#pap smear today for the first time and it hurt a lot and i hated it

[gales-boyfriend]

tmi stuff but i dont have anyone to talk to and i feel really sad and keep crying sorry

[avengerscompound]

The Surrogate - Chapter 8

The Surrogate:  A Clintasha Fanfic

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Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Word Count:  1789

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Pregnancy, talk of miscarriage, medical proceedures

Synopsis: A freak end of the world incident leads to meeting your two best friends, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.  While your friendship with the two Avengers is anything but conventional, they are your all-time favorite people.  When you find out that Clint and Natasha want to start a family but have exhausted all their options, you realize your powerset might allow you to give them what they want.  Having your best friends’ baby might seem like a good idea on paper, but when you are as close as you, Clint, and Natasha are, will doing something so intimate mean feelings get a little mixed up?

Chapter 8

Everyone had told you there was nothing to worry about.  The embryo implantation was one of the easiest parts of the whole surrogacy process.  No harder than a pap smear and there was nothing you needed to really worry about doing differently.  You just had to wait and see if it worked.  Yet, as you say in the chair with your feet in stirrups and the doctor crouched between your legs you were filled with intense anxiety.

It was strange really.  Natasha seemed to have deployed the self-preservation technique of expecting the worst so she wouldn't be hurt when the worst happened. She'd gone in to have her eggs harvested saying there probably wouldn't be any.  When she was told they were happy with the number they harvested, she decided that none would become viable embryos and when she was told they had at least five good looking embryos to implant, she decided that none of the three they were using would take.  You assumed that if they did take she'd start saying there would be a miscarriage just to prepare herself for the potentially bad news.

Clint on the other hand seemed to be cheerily optimistic about it. You weren't sure if that was just his way of trying to balance Natasha out.  He had his moments where he was so sure it was going to work that he'd start freaking out about the idea of being anyone's dad that seemed genuine.  Otherwise, it did just seem like he was trying to get Natasha's head out of the dark cloud that was surrounding her.

You knew it was going to work.  It had to.  Everything made sense and this was going to happen and they were going to be parents and you were going to give that to them.  You knew it was the truth, right down to your core.  Yet, as you sat in the chair as vulnerable as you’ve ever been, you couldn’t help but think; what if you were wrong?

You clung to Natasha’s hand and she held it close to her chest as Clint stood with his arm wrapped around her waist, his eyes darting everywhere like he was trying not to look directly at your vag on display, as if he hadn’t been all up in it before.

“Okay,” the doctor said, pulling the catheter and then speculum out.  “All done.  You can get redressed.  You don’t have to do anything special today.  Take it easy but you shouldn’t just go home and get into bed. Get up.  Walk around.  Watch TV.  Use the bathroom if you need to.  Just no vigorous exercise.”

“Are you sure?  There’s nothing we can do to increase the odds?”  Clint asked.

She shook her head as she began to clean up.  “Now it’s just a waiting game.  But you’ll be back in two days for a blood test and we’ll know if it worked, so this stress of the unknown you’re all feeling will be over soon and you can hopefully have the stress of preparing for a baby instead.”

Clint laughed. “Yeah, that’s much better, isn’t it, Nat?”

Natasha forced a smile and you got up.  “Make an appointment for two weeks for a blood test and when we know the result we’ll work out what appointment to make next.”

“Will, do,”  Clint said.  “Thanks, doc.”

I went and redressed and met Clint and Natasha out in the waiting room.  “Alright?”  Clint said.

“Yep,” you agreed.

“We made an appointment for two weeks,” Natasha said.  The way she spoke was stiff and forced.  Almost as if she was afraid that saying too much would cause the embryos to fail their implantation.

“Great,” you said, with a nod.

Clint slung his arm around your shoulders and pulled Natasha close.  “Can I tell you both a secret?”  He whispered conspiratorially as the three of you headed out to the hospital parking lot.

“What is it?” You asked.

“I hate being the together one,” he said.  “Come on you two, let’s try not to think about it, and in two days we’ll know right?”

You nodded.  “I just… I know this is going to work.  This is what I do.  But if I’m wrong, I don’t want to hurt either of you.”

“Oh, babe,” Clint sighed.

Natasha stopped walking and stepped in front of you, she looked directly into your eyes.  The green of eyes seemed to pierce right into you.  “If this doesn’t work, it’s not your fault.  I’m not going to pretend it won’t hurt, because it will.  But I will always be grateful that you even gave it a go.  This is our only chance to have kids, and the fact you were willing to give it to us, however small it is, is the greatest gift anyone has ever given to me.”

By the time she had finished talking you were weeping.  She pulled you into her arms and you buried your face in her neck.  You felt an overwhelming urge to tell her you loved her but the fact you didn’t even know what that meant right now made you hold it back.  Maybe it was just that you loved her because she was your best friend, but the more time you spent with her and Clint the more you felt it wasn’t just friends.

“Alright,” Clint said, rubbing both of your backs.  “Let’s get easy-bake back home, we’ve got doctor's orders sloth happening.  We don’t want to waste it.”

You spent the next couple of days taking it easy.  You had taken the week off because of the doctor’s appointments taking up so much time.  So you just caught up with tv shows and ate food that was probably very bad for you.

Two days later Clint and Natasha took you in for the blood test, and then you just went back to work as usual.  Not that there was a lot going on.  There were a few agents out in deep cover and Steve and Tony had some appearances to make.  So for you, it was just honing your skills.

You were on the firing ranging trying to improve your accuracy with a handgun when you felt your phone vibrate.  You flicked the safety on your gun and holstered it before answering.  Unfortunately, the room was still full of the sound of gunfire and it wasn't until you got into the armory that you could hear the other person on the line.

“Shit, sorry,” you apologized.  “Noisy room.”

The woman on the other end told you she was from the doctor's office and confirmed it was you as you bounce nervously from foot to foot and went about the procedure for locking your weapon back up while juggling your phone.

“We have the results of your pregnancy test,” the woman said.

“Yes,” you replied.  “What…? Is it…?  Am I…?”

“The results are positive,” she said.  “Congratulations…”

The receptionist kept talking but you didn't hear anything past that point.  It was all white noise as your excitement took you over and all you could think about was putting the god damned gun away so you could tell your best friends they were going to be parents.

“Sorry,” you said, quickly.  “Sorry, what was that?”

“You were transferring your care to… Uh… The Avengers facility?” She repeated.

“Yes, right,” you said.  “In-house.”

“Okay, well we’ll forward all the records on to them.  You should have your first appointment in four weeks with an ultrasound.  Then they'll go from there.”

“Thank you,” you babbled.  “Yeah, thank you very much.  I'll go speak to them.”

“You're very welcome,” she said.  “Congratulations again.”

You disconnected the call and shoved your phone in your pocket as you hurriedly locked the gun back up and dashed out of the armory.

“FRIDAY,” you said as you sped out of the hallway and across the grounds.  “Where are Natasha and Clint?”

“Agent Barton is training behind building C with Miss Bishop,” the AI replied.  “And Agent Romanoff is in combat room three with Miss Maximoff.”

“Ah, shit,” you cursed, stopping dead in your tracks.  They were in two different directions and if you went and collected Clint before you went to get Natasha, which would be the most logical thing to do, he'd just bug you for the results the whole way.  “Tell them to come to the function room.”

You changed direction and headed to the main building.  The top floor was a function room that was primarily where parties were held and contained a full bar.  You took the elevator up and took out a bottle of champagne and hid it so it was sitting in the sink under a dish towel the foil already removed so you could easily pop the cork, and quickly poured yourself a drink that would look like a cocktail without being one using grenadine and orange juice.

You were sipping on the slightly too sweet drink when Natasha rushed into the room and stopped dead.  Her eyes darted from your face to the drink in your hand and her face fell.  Right away you regretted the ruse.  “No, no, no,” you babbled, putting the glass down.  Clint skidded into the room behind Natasha and stopped dead.

“What?  What's going on?  You got the results?”  He asked looking around the room for some clue as to whether you were pregnant or not.

“I did,” you said, quickly trying to waylay the sadness that had struck Natasha so suddenly.  “I am.  Pregnant that is.  You're going to be parents.”

“What?” Natasha said, blinking at you.  “But the drink…?”

“It's orange juice and grenadine,” you said, getting out the champagne from the sink.  “I got this out for the two of you to celebrate.”

“Oh my god!” Natasha exclaimed.  “You little… I'm gonna kill you!”

“After the baby’s born right?” You asked as she and Clint approached you.

���Immediately after,” she said, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you close.  Clint wrapped his arms around both of you and squeezed you both into a huge bearhug.

“Congratulations, guys,” you said, softly.  “You're gonna be parents.”

“Thank you,” Natasha whispered.

The three of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before slowly pulling apart.  Clint kept his hands on Natasha’s hips and you popped the cork on the champagne.  “You guys should celebrate.”

Natasha looked up into Clint’s blue eyes and smiled. “Hey, Nat,” Clint said.  “You're gonna be a mommy.”

Natasha made a soft sound and he leaned in and kissed her.  You grabbed two glasses and poured the drink.  Even though this was their moment and you planned to leave them to it, you couldn't remember ever feeling this happy before.

// NEXT

[maerenee930]

super tmi post but i really need to talk about this for a moment. i had to get a pap done today and if reading about that makes uncomfortable (which is totally understandable if it does!!) please keep scrolling! 💙

also, i swear a lot. i’m sorry in advance!

so i got a pap done today and now please keep in mind that last year was my first time ever getting one. and i’m at a different doctor now because of my insurance so i knew i would need to get one with this doctor eventually but i didn’t think it would be today. so i was barley used to it the first time i did it. the speculum was cold but my doctor then was pretty gentle putting it in even though it was uncomfortable an while it hurt because i haven’t had this done before or had anything in there like that before. it wasn’t unbearable, it was just kinda painful and mostly uncomfortable. you know? and oh. my. gosh!! this new doctor… she was not gentle at all! she pretty forcefully shoved that in and up there and wasn’t all that gentle doing the actual pap! it hurt so fucking bad and i seriously wanted to cry 😖😭 like holy fucking shit! it was so uncomfortable and really hurt me! i’m still in a little pain, tbh 😣 it happened about almost 2 hours ago but still. i feel like the pain should be barely noticeable by now, you know? also, fuck pap-smears!! i get why we have them but Jesus Fucking Christ On A God Damn Mother Fucking Cracker!! there needs to be another way that is not so uncomfortable or painful to do that test. lol

this shit is overrated and so fucking stupid!! i hate it 😅😓

[aquarianlights]

A tribute to a hero. You will be missed. 10.6.2017

PLEASE READ: This is a tribute to one of the best therapy dogs that ever lived who passed away today...

One of my all-time favourite dogs was put to sleep today. I was just informed he passed over the rainbow bridge. He was in liver failure, refused to eat anything, wouldn't climb the stairs to go sleep with his mom anymore, and wouldn't go out to play. He was still mobile and active, but........He's not...he's not here anymore....and although I am having a great day. . .I am extremely saddened by this loss. This dog was as much a part of my life as he was of his mothers. Albeit I only got to see him when I visited Virginia, he has been in my life since I was a kid. This dog was the most amazing dog and he contributed so much to this world. He was a therapy dog for patients in hospitals and he really had a wonderful gift. He knew exactly what to do. . .no one would have to tell him. Usually, the owner goes in the room with their therapy dog and tells them what to do or just monitors them while they lay with the patient or let the patient pet them along with a hospital staff member or the training instructor for the dog program there to watch. But not with Sketch. . .Sketch knew what to do without instruction. As soon as he reached a patients room, he could sense what was hurting on them. We don't know how, but he did. 

For instance, one example...a patient was in partial paralysis and could not move his left arm at all. It was dead weight. Sketch jumped up on the bed with permission, walked on the man's stomach and laid down, and began furiously licking at the man's left hand and went up his wrist and then to his forearm and back down. After a good 5-10 minutes of constant licking, no stops, the man slowly raised his left arm just a tiny bit....just enough to start slowly petting Sketch on the head...and scratching his ear a little bit...the surrounding family burst into tears as the man's paralysis was broken by Sketch. He had been partially paralyzed and fully paralyzed in his left arm for weeks. No amount of physical therapy or medication or splints/braces or time had helped. Nothing. But Sketch, knowing exactly what was wrong and what needed to be fixed, worked his magic. And that family has been sending him and his mom letters and treats ever since. 

Another example was a black man was in the hospital with such severe third-degree burns all over his body that he had received from a group of racist fucking white pieces of shit literally tying him up and taking turns spraying him with a make-shift flamethrower (aerosol can + lighter, I'm assuming). The burns had been somewhat treated by the time Sketch visited. And he was getting to a point where he could actually move a little bit. . .but he was in constant pain and would absolutely need reconstructive surgery after they finished with skin grafts. And if you don't know how painful it is to have third degree burns and to have to have the burnt flesh/anything else underneath that got burnt peeled off layer by layer with a tweezer-like metal object little by little each day, multiple times a day. . .I can't even begin to describe what it feels like. I can't even imagine it myself as I have only witnessed it and not gone through it myself. 

To give you an idea...The worst burn I've ever had was a 2nd degree and it was a small burn and that had to be peeled off, but I did not need a skin graft or reconstructive surgery because it was on my arm and it was small enough to heal on its own. I do have a small scar from it, but it's barely noticeable. But they DID have to peel that little bit of burnt flesh off of me like they would any burn victim and they had to do it in two sessions despite it being the size of a quarter, at the largest, with the same tweezer-like metal objects they used for third degree burns. Even with pain killers and numbing cream. . .that was one of the single most agonizing things I have ever been through. The pain killer they had me on was fucking fentanyl, too. A high dose of it. Which. . .is risky, yes, but burn patients definitely need it. Not the highest, but a high dose. I have only been given IV hospital-grade fent twice in my life. . .and the second time was for a severe optical migraine and it was a lower dose than this and it really fucked me up and took all the pain away. But this was a much higher dose and it started to fuck me up and the pain started to go away. . .but then she applied the numbing cream and I suddenly got this feeling of "Oh no. This is going to hurt." and sure enough, she looked at me and said "I'm sorry, but no matter what, this is going to hurt. Ready? On the count of three...I'm going to peel the first layer off." I nodded, thinking I would just bite down on my finger and bear it coz, I mean, I had the strongest pain killer available in the entire world in me at an awfully high dosage...AND there was numbing cream around and directly on the area. It couldn't be that bad, right? The second she dug in and got hold of the first layer, I let out the most blood-curdling scream I have ever screamed (other than my first and only and last ever pap smear, ofc, due to my vaginismus being so severe) and there were literally waves of sharp, electric pain coursing through my body like fucking fire followed by a wave of the coldest ice you can imagine. Ice that can burn your flesh off. That kind of cold. And then she had ripped off the first layer. . .I was in such severe pain that there were tears gushing out of my eyes uncontrollably, I could not make any sounds except gasps for oxygen, and I was shaking violently from head to foot from the adrenaline and shock I was in. I had to wait over an hour before we could do the second and final session. And that was just for a 2nd degree. A quarter-sized second degree. And, mind you, I have been a professional pain slut. I have a VERY high pain tolerance for things like this. Any sort of external pain is something that I have severely high pain tolerance for. Internal pain is what fucks me up. But, I digress. This man was covered from head (including his face...with all his hair burned off into odd, short, stubby patches) to toe. His entire body looked like an overcooked, completely burnt, piece of meat with lots of red, gooey blood-like splotches here and there. (That is what I was told.) I was also told that they had done almost the entire first layer with him over the past...I forget if it was weeks or a month. I wanna say weeks or even just one week. But they still had a LONG way to go with simply getting all of the burnt flesh/under-things off of him...in order to be able to place skin-grafts. And then when the skin-grafts were placed, they'd be able to start on reconstructive surgery. This was a long, long, long project...and he'd have to have tons of reconstructive plastic surgery for years to come to look even semi like himself again.

This man was in pure agony from a fucking brutal as hell hate crime. In Arlington, Virginia...a very diverse area. As a white person with white privelege, you think these kind of extreme versions of racism wouldn't happen in such diverse areas. . .so I was shocked. But in my ignorance, I am beginning to realize this severe of a hate crime can probably happen anywhere and everywhere. . .regardless of the diversity level. Even in a predominantly POC area. . .even if the whites are outnumbered. . .I bet it can STILL happen there, too. How sickening is that...

But Sketch came into this mans room...and could immediately sense how much agony he was in. Not only was this man in physical agony. . .but I'm sure he was suffering from emotional/psychological agony, as well. I'm sure he now has PTSD from this incident and he will live with that memory for the rest of his life and be reminded of it every time he looks in the mirror. Sketch could sense both sides of the pain. He knew somehow that he could not really lay or touch the man with how much physical pain he was in...but he still got on the bed, making sure to be careful where he put his paws, and positioned himself right by the man between his arm and his body, being careful not to touch either part. He tilted his snout towards the man's arm...and licked the air close enough to where he was SO CLOSE to touching the man's arm that he could probably feel the air pressure from the gentle licks. Sketch slowly wagged his tell and constantly stopped the licking for a moment to give the man a look and look into his eyes and just...connect with the man. And this man began to cry...such passion and love from this dog made this man cry...and realize there was still good in this world. Despite all the pain he was in and the contamination he could receive from touching the dog (strongly against medical advice), he hugged Sketch. He full on hugged Sketch. I don't know if it hurt; I'm assuming it did. But he was not crying or making any sounds of pain. He just shook and hugged Sketch and buried his face in his fur and cried. And Sketch just stayed as still as possible and licked the air close to his head so he could feel the air pressure from his licks. He wagged his tail rapidly...and leaned into the man's hug to make him feel more love... This man requested to see Sketch every time he was brought into the hospital...and he was inspired by Sketch to recover. Sketch helped him with physical therapy...Sketch was there for him when he was getting his skin grafting sessions. Sketch was always there for his patients.

And I say man....but this man was really a boy. Just...a boy who was over 18. Therefore...legally a "man" by societal standards, but...if I remember right, this "man" was only about 19 or just barely 20. Only just beginning his life...still a child...and scarred for life. Healed and given hope by this dog.

Sketch also worked for a children's ward for a while...and stayed with kids who had cancer.

And then Sketch went to schools and aided in his mother's educational programs about therapy dogs and hospital dogs. And then would allow the students to get to know him after the presentation/program/speech. Sketch did many other things, as well. He even went into juvenile detention centers to allow kids in juvie to get what they needed from a therapy dog for a while, each pre-allowed individual getting individual time with him.

He also gave his mother, Anne, hope. She is a single woman in her 60's...living alone...and retired. She is an artist. Sketch was her biggest inspiration and her best friend. Sketch allowed her to make new friends by walks and dog parks. Sketch was family. To her and many others, including me. Sketch is the only dog with poodle in him that I will ever love, as poodles are the only breed I cannot stand.

Sketch was a literal hero. He has saved so many lives. . .and given hope to people in their darkest hours. He has even assisted in nursing people who had attempted suicide back to psychological stability. He would be their rock while they were in the ICU before they were sent to the ward. He would give them hope and love and an ability to fight through the pain of whatever they were going through. He would lick them in the places they hurt the most, lick their tears, curl up on top of them and nuzzle them, wag his tail at their presence, "smile" at them, and allow them to do whatever they wanted with him. Lots of pets happened and lots of hugging. Many suicide-attempt patients actually decided they wanted to live specifically because of Sketch...and wrote letters to Anne (his mother) stating so.

He also went to Alzheimer's home and old people's homes in general and gave them love they desperately needed.

Anne received many, many, MANY letters telling her how Sketch had very literally saved someone's life. . .or helped them to see hope when there was none.

Sketch was a hero. Sketch saved so many lives and he was the best goddamn dog I have ever met. Echo and I have a very special bond that cannot even begin to compete with any other dog. . .but I knew Sketch long before Echo. . .and Sketch has actually helped me through some personal crises of my own. I was going through suicidal thoughts and self harming while I was there once. Sketch knew someone. He was downstairs and he knew. He came upstairs and pawed at the guest room door until I opened it. He absolutely refused to leave until I opened it. He jumped on the bed with me and curled up in my lap and licked my wrists where I had cut myself prior. I didn't want to give myself any aftercare. . .I wanted them to get infected so maybe I would lose my arm and that would push me over the edge to really finally do it. . .or maybe it would be such a bad infection that it would spread to my heart or lungs and actually kill me itself. And I had a bottle of pills beside me on the bed...ready to use... Sketch very literally picked up that bottle in his mouth, brought it off the bed, threw it in the small trash can in the room (which..I needed those meds so I fished them out later lol), and jumped back on the bed and continued to lick my wrist. He made me feel "Someone cares. This dog cares about me. This dog wants me to live. This dog loves me. He genuinely loves me and would be saddened if I died. He would be affected by my death. ...he would be sad if I weren't here anymore... And he is sad now because I hurt myself..." So I got up...he followed me to the bathroom...and I washed my cuts with warm soap and water, sterilized them with some antiseptic stuff that stung, put a layer of neosporin on them, and wrapped my forearm in gauze. And I continued to do so until they healed. And every time I have wanted/tried to overdose since that moment. . .the image of Sketch has popped into my head and I think to myself "...Sketch would care if I died. Echo would care if I died. I have to stay alive for them. I have to." But now he's gone.......Sketch is gone..... He was a hero to so many and affected so many lives and saved so many people... He saved /me/. And...he finally had to be put down. At the age of... over 14 years old (hes a labradoodle so this was a pretty good age for him). I'm not sure how far exactly over, but he was over 14. He would have lived longer if it were not for the liver failure. . .I don't know how he got liver failure. . .but the vet said he wasn't in any pain. And, of course, when you put a dog to sleep, you literally put them to sleep before you actually push the fatal drug in. And the fatal drug works so quickly and so gently that they do not feel it and it makes them go peacefully.

Sketch is now crossing the Rainbow Bridge.....and this is a very dark moment. I could not be anymore heartbroken by his passing.

This dog was very, very special to me and so many other people. I know none of you know Sketch. . .but please. . .regardless. . .keep him in your mind today. Or if you pray to any kind of diety/alien/higher power/yourself. . .please pray for him. Please pray and hope that a better place really exists for the pure, wonderful, kind-hearted, gentle, loving souls like Sketch.

You were such a good best friend to so many people, Sketch. Me included. You saved me. You have always been there when I needed you. And you will be missed. . .forever.

[sweetsuccesssociety]

Why We March

Today, all across the globe (literally, the GLOBE, so crazy!) over a million women, men, children, and just generally awesome people marched together to deliver a peaceful, impactful, and empowering message. The photos of the seas of hot pink pussy cat hats and creative signage are enough to get you inspired, but the feeling on the ground was electric. This was a shining example of why I truly believe that together, we can accomplish anything.

Boom.

Deciding to head down to the Women’s March today made me sit back a little and think about exactly why I wanted to be a part of this. Besides the obvious reasons – you know – equal pay, a woman’s right to her body, not standing for misogyny – the usual, I had some deep personal reasons fire me up to be a participant in this movement. Disclaimer: this post is going to veer off from the usual course and get into some pretty serious stuff that some people may find uncomfortable. I always try to be real with you guys, but this subject matter might be troubling/triggering to some – just an FYI…it’s about to get real real, y’all.

I was raised a feminist by open minded, educated, feminist parents who encouraged me to be a strong, confident, respectful woman. I was fortunate enough to be told that my voice matters, and that all human beings deserve equal human rights. Something weird happened to my sense of self in high school. Before that, I had been fearless, confident, and secure in myself and my beliefs. I allowed myself to lose my sense of self respect and self confidence, which played into a series of experiences that caused me a lot of pain, but also interestingly enough shaped the passion and purpose that drives me today.

Let me just say this: no matter what kind of state a woman is in, broken or strong or something in between, she is to be respected and it needs to be understood that no means freaking no. Looking back on many of my experiences with the opposite sex, I see how rampant misogyny and misinformation can be even with generally good humans. I also see how uninformed and confused many young women are about their value, boundaries, and fundamental rights. I know I was. I lost my virginity before I was truly ready, because I thought it made me more valuable. The beginning of my distorted sense of my own sexuality and authority over my own body began with believing that sex was what defined my value, but it expanded from there with a series of events in which ‘no’ apparently did not mean ‘HELL NO”. Before I reached 21, I was sexually assaulted. Twice. I guarantee that is not as unusual as you probably think it is. The first time was the second time I had sex, ever. I was very young, very tipsy, and very alone with someone I barely knew who I felt safe with because he was charismatic, soft spoken, and in college. Looking back, he wore a fucking fedora literally at all times, which seems like a pretty solid red flag. I’m talking even when swimming. But maybe that was cool in 2004? I specifically remember going very quickly from feeling comfortable and happy to totally freaked out. Despite the amount that I had to drink, I clearly remember saying ‘no’ firmly and repeatedly, and physically trying to pull his hands off me, even using not being on birth control and not having a condom as a bargaining chip to get him to leave me alone. He was not violent, and it honestly didn’t dawn on me that this was sexual assault because of that; he was complimenting me and telling me nice things while touching me without my permission, it didn’t feel like what I envisioned sexual assault being like. But it was, because in the end, he didn’t take no for an answer and what happened was non-consensual. The next week, I went to Planned Parenthood to get birth control and my first pap smear so I could feel more in control, but I didn’t tell anyone about what had happened until confiding in a boyfriend years later. I was afraid that I either wouldn’t be believed, or that it would be pinned on me for being drunk and putting myself in a bad situation. Honestly? Sad as it is, it probably would have. In my heart, I knew it was not okay, but I made it out to be something that didn’t bother me. News flash: being coerced into unwanted sexual activity by a twenty-two year old Kevin Federline wannabe when you’re 16 years old, in reality, a bit troubling.

The following year on a spring break trip, what began as a fun makeout session in a car outside of a party (weird, but teenagers, man) was quickly heading towards something more – even when I said specifically that I didn’t want to have sex, he pulled my skirt off, slapped on protection – always remember safety when you’re feeling rape-y!, and literally picked me up and put me on top of him. He groped my neck and breasts so aggressively (which hurt like a bitch) that I had bruises so dark I couldn’t wear a swimsuit for the rest of the trip. Yes, I could have fought him off or screamed for my friends or tried to get out of the car, but that is not always how it works. When someone doesn’t listen when you say no or makes you feel bad about yourself for denying sex, it’s often tough to take yourself out of the situation. Just because sexual assault is not a violent attack does not make it okay. Manipulation and coercion may not be outright rape, but they are not acceptable. I pretended to my friends that it had been all in fun, and we even joked about the massive black and blue handprints on my chest. Since everyone thought he was so charming and good looking (he was gorgeous, just kind of a misogynistic dickwad), I didn’t want to sound like I was complaining for getting attention from a hot guy.

Later in life, I dated many truly wonderful men (and a few not so wonderful, but that’s life). I also had a few casual hookups as an adult that I entered into confidently and with full consent, and those felt great. Don’t get me wrong – I love sex, but you know, I prefer to consent to it…call me crazy. I also continued to experience something that didn’t seem that weird to me at the time but is so weird: being pressured to have sex after clearly saying ‘no’. I had a guy I went home with after a party actually yell at me for being a ‘tease’ and I quote: “wasting his time”, when I refused to do anything more than kiss him. When I finally met the wonderful man who is now my husband, I hadn’t had sex in almost a year. I seriously believed that in order to respect myself and attract a quality guy, I had to completely swear off sex. I didn’t realize that I should have been able to say yes to sex when I wanted it, and no when I didn’t – and that my answer should be taken as firm and final. I didn’t realize that I was powerful, valuable, and allowed to be a sexual being without being taken advantage of. I didn’t realize that I was more than I gave myself credit for. This is a problem at the core of how women view themselves, and how men view women.

Listen – the me of today would have yelled a big ol’ “HELL NO” to those men that took my initial ‘no’ for a ‘maybe’, but the me of today is a different woman. The me of today is a feminist that doesn’t stand for any fuckery when it comes to fundamental human rights and I am not afraid of making a scene or raising my voice. However, that was not the case when I was younger – which is why I’m hell bent on empowering women from an early age and providing them with education, information, unwavering confidence, and a world wide support system.

I didn’t share my story for sympathy or to dwell in the past; I’m not whining or blaming anyone else. I’ve had a great life and great relationships. I think men are great, and I think women are strong. I’m happily married to a man that declares himself a proud feminist; I still love sex, I don’t hate men, and I’m not damaged – I’m actually more confident and courageous than I ever knew I could be. However I do think that as young women – and young men – we’re not empowered, informed, or supported the way that we should be. I think that misogyny is normalized, and consent is often overlooked. I think women are taught that sexuality is either a useful tool or something shameful, instead of something that should be used for mutual pleasure and under mutual consent. I think that men making decisions on women’s reproductive rights is wrong, and that placing any blame on sexual assault victims is unforgivable – I don’t care how short your skirt is or how sloppy drunk you are; the word NO means specifically that, and literally NO ONE is ever, ever asking to be raped. I think that “keep your legs closed” and “cover up” need to be taken out of our vocabulary – there is nothing wrong with choosing to express your sexuality when it comes from an empowered and confident place and it shouldn’t make you a target. I believe that misinformation when it comes to women’s rights, to rape culture, and to what the f**k Planned Parenthood actually does (hint: provide important healthcare and information for both pro-choice and pro-life women and men) is way too high for 2017. When it comes down to it, I’m actually in a weird way glad for the experiences that I’ve had, because it fuels me to be an advocate for young women. That’s why this is personal to me, and that’s why I march.

I march to help create a world where women choose what happens to their bodies and are respected.

I march to remind people that consent is not something to be argued.

I march to empower women to feel strong, equal, powerful, and valued.

I march to foster collaboration – not competition – amongst women.

I march to end ‘slut-shaming’, body shaming, and victim shaming – and let women feel ownership of their sexuality.

I march to stand up against the normalization of any ‘locker room talk’ that includes joking about sexual assault.

I march for organizations like Planned Parenthood that provide guidance, education, and vital healthcare to women (and men). This has nothing to do with abortion: Planned Parenthood allows access to crucial reproductive healthcare, birth control, counseling, and pre-natal care to many people who need it.

I march to make sure that the next generation grows up to know that they are important and valuable, and that they are wholly in charge of their bodies and what they do with them.

I march to show the world that we as women are many things. We can be sexy, assertive, proud, silly, sweet, kind, driven, talented, capable, maternal, independent, vulnerable, open….we can be so many things. But I march to get rid of the perception that women are bossy, abrasive, less-than, nasty (unless you’re embracing it, Janet Jackson style), bitchy, whiny, pathetic, less deserving, man hating, slutty, or anything less than the wonderful things that we are.

I march as a wife, a daughter, a future parent, an advocate, a lover of men, a proud feminist, a hopeful optimist, and as a human being.

Why do YOU march?

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