Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Wednesday, April 17, 2019
Zack Blumberg
Emma Chang
Joel Danilewitz
Emily Huhman
Tara Jayaram
Jeremy Kaplan
Magdalena Mihaylova
Ellery Rosenzweig
Jason Rowland
Anu Roy-Chaudhury
Alex Satola
Timothy Spurlin
Nicholas Tomaino
Erin White
Ashley Zhang
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I
t was a couple years ago,
with my then high school
girlfriend. She was going
through a tough time — her
father had been diagnosed
with a terminal illness; her
life turned upside down. I
was there to support her in
any way that I could. “Don’t
worry,” I’d say. “I’m right
here next to you. You aren’t
gonna be alone in this.” She
knew she could count on me.
Mental illness got the best
of her, however. Her initial
sadness turned to anger and
rage and frustration, grief to
deep unrelenting desperation
for her mind to be eased.
Longing for control and quick
hits of dopamine to help her
through her struggles, my
support became a crutch, and
eventually, her addiction. I
remember the day well. She
had expressed she wanted to
have sex. I did not. “But it’ll
make me feel good,” she said,
as she began to touch me. I
didn’t want to. My body did
what physically male bodies
do when exposed to stimulus,
and my courage disappeared.
She did what she wanted, as
my quiet objections of “No,
stop” turned to only hearing
her muffled moans and a
“See,
wasn’t
that
good?”
when she was finished.
And here I am, years later,
left to pick up the pieces.
It’s been a decent bit of time
here, we’ve since broken up,
and I’ve met an incredible,
beautiful, intelligent woman
with whom I’d be lucky to
spend a long, long time with,
who supports my struggles
mentally and is patient with
the occasional lapses I have
with
sexual
dysfunction.
Dysfunction takes the form
of
different
physiological
hiccups. For myself, I find
it difficult to climax, as
what fills a lot of my mind
during sex is anxiety. I have
nightmares
nearly
every
night of this particular scene
in my mind, my ex-girlfriend
on top of me, telling me that
it’s what she wants, almost
daring me to claim that my
desires are as important as
hers.
Therapy helps, but a lot of
the pain, a lot of the struggle is
the everyday anxiety. I’ll just
be out at Potbelly Sandwich
Shop
by
myself,
eating
lunch before my afternoon
classes, and suddenly, I’m
transported
back
to
that
night. Smelling her perfume
transports my mind into that
fight or flight response. Post
traumatic stress disorder is
not a simple disease that you
can just ignore occasionally.
You live with it; it becomes a
part of you. Through therapy,
you learn to “make the beast
beautiful,” but even then, it
never goes away. You learn to
live with it.
The road is long and
arduous, but it’s worth it.
I find beauty in my life
again.
My
friends,
my
family, all support me and
my
endeavors.
I’m
never
truly alone, and I know that.
Whether it’s a quick Costco
run with my best friend, or
a walk around campus with
a couple of others, I always
have someone I can talk to,
to help carry the burden
with me. But, once again, it’s
always there. Especially at
night, when I’m alone, and
all I have are my thoughts.
But, it’ll get better. I know
it will, and I know that with
work, with laughter, with
intention and determination,
this part of myself that I
hate so thoroughly will, one
day, become an even more
beautiful part of my soul.
Meeting my partner was
one of the most spectacular
times of my life. I never
thought I’d be able to have a
healthy sexual relationship
with a woman ever again. I
still remember the night I
told her what had happened
to me. I was worried about
what she would think or say.
Once I was finished, she held
me, and told me that she was
there for me, and that we
could be as patient with our
sexual relationship as we
wanted. That there was no
rush, and she wasn’t with
me for the sex, but because
of who I am as a human.
Being comforted not only
physically, but emotionally,
was
so
refreshing
and
changed how I viewed my
own sexuality. I could be
patient, and find comfort in
that patience.
One
in
six
men
will
be
sexually
assaulted
at
some point in their life. It
doesn’t make us weak or less
masculine — nor should it.
Rather, we, as men, should
encourage other men to speak
up, to be courageous, share
this burden with others and
to attend therapy and take
medication. There is such a
thing as healthy masculinity,
and we can find that in our
fellow men, in comforting
those
who
are
having
a
rough time. Seeking help
in a healthy way, wanting
to
be
better,
practicing
empathy
and
compassion
and caring for each other are
ways of practicing healthy
masculinity.
CAROLINE LLANES | COLUMN
Mind, body, boats
W
e’re
four
months
into the year now,
a time by which
the
majority
of
people
have
shed
the
shackles
of
their
New
Year’s
resolutions.
One
common
resolution
that’s probably been
abandoned by now
is
losing
weight,
whether
it’s
five
pounds or 50. I’ve
made countless New
Year’s
resolutions,
but I’ve never explicitly made
one about weight loss. This is
interesting
considering
the
contentious and tumultuous
relationship with my body
and my own weight, which
for a very long time now I’ve
never
really
talked
about
with anyone. Let’s see if I can
explain it here.
In high school, I rowed
competitively. We had practice
for two to three hours a day,
six days of the week. Every
day before practice, we did
a
mile-long
warm-up
run,
accompanied by sets of 50 to
100 squats, jumpies, sit-ups,
push-ups, jumping jacks and
everything in between. We
rowed in boats on the water
most days, but one day a week
was set aside as our “land
day.” On land days, we would
row on a machine, also called
an erg, and do weights, often
accompanied by a timed run.
In short: It was a lot of work,
and we had to eat accordingly.
In high school, it felt like I
was hungry all the time. I had
a 64-ounce water bottle that
I would drink in its entirety
and then refill throughout the
school day. I had a big lunch,
accompanied
by
frequent
snacks throughout the day so
I could fuel up for practice
later on. I’d come home from
practice,
and
I
would
be
starving. I would eat as much
as I possibly could for dinner,
then later on, I’d have a snack
as I did homework. I saw food
as fuel, and it was — it got
me where I needed to go, and
sustained my body as I put it
through hell. I gained a ton
of weight the year I started
rowing, all of it muscle: I felt
great, I felt strong and I felt
like I was finally happy with
my body because I was putting
it
through
the
impossible,
and it not only survived, but
thrived.
This happiness wouldn’t
last long. My senior year, I
sustained a lower back injury
through
a
combination
of
overuse and overcompensating
for weak ankles from my years
of middle school soccer. I am
the first to admit that I did not
handle my injury the way that
I should have. I prioritized
rowing through the pain over
taking time to heal out of fear
of being seen as weak or lazy.
My back never fully healed,
and I still deal with pain today.
Some days are better than
others, and I’ve learned to deal
with it, mostly by buying a
very comfortable mattress pad
— turns out, your back needs
support at night when you
sleep! It was tough,
but I left rowing
behind, and since
I was no longer a
competitive athlete,
I had to change my
relationship to food
as well.
I
no
longer
needed
thousands
and
thousands
of
calories
at
every
meal,
and
as
it
happens, I wasn’t hungry for
them. I adjusted to dining hall
food, and having access to that
food at nearly all hours. As
quickly as I gained weight when
I started rowing, I lost that
weight when I got to college.
There would be days where
all I would have was a glass
of cranberry juice and some
fruit snacks, and others where
I would have three full meals
in the dining hall. Food was
no longer fuel, so it had little
value to me. I ate when I was
hungry, and sometimes I’d just
forget with my busy schedule.
Yet, once I moved off campus,
I realized that cooking was
not only necessary, but fun. I
love trying new recipes, seeing
what works and what doesn’t,
experimenting with spices and
flavors. Most of all, I love how
communal cooking is. I love
cooking with my boyfriend,
having
friends
over
and
cooking meals for them, just
making other people happy.
But unfortunately, the journey
doesn’t end here, as I have
confronted more obstacles on
the road to happiness with
my diet. It is a struggle to find
a balance for myself that is
healthy in every facet.
I have been lucky enough
to experience rowing from
multiple
dimensions.
A
crucial part of any boat is the
coxswain, a smaller person
who sits either in the bow or
stern of the boat. The coxswain
is responsible for steering,
directing
practice,
running
drills
and
coaching
the
rowers, whether that’s giving
them motivation or making
corrections
on
their
form
and technique. When I got to
the University of Michigan, I
joined the men’s rowing team
as a coxswain on a whim, just
to see what it was like. If I
hated it, I’d quit, and if I liked
it, great. After not rowing
for a whole summer, being
back in a boat was thrilling.
It made me realize just what
I missed so much about the
sport, and it gave me a second
home on campus, a family and
teammates who had my back.
And here was where I started
changing my relationship to
food yet again.
Coxswains are small. It’s
a part of the job description.
They’re shorter than their
rowers, and weigh anywhere
from 90 to 130 pounds, and
have to fit into the tiny seats
built for them in various boats.
Certain races even have weight
minimums
for
coxswains,
where they weigh in and are
given bags of sand to make
up for missing weight. For
example, if a race’s minimum
weight for coxswains is 120
pounds,
a
coxswain
who
weighs 110 will have to carry
10 pounds of sand. It’s all very
technical and a part of the rules
of racing, a completely normal
part of the sport. It’s also a
source of near constant stress
for me. I am not a large person
by any means, but at five-foot-
six, I am the tallest female
coxswain on the team. I’m
not going to get into the nitty
gritty details of my weight in
this column, but let’s just say
it’s something I struggle with
when I’m forced to confront
my weight on a near weekly
basis, all while reminiscing
on my time as a tan, muscular,
powerful high school athlete.
Recently, it seems that every
calorie I eat is accompanied by
an omnipresent sense of guilt:
What will I weigh in at if I eat
this sandwich? If I skip lunch?
If I go to yoga twice this week,
can I eat these jelly beans?
What about water weight?
How much can I sweat out?
Now,
is
this
a
healthy
attitude to take? Probably not.
But I’m not sure what else to
do. I love to cook and I love to
eat, but right now I feel guilty
for enjoying it. I feel like I have
to sacrifice because my athletes
are sacrificing so much for the
same sport. I don’t talk about
this with anyone, and have
never told anyone this whole
story because I don’t want
anyone to worry. People think
I’m chill, laid back and go with
the flow. I’m the coxswain who
loves to cook, not obsessed with
weight at all. I don’t have all
the answers. I have to admit
that I don’t know how to have
a healthy relationship with my
body, the food I eat and the sport
I love. I’m so incredibly lucky to
be surrounded by people who
love and support me, and make
sure that I’m treating myself
with care and respect and want
me to be healthy, because I
know others don’t receive this
same support. I have a long way
to go before I find that place
where I’m happy and healthy
and confident with my weight,
my body and my place on my
team, but just by writing this, by
processing my own emotions on
the subject, I feel like I’ve taken
steps in the right direction.
W
e all do it. It’s
not
considered
a
surprise
for
most of us. But despite its
commonality,
it
is still a uniquely
individual
experience — and an
intimidating one at
that.
What is it, you
may ask? Growing
up. It is something
that I always looked
forward to in some
capacity as a child.
I wanted to be able
to make my own decisions,
stay up as late as I wanted
and be able to watch that
one show because I could.
There was this air of glamour
associated with being an adult
and considering yourself a
“grown up,” as depicted in
the famed “13 Going on 30.”
Jennifer
Garner
wanted
nothing more than to move
past
the
awkwardness
of
adolescence
and
suddenly
live an established lifestyle.
This concept seemed ideal
to me in the past, and I
genuinely believed that the
progression of growing up
worked
somewhat
in
this
way. I convinced myself that
one would move past all of
the uncomfortable growing
pains and find themselves in a
position in which everything
had panned out akin to one’s
vision.
I am now learning that the
movies are unrealistic.
Moving toward the summer,
I find myself at a crossroads.
I am nearly halfway through
college. As of now, I think I
know what I want to do, but
such is seemingly as subject
to change as the weather
report on my phone. The
past two years have been
transformative, but I also
feel as though they have gone
in the blink of an eye. For
me, time feels as though it is
moving so quickly that I am
barely running fast enough to
catch up to it. Fortunately, I
know I am not alone.
I am struggling to find a
balance between focusing on
my future and taking time to
live in the moment.
I find it difficult
to allow myself to
de-stress and enjoy
this
time
before
responsibilities
increase and more
is
expected,
but
also focus on what
is to come. As a
college student on
this campus, I feel
as though there is
such a fixation on the future.
This is not a new phenomenon,
but rather one accelerated
with the onset of the college
admissions process. “Taking
this
class
will
help
you
prepare for this test, which
will
look
better
for
this
school,” the story goes. There
is this persistent expectation
for students in most schooling
environments to, at a young
age, possess a keen awareness
of the “next” thing. With eyes
locked on the future, will we
fail to enjoy the now?
Will I miss out on an
opportunity because I failed
to dedicate the extra time to
it? Or instead chose to pursue
other interests? Can I find a
balance between managing
my own expectations and still
enjoy living in the moment?
Am I doing enough or too
much?
I do not have the answers.
As summer comes, classes end
and the next phase begins,
I challenge myself to be OK
with not knowing all of the
answers, but instead knowing
that the next thing may not
always be what I anticipate it
to be.
Recently, someone told me
that if they could go back in
time and advise a younger
self, they would say to not
plan life out. As someone
who
calendars
everything,
this idea terrified me. When
growing up and moving into
the next phase or stage of
something always seemed like
a priority, how could I just not
plan? Would it be possible?
Now, I am not saying to
completely abandon an idea or
plan for what you want and how
you envision reaching a goal. If
you find yourself in that place,
that is amazing. But as I look to
the final two years of college,
or
tackle
the
sometimes
daunting
task
of
applying
to more job opportunities,
I am going to advise myself
to take hold of that notion.
Sometimes one cannot plan,
or anticipate, even if they
believe they are following
everything according to the
predetermined steps they have
laid out.
The secret is that no one
person truly has everything
figured out. This is something
that I have not fully wrapped
my head around yet, or accepted
in its entirety, but it is true. No
one person has all the answers
for how we can surpass the
difficulties or ensure that we
achieve all of the steps we
predetermine that we need to
take to reach our foreseen goals
later on. Despite glamourizing
the concept at the beginning,
Jennifer
Garner’s
character
realizes this — that growing
up is not really as easy as it is
depicted to be. I am going to
hold on to that, and remind
myself sometimes there are
growing pains, regardless of
age.
When I grow up
Caroline Llanes can be reached at
cmllanes@umich.edu.
ANONYMOUS | OP-ED
This is the fourth piece in the
Survivors Speak series, which seeks
to share the varied, first-person
experiences of survivors of sexual
assault. If you are a survivor and
would like to submit to the series,
please see our guidelines for
submissions on our website. Though
the deadline has passed, we may
accept late submissions.
Survivors Speak: Life as a male sexual assault victim
SAMANTHA SZUHAJ | COLUMN
CAROLINE
LLANES
The next thing
may not always be
what I anticipate
it to be
CONTRIBUTE TO THE CONVERSATION
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Letters should be fewer than 300 words while op-eds should be 550
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tothedaily@michigandaily.com.
Recently, it
seems that every
calorie I eat is
accompanied by
an omnipresent
sense of guilt
We, as men,
should encourage
other men to
speak up, to be
courageous
Samantha Szuhaj can be reached at
szuhajs@umich.edu.
SAMANTHA
SZUHAJ