My current partner recently got a vasectomy. Because we're also monogamous, well-past six months of monogamy and barrier use, and both are current with our STI testing -- the combination of things and time period I know massively reduces our STI risks -- that means we're not using condoms right now.

This is very unusual for me: in around 25 years of sexual experiences and many partnerships, the vast majority of the times I have had male partners, including long-term partners, there have been condoms. As someone who wants to be able to enjoy her sex life as much as possible, who knows preventing infection is part of that, and also as someone who can't use most other methods of birth control, condoms have been my BFFs.

I've never found them to be the drag some people frame them as. Rather, I often find myself perplexed by folks who frame them that way, even though I know as a sex educator that more often than not, the folks who do frame them that way either a) haven't even used them or have used them only very rarely, b) are copping that attitude because it's perceived as cool or macho, c) worry the pause for a condom may give a partner time to reconsider sex, or d) are into a level of risk-taking for themselves or partners that condoms curb. We can't accurately say condoms massively dull physical sensation (and we've got studies to show that clearly), but for sure, if people get off on sex posing high personal risk to themselves or their partners, condoms are going to seriously dull that buzz.

All the same, I know there are people outside of those situations and mindsets who experience them as a drag, particularly when it comes to how they feel condoms "interrupt" sex. Even in birth control literature comparing methods, we'll often see methods like condoms framed as "interrupting" things. That given, even though I have had condom-free experiences in the past and not found them anything to write home about, I was prepared to discover that walking into a change in my sex life where condoms absolutely were not needed, and also where I had a new birth control method that was as reliable as it gets and totally foolproof might give me some new insight on why some folks feel that way. I was prepared to be wrong: to find out that suddenly what I perceived as no interruption at all had been, in fact, more of an interruption than I realized.

Bzzzzt. So far, that's not what's happened. While I really do try to leave work out of the bedroom -- something that can be challenging when your work is so often all about what happens in the bedroom -- I couldn't help but notice something.

On the whole, the difference in time when it comes to getting from want-to-do-that to game-on, between using condoms and not using condoms? It's maybe around 30 seconds. If it's even that long.

So, this got me thinking. Why, then, do so many people make it sound like those seconds are many minutes or hours? Is there something special my partners and I have been doing over the years that made it so much more quick and easy? I'm not sure, but I figured I'd share some of the basics just in case.

Here's the list I came up with:

I keep condoms handy. Really handy. In the places where I tend to have sex more than others, there are plenty of condoms within arm's reach. I keep them in my bag or coat pocket if and when I'm going out and I suspect, even just slightly, sex may be something I may want to pursue. While keeping them around my house can be easier for me as an older adult not living with my folks, it seems to me that if you're hiding condoms from parents, you're hiding sex. It's a LOT easier to hide something as small as a few condoms than to hide something as big as having sex. So if you can figure out how to be sneaky with sex? You can figure out how to be sneaky with condoms.

If and when I think myself and a partner may be getting towards the kinds of sex where a condom is needed, I or they often pull the condom out then and put it within even closer reach. That action alone has often been the only condom negotiation, if you can even call it that, I have had to have. Almost always, when I do that and the time does come for condom use, my partners have just put it on with little more than a raised eyebrow or a few words first to be sure I wanted to have the kind of sex the condom was going on for. If I have wanted them used earlier than they reach for them, a simple, "Hey would you put that on now?" almost always suffices.

For the record, taking out or putting out a condom isn't a promise or guarantee you'll have sex of any kind: you still get to choose not to have any kind of sex at any time if you want to. If you worry your partners won't understand that or will make assumptions, talk it over. If you do talk it over and they still aren't getting the gist, you're probably better off kicking folks like that out of bed full-stop than keeping them around as a sexual or potential sexual partner.

I try and keep a variety of condoms around, especially if I don't know what a given partner likes already. That way, I can easily avoid someone seeing a condom brand they know hasn't felt good for them and being momentarily stumped. I even have the funny feeling that sometimes I may have had partners more inclined to use a condom just because they saw something new in my stash they hadn't tried yet.

How can you do that, too? Well, you can buy sample boxes with different styles at drugstores, or order samples mixes online. If you're strapped for cash, you could make a day of getting around to a few different public health department clinics and/or family planning (sexual health) clinics, and make yourself a pretty good collection from the free stash most have sitting out there for everyone to take.

I don't leave having condoms up to my partners. I've always kept condoms myself, both at home and when I'm out where sex seems at all possible. Because of that, I have a hard time thinking of a time when I've ever had that "Who's got a condom?" conversation. Instead, it's more a Quick Draw McGraw situation where it's just about who flips one out first. I usually win.

I know that practice makes perfect. If not perfect, way better. My current partner and I are old hands at this: we've both been using condoms regularly for longer than many of our Scarleteen readers have been alive. We both may well be quicker at opening them, getting them on, and lubing them up than some of you might be just because we've used them for longer. But that's not because we have special skills (in my case, quite the opposite, since I have a hand disability), it's just because we've had practice.

That's practice you can get for yourself, too. Male-bodied people don't have to start balding or have lots of sex partners or lots of partnered sex to get good at putting condoms on: that's something you can do all by yourself, at home, with or around your own masturbation. Since that's also a much lower-pressure environment than with a partner, I'd say spending some time learning that way could be awfully helpful.

For those of you sans-penis, while I know as someone who does condom demonstrations in-person that some of you might find those silly, one part people do unilaterally tend to value is having the chance to use a demonstration model yourself and get some of your own practice. If a sex educator is doing condom demonstrations and doesn't offer you the chance to have a few tries yourself, pipe up and ask! Feel free to use your humor if you feel uncomfortable about being the one to ask. Chances are good you won't be the only person in the room who wants to try, and a group giggle-fest around learning to put on a condom doesn't mean no one learns anything.

(Of course, there are also always those bananas in the kitchen, too.)

I don't have emotional or intellectual baggage about condoms. I ride in a car, I put on a seatbelt. I have sex, I use condoms and/or other latex barriers. One is no bigger a deal than the other for me, and neither makes me question my values, ideas, the way I feel about someone or who I am. Just like I don't have the idea that wearing a seatbelt means my experience of being in a car is somehow ruined or substandard, I don't think using condoms has any negative impact or even the potential for negative impact on my sex life. Quite the opposite.

I was talking to my friend Cory the other day about this, and we agreed that both having come of age using condoms pretty much right from the start of our sex lives, without any sense or idea that there was something weird about doing so, we both feel like we have a leg-up on those who didn't start out with safer sex at the gate; like using condoms has perhaps been easier for us for that reason, and not something we ever thought was somehow not how it should be. I don't have to work through my feelings about condoms when the time comes to use one, nor do I pause or hesitate to yank one out and toss it over out of fear, nervousness, or worry about what the other person will think. Using condoms is so normal for me that it's the times they DON'T get used where everything kind of stops for me and can interrupt what's going on with me sexually. (To my credit, I have yet to shriek "What the hell are you doing!?!" at my partner since we've entered the condom-free zone, something I was worried would happen out of habit. It still might, don't count me out just yet.)

If you have any kind of baggage around condoms, or get the impression your partners do, this is something else I'd suggest talking out and unpack together, ideally before you actually need to use condoms. Sometimes something as simple as each person saying to the other, "You know, I don't think condoms are any big deal and I'm always happy to use them without a fuss," can go a mighty long way.

Dumping any emotional or intellectual baggage around condoms can also mean that the amount of time it takes to put on a condom does not feel like a ticking clock where everyone is tense or awkward or worried.

On that note? I only have sex with people I really want to have sex with, when I really want to have sex with them and am comfortable having sex with them and when I get the strong impression the same is true for them about me. If we didn't really want to be having sex with each other, had reservations, or just weren't fully feeling it, it would certainly be a lot easier for those 30 seconds to feel like 3 hours. If we weren't really into each other and comfortable being together, it would be harder to fill that time with either other sexual activity, like masturbation, for instance, or like turning putting condoms on into something just as sexual as any other part of sex, or with comical or comfortable conversation.

If you have ever sat through a 40-minute class with a teacher you can't stand, or on a subject that bores you to tears, you know exactly what I'm talking about. You can feel whole LIFETIMES pass during those kinds of 40 minutes.

I have always had every expectation condoms would be used. It's never been a question mark for me; a "Will we? Will he?" It's always been a given: if he wants to have sex with me, he will use a condom. If I want to have sex with him or her, I will use a latex barrier. I've said it before here elsewhere, and anyone who has had this conversation with me in person has had the not-so-dubious distinction of having me demonstrate Condom Face in the flesh: a look on one's face one can have that a partner sees and just knows you have every confidence they'll put a condom on. In my experience, when someone perceives it's not a question for you, but a given, and they can see that right on your face, they treat it like a given. That not only better assures condoms will be used, it cuts down on the time it takes to just get the condom on. (The actress in this video makes said face a few times, for the record. She also demonstrates clear expectations her partner would put on a condom, and the requisite shock and awe when he will not.)

The way I see it, sex is no place to be shy. If I'm un-shy enough to be having sex with someone, I'd better be un-shy enough to have, present and use condoms. If I ever feel too shy to do that? I figure I feel too shy with that person or in that situation for sex, and that's that.

I don't see condom use as any kind of interruption at all: I see it as one of many common parts of sex. I used bunny ears around "interrupt" today for a reason, and that's because I think that language and framing is...well, kind of big stupid.

Why? Because sex gets "interrupted" for a millions reasons. Someone has to pee. We're changing positions, shifting to or negotiating another activity. The dog barks. The phone or doorbell rings. Someone wants to stop the action to smell (or really look at) the roses, as it were. Something funny happens and everyone can't stop laughing for a few minutes. Someone gets a leg cramp. We want to stop and talk something out. We want to pause to verbally express that something feels amazing or that something hurts. We need to add more lube, or drop the lube bottle and have to hunt for it under the bed. We need to grab and put on a condom. We need to check or change the condom. We forgot we left the oven on. Someone knows it seems like the worst timing ever, but they just totally have to tell you this thing RIGHT NOW they heard the other day that was so fascinating (though it may only be me who does that). We need to jump up and do a silly dance in the middle of everything just because we feel that freaking good and absolutely cannot help ourselves. We just need a few minutes to catch our breath. As you get older, you will probably find you need to catch your breath even more often. Same goes with the peeing. And the goofy dancing.

For sure, you could view some or all of those things as interruptions, but since they're all also often part of so many of our sexual experiences so much of the time, you could also just view them, including condom use, as part of sex and not as interruptions at all. I suggest the former.

I know it's only so much consolation to you right now, but the older I get, the more I notice how much easier having a positive body image becomes. I know that's clearly not the case for all older women: after all, plenty of women my age and older are getting sliced, diced and Botoxed to within an inch of their lives. However, it's also not just me. I often notice that women I'm friends with also seem to have a good handle and perspective on their body image, despite the diversity of our bodies. Usually a much better one then they had when they were your age.

But you know, what I wish I knew then that I do know now is that most of my body image is totally up to me. Just like it is now, so it was when I was in my teens: I have control over how positive or negative it is. And that's something you'll find many older women wish they had known back when. You don't have to wait until you're in your 30's, 40's or beyond to get to a better place with yours. You can start doing that right this second, and I'm hoping we can help you out with that some here.

When I was young, I rarely heard older women talking positively about their bodies. There were a few exceptions, but for the most part, what I watched and heard about from older women growing up was how fat they were, how they needed to lose this many pounds, how this thing or that one didn't fit them (and how they needed it to), how what they looked like was making them miserable; how what they ate, if anything, resulted in their misery. Of course, what was really making them miserable was what was coming OUT of their mouths, far more than what was going on.

I wasn't helped by all those negatives. But I was helped by the positive messages I did hear, and also by the messages I heard that were simply real and truthful, even if those older women weren't yet in the best space, but they at least made clear they were trying to get there by self-acceptance, rather than self-torture or conformity.

So, because so often here we hear from users struggling with body image, I wanted to pass on a little holiday gift to you. I asked a few of my friends in their late twenties, thirties, forties, fifties and up -- who are also a range of shapes and sizes -- if they'd pass on what they've learned and where they're at right now with body image to share with you. Here's what they wanted to say:

Alison: As a teen, watching my friends w/ eating disorders, I made a conscious decision to accept my body as it is. It hasn't always been easy, but making that commitment to myself is one of the best things I've ever done, and I continue to strive to live up to it.

Danya: The more time you spend thinking about how your body looks, or what you've eaten or haven't eaten, or any of that stuff, the less time and brainspace you have to think about and plan your creative work; notice inequalities and plot revolution; pay attention to what other people need and respond to that; feel your feelings; come up with big visions, schemes and plans; meditate, pray, or otherwise feed your spiritual side; or do any one of a million other things that can help you enact your potential in the world. When you catch yourself going there, think about what else you could be doing with that mental space, and USE IT.

Linda: I have always had the ability to look at my body in a mirror and see at least one good thing that I like, usually how narrow my waist was-instead of dawdling too much on having a wider behind than most. I have been every size there is, and it's always come down to how it feels to live in my body. Is it comfortable to move? AS a teenager, I always thought I had to be a specific size, and wasted too much time worrying over not being able to buy the "in" styles. Then I started being more creative about what I wore, or got pants tailored to fit my smaller waist etc, and wow did that help. I wish I could tell my teen self how beautiful I was. At 15 I actually said "I will probably never be prettier, and sadly, I am the least likely to recognize that fact". I had already noticed how women talk about their bodies as they grow older, and everyone said they were really perfectly themselves as a teenager but failed to stop and enjoy it. Dancing NIA is awesome for body self esteem. I highly recommend it!

Amanda: I had a pretty good body image in high school. I didn't understand why fashion magazines seemed to obsess over back fat and arm fat and FAT. Life seemed too short to worry about those sorts of things. Then I gained weight and it was a struggle to not obsess. And then I realized that the power I had as a teen had little to do with my size (I certainly wasn't thin) and more to do with how I felt and carried myself and I just try to recapture that feeling. When I hear women talking shit about their bodies, I just want to remind them that fat does not equal ugly. There are so many people that prove this on a daily basis. And then I try to show them Joy Nash's "Fat Rant."

Amy: As a fat woman (who has been fat my whole life!), I can say that every minute of every day is a struggle. A struggle to accept what I look like, a struggle to shout down and shut up the voices inside my head AND outside in the world AND in every piece of media I see that tell me I am ugly, bad, greedy, gluttonous, asexual, unloveable and less than human because of what I look like. It was a struggle when I was a teenager, and it's a struggle now, and so far, that's never changed -- and I'm sad that I don't have any better news than that. There are days when I AM able to shout louder than the negative voices, and I can dress in clothes that I like and go out into the world and feel powerful and capable and worthy and talented, regardless of my weight. There are other days (when I get "moo'ed" at walking down the street, or read personal ads that say "No fatties", "Please be thin -- sorry, but overweight girls gross me out") when I retreat into the house and can't face the world anymore.

The best I have come up with so far -- regarding how to live in the body I have, in this world as we know it -- is to appreciate my body not for what it looks like, but for what it can do. I'm grateful that it has supported me and remained functional through an amazing amount of stress and pain and crap. :) I'm grateful that despite my weight, I can MOVE - I can walk FAST, I can walk FAR, I can do yoga, I can stretch, I can lift weights...I am a fully-working person (and there ARE THIN PEOPLE who can't say that, dammit!). And the times when I feel best about myself -- when I really do feel connected to my external self in a positive, caring way -- are when I'm exercising. When I'm walking on a treadmill, or ellipting, or hiking...when I feel my muscles moving, and my own sweat and breath...I realize that THIS is what a body is.

It is ANATOMY, it is BIOLOGY, it is CHEMISTRY. It is not APPEARANCE -- or at least, it shouldn't be. The idea of beauty is so insanely subjective, so random and ineffable, that it's utterly f*cking ridiculous for our culture to label our three-dimensional flesh-and-blood "houses" that do so much for us as beautiful or not. So, I try to remember that. I try to care more that my body works than whether it's meeting a beauty standard.

But it is hard. It is never less very very hard.

Priscilla: I spent my teen years thinking I was fat and gross. I often wish I could tell my teenage self that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her. One thing that helped me to get to a better place, actually, was going to clothing optional events. I saw a lot of women's bodies and realized that my body was just fine, that beautiful bodies came in lots of shapes, and that I shouldn't compare myself to women in porn or in fashion magazines because they were not the average and they were airbrushed all to hell. For most women and girls today, the only naked bodies they ever see are in porn, so they compare themselves to an unrealistic standard.

Erika: It's much better NOW at 48. Main reason? I finally got fitted, and now have bras that FIT. 34 FF: delicious! And I adore my ass. Gawd, I sound narcissistic.

Samantha: I think it was some time in my 30s, when I heard the (source utterly forgotten at this point) quote "You're the only person you're going to wake up with every single morning of your life." That made me really think about whether or not I was un/happy with my appearance because of me, or due to outside influence. And since this is the only skin I'm gonna have this time around, I'd better damn well get to loving it and understanding it, no matter what else is going on.

So I tried to be more gentle and forgiving toward my body on days when it felt bloated or slow: there was a reason for that after all. And I've kept trying to do that, and remind myself that overall, this body has been awfully damned good to me through the years, it deserves more appreciation than I've been kind enough to give it at times.

Also, figuring out how to wear clothes that fit properly! Neither too large, nor too small.

Mary: I've had endometriosis since I was 13, with extremely painful periods, and always felt that my body was punishing me for being female. It wasn't until I was much older that I decided to treat it as a disease instead of as "just part of being a girl."

For me, hormonal treatments are the answer; for a lot of women, surgery to remove lesions is the answer. Finally being pain-free has made me start to really like my body and feel good about being a woman. The moral is: illnesses of the female body aren't curses or our special lot in life; they're just illnesses requiring medical treatment, and it's important to keep searching until you find a treatment that works for you. We deserve to be as healthy as anybody else does.

Nancy: Think about what your body can do, not what it looks like. Your body is designed to move through space and propel you through your life. Your legs and thighs hold you up, so you can dance and shake your tail feather. Having just seen "Fela," an amazing celebration of movement and body diversity, I'd recommend African dance, which embraces power, agility and all body forms - not skinny and weightless. Embrace the space that you take up in this world!

And here's my own two cents: when I was younger my mother would put these images on the fridge which were intended to inspire her not to eat. (Starvation diets were all the rage in the 70's and 80's: not like we've come that far since then.) The one I remember most was of a fat, mostly naked woman who had covered herself in cake and garishly colorful makeup. She was laughing and smiling, and appeared to be having an outrageously good time, seeming to have no idea or care that for some women like my mother, she was an object lesson of some kind, a warning to other women.

Comparing the image of that woman, and her relationship to food and her body, with the image of my mother -- who rarely, if ever, looked happy with herself, who felt that food was her enemy (she's since gotten over it, by the way), left me with a very different takeaway than it left my mother. My mother looked at that woman and herself and saw her nightmare. I, on the other hand, looked at that woman and saw a joyous, fleshy lady who made life, the body and food look like the best party ever. If I had to pick a body image role model of the two of them, I would have picked the woman in that photo, hands down. She was the one with a healthy body image and a healthy relationship to food. She was the one who was clearly happy and who clearly felt good about herself. I loved seeing that lady on the fridge: she always made me smile.

I've had some times in my life where I was so poor I had to skip meals, sometimes for more than one day. Not only did that wind up impacting my health (two of my internal organs eventually gave up the ghost and landed me in the hospital at death's door because of it), it's something I can never forget when I'm not in that position and I can eat. I love food, and it loves me back: it nourishes me and keeps me healthy and vital, plus, it's freaking delicious and an amazing sensual experience to eat. I'm always grateful to be able to put fresh, delicious food on my table and to have the time and the privilege to savor it. There were times in my teens that due to the words of an abusive stepparent about my body that I tried very hard to love food less, to get thinner, thin enough, I hoped, to stop the jeers. I'm lucky to have come out of that with the chutzpah and self-worth to reclaim a positive body image, but when I think about the times I did really let those nasty messages sink in, I feel pretty angry with myself. I want to go back in time and deliver a comeback a lot like one Carrie Fisher shouted out recently:

"What the @#*! do YOU look like?

I know I don’t really have the right to ask……I’m a public figure——Ive made an unspoken contract to keep that figure slim…….but still, I find myself wondering…….See, I think the folks that insult & mock celebrities who DARE to pack on ten pounds or—–God forbid——MORE than ten!…..I would think it only fair that they post a photo of themselves along with their poisonous observations! And you know what else would be SUPER cool??? Their IQ! ALL the numbers! An approximate count of Weight AND wisdom!"

In my adult life, at around 5'4, I've weighed everything from 120 to 185. At 120 I was skeletal, and I looked freaking scary. I only weighed that little because I could not afford to eat. I'm not a small-boned or small-muscled gal: I come from hearty stock from all sides of my genetic spectrum. 120 is NOT a healthy weight for me, not at all. At 185 I was depressed: not because of my weight, mind -- I weighed what I did because of my depression. I've felt best in my body when I weighed around 155, at the time that I was able to teach and train in a sport that I love for an hour and a half three times a week, and when I ate like I was fueling a small country. When I was at that weight, due to all that boxing and kickboxing, my body shape -- which is often the relatively rare hourglass shape we so often hear is THE timeless ideal when I don't train so hard -- was hardly the typical feminine ideal: I had forearms like Popeye, my breasts shrunk considerably, and my already substantial thighs got even bigger.

Go figure that the weight I felt best at happened to be the one when my personal body was at its healthiest and I was also doing all the things I loved to do with it the most: not the weight or shape where I was closest to popular beauty ideals. Not when I wasn't eating. Not when I was most focused on what it looked like rather than what it could do.

It might also be helpful to know that besides the time when I was so thin because of being sick, people I know seem to guess my weight wrong all the time, thinking I've lost weight when I've gained, or gained when I lost; thinking I weigh 140 when I'm 180, or 170 when I weigh 150. (When I hear women talking about needing to lose five or ten pounds, I can't help but wonder where they got the idea anyone could even see that kind of difference.) There are times I thought I looked like hell that I heard how sexy I was, and times I thought I looked amazing when no one else seemed to notice. Other people's perceptions of our body are always going to vary, be more about them than us, and often will have little to do with any kind of reality. If I tried to base my body image on what other people thought and said, I'd feel a lot like taffy being made; pushed and pulled in 57 different directions all the time with no solid center.

One thing I think can be really tough about body image when you're younger is that so many of the beauty ideals out there feature young people. It's a lot easier to look at those ideals and try and find how you measure up, because those folks are at least your age. When you get older, you get even further and further from those ideals, so it can become easier to care less and less about them as they clearly are just not about you. I can weigh whatever I do, look however great I look, but I'll be 40 next year: I cannot possibly look 18. And I don't want to: I want to look like me. I did the hard work of living past 18, so I've no shame in having an almost-40 self to show for it.

The truth is, those ideals aren't accurate for most of us no matter how old or young we are, no matter how tall or short, how fat or thin, how black or white. The fact that many models are around your age may be the only thing you have in common with them. Actually, that's not true: if you're eating disordered, feel totally controlled by what others think of how you look and are constantly at war with your body, you probably have that in common, too.

Here's the thing: when I accept and embrace my body -- no matter what I weigh, what shape I'm in, if I'm sick or I'm well -- I enjoy my body. When I put it down, pick on it, analyze every inch of it, consider my appearance as a combination of flaws and perfections, think about how it could look better in this way or that one, focus on my disabilities instead of my abilities, I stop enjoying it as much and being fully present in it and in my life. I start to other it when I do those things, which is a pretty crazy thing to do about something that isn't separate from me, but an integral part of all of who I am and all of what I do.

My body can't be my enemy, because my body IS me. If I forget that, I also tend to get my priorities skewed, and invest more energy in my appearance -- which even on the days when I think I am seriously hot stuff, offers me little of value -- and less in the whole of my life that really makes me feel good about myself; really benefits me and everyone else I interact with. Even the activities that are really mostly about my body tend to be less fun if what I'm focused on is what my body looks like instead of what it feels like and what I feel like in it.

My best advice is to do the best you can to make sure that anything about your body is really about your body: not about someone else's or your ideas or ideals about other bodies. If you're having any kind of sex, be sure it's sex about you and your body. If you find clothing that really catches your fancy, see how it feels to you on your body, rather than looking at how it looks on the person in the dressing room next to you or the mannequin at the front of a store. Pick things to do with your body that feel like the right things, that feel good -- physically and emotionally -- rather than focusing on if you think -- or think others will think - they look good. If you feel better, happier, more free, dancing in a way that makes you look like a floppy, wet noodle than you do when you look like you're giving a lap dance, pick the noodle-dance. Those happy feelings have more staying power than what you look like in a given moment.

And remember that there's nothing you can ever do to have the same body, look the same, or be the same weight or shape all of your life. Like every other part of our lives, our bodies are in a constant state of change, be that what we weigh, what our hormones are doing, if we have wrinkles and grey hair or not, if our boobs are up here or have moved down there, if we've been pregnant or not, if we've become disabled in a way we used to be abled. Body image issues you have at 15 may be something you get over with the passage of time alone by 40... just in time for some new issues you didn't see coming. If you don't take the time and use your energy to really deconstruct and discard all the crap that feed your young adult body image issues, you probably won't be able to handle the second or third round any better. So hopefully you'll work right now to acquire both some wisdom and profound impatience with putting so much into things that offer you so little. Doing that sooner rather than later will let you ditch a lot of these worries that will keep you from the best stuff in life and from fully experiencing how great the best stuff is (and yes, that includes sex: if you hate your body, no matter how good you think sex is now, wait until you see how righteous it is when you love the skin you're in).

I've met women who started their body negativity young and held unto it for years, some for decades. But one resounding thing I hear from women of all ages, when we finally do get past all of this -- and if we have lives we earnestly enjoy and fully participate in, we do -- is a big-time anger at how much time we wasted getting there.

If you have body image issues now, I beseech you: do what you can to get over them yesterday. In some ways, it's tougher when you're younger, but in other ways, it's easier: after all, while age tends to help women flip the world off more, we also live in a world where youth is considered beauty. If you're in your teens or early twenties, this is probably the closest you are ever getting to mainstream beauty ideals, no matter what you look like. If you invest energy now in trying to meet those ideals and cling to them, things probably won't get easier for you as you get older as they have for many of us: they'll get harder. And you'll waste more of your life, miss out on more of the good stuff while you're drowning in this crap that benefits you and others in no way whatsoever. We can't expect to feel anything but empty if we put our hearts, minds and energy in empty places.

As you can hopefully see just from the words of women on this page, it's not how well we do or don't meet beauty standards or ideals that best determines our happiness with and our love of our own bodies and selves: it's how little a hoot we can learn to give about them.

Originally written for The Guardian, condensed version can be seen there.

In 2008, over 5,000 UK women under the age of 20 had an abortion that was not their first. As was made clear by the alarmist headlines following the publication of those numbers, this is a big concern for the public.

A woman’s reproductive life often spans 30+ years. Around 1/2 of all pregnancies in the US and UK are unplanned. Contraception isn’t used or used properly. It fails sometimes even in perfect use. Female fertility peaks between the ages of 19 and 24: the reason we tend to see the most abortions (and pregnancies) in that group is because it is the most fertile group having the most sex. (Piccinino, LJ, Mosher, WD. Trends in contraceptive method use in the United States: 1982-1994. 1998. Family Planning Perspectives. Vol. 30(1): 4-10 & 6, Table 1) The UK teen pregnancy rate is the highest in Western Europe: six times higher than the Netherlands, nearly three times higher than France and more than twice the rate in Germany.

In 2008, nearly 33% of all UK terminations were not first-time procedures. Under 18’s had 1,452 “repeat” terminations. Women 18-24 had 21,443 terminations that were a second or third; those 20-29, 16,734 repeats, and for women over 30, 23,804. As it is in the US, the group with the highest rate of repeats is women over 30. As it is in the states, half those women are likely already mothers.

I don’t get the concern about abortions, specifically. No matter what choices we make with it, pregnancy has the capacity to radically change our health and life. Pregnancy itself is a potentially dangerous health event: 40% of all pregnant women have some sort of health risk. 15% of those risks are potentially life-threatening. The rate of risk and complication with delivery is 8-10 times higher (and higher still for the youngest women) than for legal, first-trimester abortion. The maternal mortality rate in New York state dropped 45% after abortion was legalized in the U.S. Safe, legal abortion isn’t the health issue: unintended pregnancy is.

We should all have women becoming unwantedly pregnant as our deepest concern, no matter how a pregnancy ends.

What most influences unplanned pregnancy? People shagging in ways that matchmake sperm and egg, which most do and historically will have done by the age of 19 or 20. Whether reliable contraception is used correctly and consistently. Poverty is a huge factor, as is the sense of reduced self that often results from poverty, like the sense or reality that motherhood is an attainable goal while other goals are not within reach. Rape and other sexual abuses and unhealthy relationships, also whoppers.

What can be done? The UK plans to respond to this in exactly some of the ways I'd suggest. Lucky Brits! When I think the U.S. government should respond a certain way, they have an uncanny habit of doing the opposite.

Provide better sex education, information about and access to contraception: The 2008/2009 Opinions Survey Report shows only 57% of UK women 16–19 using contraception, a lower rate than all other ages. Only 11% of young people in the Netherlands don’t use contraception: their rate of STIs and unwanted pregnancies is impressively low. 11% vs. 43%: that’s major.

Women need access to comprehensive, unbiased information about all contraceptive methods, addressing all as viable while making clear the differences in effectiveness and proper use. Women need that information at school, at home, in the media and from healthcare providers, including those providing care with pregnancy, whether it ends in abortion, miscarriage or birth. The youngest women use family planning services less than older women, and are often scared to ask for them. It’s vital they’re offered these services without finger-wagging. Women need information about and access to contraception before they need to use it, not after.

Many women won’t know about all options, how to use them properly, or which methods will suit them best without thorough information that puts an emphasis on them as individuals. For instance, young women nearly always ask for (or are rotely given by healthcare providers) the pill, but oral contraceptives are less effective for teen women than for older women: some data shows a failure rate as high as 20% for young women, with a risk of failure as much as 55% higher for those under 20 as those older. (LM Dinerman et al, Archives of Pediatrics and Adolescent Med, 149(9):967-72, Sept 1995. MD Hayward and J Yogi, "Contraceptive Failure Rate in the US: Estimates from the 1982 National Survey of Family Growth," Family Perspectives, Vol 18, No. 5, Sept/Oct 1986, p. 204; J Trussell, B Vaughan, Contraceptive Failure, Method-Related Discontinuation And Resumption of Use: Results from the 1995 National Survey of Family Growth, Family Planning Perspectives, 1999, 31)

We must work hard to provide marginalized women contraceptive information and overall support services: the poorest women, the youngest women, women of color, refugee women, homeless women, abused women. These women have a higher risk of unplanned pregnancy because they are the least well-served and the least visible.

Assure thorough information is provided during an abortion visit: Women who don’t want to become pregnant again should be offered an in-depth contraception consult during their abortion visit. Women can often start reversible long-acting methods – an injection, implant or IUD – before they leave the clinic. Providers should make clear women can easily become pregnant post-abortion and ask about the dynamics of their sexual relationships. IPV rates in the UK are high: women in abusive, controlling relationships, particularly the youngest women, have higher rates of repeat unwanted pregnancies.

Talk about combining methods: Combining two forms of contraception provides no less than 92% protection from pregnancy in typical use and no less than 98% in perfect use. If we want to cut the rate of sexually transmitted infections and unplanned pregnancy, we must make clear that consistently backing up any method with condoms radically reduces both STI and pregnancy risks.

Increase awareness about emergency contraception: Only 14% of UK women 16-19 reported using emergency contraception in 2008. Less than 1% of women knew it could be used up to 5 days after a risk; only 49% knew it could be used up to 72 hours. 6% of UK women thought one dose of EC could prevent pregnancy until the next menstrual period (it can’t). Many young women do not know they can get emergency contraception through the NHS, not just family planning clinics.

Men need accurate information on contraception, too. Partner contraceptive non-cooperation is a problem, particularly for the youngest women who are still working on their dump-that-chump-skills. Beyond the impact abusive or careless partners have, even caring men can inadvertently sabotage contraceptive efficacy or use. That Opinions Survey Report included a study on male knowledge that makes clear men need more contraceptive education. Only around 30% knew long-acting contraceptives were more effective than other methods.

UK men reported they always used a condom only 3% of the time. To be an effective sole or backup method, condoms must be used correctly and consistently. Make sure men know that they also are entitled to prevent pregnancies they do not want, and have methods they can use themselves to exercise their reproductive rights. We need to do a better job making sure boys and men understand they are as responsible for their sexual choices, including prevention of unwanted pregnancy, as women are. We don’t do women or men any favors by accepting or enabling double-standards to the contrary.

Think (and talk) differently about teen sexuality: Most young people will -- as they always have -- be sexual with partners. The approaches to teen sexuality with the best outcomes accept this rather than trying to deny or eradicate it.

When we give young people a message their sexuality is something shameful they need to fear or hide, they hear it. They become afraid and less inclined to ask questions or for help, to be honest about what they need and what’s really going on with them. In the Netherlands (last time, I promise): they don’t treat teen sexuality as we do in the UK and the US. They don’t present young people’s sexual partnerships as a terrifying if but as an acceptable when. When reared with a clear cultural expectation they will seek out sexual partnership and an equally clear expectation they will handle sexual partnership ably, young people often will, in fact, do just that.

Just like anything else, all of sexuality has a learning curve. As with, say, cooking, driving a car or writing pieces on huge topics in less than 1,000 words, few begin their sex lives savants. We can’t expect young people to magically be better at this than the rest of us, especially without our help and support. Should we want them to be better at it all than we were or are, we can’t keep doing the same things we know full well have always failed them.

I get the impression that some, if not many of of our users think that condom failure rates are the same as condom breakage/slippage rates. In other words, think that when we explain that in typical use, condoms are 85% effective, that means that 15% of condoms break.

It doesn't: that is NOT what those rates mean. I hate for anyone to be presuming it is and to panic about a potential pregnancy via condom use because of that misunderstanding.

When we say condoms are effective 98% of the time in perfect use, that means that 2% of women using condoms (or, 2 out of every 100) as a sole method perfectly -- as in, following all the directions, including proper storage of condoms -- each year become pregnant. When we say they are 85% effective in typical use -- the way most people use them, which includes storing them incorrectly, putting them on wrong or too late or not using them at all -- that means 15% of women using them that way become pregnant in one year. People often forget that typical use rates for any method include people who really just aren't using that method: that some people who, when asked, say condoms are what they use as a method, have times when they simply aren't used, period. Same with typical use rates for the pill and other methods.

But condoms actually don't break very often, particularly when used perfectly. Here are a few quotes on that for you (bolding mine):

"Condoms hardly ever break if they are stored and used correctly. Studies show that latex condoms break only about 0.4% (4 out of 1000) of the time during the first five uses, and polyurethane condoms break 4% (4 out of 100) of the time during the first five uses." - http://www.youngwomenshealth.org/malecontraceptives1.html

"Men attending 3 sexually transmissible disease clinics and a university health service in Sydney were given a questionnaire asking how many condoms they had used in the past year and how many broke during application or use or slipped off. Respondents were 544 men aged 18 to 54 years. Of these, 402 men reported using 13,691 condoms for vaginal or anal intercourse; 7.3% reportedly broke during application or use and 4.4% slipped off. Men having sex with men reported slightly higher slippage rates than those having sex with women. Breakage and slippage were unevenly distributed among the sample: a few men experienced very high failure rates. A volunteer subsample reported 3 months later on condoms supplied to them: 36 men used 529 condoms, of which 2.8% broke during application or use and 3.4% slipped off. Many of these failures pose no risk to the user, especially those occurring during application, as long as they are noticed at the time, but failure may discourage future use." - from http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/8476971

"In an effort to define condom performance in a group of monogamous couples typical of those using condoms for contraception, we conducted a clinical trial of a single brand of lubricated condoms (Durex Ramses). A total of 4637 attempts to use the condom were evaluated. Six breaks occurred before intercourse (nonclinical breaks), and 10 condoms broke during intercourse or were only noted to have broken upon withdrawal (clinical breaks), resulting in a nonclinical breakage rate of 0.13% (95% confidence interval, 0.05-0.28%), clinical breakage rate of 0.28% (0.15-0.48%), and a total breakage rate of 0.41% (0.25-0.64%). The rate of complete slippage was 0.63% (0.42-0.90%), and total failure (clinical breaks plus complete slips) was 1.04% (0.76-1.37%)." - from http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/9306027

In other words, the rate of breakage/slippage is far, FAR lower than many think or assume, and is a much different figure than rates of effectiveness in typical or perfect use. A condom can break or slip off in EITHER kind of use, and is much more likely to with imperfect use, yet still, breaks and total slip-offs are actually pretty rare.

Want to be sure you're using condoms properly? Check it out: Condom Basics: A User's Manual. Remember that when it comes to preventing pregnancy from a condom failure, the key is using them correctly AND consistently: from start to finish, every time you have intercourse.

Sex leads to pregnancy leads to childbirth.

This, of course, is a huge oversimplification. It is possible to have lots of satisfying sex that doesn’t lead to pregnancy because a penis never goes into a vagina. It is possible to have chemical or mechanical problems of the reproductive system that make it impossible or unlikely for penis-in-vagina sex to produce pregnancy. People can also have penis-in-vagina sex while using any of a number of chemical, mechanical or physiological methods to prevent pregnancy (contraception).

But, penis-in-vagina sex has been until very recently in human history the only way to make more humans, and it is only recently that it has been as simple (and difficult) as taking a medicine to prevent pregnancy.

When pregnancy occurs as a result of sex, it may not necessarily lead to childbirth. Genetically abnormal embryos often spontaneously abort, and one pregnancy out of five will end spontaneously before halfway through the pregnancy (20 weeks). Many women choose to end unwanted pregnancies through induced abortion, even in countries where abortion is illegal, clandestine, and dangerous because it is practiced outside the reach of evidence-based healthcare. Illegal abortion is a leading contributor to maternal mortality worldwide. In countries where abortion is legal, women have the choice to end an unwanted pregnancy with the help of a trusted healthcare professional and at little risk to their health or well-being. So, women can be pregnant without ever having given birth or having a child.

For most women who choose to get pregnant, sex gets them pregnant, though some use reproductive technology like insemination or in vitro fertilization to conceive. However, all unplanned pregnancies, which is about half of all pregnancies, occur because of penis-in-vagina sex. So, although it is a generalization, it is still generally true: sex leads to pregnancy leads to childbirth.

Knowledge is power. Sex ed helps us take charge of our sexual and reproductive health, and an important part of reproductive health is the part where you’re reproducing: conception, pregnancy and birth. Sexuality is affected by pregnancy, and childbirth is accomplished with the same hormones and muscular contractions as orgasm. Sex, pregnancy, and birth are biologically and physiologically linked. Childbirth ed is sex ed.

All animals are built to reproduce themselves, and we humans do it with sex, pregnancy, childbirth and breastfeeding. The pregnancy and birth of your child is your first act as a parent, and as parents you want to make the best choices you can for your children and family. By getting educated about the physiologic process of pregnancy, childbirth and breastfeeding, you set yourself up for a healthy reproductive life, and prepare yourself to be an informed consumer of the health-care you receive during pregnancy and childbirth.

I want to bring childbirth ed to Scarleteen because when women and families are educated about birth it can be an empowering, transformative and even sexual experience in the life of a family.

That's the response to the question "What if I want to have sex before I get married?" in "No Second Chance," a film that is part of Sex Respect, an abstinence-only program. Sex Respect has a host of other special and oh-so-factual messages for you in their student workbook, including such sparkly gems as:

I'm going to keep this short and sweet. (Well, short for me anyway.)

Why are so many of you kickass, take-charge gals leaving the buying, having and using of condoms only up to the men? I gotta tell you, it confounds my mind.

Australians let us all rejoice,
For we are young and free.

Not a bad way to start a national anthem, if you ask me. Australians have a long list of reasons to rejoice, when you think about it. Lately though, being young and free hasn't been one of the items on that list. Oh sure, Australia's a first-world democracy, quite wealthy with lovely things like a good education system and mostly public health care. So what am I on about, you might ask, when I say young and free isn't a fitting description?