cancer. This entire exam takes less than three minutes. I’m not going to lie to you, it can be uncomfortable the first few times, but if you have a gynecologist you trust and who really cares for your physical comfort and emotional well-being, they will be gentle and you will become accustomed to these exams. Both of these exams are performed with you lying on your back on the exam table with your feet in supportive stirrups and your buttocks inched up to the end of the table so your care provider can see.

Also, your care provider will provide you with a disposable (sometimes paper) dressing gown when you are first seated in the exam room. They may ask you to undress from your waist down before being seated on the exam table, or they may ask you to become completely naked. Either way, you have the dressing gown for modesty. When you put on the gown, wear it with the opening in the back, and it’s usually easiest to leave it untied if ties are provided. All personnel should leave the room while you are changing. They will give you plenty of time to get situated on the exam table; don’t worry about putting your feet in the provided supportive stirrups, they will instruct you when to do so during the exam. If someone tries to stay in the room while you change, demand that they leave and exit the premises as soon as you can. Also attempt to lodge an official complaint at the front desk if you feel safe enough in the environment to do so (if you want to take further action, consult local legal services for help and guidance).

How can I pay for my visits to the gynecologist? An annual visit to the gynecologist is considered a regular check-up by most insurers and it should be covered entirely under your insurance plan. If you do not have insurance, look into Planned Parenthood for their low-cost options when it comes to women’s (reproductive) healthcare. You are also allowed to pay out of pocket for a visit to the gynecologist, if needed.

Short of STIs, HIV, and cancer, how can seeing a gynecologist once a year help me in my day-to-day life? For starters, they can help you understand your body and how you can best care for it. They can also help you establish what is normal for your body, so if a problem arises you will be able to recognize it.

I’m afraid. I don’t blame you. I was afraid, too. I was afraid for a very long time. But don’t forget, your health is more important than your fear. If you are really nervous about an exam, ask a friend or family member to go with you to hold your hand. With or without someone from your personal life at the appointment, you should focus on your breathing; the deeper you breathe, the more relaxed your body will become. It might help to imagine relaxing your pelvic and vaginal muscles. Clenching won’t do anyone any good. It makes your doctor’s job harder and the exam longer. If you consciously think about releasing those muscles and think positively, your body will follow suit. Also, doing some research on different gynecologists in your area can help you make an educated decision about someone you want to be your attending doctor.

You mean I can choose my care provider? Absolutely. Google is a beautiful thing, with links to a large number of physician-reference sites. Before you begin your search, ask yourself questions about what gender you would prefer them to be if at all, how far you are willing to travel to see them, and what you are looking for in a doctor treating you at least once per year. If you have insurance, confine your search to practices that accept your insurance plan. If you do not have insurance, confine your search to Planned Parenthood or practices that provide their services on a sliding scale. Don’t be afraid to ask, either. If you find a practice or doctor that is everything you want but you can’t afford to use their services, call and ask if they make exceptions or if they can recommend a practice or a doctor who could accommodate you. Finally, to narrow your search, read as many reviews as you can find on those doctors. Make your decision from there and go with what feels right.

When I went in search of my current gynecologist, I researched for several weeks before I selected them. I knew I wanted a woman for my doctor, that just made me more comfortable. So, I began looking online for practices and doctors that accepted my insurance plan within 10 miles of where I live. I narrowed it down to three doctors and finally selected the one I see now based on her patients’ reviews. In light of my traumatic first experience with gynecology and pelvic exams, I looked specifically for someone whose patients thought they were warm, kind, gentle, easy to talk to, and trustworthy. After having my first appointment with her last month, I had the first comfortable gynecological exam in my life. It was as easy as lying on the couch. We talked about Harry Potter and my current love for “The Hunger Games.” I felt completely at ease, and it seemed like even before she started she had finished with my exam.

That is how your exams should be. Do not accept anything less from your care provider. As much as it is your responsibility to take care of your reproductive health with these annual visits, it is as much their privilege to serve you and your body. You don’t deserve to have a terrible experience or an unhealthy reproductive system.

Lastly, I am obligated to reiterate that I am not a licensed medical professional and the following is the standard disclaimer of liability pertaining to medical matters:

“The information contained in this article is for educational purposes only. This article does not and can not provide medical advice for any person which requires direct medical care. It should not be used as a substitute for medical care and advice of your physician. There may be variations on the treatment that your physician may recommend based on individual facts and circumstances. Medicine is a dynamic science and should be considered accordingly. All visitors must evaluate the information in this article for their own purposes. Never disregard professional medical advice, or delay in seeking it, because of something you have read in this article. Never rely on information in this article in place of seeking professional medical advice.”

Written by Emily Vrotsos
Follow her blogs, Bend it. Break it. All of it and The Outdoor Amateur.

The Magical Girl is a special type of superhero, one that will take all things traditionally feminine and stab evil through the face with it.

The Magical Girl genre is exactly what it sounds like: TV series about girls with magical abilities. Classic ingredients for a Magical Girl show include a group of young women, aged anywhere between ten and sixteen, gaining magical powers by some twinge of destiny and the goodness of their soul, and becoming players in the battle against some outlying enemy.

To get into battle mode they will have to undergo an often sparkle-filled, musical transformation into their magic outfit, which may not seem very suitable for off-road travel to the untrained eye with its frills, bright colours and cuteness, but don’t be fooled! Magical Girls will kick your ass with the power of goodness, compassion and hope, sometimes aided by a cute animal sidekick or mystical mentor.

These adorable little freedom fighters are much more of a staple in Japanese media, but they extend beyond that as well: Disney tried their hand at it a while back with the W.I.T.C.H. show and comics, and The Powerpuff Girls could be said to fit into this mold as well. Even My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic has elements, especially the early episodes.

While it’s a huge genre in the anime world, interestingly enough the first studios to play into it claimed they drew inspiration from the American show Bewitched. This makes sense if you think about it: it’s the story of a female with supernatural abilities, trying to balance her everyday suburban life with her magical one, but tweaked and aimed at a younger audience. The most obvious example of this is Sally the Witch, a manga and then anime from the 1960s, featuring a cute heroine with magical powers trying to deal with life on earth using her magic, and learning valuable lessons about friendship and the power of good over evil in the process.

From these beginnings the genre has evolved—the most famous example would have to be Sailor Moon, which has been enriching the lives of kids everywhere since the mid-1990s, beaming to an entire generation the wonders of cosmic girl power.

In essence, that is what Magical Girls are all about: girls, kicking ass and taking names, defending their world and the ones they love from whatever evils their story may throw at them. This is fairly standard superhero stuff, but the genre emphasises the power of the young woman and shows the audience that being a girl doesn’t make you weak.

In fact, it’s what makes you powerful—Sailor Moon features its girl team transforming into their flippy skirts and high-heels with “make-up” in their battle cry, and the weapons they use come in the form of winged wands and sparkly tiaras. Instead of shying away from the traditionally girly in order to give themselves strength, the Magical Girls throw that very idea in the trash and face their enemies down empowered by the feminine.

All too often, writers feel the need to equate strength with masculinity. If there is a physically powerful female character around, more often than not she’ll act for all intentions and purposes like a man. After all, in the great spectrum of humanity, the young girl is not the first thing you think of when you picture a badass person. Not so with this genre! It not only shows that girls can be tough, but it shows that they don’t have to give up their girlhood to achieve it.

And with all-female ensembles, it allows for a wider range of character types than often allowed with the token female members of action teams. If you don’t find yourself relating to the main character, doubtless you’ll still be able to find a member of the Magical Girl crew you see yourself in. It enforces the all-important message that there’s more than one way to be a girl! You can be a tomboy or a girly girl, or a hard-working student or a lazy scatterbrain, and it’s all okay. And any of these qualities still allows you to pick up your wand and save the world.

It also guarantees that the series will pass the Bedschel Test with flying colours, and provide deeper study and development into the young ladies in the cast. Playing to their target audience, Magical Girl shows often have a focus on friendship, which is something sadly rare in fiction for young women. They may have romantic plotlines as well, and that’s okay—again, they emphasise that there is nothing wrong with the traditionally feminine, and having an interest in boys (or girls! Sailor Moon features a same-sex relationship in the later series—clumsily and rather ineffectually censored by the 4Kids dub, much to everyone’s amusement—as does CLAMP’s Cardcaptor Sakura, and Revolutionary Girl Utena, a series for an older audience, has two of the Magical Girls at the centre of the main love plotline) does not take away any of your power.

Of course, it’s not all sparkles and light in the Magical Girl world—understandably, with so much pure goodness in the genre, there have been writers that have taken it upon themselves to tweak and deconstruct the codes and conventions to produce stories with a darker twist. Revolutionary Girl Utena is an example, as mentioned before, and so is Puella Magi Madoka Magica, which plays very cleverly with the idea of what makes Magical Girls strong. In that universe, Magical Girls gain their powers by meeting an adorable little cat-rabbit named Kyubey, who grants them one wish in return for their signing up to fight evil monsters. It all seems like your standard fluffy fare, until the bass spectacularly drops and the series tears into just about every Magical Girl trope there is.

To be a young woman is to be powerful, yes, but it is also used against you in the most horrible of ways. In place of the usual evil-fighting team-up situation, the Madoka Magica versions of Magical Girls work alone and even get into fights with one another, competing for territory and supremacy driven by their selfish needs to replenish their magic by defeating as many monsters as they can. And as if that wasn’t enough, it turns out Magical Girls as created by Kyubey are part of a greater scheme, and as cogs in a cycle to harvest their energy, if they take on enough despair they turn into one of the monsters they’re sent to fight.

Here we’re hit with a great metaphor for how society is turning girls against one another, and warping them when they aren’t the perfect little soldiers of happiness and light into shameful, shapeless monsters despised by everyone. The fate of a Magical Girl in this world is not a pretty one no matter how you slice it—they’re doomed to either die in combat with reality-warping abominations, or become one of them themselves after they’re drained of all the hope they have.

At least until the very end, when the Magical Girl mantra is reconstructed: one girl stands up and says no, she will not settle for this, she will not stand to be a part of such a harmful system, and she goes ahead and uses the power of her hope to break the damn thing.

And there is that all-important message again: simply because you are a young woman, it does not mean that you are weak. You have the potential to be powerful and you and your peers do not have to sit back and be the squealing, swooning victims in any system, not in spite of but because you’re a girl. You can go kick your evil oppressors in the chest with your pink ribbon-tied shoes, blast them with your flowery wand, and use the power of your unshakeable bonds of friendship to shoot the bastards out of your lives and into oblivion.

Written by Alex Henderson
Follow her pop culture blog, The Afictionado!