Author: Kat Y.

Dress Codes

Dress codes have been denounced for slut shaming and perpetuating misogynistic attitudes. As our society works towards a future accepting  all identities, people have gained the courage to express themselves as they wish, resulting in a much more nuanced political landscape than just male vs. female conventions. I argue that enforcing sartorial rules negatively affect everyone now more than ever. I am lucky to live in New York City and attend a liberal university inclusive of all races, genders, sexual orientations and beliefs. At the beginning of each class, it is common for professors to ask students what their preferred pronouns are to facilitate a comfortable environment for everyone. Of course, policing what students wear based on assumptions of their genders is out of the question. I recognize that this is a bubble and that the majority of the world isn’t as progressive.. In fact, I myself attended a high school with a strict dress code.

        I attended Christian school, meaning we had chapel service once a week and teachers shamed girls for wearing shirts that didn’t cover their collarbones or skirts that went past their fingertips. A dress code violation meant detention. The main qualm amongst students regarding these rules arose from the fact that girls’ rules were stricter than boys’. By setting particular conventions that separated girls from boys, young men were conditioned to believe that hypermasculinity was natural, and not a product of environment (they were not to grow out their hair or wear skirts/dresses). Meanwhile, young women were subject to greater scrutiny among peers. My school went from kindergarten to 12th grade, meaning the institution embedded this problematic ideology on impressionable minds.

        I did not adhere to the dress code throughout high school, and people talked. My friends would jokingly tell me that I needed to invest in longer skirts and more conservative shirts. They didn’t make these comments maliciously, but their remarks showed how ingrained my private school’s culture was. The perpetrators made no attempts to hide their intent to foster this type of community. At one point during my junior year, a male teacher stuck his fingers into a knit top that I was wearing, pulling me towards him as he told me I wasn’t to wear that article of clothing again. This occurrence was not rare. I witnessed teachers strategically standing in crowded hallways during passing periods like soldiers at their posts. Some went as far as asking young women clutching textbooks to move them so teachers could determine whether their chests were covered. Although my high school made the hackneyed argument that dress code promoted a learning environment free of distractions, by actively seeking out what the rules deemed as “offenses,” the administration promoted an environment where women were merely objects of the male gaze.

        The male gaze is a term coined in the 1970’s by feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey to describe the way the media depicted women merely as objects to be looked at by men. Mulvey took her observation of cinema and applied it to the patriarchal society. Unfortunately, her theory is still relevant in many real-life contemporary settings, especially those that enforce sartorial rules. In the case of my high school, the administration projected what the male gaze would find sexually appealing and banned all forms of it from young women. Not only does this enforce the idea that women are obligated to cater to men’s needs, but it also tells cis-gender, heterosexual men that it’s natural to see women’s bodies as sexual, and nothing more than that. Men who don’t identify as such are not even considered in this problematic model. The issue here is that cis-gender heterosexual men are not even considered to be part of the issue, instead the blame is shifted onto their female counterparts.  

By deeming articles of clothing as “inappropriate,” adults overtly sexualize children. This allows us to pose the question of how has this issue gotten so out of control that women subject each other to this system? It is easy to see how twisted it can be when a male teacher corrects a female student on their attire. But what about women teachers who are supposed to be role models for these young children? This creates a never ending cycle of shame. Female teachers who support this intolerance are those who have become conditioned to accept it because society has normalized it. Normalization of sexist dress code is a slippery slope that ultimately promotes rape culture. By policing what women put on their bodies and promoting “modesty,” we strip women and young girls of the ownership of their bodies. When you teach young women and girls that their bodies don’t belong to them, you strip them of their agency to say no. And men become more accustomed to women’s bodies than women are of their own. In a school setting, this model is even more disconcerting because young people are more subject to environmental influences.

I’ve been a victim of slut shaming as early as elementary school, when the school counsellor told my mother that I needed to stop wearing a denim skirt because “boys were talking.” I felt indecent for exposing my legs. As a ten-year-old, I didn’t realize the implications of the situation. Instead, I just felt ashamed to have elicited such indecent thoughts. The boys who were caught talking about my body in such a way weren’t punished. The double standard shows how men are valued over women; institutions recognize men’s desires while putting the blame on women. Thanks to the progressiveness of my generation, I’ve come to my own conclusions that I was never at fault, but rather my teachers and the institutions they were apart of, were to blame for seeing my undeveloped and even developed body as inherently sexual.

       

On My Own Terms

Growing up in a Catholic household with divorced parents sounds oxymoronic. You’d think that because my parents bent religious rules to pursue their individual desires, they would be sympathetic toward causes such as abortion. Despite their anti-abortion stance, I kept my personal beliefs intact and always argued against them. I had an abortion at the age of 17, and I do not regret my decision. The only decision I regret is allowing my personal morals to momentarily waver.

I knew that unprotected sex was risky, and that was the bottom line. My mistake was in trusting someone else’s judgment over my own. My boyfriend and I both lacked the sexual education necessary to make informed decisions about our sex lives. I hadn’t told anyone that I was sexually active because both my parents and my school did not talk about sex openly. Growing up, I only learned that sex was taboo. As a result, I allowed my ex to convince me with fake facts. He used coercive phrases until I caved and agreed to have unprotected sex. One false statistic that he repeated again and again was that the chance of pregnancy after having a year of unprotected sex was less than 1%. Retrospectively, I was naive to take his word, especially since I had the internet at my fingertips. I did not turn to online research until a few weeks into the summer before my senior year of high school, when my then-boyfriend and I were looking up how late a period had to be for us to start worrying about pregnancy.

I’m not sure exactly when I got pregnant. All I know is that after missing my period for over two weeks, I decided to buy a pregnancy test. “Let’s do it together,” my ex had said. I felt close to him, and determining the verdict together felt special–like he cared about us. But where had he been when I was so concerned about this very situation? Pressuring me not to worry about it so that he wouldn’t have to wear a condom.

Even as I walked through the aisles of the supermarket to find the most accurate test, I did not grasp the reality of the situation. I imagined breathing a sigh of relief after seeing the negative sign. We would embrace each other, and our relationship would be stronger than ever. When the pink positive sign burst my hopes, he hurled the test against the bathroom wall and  immediately accused me of cheating on him.

Despite years of hearing anti-abortion sentiments from my family, I knew that it was the right thing to do in my particular situation. I hadn’t graduated from high school yet, and I had big plans for my future—plans that didn’t include a child any time soon. After convincing my ex that there was no way the fetus growing inside me could have been anyone else’s, we headed to the local clinical laboratory to get my blood drawn. This was the next step after taking a home pregnancy test  because blood tests have greater accuracy. I have low blood sugar, so I ended up fainting in the parking lot after getting my blood drawn. I remember my ex carrying me back to the car in his arms. Being as young as I was, I took this as a sign that he was the one. I ignored the obvious warning signs—the coercion and cheating accusations—even as I came to, lying face down in the back of his car.

After my blood tested positive for pregnancy, I was referred to an “abortion specialist.” This was not a clinic where licensed doctors performed abortions, but I had no reason not to trust the clinical laboratory, so I did what they told me was the next step. It turns out that I was referred to an anti-abortion agency! I’m not sure if the lab knew where they were sending me. For all I know, they could have duped as well. Religiously motivated anti-choice activists disguise so called “abortion specialists” and “crisis pregnancy centers” as women’s health clinics. These anti-abortion agencies are not run by healthcare professionals and are notorious for bombarding pregnant women with lies to scare them out of choosing abortion.

I knew none of this when the elderly woman greeted my boyfriend and me at the door and immediately sat us down in a room where bible verses and pictures of wide-eyed infants adorned the walls. She put my boyfriend in a separate room to watch an “educational” video, which he later told me was about how abortions can cause breast cancer, and that there was a 99% chance that I would get the disease later in my life if I went through with the abortion. According to the National Cancer Institute’s website, reliable studies consistently show no association between abortions and breast cancer risk. The studies anti-choice activists cite to argue for the contrary are unreliable because they tend to have small sample sizes and use self-reported data rather than medical records.

While my boyfriend watched the video that spouted blatant lies, the woman asked me whether I was going to keep the baby or not. I was glad to be out of earshot of my boyfriend; I thought this would give me the chance to confide in someone about my boyfriend’s insensitivity since I got pregnant. Before I could get to the relationship issues that were really troubling me, mentioning the mere prospect of abortion derailed any possibility of finding comfort in conversation. The woman looked at me with disdain as tears began to stream down her face. Rather than empathizing with me, she made it abundantly clear she was upset that my plans did not align with her own righteous beliefs. At the end of the session, the woman grabbed both mine and my boyfriend’s hands and formed a prayer circle. Continuing to “weep for my cause,” she repeated alternative solutions to my unplanned pregnancy such as adoption.  She warned me repeatedly that life begins at conception, and that God values all lives. By this point, I understood that the agency must have Christian affiliations.

As I’m sure she intended, I felt a crushing sense of guilt during the entire prayer, like I was about to let down a million people I didn’t even know. I began to see the other side of the argument, the pro-life position that ultimately saw abortion as murder. As if it wasn’t difficult enough to go through with the procedure knowing my family’s stance on abortions, I was suddenly aware of entire communities opposing my decision. At the end of the session, she took down my number. I told her that I would consider my options and tell her my decision when she called me back in a couple of weeks. Despite her efforts to manipulate me, my mind was still set on the abortion. Her religious sentiments did not succeed at breaking my will, but did manage to spark an internal debate on my self worth.

I felt betrayed by the blood testing clinic that referred me to the agency; as a diagnostics laboratory, its only job was to provide accurate test results for its patients. By sending me to a religious agency without any explanation, they had wrongly impressed their personal views on what should have been solely my decision. I cried the entire way home in the passenger seat of my boyfriend’s car as he relentlessly asked me whether I wanted to keep the baby, reminding me that it would ruin his life if I did.

I had assumed that the most difficult part of procuring an abortion would be the actual procedure, but I found it surprisingly easy. Because I had taken a pregnancy test shortly after my first missed period, I was only two weeks pregnant and qualified for a medication abortion (which is commonly referred to as using the “abortion pill”).  According to Planned Parenthood’s website, the abortion pill can be taken up to ten weeks after the first day of your last period. Abortion laws differ by state; luckily, Hawaii’s legal age for procuring an abortion without parental consent was 17. Government officials in Hawaii have since revised the law to allow women of all ages to have an abortion without parental consent.

I went to Planned Parenthood and paid $700 from the money I had saved from work, although the clinic did give us the option of having an additional meeting to discuss finances in case we couldn’t pay upfront. I couldn’t believe how accommodating and understanding they were. For the first time, I felt good about my decision. I gave them my blood test results, and they prescribed to me two pills. The first, which I took in the office, contained mifepristone, which blocks progesterone, the hormone vital to pregnancy. The second, which I took at home two days later, contained misoprostol, which empties the uterus. Even though I have a weak stomach, I didn’t experience any negative side effects they mentioned such as vomiting and headaches. A few days after taking the pill, I went back to confirm that I was no longer pregnant. It was all over.

I no longer live in my hometown, where this all went down, and I’ve lost contact with my ex. It’s been about two years since I terminated the pregnancy, and I have not felt any guilt or shame about my decision. Without the abortion, I would be raising a child in a town that I couldn’t wait to get out of. Now I have the choice to have a child when I want to, in what I believe will is the best setting possible.

The only emotionally scarring part of the process was my experience at the anti-abortion agency. In retrospect, I can see that the woman working there acted on her pro-life stance in a disrespectful, fraudulent, and damaging way. Although she claimed to want to help, she overstepped her boundaries when she pressured her beliefs on a pregnancy that wasn’t hers. I lied to her during a follow-up phone call in which I told her that I’d give up the child for adoption. I don’t feel guilty about lying because I don’t owe anyone an explanation as to why I chose to have an abortion (least of all to that deceitful woman).  

I’ve always thought on my own terms. This led me to diverge from the opinions I heard growing up. At age 17, when I chose to terminate an unplanned pregnancy, I started living on my own terms. After thorough research and confiding in a few close friends after the abortion, I am convinced that the solution I chose was the right one for me; my future child will have so much more than a child that I could have had at 17. I have yet to tell my family, but I do plan on owning my decision when I tell them, and will try to educate my sometimes misinformed loved ones. I am proud to share my story. I hope it can alleviate readers struggling with religious guilt about having an abortion, or help someone avoid the deceitful tactics of “pregnancy crisis centers.”

What to do if you’re in a similar situation:

Firstly, recognizing and avoiding fake women’s health clinics will eliminate unnecessary stress while you decide whether or not you want to terminate the pregnancy. Planned Parenthood offers some good suggestions on how to verify a clinic’s legitimacy that I wish I had known when I got pregnant. I can’t stress the importance of being able to recognize when agencies are frauds because in some cases, the deception can go as far as telling women that they are not pregnant or not far along so that they will miss the window for procuring a safe, legal abortion. If you notice red flags, such as bible verses on the walls or questionable facts and figures, know that you should not believe anything they tell you and that you will need to find a legitimate reproductive health clinic asap.

It must, however, be noted that in some states legitimate medical providers are required by anti-choice legislation to give patients biased information about abortion. According to the Guttmacher Policy Review, “In seven states, they mandate the provision of negative and unscientific information about abortion and its implications. In five other states, they require that the woman be told that the state favors childbirth over abortion.”

You can avoid ending up at a crisis pregnancy center with a bit of online research at Planned Parenthood’s website. If you are searching for an abortion provider, you can be sure the place you are going to is legitimate by doing a quick search on the National Abortion Federation website. Check out how organizations like the Public Leadership Institute are advocating for legislation such as the Crisis Pregnancy Center Fraud Prevention Act.

 

Who to talk to?

Although I decided to keep the situation to myself, I strongly suggest telling someone that you know and trust. I think that in the moment, I really felt like an accidental pregnancy was The Worst Thing Ever, but getting another perspective on it can ease the burden and overall anxiety. I was really scared of people judging me, but I think my close friends would have understood. And seeing as most of them are liberal, they definitely would have made me feel better after the whole pro-life woman ordeal. If telling your parents is out of the question like it was for me, I would definitely consider talking to a trusted friend. Alternatively or in addition, you can check out Exhale, an after-abortion support organization with a talkline where you can work through your feelings or get information about how to support a friend.  

 

Should you tell your parents?

I think that there’s such a gap between our parents’ generations and ours. Especially because I come from an Asian household, I wasn’t raised very liberally. I wouldn’t go as far as to say they would’ve disowned me, but they definitely would have shamed me for it. If you think that like my parents, yours would react with judgement, not telling is fine. (Unless of course you are in the unfortunate predicament of needing an abortion in a state that requires parental permission under a certain age.) As an adult, I keep many things from my parents. I think it’s just a part of becoming my own person.

Some resources we suggest:

 Exhale: An After-Abortion Support organization 

The Abortion Access Project: Seeks to ensure access to abortion for all women.

Abortion Clinics OnLine (ACOL): Extensive directory of abortion clinics in the U.S.

 

Parenthood, Planned. “Crisis Pregnancy Centers.” How to Avoid These Fake Clinics. N.p., 15 Apr. 2015. Web. 18 Jan. 2017.
https://www.guttmacher.org/gpr/2006/10/misinformed-consent-medical-accuracy-state-developed-abortion-counseling-materials