CHEEKY anniversary!

On this year mark of creating CHEEKY, I want to thank all of you for helping me grow this community into something larger than I could have ever imagined. I started this project because I felt there was a large gap in our culture: a lack of honest conversation surrounding the humanness of women's bodies. As pre-teens, we're handed books that describe the changes we might start seeing, and are plopped in sex-ed classes that touch on our "flow,” but we don’t have a space in which to get REAL about what those changes will bring: the smells, the hair, and the gross/sticky/messy parts of periods.

Instead, we're constantly inundated with messages of beautification, and guidelines for what beauty looks like (acts like, smells like etc). We're told to pluck, edit, cover up, and hide the humanness of our bodies. As a result, we're all left in a state of constant shame, rejecting any "unladylike" hair or smell we might produce. We're left feeling alone in our bodies, and stuck replaying embarrassing moments that – if we only talked about them – we would come to find are a) incredibly relatable and common, but also b) kind of thrilling to talk about.

I wasn’t always proud of my body (and it’s an ongoing process). 20 year old me would be SHOCKED to see what I've been up to. I used to see my body as a head-to-toe project. Constantly setting weight loss goals, bleaching my arm hair, and comparing myself to others.

How did I get cheeky? The women in my life got me here. I’m incredibly fortunate to have a close group of friends where no topics are off limits: we swap period leak stories with joy, and text each other about poop stand-offs while at work. These conversations are liberating. My friends give me permission, encourage me, to let it all go. They continuously teach me that my imperfections are assets and to be treasured. Each bodily saga is an opportunity to tell a story — to shock, to awe, and to entertain.

Our culture often pits women against each other, constantly feeding us examples of female friendships that are coursing with competitive undercurrents. A lot of that — at least when it comes to movies — serving a narrative in which we’re vying for male attention. So much of what we do becomes about how others (men, but also not just men) will see us, what others will think when they look at us. I think we’re quick to loose sight of how we see (or want to see) ourselves. Judgement about our bodies replaces curiosity. We set standards for how our bodies should look, based on ideals that we had no hand in creating.

CHEEKY has become a space for me to reconnect with myself and reclaim what being/feeling beautiful means to me. And the first step came from connection, being with folks who assured me that I am great as I am. I decide what makes me feel best. I’ve found so much power and hilarity in those friendships that gave me the space and encouragement to start that process, and I created CHEEKY as a way to invite you into these conversations. It's been so awesome to meet all of you and the hilarious comments you add to each post. (Shoutout to all my fellow hairy girls out there, you make me feel less alone).

This project catapulted me into a year of building more compassion for myself – mind and body (turns out, painting my naked body and paying tribute to all the tummy rolls and hairs I grew up trying to hide has been incredibly empowering). I hope CHEEKY has helped you find a path towards some self love, too.

Stay tuned for another year of CHEEKY, and sit tight for my graphic memoir coming 2020!!!

Constipation

The main impetus for Cheeky was initially my chronic constipation and journey with IBS. For reasons not entirely clear to me, my body doesn't poop without encouragement. This is a truth I was late to discover -- late I think because we do not talk about poop enough (especially the fact that women poop).

My first memory of pooping is pushing so hard I thought I saw thunder bolts. Suffice to say, I was heavily constipated. Not only was the act of pooping terribly burdensome for me, but it was also quite rare. Maybe once a week if anything.

I had no idea this pattern was less than ideal.    

Growing up and becoming more aware of my body, I felt pretty bloated and large most of the time -- feelings I now know were result of intense constipation. My first few experiences with D.A.D.S (day after drinking shits) in college revealed this truth -- my nights 'out' in high school consisted of a tub of cookie dough, four close friends, and 30 Rock, so alcohol and the poops it brings was a very new concept. I began to understand that my body was depriving me of one of life's most gratifying joys: POOPING, morning poops specifically. 

With this realization, the hunt for my poop began. 

The gut is a fickle thing with mystery at every intestinal turn. I went to many doctors and was ultimately given the unfulfilling diagnosis of IBS. With not much to work with, I was left to my own devices: google and the nearest pharmacy. As you can imagine, this sparked some interesting/rough trial and error scenarios.

---

act of desperation #1:

---

act of desperation #2:

Stay tuned for my more sustainable and pleasant solutions to constipation coming tomorrow!

thank you jacqueline novak

Last weekend, I saw Jacqueline Novak's show How Embarrassing for Her and in the moment I knew her set would be something I'd continue to think about for a while. It was incredibly brilliant, insightful, and it was the first time I'd heard my fear surrounding blowjobs articulated so well.

I felt so validated to hear someone on stage describing my almost exact thought process when gearing up for a BJ: (to bring out my inner Carrie Bradshaw) I'm always in my head about giving head. 

I have some friends who love doing it -- for a multitude of reasons. The act itself, a sense of feeling in control, just relishing in their ability to make someone else feel good. I personally have always been quite averse (i.e. I avoid it and then feel awkward for avoiding it and then want to talk about it but then avoid it some more). And to be clear: you never have to do anything. Blowjobs are not at all this thing that all the cool kids (specifically the section of cool kids who have partners with penises) are doing and therefore you must do it too. I just have wanted to articulate for myself the what/why behind my aversion -- the physical and mental. I also would so love to not put that pressure on myself of "ok, I think now might be the right time in the relationship to explore that region?" -- or if someone goes down on me, to feel the pressure of needing/wanting to reciprocate when I may not be ready to. Again, all personal choices. This is just what my brain looks like.

I joke about the substances I wish cum could be: a lovely turnip bisque, ricotta cheese (the consistency would probably be cause for alarm but I love ricotta so we're going with it), white chocolate. But then, it's not just about the substances. It's the surprise attack of said substances. Yes, it is polite for your partner to let you know when to expect A RUSH OF LIQUID INTO YOUR MOUTH. I am scared of that though. Even when warned. Because I know it's going to happen and I don't really want it to.

Ok, so here I have identified a removable roadblock. I will opt out of swallowing or taking anything in my mouth. I am part of this situation and have a say in how it all goes down (now channeling Samantha and her single eyebrow raise + smirk).

Alright, so now I am imagining white chocolate and I will remove myself when the time is up OR use the blowjob as precursor to sex -- an option that fills me with such relief I can't even tell you. That is until the inevitable analysis happens: 

How long do I stay down there / is it still technically a blowjob if he doesn't finish from it / what does it say about be as a person that I am not comfortable with this / am I not a giver / am I unable to relish in other people's pleasure / am I not 'fun' at sex? This will go on for a very long time. And to be very clear these are not the thoughts I'm having while going down on someone. These are the thoughts I have when I am making out and kind of moving towards the penis but then backing away because a week ago I decided today was the day and it needs to happen and I have to get over it. 

Jacqueline Novak expertly discusses this type of mental tug of war with blowjobs. That Saturday night she officially became the only person I 'know' who goes through a similar conflicted mental gymnastics. She compared her personal analytic process to two other deeply relatable experiences for me:

1. Prepping to dive off a diving board -- and then changing your mind
You climb all the way up the very long ladder, get onto the plank, walk to the edge, do a few little bounces, bounce a little more, and then decide you no longer want to jump off and are faced with two not so great options:

1. Throw caution to the wind and go for it, you made it this far
2. Back off the plank and climb back down the ladder in front of everyone who witnessed your journey up said very long ladder (and will now watch your slow climb down)

As Novak notes, option 2 is always the path. It's a funny thing our brains do. 

Not only did I relate to this metaphorical scenario, but I truly hated swim class growing up. I may be embellishing this a bit but my swim teacher when I was 4 looked exactly liked Ursula.

The dive was particularly stressful for me and I would often opt for a knee dive instead because I liked to look awesome apparently. When it came to diving, I was mostly preoccupied with the idea of water coming out my nose and choking me (a very relevant fear in the blowjob sphere as far as I'm concerned). 

2. Your penis person observing you with their friends
Jacqueline related this feeling of being down there with a penis to being at a party with your partner's friends. You look up and see them from across the room as they're observing how you are interacting with their buddies. Somewhere up there with diving is being watched at parties. I would like to be the only person who knows the bizarre things I am saying or the weird way I am leaning or the way I am keeping tabs on where the dog is so I can talk to him instead. 

Truly sweating just thinking about it. As my friend S would say "I am unwell. I gotta go".

I don't exaggerate when I say I have never related to anything more. Seeing Jacqueline discuss this on stage gave me the courage to talk about it here -- and also the notion that there are probably more of me/us out there. So there you have it. Cheeky's first sex post -- on blowjobs (my nemesis) no less!

A big thank you to Jacqueline Novak for being so fucking smart and kickass and hilarious. 

---

Novak also has some crazily insightful remarks on and impressions of the penis itself and I cannot explain them because my explanation will ruin everything. Go see one of her shows if you can!

In the meantime, follow her on instagram: @jacnov  and she wrote a book. I'll be grabbing myself a copy of How to Weep in Public this week.

BBQs, rice cakes, and closet eating

Happy 4th! Here's to eating/wearing/doing whatever the fuck you want. 

I feel like I am finally, FINALLY getting to a place where I care less what others think. I of course still have some hang-ups but these are my small improvements:

• I go for seconds in plain sight instead of anxiously waiting for everyone to clear the area so I can fill up a bowl and eat more in private.
• This weekend, I gave my thigh-length bikini line its summer debut. In the presence of male lifeguards.
• Sometimes I leave the house with both my unibrow and cute lil' bar-mitzvah boy esque mustache in bloom (or alternatively, a red-streaked face when I do feel like melting my own wax and stripping the hair off my face). 

Throughout middle school and high school, I really felt everything was under scrutiny and open for judgement.  Especially what I ate and what I wore. I believed that eating certain foods like pizza or sweets in public would affirm my chubby status. Conversely, eating carrot sticks or plain yogurt in public would somehow make me seem slimmer. When I was alone, I felt that weight lift and could finally eat what I really wanted. During my summers at sleep away camp -- where all meals are eaten together with all crushes present --  I kept a roll of rice cakes in my underwear drawer (cinnamon bun flavor which was definitely disgusting but I loved them at the time) and I would eat at least 3 cakes laying in bed in the dark while my bunkmates went to sleep. Those few minutes of eating alone in the dark felt so good. It was the only time at camp when I could eat feeling totally carefree. 

This cycle was stressful. Unnecessarily so. But it was real, and definitely took time to get over. Becoming more at home in myself and body afforded me the assurance that the food I eat does not define me. Foods have no innate good/bad values in terms of how others see me. Those choices are up to me and only me. If I want a big cone of ice cream, others will not/should not judge whether or not that is a good decision. 

If I'm going to feel bad about my food choices, it's gonna be because ice cream happens to be purely diabolical to my digestive system. Next time that deliciously lactose-filled opportunity presents itself, I may choose to remember the bloating and HIIP (high intensity interval pooping) that followed and forego. But that call is on me. No one else gets a say.

stacey abrams

This. Lady.