The whatchamacallit

During one of my doctor’s appointments, I broke down in tears.

Not because of the HIV thing or whatever.

But because of my vagina.

I cried because I hated it.

Use the wrong soap: yeast infection.

Use the wrong dick: STDs and shit.

It’s too much.

I never really liked any of my lady parts though.

We have always had this really unhealthy relationship.

My breast were always talked about because they weren’t as big as others felt they should be.

In turn, I disregarded them cus I thought they had no value.

They were just there.

And my part down there?


I couldn’t stand it.

I never knew much about it, other than the fact that you had to wipe from front to back when you use the restroom

and that if a baby came out – it would hurt.

Nobody had really ever explained to me what it did.

Except for, you know, my molesters.

But that doesn’t count.

By the time I lost my virginity in my teens, I still didn’t really know nothing about the thing in between my legs.

I was just doing shit and getting Pap smears to tell me I was alright.

But the weirdest thing happened.

At some point, it just became expected that I knew all it was to know about my coochie.

So when new knowledge was introduced to me during conversations with other women, I kept my poker face.

I couldn’t dare let them in on my ignorance.

What would I look like in my mid 20’s, after some STIs and childbirth talking bout some,

Can you please show me where my third hole is they say I have down there?

Y’all woulda looked at me crazy.

Tip: It’s called a vulva.

The vagina is only the hole part.

Are you freaking kidding me?

It was during one of my OBGYN visits that I couldn’t take it no more.

I was ashamed…

… frustrated

… and completely over it.

I didn’t want it no more.

Whatever you want to call it.

pocketbook. vag. pussy.

In the moment, I was feeling that it was too much responsibility that I didn’t ask for.

And it sure as hell had created more problems than a lil orgasm could ever make up for.

What not to do: Don’t be ashamed to talk about what you have experienced. You probably aren’t the only one.

I learned that many of us don’t know the proper names for the parts of our anatomy.

I learned that many of us never got that conversation either.

So chances are that:

I am probably not the only one who has not always been in love with their vulva.

And I’m probably not the only one who still got questions.

+ Ci Ci +