Sep 132016
 

A graphic of a projection screen with a pie chart.

Projection Screen With Pie Chart

We’re all normal.

let me repeat that, we’re all normal.

Our bodies are normal.

Our relationships are normal.

Our sexual desires are normal.

Our sex lives are normal.

Note: This only applies if you don’t use sex as a weapon. If you do,stop…just stop.

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Emily Nagoski is the Wellness Education Director at Smith College. During her keynote at this year’s Guelph Sexuality Conference, she shared one of her most life-changing moments teaching college students about sexuality. When she asked her students, on the end-of-year exam, so, you know, they had to answer – what one thing they learned from the course, the answers were, overwhelmingly, some flavour of “I learned that I’m normal.”

When we (and I mean we of any age, not just young people) talk to our friends, or read sexy novels, or watch movies, we see and hear conversations about sex that often just don’t resonate. We get the message, from those books and movies, that there’s one kind of sexy, and we’re not it. We worry, when we talk to friends, or see their bodies, if our desires aren’t like theirs, or our bodies don’t look like theirs. This reminds me of when I went to Cara Liebowitz’s workshop on asexuality at the Breaking silences conference and she shared how strange and isolating it felt to hear college friends talk about feeling horny, to hear the trope that all young people want sex, and to not know, on a gut level, what horny even felt like.

Another example: Most of us aren’t too interested in sex when we’re stressed, right?

Right – but most isn’t all. Apparently, studies have shown that 80% to 90% of participants reported trouble getting aroused when they were stressed out. That leaves 10%-20% of participants who got more revved up sexually when the stress piled on. Neither way is “right,” it just is – though I’m guessing it makes for lots of misunderstandings in relationships.

*

Emily wants to help people understand their own sexualities, and figure out what kind of sex (if any) they want by looking at what the science has to say.

If you’re a sex nerd like me – or, just a nerd – this is super exciting. I was on the edge of my seat, frantically taking notes, the whole time Emily was talking.

That said: Relying on the science does have limitations. As Emily pointed out, science still classifies people as either male or female, depending mostly on what they have between their legs. Yeah, there are other ways to measure that, but most of us haven’t had our chromosomes tested. And, even if we did, maleness and femaleness aren’t so clear-cut as all that. Sex and gender are way, way more complicated.

What Emily didn’t mention in her lecture was that there are other unknowns when we’re looking to science to tell us just what the heck’s going on with our sexualities and sex lives.

We’re limited by who gets researched: Is it mostly college students? Mostly nondisabled folks? Mostly people from one cultural background or another? Mostly people who are evaluated as being in “good health?”

How we experience life affects how our sexualities develop. it affects how we relate to our bodies, to other people, to the world around us. Our personal histories can affect how our bodies react, and how we react to our bodies

My biggest take-away from all the scientific research is that the results give us new ways of looking at the world, new ways of thinking about sexuality, and new ways of -possibly – understanding our own bodies.

*

The research also clears up, once and for all, a misconception that’s been around far too long!

When you’re having sex with someone, listen to what they’re telling you, not whether they’re hard, or wet, or panting, or flushed, or….

The way someone’s body reacts, doesn’t tell you whether they want to be having this sex. It’s called arousal nonconcordance and while the studies show that it happens more to participants who were categorized as women – in other words, people with vulvas and vaginas – this can happen with any person, at any time, for any reason. Yes, even people in long-term relationships can have their bodies act like they want sex, when they couldn’t be less into it. Wanting sex one day doesn’t mean wanting it the next, even if all the physical arousal signs are there.

It doesn’t help that wanting sex is usually talked about in terms of how fast someone got wet, or the fact that their penis was hard. I don’t know about you, but most novels I read take us from casual flirting to full-on arousal (and, implied, full on interest) in less than thirty seconds.

Emily read us a passage from Fifty Shades of Grey (first time i’d read any of it, and I doubt I’ll be reding more). Christian is spanking Ana, and remarks on how much he “knows” she likes it because he sees her wetness. Meanwhile, Ana’s thoughts are all about how much she doesn’t like it, and wondering why she’s doing this, and justifying to herself why this is okay.

Nope, Ana is not aroused, or having fun!

The worst part of judging whether someone wants sex by what their body is doing, rather than on what they’re telling you is when that person’s “no” or “slow down” or “I don’t want this” isn’t listened to. A friend told me recently about a mutual acquaintance who was trying to make out with her. He stopped when she asked him to, but he couldn’t resist observing that her nipple had gotten hard, as if that was some kind of hard evidence (no pun intended – really!) that she enjoyed the contact even if she said she didn’t want it.

Then there are the people who don’t stop. It’s way too common (and makes my stomach turn! – No, scratch that: Fills me with rage!) that sexual abusers will insist that their victims must have liked it, because they got wet, or had an orgasm, or moved their hips, or whatever lie seems to fit best and work to manipulate or discredit the “I didn’t ask for or agree to that.” Little do they know: Science is not on their side.

If the mind is saying no, we listen to that, however someone communicates that to us. period.

Here’s a Youtube video on arousal nonconcordance (fully captioned).

*

The second most pivotal thing I learnd was this:
Scientifically, sex is not a drive; we don’t need sex to survive, the way we need food, or water, or sleep, or enough sodium (salt).

No one ever died or got injured for lack of sex.

So, what we call a “sex drive,” that feeling that makes us want to get our sexy on? That’s actually called a sexual incentive motivation system. That doesn’t roll off the tongue so well, but there you have it. It’s totally fine if we want to keep calling it a drive, as long as we understand the differences.

A drive is for something we need to have to survive – like I said above: water, sleep, food, certain minerals from food.

An incentive motivation system is an external thing, external attraction, that pulls you into it and compels you to explore. Think of it like being intensely curious about something where you start reading everything you can on it, talking about it all the time, living it day in and day out, versus being dry-throated, fuzzy-mouthed “dying of thirst” thirsty.

According to Emily, when we say we have a high sex drive, we’re basically saying that we have a high curiosity for sex, a strong pull to explore sex or feel sexual sensations.

I have this in my notes, which I really love: Your partner, or a sexual act, is a source of wonder, exploration, curiosity – hot curiosity.

Takeaways:

  • We do not need sex to survive.
  • Sexual frustration will not kill you.

Sexual frustration will not kill you.

I repeat: sexual frustration, lack of sex, unsatisfying sex, not having a sexual partner – won’t kill you. It won’t even make you sick.

*

The title of this presentation was “Pleasure is the Measure.”

when we shed the things we think we’re supposed to do, or feel, or think, about sexuality, we’re left with what we want.

It doesn’t matter who you have sex with, or how, or why, or where (as long as you’re obeying local laws), or even if you’re having sex at all.

What matters is that it’s what you want to be doing.

It’s not just sexytimes and orgasms that make the plesure happen; it’s feeling safe, happy, secure, not doing things you don’t want to do, knowing what you do want to do.

Further Reading

Come As You Are

The dirty Normal

A sexually accurate romance novel “How Not To Fall”

Aug 252016
 

When was the last time you felt comfortable asking about your sexual health, or mentioning your sexual relationship, at the doctor’s office?

Sexuality is always a potential part of healthcare – we don’t usually leave our feelings, our relationships, our reproductive choices or experiences, and all the other pieces that can be part of our sexualities at home when we go for a doctor’s appointment, or wind up in the hospital, or talk to a social worker, or spend the day at the lab getting poked with needles or having pictures taken of our innards. Unless they specifically provide sexual healthcare, most of these people and places don’t include our sexualities in our healthcare discussions or plans. This isn’t going to work longterm for most of us; Most people identify themselves as being sexual or having a sexuality, and most of us are going to need to see the doctor or have medical tests at some point in our lives.

Last month I wrote about all the fantastic stuff I learned at the session on sex, sexuality, and relationships for neurodiverse folks at the Guelph Sexuality Conference.

Today our topic is Health Care’s Erasure of Sexual Pleasure.

Natalie Rose and Sophie Delancey, the workshop presenters, focussed on the experience of people with chronic illness or disability, but they pointed out that people receiving routine or preventive healthcare are just as much a part of the system, and just as much in need of improved care around their sexualities. They were also quick to point out that criticizing the failure of healthcare to address sexuality isn’t an indictment of individual providers; it’s a criticism of the system that trains providers and sets policies.

This workshop was packed! They had to bring in more chairs. People want to learn this stuff.

*

Natalie Roseand Sophie Delancey make a dynamic duo for presenting on sex and disability. Natalie was trained as an occupational therapist and has a spouse with physical disabilities; Sophie has worked in sexuality-related jobs since graduating from university and has recently become disabled. They’re also both super-vibrant and enthusiastic. They know their topic, and they love it.

One thing I really appreciated was that they both shared personal experiences and observations. Sophie’s role wasn’t just to be the disabled person telling her story and Natalie’s role wasn’t just as the rehab professional telling us about the research (or, in this case, the lack of research).

For example: At one point Sophie was telling a story about her time in the hospital after her strokes, about not being able to get the right words from her brain to her mouth to communicate that she felt crowded by having so many people around her while she was using a bedpan. Sophie pointed out that policies should address patient privacy, especially because many patients can’t speak, or can’t find the right words, or feel too stressed or intimidated to speak. She talked about how the rush-rush-rush of being cared for in a hospital or rehabilitation centre can feel invasive, and that it can feel dehumanizing, even with the best intentions, to not have the privacy around the most intimate parts of our lives (everything from using the toilet to sneaking a smooch with a partner) that most of us take for granted.

*

Telling stories about our lives and experiences is crucial to developing empathy, to highlighting diverse experiences, to making sure people know they’re not alone. But if we don’t center that in something bigger – and that something doesn’t have to be a footnoted, bibliography’d academic paper – we’ll all be sitting their telling our stories without gaining insight, building tools, or developing the power to make transformative change. The people we really want to reach – the policy makers, healthcare providers, social service workers, support workers – are going to walk away and go back to doing their jobs if we continue to simply tell stories without making targetted, applicable recommendations for change.

I’d like to just dismantle the system, but we usually can’t do that, so we need to give folks the tools to make their systems better – to do their jobs better. Like I said, the room was packed during this workshop, and I’d like to think that healthcare providers left with approaches to make their practices more inclusive of sexuality, more accepting of disability, even if they can’t directly impact the policies that se patients and clients as little more than the specific health problem or life crisis they come in with.

Making sex okay to talk about.

Our medical system is based on facts, biological happenings that can be observed and explained. For example: Unless healthcare providers find a reason for a patient’s pain, that pain is often dismissed or belittled. Patients’ Reports of pain often aren’t included, or described in detail, on medical charts. if a physical reason for the pain isn’t found, it’s assume to not exist, an the impact of the experience of pain on personal identity, relationships, daily activities isn’t explored or addressed.

Biologically provable facts are just a part of how most of us experience sexuality. Healthcare providers who want facts don’t know what to do with identities, experiences, feelings – and they’re not trained to know what to do with any of that. They’ll look for research on sex, and, mostly, find statistics on birth control methods, sexually transmitted infection risk, and sexual abuse prevention. These are absolutely important, but, noep, not the whole picture by a longshot. Another part of the picture? Most Medical students aren’t getting the training they know they need to be able to address patients’ sexual concerns.

When people don’t get this training, when there isn’t solid research, people tend to substitute their own opinions, especially around things as loaded as sexuality is for most of us. Or, they just avoid the topic as much as they can.

It’s hard for patients to get their needs met in a fast-paced, overworked, undervalued healthcare system as it is. If that need has anything to do with sexuality, most people are going to feel super-inhibited. Sophie’s biosays she had worked in the adult industry for five years before her strokes. With all that experience talking about sex, she still felt intimidated at the idea of mentioning her concerns about her sexual function to her healthcare providers. She didn’t want to alienate people who were addressing all the other needs she had after a sudden and life-threatening medical crisis. She didn’t know the parameters for what was okay to talk about. If no one mentioned sex and sexuality, she sure wasn’t going to rock the boat by mentioning it herself.

When providers don’t ask about sex and sexuality, the message is sent that it’s not an important part of health and healthcare.

patients don’t know if they’re allowed to talk about sex;
providers are often the people in power, even if they don’t see themselves that way, and it’s ultimately going to be up to them to open the conversation.

Not that that’s necessarily going to mean (or that we want it to mean) your primary care doctor saying: “So, how about that sex life.”

*

Some providers don’t like to bring up sex and sexuality first because they think doing so would conflict with their client-centered approach – therapy or treatment is client-directed, so if clients don’t bring up sex (or any other topic), the provider doesn’t ask.

Culturally, we have really strong taboos against mentioning sexual things in nonromantic settings – and even in romantic settings lots of people have trouble expressing themselves around sexuality, but that’s a story for another day – and many people have experienced doctors or other providers shutting down questions about sexual fears or problems. We’re at a point where healthcare providers are going to have to step up and be key players in changing the conversation.

Some of the ways Sophie and Natalie suggested showing that sex and sexuality are acceptable topics:

  • ON intake forms, include questions about sexuality, including whether the patient has any sexual concerns they’d like to discuss. If you think about it, we’re asked about all kinds of socially uncomfortable topics on forms and at appointments – poop, food choices, weight, menstrual cycles, you name it. We’re always allowed to not answer if the question makes us feel too vulnerable.
  • In intake and discharge processes: Include resources for sex and sexuality information, especially information related to disability or illness, in any packets of material provided to the patient. I need to add here that this packet should always be provided in a format the patient can read (This doesn’t usually happen; printed paper is the default. At the very least, someone from the medical ofice or facility needs to go through the packet with the patient so that they know exactly what’s in there.
  • When making a treatment plan. Occupational and physiotherapists, especially, work with patients to decide on the goals and direction for the treatment plan. They can include sexual or romantic activities in the examples they give to help their clients develop that list of goals. And no, I’m not suggesting that the therapy should involve sexual activity. There are plenty of non-sexual ways to meet physical goals for sexual and romantic activities. For example: Natalie mentioned that getting into and out of, and figuring out supports for the reclining bound angle yoga pose as a great nonsexual way to experiment with sexual intercourse positions where the person receiving would be lying on their back.
  • At the office, hospital, or rehabilitation (or log-term care) facility: Make this a sexually inclusive environment. Include sexual healthcare and relationship health pamphlets or posters available in the waiting area, and in exam and consultation rooms.
  • And, I really liked this one for providers: Wear a button saying something like “You can talk to me about sex.” As a silent reminder that sex and sexuality are accepted in that space. I should add: If the client or patient can’t read, or can’t see, they should be told about this, in the same sort of calm, “Oh by the way” tone you’d use to tell someone there’s bottled water available if they’d like some.
  • To all providers: If you don’t have sex an sexuality training, you can still talk to your patients about it. You can listen (that’s therapeutic in itself) and know who to refer them to.

There’s so much fear that goes into being sick, especially if it’s a sudden helth crisis, that, in my book, anything that will help patients feel better, feel more in control of their lives, have more pleasure, is a good thing.

Natalie told us about one woman she heard about, who, one year after her stroke went to her doctor for a follow-up, and asked when she was allowed to have sex again. He was, apparently, surprised, and told her she could have had sex any time that previous year. There that woman was, afraid that the sex she wanted would hurt her, and too afraid or shy to ask sooner.

Not that lack of sex ever injured or killed anyone, but all pleasure is precious, and no one should have to worry needlessly like that.

Dec 042015
 

We need to talk about the fact that Kylie Jenner, a conventionally beautiful able-bodied woman who fits societal standards of beauty in almost every way is allowed to be sexy and edgy in a wheelchair, when that reality is so often denied to many wheelchair using women. We need to talk about the fact that disabled people, real disabled people, are still largely missing in media representation, especially media representation around beauty and sexuality.

–Karin Hitselberger: Why We Need to Talk about Kylie Jenner

When I first heard about Kylie Jenner’s wheelchair enabled photo shoot, I wondered: why a wheelchair? Why not a toilet, or adult-sized infant car seat, or a Victorian fainting couch.

Any of those could have helped her show how disempowered and imprisoned she feels by the media, and the first two would have given her plenty of options for the sexualized edginess she, or at least her photographers, were going for.

Instead, she chose a wheelchair, and BDSM gear, neither of which mean what she or the photographer thinks they mean.

So much has already been said about the choice to use a wheelchair in this shoot. I’ve stayed quiet all this week, because as someone who doesn’t use a wheelchair, this isn’t my conversation to have. but I wanted to pull this all together and look at it through a broader sexuality and disability lens.

let’s start with the BDSM gear.

Kylie wants to explore her identity. Lots of people use bondage gear, and BDSM gear in general, to explore who they are. Lots more use it to express who they are.

My collar is my mirror. It’s my wellness check. It’s my sense of freedom because it’s my sense of stability. It represents to me the journey I made through myself and my partner to earn my collar; The hard work and self-exploration and acceptance I had to go through to get it. When my partner takes me by my collar or cuffs me, or in any way binds me, it’s a reminder that I am face to face with myself in this life, and I’d better be the person I want to see close-up in those moments when I can’t break free. (Well, i could, but safe words aside, assuming they’re not part of this.)

I get bound for the kink, but within the kink, for me, is a much deeper place where I can feel safe and comfortable with who I am. Beyond that, my collar is my safety, reminding me I’m not taking on the world alone.

— Written by a friend (who is disabled, but isn’t a wheelchair user) when I asked about what the gear means in her BDSM relationship.

That’s not exactly imprisonment…and it’s not self-reinvention either. Sure, for some people, bondage gear is about putting on a costume, about becoming someone else, about doing something edgy and contrary, about reinventing oneself, even just for a little bit, but for most people, whether they’re dominant or submissive, BDSM gear is about expressing themselves more fully, not hiding from who they are.

Kylie was going for sexy. That’s usually what bare skin, corsets, and other fetish wear means.

Problem is, visibly disabled people (including folks in wheelchairs) aren’t read as passively sexual. Instead, we’re frequently read as nonsexual, as unlikely candidates for a sexual or romantic relationship. Or, we’re seen as sexually desirable because of our disabilities, which is a good thing, or a bad thing depending on who you talk to. Hint: Being transparent about finding disability attractive and sexy is good. Only being attracted to someone because they’re disabled (that is, not seeing them as a whole person) is not-so-good, unless the person is cool with it.

Either way, the sexuality of people with any type of disability isn’t automatically passive. People with disabilities have a full range of sexualities and sexual feelings, from not experiencing sexual desire or attraction (asexuality), to being submissive (not passive) in their sexual play, to desiring a traditional heterosexual relationship, to… pretty much anything anyone could imagine. It’s almost always the beliefs of others, not disability, that limit disabled people’s sexualities.

Now, the wheelchair.

Yes, wheelchairs do signify public scrutiny.

We’re told, by a representative from the magazine that the photo shoot “aims to unpack Kylie’s status as both engineer of her image and object of attention.”

most disabled folks don’t get to engineer whether they’re objects of attention or not.

Emily Ladau tells us just exactly what that scrutiny looks and feels like for her:

As a visibly disabled woman, I never have the option to choose if I want to put myself on display. People stare at me, often directly and unabashedly, because my wheelchair demands attention. I’m not sitting to make a cultural statement, though. I’m sitting because it’s my reality.

A nondisabled person using a wheelchair in a symbolic way is treading a fine line between accuracy and appropriation because she’s dictating what the wheelchair means. yet the wheelchair can have no real meaning for her since she simply sits in it for the photo shoot, then gets up and walks away.

For someone who needs a wheelchair, it doesn’t – can’t – just mean one thing.

Wheelchair users need their chairs for diferent purposes. Some folks only use a wheelchair when they leave their house; others can’t get out of bed without one. What someone needs their chair for, how long they’ve had to use one, why they had to start using a chair in the first place – all these things are going to afect how someone feels about their chair, and what symbolic meaning it has.

Disability rights advocate and sexologist Bethany Stevens posted on her Facebook page: “Disability can be very glamorous, wheels can be wings with bling.” Activist Ophelia Brown doesn’t think that way about her chair; she says that her wheelchair isn’t a fashion accessory.

But, Ophelia does agree thather wheelchair is her wings.

Bethany and Ophelia are both crystal clear; their wheelchairs are what make it possible to do what they do, to live the way they want to live. Their wheelchairs are freedom, not prison.

It’s great that Kylie loves to experiment with her looks. A person with a visible disability can change their looks all they want to, it’s still most often the disability, or the assistive device, that people will notice first, or pay most attention to.

S.E. Smith points out that the whole photo shoot would have read very differently if it had been done with a disabled model, and could have made a “powerful statement” challenging the idea that women are there to be watched, that disability equals vulnerability, that a woman can only express sexiness by making herself appear passive, or at least for what passes as passive in the public imagination.

If I’m told I’m attractive, it’s often said that I’m “attractive for a girl in a wheelchair.” But Jenner is considered sexy, full stop, because people know the wheelchair is only pretend.

— Emily Ladau: Dear Kylie Jenner, My Wheelchair Isn’t a Prop: Stop Playing Dress-up Games With My Reality

If Kylie Jenner really wanted to explore the way mass media represents her, she could have started by challenging that representation. What better way to explore feeling powerless than to express power? Instead, the photo shoot put her in a traditional feminine role (revealing outfit, serving drinks).

If Kylie Jenner really wanted to explore her powerlessness in the face of media sscrutiny, she could have started by exploring her sexual agency. She’s a young, conventionally attractive white woman. She’d have plenty of tropes and symbols to draw on for a photo shoot expressing how confined and controlled she feels without appropriating other symbols and totally missing the mark on what they mean.

Here’s a photo shoot with a disabled woman, a wheelchair user, exploring all parts of her life, including her sexuality.

Aug 142015
 

This week’s film gives us a fresh way to look at sex.

A sexual “jam” is for everyone. It’s a way of looking at sex and sexuality that makes room for different bodies and minds, as well as different desires, needs, and preferences.

Karen B.K. Chan proposes that we look at having sex as like going to a musical jam, or improvisation session. If you’ve never been to a music jam, they’re events where musicians, who may or may not know each other, get together to play music. A jam is usually focussed around a specific kind of music (Celtic or jazz, for example) but people there will usually have all diferent musical backgrounds and levels of experience.

B.K. Says: “The point of jamming is to find out what happens and enjoy the process of getting there.”

That’s also the main recipe for having enjoyable sex.

I personally think this video is brilliant

Even better, there are English and French subtitles to make this important work accessible to even more people.

Enjoy, and here are a few favourite quotes to get you started:

  • “When we jam sexually, we’re not on opposite sides. Instead we’re collaborators.”
  • “Musical jamming can only happen when everyone involved is into it; it can’t be forced – and it’s the same with sex.”
  • “Pleasure is a renewable resource. Just like in music, pleasure is not better when it’s rare.”
  • “Our partner’s yes {to sex} isn’t just a technicality.”
  • “Imagine sex as a lifetime of jam sessions – some good, some not so good, all process, all plesurable, all collaborative.”

Jul 312015
 

Welcome to the Ready, Sexy, Able news round-up for July.

This month we have news and opinions from all over the world, about everything from sexual health rights for disabled people to the changes that can happen in a relationship after disability.

I have also included some sex education articles that aren’t disability-specific, as well as a section for general disability rights pieces.

Sexuality and Disability

Sex and disability: breaking the taboo

Asking questions about sex that disabled women are often afraid to pose

People with intellectual disabilities demand sexual rights

Address Sexual, Reproductive Health Needs of Young PWDs

My Husband Had to Learn Sex Again, and I Had to Become One Tenacious Bitch is an excerpt from Wondering Who You Are: A Memoir> published earlier this year and available in print, e-book, and audio.

New Sex Ed Program Created for “Special Education” Students

ACSEXE+: Talking disability and sexuality in Montreal (audio podcast, no transcript)

“A woman with a disability gets real about dating and sex. She’s funny and honest

I’m in a wheelchair, I’m queer and I’m still a real man.

Paralyzed Woman Poses In Lingerie To Prove Disabilities Don’t Limit Sexuality
The Public Reacts to the “Paralyzed Bride” taking off her clothes in the #Whatmakesmesexy shoot

This review of Loneliness and Its Opposite: Sex, Disability, and the Ethics of Engagement, available in both print and e-book, suggests that this research on the sexual lives of disabled people living in sweden and Denmark is valuable, but that at over 300 pages,and filled with theory and analysis, this book won’t be accessible to everyone who could benefit from reading it.

Sex Ed

From Scarleteen, a sex and relationships education site for young people, comes advice on sexual communication and how to deal with feelings of sexual shame.

From sex educator Cory Silverberg: An article asking Is There Such a Thing As Good Enough Sex?

and Sex Is a Funny Word, a sex ed book for 8 to 10 year olds available in print and e-book.

Disability Rights

We Need to Change the Game of How We Talk About Intellectual Disability

Why Person-First Language Doesn’t Always Put the Person First

Jul 062015
 

I wrote the following post in March 2014, after attending Mara Levy‘s talk, Problem-Solving Sex with Disability at the Catalyst Conference.

Mara Levy is an Occupational Therapist (OT) in Washington DC. Occupational therapists help people who’ve experienced injury or illness to return to activities that are meaningful to them—activities like walking, driving, working, crafting, and the like.
Mara includes sexual expression and sex in her definition of meaningful activities. This may be a “well duh!” idea to many readers here, but there’s this belief out there that people with disabilities have more important things to worry about than being sexual, and that sex just isn’t relevant once someone becomes disabled. (Not true!) it doesn’t help that many medical and rehabilitation providers don’t address sexual issues, concerns, or changes with their clients, and you can have people really not sure where to go with meeting the sex and sexuality needs that don’t go away after illness or injury.

There are a lot of negative, or just plain silly, responses to disabled people and sexuality.

Here’s what Mara says nondisabled people need to do about that:

  • listen
  • rid themselves of paternalistic attitudes (thinking of disabled people as childlike or helpless)
  • Avoid jumping in to help or change something unless they are asked to
  • remember what is and isn’t their business (hint from me: If you wouldn’t ask an apparently nondisabled person on the street about their sex life, don’t ask a disabled person)
  • respect boundaries

And, Mara added, nondisabled people need to do this processing and awareness building on their own time.
A disabled person’s sexuality is no one’s business unless they ask you for help working on sexual issues, or unless they want to have sex with you (and you want to have sex with them).

People also need to question the all-too-common assumption that a visibly nondisabled person seen with a visibly disabled person must be the caregiver or helper. This gets old—really fast—especially if the people in question are actually lovers.

Speaking of partners, Mara made what I thought was a really important point about consent. It’s not just the person with disability who needs to consent, but their partner. For some disabled folks, most physical activities have some level of pain or discomfort attached to them. A partner may not be able to consent to something they know hurts their partner, no matter how much they’re told that it’s okay, and that this sexual activity is wanted. For people with chronic or episodic (occasional, brought on by specific factors like weather, certain activities, etc) pain, this may well be part of the sexual negotiation.

Because people are often sent the message that talking about sex and sexuality isn’t okay—and this is doubly true for people with disabilities—Mara emphasizes that it’s important for medical and rehabilitation providers to give their clients or patients explicit permission to talk about sex and sexuality. Even if that’s not their area of interest or specialty, even if they don’t have all the answers (people who do specialize in sex and sexuality rarely have all the answers), just listening can be powerful, and starting the problem-solving process can lead to patients and clients getting what they need and want from their sexual lives.

There are a lot of barriers to people with disabilities experiencing their sexualities, such as:

  • Physical and psychological pain or discomfort.
  • Societal attitudes about what “real” sex is, about who is sexy and attractive, even about who is allowed to live. (Hint from me: Disabled people are often told, by strangers and friends alike, that a nondisabled person would “just die” if they had such-and-such a disability.)
  • Paternalistic or inspirational attitudes. It’s a strange either-or in which people with disabilities are either seen as childlike—in need of help or guidance—or are seen as amazing, imbued with super powers. Sometimes, disabled people are subjects of inspiration porn, which isn’t at all sexy!

Mara proposes using the same model she uses to work with clients around their activities of daily living—I just had to throw some rehab speak in there—to helping people solve sexual problems or simply to reach their sexual goals.

This model has us looking at the person, at the environment, and at the situation. For each one, we figure out what needs to and can be fixed, what can be compensated for, and even what may traditionally be seen as a problem but which can actually be an asset.

What does the person bring? Not just their disability, but their hopes, their desires, their beliefs about sex (and what they know about sex). The environment may or may not be accessible to this particular person. What’s the situation? What’s the person trying to do? Does the available environment make the situation possible? (If the person wants to have intercourse with someone, but needs (maybe for pain or mobility reasons) to be able to lie down on a firm surface, and the only room that’s available has a fluffy feather bed, the needs of the person, the requirements of the situation, and the reality of the environment, aren’t going to go together.

That’s just a simple example of course. The kinds of questions that will be asked, and the kinds of fixing, compensating, or adapting that will be done will depend on the activity—and when it comes to sex and sexual expression, the activity list is endless. So here’s just a sampling of the kinds of questions one might ask:

Person

  • What are the physical issues (E.G. pain, reduced sensation, mobility impairment)?
  • What are the psychological issues (E.G. anxiety, stress, grief around acquired disability)
  • What values and knowledge does the person have around sex?
  • Does the person have a solid understanding of their medical condition? Is the prognosis and treatment known? Are there limitations on sex recommended by healthcare providers? If medication interferes with sexual functioning in a way that doesn’t work for the person, can that be changed?

Environment

  • Is the place where the person wants to express their sexuality accessible (E.G. dance club, bedroom)?
  • If the person needs a caregiver to help with some tasks before, during, or after the time of sexual expression, is there someone close by who can give nonjudgmental assistance?
  • Cultural environment: What attitudes are held about sex and disability, both separately and together? Are they negative or limiting? Has the person internalized them? Are they having to spend time and energy resisting spoken and unspoken messages they’re getting about their disability, their sexuality, or both?

Activity

  • What’s the activity in question? What movement or amount of physical and emotional energy is required? What props are required?
  • Are there things that would help, such as pillows to support the body or grab bars to help with movement?
  • What are the goals the person has for the activity—orgasm, connecting with their own body, laughing and sharing playful, intimate touch with someone else?

The questions you’ll ask will be very different if you want to go dancing and flirting at a local bar or if you want to find a romantic partner.

It occurs to me that this kind of problem-solving process can be applied to anyone’s life, whether you have a disability or not.

It seems to me particularly useful though in breaking down barriers that say that sexual expression for someone who has disabilities is just too complicated to warrant attention.

Jun 172015
 

This was originally written and published in late August, 2014 after I attended Jessica Naslund’s workshop, Healthy Relationships and Sexuality: A Systemic Approach to Supporting People with Cognitive Disabilities, at The Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit.

Workshop description:

As practitioners and educators we are guiding individuals through their unique sexual journeys. People with cognitive disabilities have a challenging journey ahead of them because of barriers to education that are perpetuated by myths about how these individuals relate in society. It is our job as advocates to understand the barriers and work to push through them so that everyone has access to the same pertinent information and resources. People with cognitive disabilities require more multi-dimensional approaches to capture and retain comprehensive sexuality education material. These approaches may include visual or auditory media, hands on activities, developing a support system for the individual, and a more team approach to teaching with caregivers and support providers.

Words can’t quite describe how awesome this workshop was.

Jessica Naslund is brilliant—enthusiastic, passionate, and best of all she doesn’t just talk the talk, but walks the walk every single day of her working life.

As a social worker, Jessica works with, as she puts it, a population no one wants to talk about—intellectually and developmentally disabled people—around an issue no one wants to talk about—sexuality.

Jessica started by asking workshop participants what words and phrases come to mind when we think about sex and sexuality. We then shared words describing thoughts and feelings around sex and sexuality and people with intellectual disabilities. The two lists didn’t look at all alike. The first one included a variety of feelings and experiences, most of them positive; the second, full of limits and lack of possibilities, was positively dreary!

We should not be ignoring the lives of people with intellectual disabilities, or the reality that sex and sexuality can be, and usually are, just as much a part of these folks’ lives as they are for anyone else.

It shouldn’t have to be said, but…

People with developmental or intellectual disabilities do have sexualities – sexual feelings, experiences, desires, vulnerabilities. people with developmental or intellectual disabilities are also at alarmingly increased risk (relative to the general population) of experiencing many kinds of abuse, including sexual abuse.
This is, to put it mildly, not okay.

Jessica’s work focuses on teaching people with developmental or intellectual disabilities the positive as well as risky parts of sexuality. For example, a person can and should be taught about dating and sexual harassment, or happy feelings and bad feelings when someone touches them and they don’t want that touch. It’s really hard, if not impossible, for people to know something is bad, if they don’t also learn about the good things, and that it’s okay to have those feel-good feelings in their bodies when they touch themselves or when they think about someone they have a crush on.

Dave Hingsburger’s Ring of Safety takes this sexuality-affirming and humanity-affirming approach to preventing abuse. I had a momentary “squee!” moment when Jessica mentioned Dave’s work, as reading his article A Witness to Courage was pivotal in catalyzing my commitment to giving a voice to disabled people and our sexualities.

The Ring of Safety incorporates several components, including individualized sex and relationship education, awareness of privacy, and the ability to non-comply—to say no. People often don’t know how to teach people with intellectual or developmental disabilities about sex and relationships, or don’t think it’s important to do so. But, if someone doesn’t know what their body parts are called, how can they convey whether those parts are feeling good or bad. If someone doesn’t know what privacy is, or what it feels like, they can’t tell if that privacy is being invaded. Things many of us take for granted, such as getting to spend time alone, or being able to use the toilet and shower by ourselves, are luxuries virtually unknown to many. Jessica shared a story of one person who was considered such a threat to himself and others that he was never, ever allowed to be alone. His behavior changed markedly when he was given the chance to be alone in a familiar room for fifteen minutes at a time.

People with developmental or intellectual disabilities are often in very regimented treatment and care systems (with tight schedules and strict rules) where they aren’t given privacy, even to just be alone in a room listening to music or watching TV for a while, and where they aren’t allowed to say “no!” even to simple things. Too often staff in these environments are rushed or overworked, and don’t feel like they have the time for the negotiation process of someone saying “no” to something the staff member thinks needs to be done, such as taking a shower or finishing a snack.

Jessica quoted Hingsburger as saying: “If you can’t say no to peas, you can’t say no to penis.”

When someone indicates they don’t want to eat peas, no matter what their disabilities are, that needs to be respected. We can’t expect someone to be able to protect themselves from being hurt, or tell a trusted person that they were hurt, if their preferences around what they do, and what happens to their bodies, have never been listened to or respected before.

It’s important that intellectually disabled people be given the opportunity to make choices. Even when something needs to happen or the person with an intellectual disability isn’t able to indicate what their choice is, talking to them, asking permission before something is done (for example: “Can I dress you now? Instead of “Okay, time to dress you.”) goes a long way towards restoring someone’s humanity, and, ultimately, helping to keep them safe.

If people with intellectual disabilities don’t know what healthy is, they won’t know what unhealthy is. This includes both speaking up if they’re being abused, and learning how to not be abusive. The incidence of abuse among developmentally and intellectually disabled people isn’t just from caregivers, but from intellectually and developmentally disabled people themselves. Very often, this is rooted in people not understanding boundaries. Even when boundaries – such as good touch/bad touch – are taught, time isn’t usually taken to teach about emotions in a way folks with different intellectual disabilities can understand. For example, educators can teach not only “don’t hit” but “this is what someone looks like when they’re uncomfortable, or scared, or have just been hit and don’t like it at all.”

Many people with intellectual or developmental disabilities need new concepts spelled out really concretely.
This is why it’s important to teach about body parts, about feelings, and about relationships. Many people with developmental disabilities have trouble reading social cues, so when they learn about bodies and relationships, they need their educators to talk very specifically about what people are feeling when they look or act a certain way. They don’t know they’re making people uncomfortable, or that they’re about to get in trouble for assault or harassment. Or, they don’t know how to convey amorous feelings without overwhelming the person they have those feelings for (E.G. Learning how many voice mails it’s acceptable to leave for a girlfriend or crush object). But, using the right learning tools for each individual, folks can learn what cues from other people mean – how to use the skills they have to judge if what they’re doing is okay.

*

The reality that’s shown itself over and over again is that when people know what their body parts are, and understand privacy, they start to disclose abuse. Residential and day programs where this kind of education is done have a higher reporting rate, but that doesn’t mean they have a higher incidence rate. It means people have been given some of their power back, and the tools to communicate what’s happening to them or what’s happened to them in the past.

Jessica advocates using multiple systems approaches- for example, recognizing that there are multiple ways people learn, and hence multiple ways people teach, and also that teaching and supporting people means working with everyone, from healthcare providers, to group home staff, to educators, to families.

She offered this example of what this collaboration reveals: People who are not verbal, or who have a limited vocabulary, often express their feelings through their body language and behavior. How frequently or intensely someone stims can indicate how that person is feeling. People who see them every day, support staff and family, are the best people to ask about which behaviours or expressions mean excitement, nervousness, happiness, stress, etc. I particularly like this approach because it validates family members, not the professionals who come in for “sessions” to work with them, as experts. Family members often end up doing the majority of caregiving, and the work of this caregiving, plus the constant interaction with professionals who are often telling them what to do or not do after spending relatively little time with them, can take their power and sense of confidence (both personal, and in the care they’re providing) away.

Another part of this approach is finding a teaching method that works for each individual. Including using pictures to tell a story or diagram the steps for something, like a visit to the doctor or what it takes to ask someone out and go on a date.

Jessica gave this example. People with Down Syndrome aren’t any more affectionate than the general population—which is to say that some might be very affectionate, based on their personality, but it’s not a feature of the syndrome. They’re encouraged—taught—to express affection to everyone, probably because people are drawn to their open manner and frequently happy disposition. Hugging everyone isn’t culturally appropriate behaviour, though, and not teaching people boundaries deprives them of knowing when their boundaries have been violated or when they’re crossing someone else’s boundaries. There’s a need to teach all people which forms of interaction are okay In which situations. Jessica says she will often use pictures to diagram different interaction circles—e.g. the mail carrier is in the wave circle (we just wave if we see her), doctor is in the handshake circle, aunt is in the hug circle, etc.

As I write this, I think about how important it is to maintain consistency. A doctor who has known a developmentally disabled patient for a long time, may feel very fond of this patient, and may interact with them in ways they don’t interact with other patients. I think it’s important for them, in this case, to express fondness in other ways, such as through voice, body language, level of interest in their lives, and so on, to reinforce the message that while it’s a friendly relationship, it’s still a doctor-patient relationship.

Relatedly, we need to remember to treat people according to their chronological age, not their presumed mental age. If someone is thirty-three, they should not be treated as if they’re ten. This includes how we talk to them, what activities they’re encouraged to get involved in, and what information (about anything, but especially about sex and relationships) we think they’re supposed to have. I’ve often thought that judging what someone understands, or even how they perceive the world, on their verbal skills is misguided. Jessica agrees, saying that we really can never know exactly how people perceive or understand things because we’re not in their heads.

This presentation taught me a lot of useful information I hadn’t known —as well as gave me new language for things I already knew—but it also made me reevaluate the way I understand people with intellectual and developmental disabilities. Jessica presented several scenarios for us to talk through, both to puzzle out what might be happening and to brainstorm solutions. In working through the following scenario, I discovered a flaw in my thinking:

A young woman attending a day program spends a lot of time in the bathroom, to the point where she’d rather be in the bathroom than participating in the activities. Her support staff have also noticed redness around her vulva, and that she’s been rubbing her vulva a lot.

We might presume that the redness, and the self-isolating behavior, indicates that she’s being sexually abused. Or, she could be masturbating to the point of irritation. Redness could mean that she needs lube, or that she’s not reaching orgasm and is rubbing herself more vigorously to try to get to the ultimate feel-good part—which could be why she’s wanting to hide away in the bathroom. Or, redness could mean an infection, yeast or bacterial, and she’s staying in the bathroom because she doesn’t feel good. Or… It could be for any number of emotional or physical reasons.

So, my first step towards a solution was to have this young woman visit a doctor. But no, there should be a step before that, a step that could help us narrow down the possibilities – a step that will center the young woman, not our beliefs about her. As with any situation, the young woman is the expert on what is going on with her own body; the only thing that differs is the way we access her own expertise.

That was the flaw in my thinking, not questioning whether and how we could get information from the young woman herself.

The operative question here, and one that only she can answer, is “how does your vagina feel? Happy, sad, itchy, mad, etc.” depending on her cognitive needs, the discussion might involve looking at or drawing pictures, or speaking words, or pointing at words, or illustrating with dolls, or any other communication system that works for that individual. Sure, a doctor’s visit is probably in order too, but how much better it would be if that appointment was arranged with the input of the woman herself.

Sometimes, the hardest part to reinforce is that people with developmental disabilities do have sexualities, and those sexualities should be respected.

Even when everything else is in place, the sex ed, the education about privacy, the understanding of a person’s communication style, the permission to noncomply and leave those pesky peas on their plate – people still don’t have the opportunity to express healthy sexuality.

Many group homes still frown on, and even forbid, their residents dating, pursuing relationships, and engaging in sexual activity with others. Sometimes, the response when a resident is found masturbating is anger, rather than withdrawing and giving privacy, or politely and firmly explaining that you need to do that in your room, not in the TV room.”

If we want to recognize people with developmental and intellectual disabilities as human beings, we need to recognize all the things that make them human.

Jun 162015
 

Talking about sexuality and disability is a big deal. Until recently, most of what we saw in mainstream media were reports of disabled people being abused and assaulted, or syrupy-sweet feel-good stories about a person with a disability in a romantic relationship which (gasp!) included sex.

Sex, and disability, as experiences, are assumed to be entirely different – with the thinking that one involves only pain; the other, involves only pleasure.
As social concerns and lived experiences, disability and sexuality don’t seem, at first glance, to have much in common either.

Disability is tangible – in our faces; we can look around us and see the work that needs to be done—the policies that need to be changed and the barriers that need to be broken down. Sexuality – just is – except that it’s not. Sexuality is an individual concern—except that it’s not. Sexuality is filled with pain, confusion, lack of access and education, and endless potential just as surely as disability is filled with struggle, misunderstanding, lack of access, and sheer humanity.

We can’t continue to ignore connections between the experience of disability and the experience of sexuality. we can’t do this because sexual pleasure isn’t just about individual bodies’ enjoyment (people’s sexualities are so much bigger than the physical and emotional experience of sex), and disability rights isn’t just about breaking down barriers and gaining legal equality (it’s about individual lives and collective experiences).

In talking about sexual pleasure, we (or at least I) make a pretty natural leap to questions of sexual health, relationships, intimacy, safety and recovery from sexualized violence, and access to help with all of these. In talking about disability and access we need to include access and inclusion in recreation and social opportunities, as well as employment, education, and living conditions. To break that down, we who are disabled need to be able to access fun things—including fun sexy things. Not considering social opportunities as important means, ultimately, not considering disabled people as full and complete humans beings.
Continuing down this road of thought, I begin to realize how similar sexualities and disabilities, as topics of conversation, are to one another.

Consider how mention of both sex, and disability, in casual conversation generally make people feel—scared, nervous, eager to change the subject, full of questions they don’t feel like they’re supposed to ask or don’t know who to ask.

Consider the struggle people talking about sex or disability often have with language. Which terms do we use? Will we offend someone if we use this term over that one? What do all those terms mean anyway?

Consider the way we talk about both sex and disability– in hushed voices, in euphemisms, in quick side conversations.

As for talking about people with disabilities who have sex, or how sex is affected by disability? —Well, we really just don’t talk about that.

When we do, we (at least according to mainstream media) frame an intimate relationship involving a disabled person as miraculous or inspirational, or we expect the lives of disabled people to not include any sexual experience or desire.

Come to think of it: Isn’t this how we represent sex in our culture too—as something out-there and in our faces, or something we need to repress or hide at all costs, with nothing in between.

Whenever we do acknowledge sexualities, whether the actors or objects of those sexualities are visibly disabled or not, the representations rarely convey pleasure. Sexual pleasure is something we, as a culture, haven’t paid attention to, and in that silence is the assumption that pleasure will just “happen” by itself. The reality is that it often doesn’t happen because of, among other things, lack of education and fear many have around their own bodies. If you’ve learned that exploring your own body is a bad thing, or you don’t have the words to tell your sexual partner what you like, or don’t have access to sexual healthcare to help with pain or illness that interferes with your sex life, pleasure could be hard to come by.

Interestingly, meeting the access and inclusion needs of disabled people is also something that’s just thought to “happen.” Someone else will take care of it. Surely, one step into a building isn’t a big deal? It’s okay if that Web site isn’t accessible; someone can help you sign that form or do your shopping, right?

These kinds of assumptions limit people—real live people, not theories.

Sex and disability both get talked about as if they’re medical issues, only to be addressed by highly educated experts. There’s this strange thing many of us who talk about sex professionally encounter, which is the question of what medical or therapeutic credentials we have. Most medical professionals receive little to no training in the areas of sexuality and relationships; seventy-five percent of American medical students surveyed reported receiving less than 5 hours of formal training in sex and sexuality. Most medical and therapeutic professionals, including psychotherapists, only get anything greater than basic training (which I’d still argue is what is needed to cover all of the basics) if they actively seek it out.

People with disabilities often find that medical and therapeutic folks are assumed to be the ones who have the most knowledge about our bodies and minds; they’re the ones who tell us what we are and aren’t able to do (how does this jive with the finding that more than half of American medical school Deans report that their students aren’t adequately trained in disability or in working with disabled people?) Whether it’s through unsolicited assistance from a stranger on the street, or an officious pronouncement from a medical professional, disabled people are often not seen as being in charge of our own lives, and as the best experts on those lives.

Many people don’t get the education they need to make sound choices about negotiating sexual relationships and taking care of their sexual selves. Many disabled people don’t get the tools (often practical tools like technology, mobility aids, and accessible housing or workplaces) to live life fully and safely.

What I think we end up with, with both sexuality and disability, are realities that affect both individuals and communities. Not talking about these realities turn everyday experiences of sexuality, disability, or both, into the problems – sexual assault, unwanted pregnancy, sexually transmitted infections, abuse and neglect of disabled people, severe isolation among people with disabilities, to name a few – they’re already assumed to be.

What do we do? We talk, and talk, and talk some more.

We treat everyone like human beings. We avoid running in fear from mention of sexuality and from disabled people. We avoid shame around sexualities and belittling (which often looks like shaming) of disabled people

We look at the cool things talking about sexuality and disability do for our understanding of both.

Disability impacts sex, sex impacts disability, and the reality that people with disabilities can and do have a sexuality and have sex (and enjoy it) tends to be forgotten.

How’s disability good you ask? At the risk of sounding like I’m putting people on a pedestal, many people with disabilities have an awareness of themselves and what we need and want that other folks just don’t have, or, and please forgive me for circular logic, self-awareness other folks just aren’t aware they have. Apply that to sex, and to life in general, and some pretty amazing things can happen – like more sexual pleasure, fewer unhappy relationships, more confident people (sexually and in general).

Having a disability can also result in people needing to do sex and express their sexualities differently, hence breaking the mold of the popular idea of how sex “should” be done—something that can only make life freer, and more fun, for everyone.