Last weekend I took a video of myself using my throat chakra tuning fork (I’ve brought this product up three weeks in a row now lol) and it was sort of comedic, like in the sense that I smiled and gave a thumbs up while healing myself—a nod to my spiritual stance, which is “yes I am aware this is kooky and yes, I do believe in it”—but I stressed for hours about posting it because in the video, I wasn’t wearing a bra.
I watched the video at least fifteen times, mostly just staring at my boobs. If you looked at my boobs (instead of my tuning fork) you could tell I wasn’t wearing a bra. I imagined people I know watching the video. I imagined them observing this braless spectacle: a woman with visible nipples, holding a musical instrument tuning tool to her throat. I thought about what they would think.
My palms are actually sweating as I type this lmfao. I have a weird relationship with sex.
I closed my phone, panic rising in my body. I approached Peter with a very worried look upon my face, sending them into their own panic. I opened the video back up and thrust it in their face.
I said, “Should I post this??” Peter watched the video and laughed a little (nice), then said, “Yeah! I like it!”
I felt that he did not understand the problem. “But I’m not wearing a bra, and I think you can, like…tell.”
Peter acted flummoxed, I think as a generosity—an exaggerated showing of how not-worried about this I should be. But of course they knew why I was concerned about this, as they are intimately familiar with my Weird Sex Stuff.
“What are you worried about?” Peter asked.
I thought for a moment and said, “I guess I’m worried that people will…notice.”
“Okay,” he went on. “And if they notice, you’re afraid they’ll…what?”
This one took me a sec. If people notice I’m not wearing a bra, they will…think I’m a whore??? I batted this thought away immediately—anyone who earnestly uses the word “whore” as an insult is like, very obviously not someone whose opinion is worth caring about. If people notice I’m not wearing a bra, they will….think I’m a slut??? Okay same thing as before. Can you tell I was born in the early 90s? If people notice I’m not wearing a bra, they will—and then, I landed on it, or as close to “it” as my brain can get. They will think I’m “inappropriate.”
Truthfully, the fear I have of being seen as a woman with a body transcends language. It’s a feeling, one that I worry is unquenchable. It feels so deeply engrained in me on a cellular level, that I worry it’s in the very fabric of my DNA. It’s a product of an entire lifetime of messaging I’ve received, which is a product of an entire lifetime of messaging my mom received, and probably her mom before her. Yes, we were all raised Catholic.
I appreciate Peter for many reasons (get yourself a partner who will feed you fill-in-the-blank questions in an effort to explore your sexual trauma <3), and that day I appreciated the way they encouraged me to pause and consider what I was actually afraid of.
What does it mean to be inappropriate? Who gets to decide what that means? The terms and conditions of Instagram.com?? This video was well-within those bounds! The Catholic church? They’re not following me on Instagram. Who was I actually afraid would find me inappropriate? The answer, when I honestly dig deep, is “the adults.” The adults!! Like I’m not 33. My mind is thinking of the older people that follow me on Instagram, like friends’ moms etc. But like why am I living my life to please my friends’ moms?? I think also of the people who follow me who are religious and traditional. They’d think this was inappropriate. But am I living my life for them, either?
When I break this down, when I hold the extreme physiological stress response related to presenting myself as a woman with a body against the cognitive fear that “people will think I’m inappropriate,” I’m like…that’s so dumb. Like, with love, that is so fucking dumb. I am so sick of defining my actions by my fears, especially the fears that don’t even reflect what I actually believe.
The other day I stumbled upon this writer’s Instagram that was full of pictures of her half-naked—topless with band-aids over her nipples, ass shots of her wearing a thong and bunny ears. She has a novel coming out with FSG next year. I was so fucking jealous looking at her profile. We don’t have the same vibe, like she’s doing a hot-girl thing I truly could only imagine lol, but I wasn’t jealous of her vibe. I was jealous of her inappropriateness. This is parasocial bc idfk what she’d think of me, but I imagine she would struggle to even comprehend this post I’m writing. Like “appropriate vs inappropriate” does not seem to be of concern or even worth questioning for her. It is beside the point—the “point” being her self-expression.
I want to value my self-expression over anyone’s opinion. I want to refuse to live my life for other people’s approval. I also want to stop seeing my body as “bad.” Why does the visible existence of breasts on my body have to be judged on a continuum of appropriate vs inappropriate? I know this is fucking feminism 101, I know I’m not saying anything groundbreaking. But it feels groundbreaking to me, to inch toward defiance of all of the things I’ve been told about my body, the purity of it, the dangers of “tempting” others with it, the inherent “badness” in sexuality and pleasure.
The video of me, braless with a tuning fork, could have easily been deleted or left to languish in my icloud. But before I even asked Peter if I should post it, I knew I would. I knew it because I had to. There’s a difference between feeling scared of something because it genuinely crosses your own boundaries and feeling scared of something because it is out of your comfort zone but aligned with your values. My values, at this point in life, include taking more small risks to change the chemistry of my brain. I don’t want to be so afraid anymore.
I posted the video and a few people responded. They commented on the tuning fork, the thing the video was actually about. Not the boobs. Because people are normal. And if they thought about the boobs, no one said anything. They existed somewhere in the world with a thought about me and my boobs (much like you are right now <333) and the earth did not stop spinning. God didn’t smite me.
Everything was totally and completely fine.
LPB RECOMMENDS:
I just want to make sure you all know about wordhippo.com, which is in an open tab every time I write anything (sometimes even text massages! I’m insane!). It’s kind of a thesaurus but it spits out synonyms along with words that aren’t quite synonyms, but are like spiritually adjacent to the word you’re looking for. It’s so helpful.
+Writing: I am so fucking locked in to this manuscriptttttttt I think I’m starting to annoy people. The work is coalescing. I look forward to writing. I feel like I could write for the whole day or night but then life stops me, which is ok. I trust that I’ll get back to it. I dream about my characters. In conversation I hear random words and think, THAT’S the word I was looking for the other day, then I jot it down in my notes app to add to my draft later. I stare at people’s faces too long because I’m trying to clock their details, different features I could steal and use to describe passing characters. I have ideas for what my protagonist will do next and then I think, “but would she actually do that?” because I’m starting to get to know her in a new way. I’m having so much fun. I’m crushing hard on this stupid boy I’m writing. He’s so stupid and I love him. I am actively processing questions of sexuality and gender, major themes in the book. It’s translating to my real life, it’s making me better.
current word count is 50,127 LFGGGGG!!
It's not every day an email lands in your inbox called "weird sex stuff", so obviously I had to click it. God, how did a story about a braless throat chakra tuning forks get me all in my feels man. It took me an extra 30 minutes to get dressed yesterday because my Old Navy midi dress had me feeling like a tramp. As we all know, Old Navy is known for their slutty get ups so you can just imagine what the dress was like. Over here popping a tank top underneath it for ~modesty~ so nobody confuses the historic house I was visiting with a brothel. Why are we like this!?
I love this! also fuck what other people think, more than half dont even like themselves. also free the nips, please! i was born in 1989, and raised catholic and after i got fired from Victoria Secret in 2017, I havent worn a bra since and its been amazing!