My vagina has a first name...

(why was the bologna song all I could think of? seems counterintuitive..)

For me, moving to Colorado has been more than just a cross-country move. It is a new life. It is change. Originally I came here to teach. I wanted to live in Colorado and I was ready to start a career in teaching. I never could have guessed what that move would do for my life. Never much of an athlete, I began rock climbing with some of the best climbers in the area and I fell in love. I was hungry for something that was mine. Activity where I could shine on my own and use my own strength to move forward. It wasn't about anyone but me. Next, I stepped far out of my comfort zone and auditioned for dance theatre. Never having auditioned for anything in my life, I was terrified and excited and humiliated all at the same time. I got in, I performed, and I loved every minute. Pushing further out of my comfort zone was the great amount of time I was spending with girls. I liked them..they liked me..we laughed..ALOT! And I loved it all.

Anyways....

Last night I signed on to perform in this years V-day performance of the Vagina Monologues. My fascination with this play goes back to my early teenage years when I saw a performance on HBO (back when HBO showed more than series' and dramas and played the same things every night for weeks). I had a deep appreciation for the strength those women had to put themselves out there and speak with such raw emotion. I was moved by the stories shared and the independence and power of the women performing them. I wanted to be a part of that energy.

I am not a performer. Although I am about to go on stage for my third year of Steamboat Dance Theatre, I will still tell you with confidence that I am not a dancer. I just love to dance. I love the music, I love seeing the show come together through the work of many, and I cherish my time with my girls. I have not had an issue with the audience..yet..and for some reason the power of the group gives me the strength to be up there. I am hoping I can draw the same energy from the women in this production - I don't think I will have a problem.

Here is a little background from VDAY:
"V-Day is a global activist movement to end violence against women and girls. V-Day is a catalyst that promotes creative events to increase awareness, raise money, and revitalize the spirit of existing anti-violence organizations. V-Day generates broader attention for the fight to stop violence against women and girls, including rape, battery, incest, female genital mutilation (FGM), and sex slavery."

Our production is giving 90% of the proceeds to the local organization Advocates Building Peaceful Communities which serves both women and children in crisis. The remaining 10% will go to Haiti, one of the main beneficiaries of the VDAY organization.

I have had a difficult time deciding whether to be a part of this over the years and while still conflicted, this is my year. I worry that an uninformed parent will see my name connected to "The V Word" (eeewwwwww) and assume the worst. I have decided that it is not worth it to let down a cause I believe in..just in case someone gets upset because they didn't do their research. My plan is to be readily armed with information to confidently support my choice. It is my time.

That said..here is my own version of a monologue..not from the vagina directly..but you get the idea.

I Never Had a Voice..

When I was little everyone was too busy.

When I needed to speak there were doctors, there was the hospital, there was chaos...always.

I was fortunate enough to have a family willing to chip in and help take care of me but I was passed around.

I always felt that when I wanted to do something it was "maybe tomorrow" or "how 'bout later."

I was small..shy..and I didn't have a voice.

I grew up a little and became more independent.

I dealt with loss at an early age and handled it better than most.

I played the game of school and did what I was supposed to do...

while my brother did drugs, talked back, and screwed up.

It began.

He screamed for attention..and I didn't have a voice.

I got older and started out on my own.

Driving. Parties. Friends.

It continued.

I became attached to another family for some extra support and a safe place to get away.

I worked, paid bills, and played the game.

I had something to say.

I get very easily frustrated when I have to repeat myself.

I want you to listen..hear me..care.

I think at one point I suddenly changed from a shy little girl

to a motor-mouthed woman because I had so much to say.

I realize now this is because I need to be heard so badly for what I held in for so long.

I went away to school, away from home, and I loved it.

I came home to visit.

It still continued.

I fought it..without a voice.

I told someone - my parents - and I was told not to tell anyone.

It was a secret.

I had no voice.

I moved away.

I love my life.

It's all over and I am happy.

Here is my voice!

It started when I was ten or eleven and a new family moved in across the street. I still remember it. They took me around the corner of the house one day by the air conditioner out back and the older one pulled down his pants and made me look at his penis. I don't remember if they made me do anything else.

I never forgot.

I am not sure if this was before or after that happened but one day he came home with a pornographic movie - no clue how or where he got it. He made me watch it. I'm sure I was threatened not to tell anyone but I'm not sure how.

I still remember.

Later, in high school, junior or senior year.

I remember being in the shower at our new house and seeing a shadow move out of the corner of my eye. I looked up, and there he was standing on the bathroom counter looking down at me in the shower. I became extremely paranoid after that and began stuffing towels under the door and locking it.

He still got in.

The doors unlocked from the outside. I jammed objects in the knob so it could not be opened. I thought I had it all figured out for a while. One day I turned the lights off in the bathroom and noticed a glow. The floor vent into the bathroom had been bent so that you could see into the basement from the bathroom..and from the basement into the bathroom. Another hole to cover.

I remember so many times I would wake up in my bed to him standing there staring. After confronting him, he just walked away as though nothing had happened.

I quit sleeping in my bed.

I remember a few different times my high school sweetheart and I were lying on the couch under a blanket fooling around and watching a movie and I caught him sneaking up the stairs to catch a peek.

I went to college. I loved school and learning and knowing that someday my life would be mine and no longer controlled by someone else. I came home for Christmas one year and got silk pajamas for Christmas Eve as a gift. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up at 2am to an arm reaching down over me. It was unbuttoning my shirt - my new silk pajama shirt. I turned and screamed at him and he hid around the corner like I didn't know. Like nothing was wrong. I never wore them again.

Nothing was ever wrong.

In fact, everything was my fault. Everything was blamed on me and I was called a whore. Fortunately, I have done so much growing up in my life that I knew better. I knew I wasn't the whore he called me, and I knew that I was good. It just didn't always feel that way.