Rape Culture: No Means No

Gentlemen of my reading list, particularly you of the feminist stripe:

a friend seeks assistance. She needs twenty-five more men to stand up against rape and rape culture, publicly.

You can read about it here and here.

I've particularly been struck by a recent meme on Facebook, which concludes that men should be offended when other men are apologists for rape culture or seek for exceptions to No Means No; to assume that men's natural state is rapist is a blow to all the kind, loving, and decent men I know who would never think of being so selfish as to force ANY unwanted attentions on ANYONE.

I HATE this topic. I HATE that we have to talk about this, that we have to convince people, that it ACTUALLY STILL NEEDS SAYING.

But our world is not as kind or as generous as I would have it be, and humans are not, either.
And so we have to explicitly *tell* people that sexual assault of ANY kind is not okay, and we have to do what we can to tip the balance toward respect for the agency and physical integrity of every individual, no matter their gender, sexual orientation, identification, presentation, history or reputation.

No means no.

Gentlemen of my friends list, please consider participating in YesheRabbit's project. I thank you in advance.

"How To Eat An Elephant" (part 1)

*grin*
I've been studying this for *years*, no lying. I knew I grew up in a house of clutterholics, I knew it was uncomfortable and didn't feel healthy, but for most of my growing up years I had no idea how to get out of the collecting, and, let's be honest, packrat habits.

Here's the first principle, in my opinion the most important principle involved in getting over "hoarding" behaviors. YMMV, of course.

1) Hoarding is never about the *stuff*, not really. It's about your feelings.

In my family, we held on to a lot of stuff we didn't need. I've come to realize there was a real fear of lack involved. Grandma and Grandpa on mom's side both lived through the Depression, and came out with a "save everything, it might be needed someday" attitude.

*narrowed eyes*
This led to junk drawers of all kinds throughout the house, filled with random screws, rubber bands, office supplies (broken and whole), kid's toys, eyeglasses someone had outgrown, small lengths of thread or yarn, twistie ties, and, well, I'm sure you are mostly award of this trend and how it's manifested in spaces you are familiar with. Linen closets with lots of ratty old towels, taking up the space for the good towels. Clothes in the closet that haven't fit for *years* or are a style you'll never wear again but were "too good to give away". Broken tools in the workbench drawers because "someday we'll get that fixed".

Useless JUNK.

I came out of that house and clung to all my STUFF. I conflated my STUFF with my memories, with my feelings, with how people would think of me, with how I saw /myself/. And it was paralyzing.

Too much STUFF! Almost all with mental and emotional associations of scarcity, lack, worry, fear, and not-feeling-good-enough.

And I KNEW that I had too much stuff, and I knew it was helping me hold onto all these unproductive feelings and ideas, but the overwhelm and paralysis meant that it was a lot easier to shuffle stuff around in order to find the useful stuff, than it was to GET RID OF the stuff that was useless.

I'm not sure of exactly my tipping point.
I know I had one, or several; points of OMG WTH have I been doing with my life?!?!

One:
When living with my exspouse, I determined to go through one of the many boxes-o-junk we'd stashed in the "storage room" off the landing to the stairs in the condo we were living in. It was full of mostly papers, mostly five to ten years old, many envelopes unopened.

I was ashamed.
I went in anyway, with a bag for recycling and a letter opener.

And in that box were bills addressed to my college address. Five+ years old, never opened. *toss* *wince*
And in that box were papers that had no meaning to my current life. *toss* "Why have I been KEEPING these?"
...
And in that box was an envelope from the university, and a date-stamp for around when I graduated.
(no, it wasn't anything cool, it was embarrassing.)
I open the envelope, and it's the information on where when and how to return my graduation cap and gown.

So. Much. Headdesk. Something like 7 years later.
I think that I was sometimes too scared to open the bills when I was in college, because I didn't have money to pay them, and in my house you just didn't talk about money. or bills. or owing people money. or ask your parents for money you knew they didn't have, to help you out.

So I guess I learned to stick my head in the sand about things that scared me that way.

And it took a rare bit of courage, initially, to dig in to all that STUFF and to face all of those old, fermented feelings, let them out, let them crumble to dust or evaporate into the air.

Yes, sometimes I did get hit with the big feelings, letters from loved ones, job evaluations (good or bad), or reminders of things I had promised to do and hadn't actually done. Disappointments, old pains, frustration with myself and with others.

But mostly, for me, (eventually) the satisfaction of clearing out the dreck and the useless overcame the Other Feelings that were triggered BY the dreck and the useless.

And sometimes you'd find treasures in the dragon's hoard. That helped make it worth it.

Your STUFF is not the same as your self-worth, nor is it the same as your feelings, or your reputation.

I do tend to admire people who live tidy lives, for many reasons but not least of which is that it seems a lot easier to do the things you want to do without having to paw through a bunch of Old Shit to find the things you need.

I work towards that, myself.

And that? That happens A Little Bit At A Time, which will be my next musing on the subject.