This is our sixth installment of stories and photographs from I'll Show You Mine, a book by Wrenna Robertson and photographer Katie Huisman, and by all of the women featured in the book, collectively. To find out more about the book, Wrenna, and why we think this is such an important project, check out our interview with her here. Or, you can visit the website for the book to find out and more and get a copy for yourself.

If you'd like to ask the person whose body and words are featured in each entry any questions or have a conversation with her, most of the subjects have agreed to make themselves available here in the comments for discussions with our readers. As mentioned in Wrenna's interview, so many people never get the opportunity to talk about genitals in an honest, open and safe way with others, so we encourage you to avail yourselves of the opportunity, and are so grateful to the women involved for making this kind of conversation available to Scarleteen readers.

We're also happy to talk with you as Scarleteen staff or volunteers if you like. Depending on your feelings about your own genitals or those of others, and your experience (or lack of it) in seeing vulvas so realistically before, reading narratives or seeing images like these may stir up feelings for you which are uncomfortable. We're glad to talk you through any discomfort if you like should that happen for you. We're also happy to answer any questions this series may bring up for you about sexual or reproductive anatomy, either here in comments, on our message boards, or through our text service.

Reminder: This post includes a set of unaltered, unretouched and detailed photographs of the vulva for the purposes of awareness and education, not for sexual or other entertainment. If you do not wish to view photos like this, or are in a location where you do not feel comfortable viewing them, you may not want to read or scroll to the bottom of this page. We have left substantial space in between the words and the images so you may read all of the author's narrative without also viewing the images if you prefer.

This post also includes a first-person narrative reflective of the author and their own thoughts, feelings and language, which may or may not reflect the opinions or values of Scarleteen as an organization.

My name is Kacey.

In casual conversation, it is my vag, or va-goo if I'm in a silly mood. If I'm feeling particularly Feministy or Earth Mother Birthing Goddessy, it is my Yoni. I tell a lover I would love to lick her pussy. Whatever it is called, one thing is certain: it is pretty freaking amazing.

I am a doula, which means that I see on a regular basis the phenomenal things our vaginas can do. I have also birthed two children myself. My first child was a hefty 10 pounds. I gave birth on my hands and knees, stopped listening to the people shouting at me to push, and pushed when I felt like it. I did not tear.

The nurses were amazed with my vagina; I was amazed with myself.

While pregnant with my second, the topic at a party steered towards childbirth. A friend of mine emphatically stated that when she has children she would opt for a cesarean. Not for fear of pain but because she did not want to ruin her vagina. She told me flippantly that I must be loose.

Loose. Ruined.

I realize that sometimes in childbirth problems do occur that lead to major changes in women's vaginas, and I do not wish to discredit those experiences. However, I want to address the idea that childbirth, aging or having lots of sex leads to a RUINED vagina.

I took a look at the dictionary definition of "ruined." Total destruction or disintegration. To harm irreparably.

Many things may change the shape of our vagina and vulva, childbirth being one of them. But does having a different vagina mean it is ruined?

My vagina has accommodated the birth of two large infants, and returned more or less to its original shape. It has been penetrated by various body parts and sex toys and perhaps some things that were not meant as sex toys but were commandeered for that purpose. To this date I have enjoyed a vibrant sex life with a variety of partners. Is my vagina ruined? No! I want to stop hearing women worry that childbirth will RUIN their vagina, stop hearing about doctors putting in a "daddy stitch" when they repair a vaginal tear and get rid of terminology that defines women by their vaginas.

Women who sleep around are called "loose women." There is a problem with that.

My name in Kacey, I have birthed two large babies, slept with multiple partners and had a variety of interesting items in my hoo-ha. Despite this myriad of "vagina destroying" activities, my pussy remains the bastion of partner pleasing, baby birthing and self-exploratory awesomeness that it has always been. Woo!
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Previous posts in this series:

• I'll Show You Mine: Odyne
• I'll Show You Mine: Emily
• I'll Show You Mine: Jayla
• I'll Show You Mine: Erin
• I'll Show You Mine: Diana
• Wrenna Shows You Hers (and mine, and yours, and hers, and hers, and...)

Want some information on vulvas and other sexual anatomy, gender and body image? Check these links out to get started:

• With Pleasure: A View of Whole Sexual Anatomy for Every Body
• Innies & Outies: The Vagina, Clitoris, Uterus and More
• Give'em Some Lip: Labia That Clearly Ain't Minor
• Genderpalooza! A Sex & Gender Primer
• My Corona: The Anatomy Formerly Known as the Hymen & the Myths That Surround It
• From Us to You: Some Volunteer Aunties Talk Body Image

This is our fourth installment of stories and photographs from I'll Show You Mine, a book by Wrenna Robertson and photographer Katie Huisman, and by all of the women featured in the book, collectively. To find out more about the book, Wrenna, and why we think this is such an important project, check out our interview with her here. Or, you can visit the website for the book to find out and more and get a copy for yourself.

If you would like to ask the person whose body and words are featured in each entry any questions or have a conversation with her, most of the subjects have agreed to make themselves available here in the comments for discussions with our readers. As mentioned in Wrenna's interview, so many people never get the opportunity to talk about genitals in an honest, open and safe way with others, so we encourage you to avail yourselves of the opportunity, and are so grateful to the women involved for making this kind of conversation available to Scarleteen readers.

We're also happy to talk with you as Scarleteen staff or volunteers if you like. Depending on your feelings about your own genitals or those of others, and your experience (or lack of it) in seeing vulvas so realistically before, reading narratives or seeing images like these may stir up feelings for you which are uncomfortable. We're glad to talk you through any discomfort if you like should that happen for you. We're also happy to answer any questions this series may bring up for you about sexual or reproductive anatomy, either here in comments, on our message boards, or through our text service.

Reminder: This post includes a set of unaltered, unretouched and detailed photographs of the vulva for the purposes of awareness and education, not for sexual or other entertainment. If you do not wish to view photos like this, or are in a location where you do not feel comfortable viewing them, you may not want to read or scroll to the bottom of this page. We have left substantial space in between the words and the images so you may read all of the author's narrative without also viewing the images if you prefer.

This post also includes a first-person narrative reflective of the author and their own thoughts, feelings and language, which may or may not reflect the opinions or values of Scarleteen as an organization.

My name is Emily.

My pussy is special to me because I didn't always have one, because I have worked so hard to be able to have one. I always struggled with my gender identity and, in particular, having male genitalia, as it never felt right to me. In my darkest times, I could not go to the bathroom without thinking about taking a butcher's knife to my genitalia.

My vagina was constructed out of the tissues from my old genitalia: the labia are created from my scrotal tissue, the vaginal wall from the skin tissue of the penile shaft, and the clitoris made from the head of the penis (including all the nerve endings). I have no cervix, no uterus or ovaries. I do not get periods and cannot get pregnant. This is a blessing I've been told by many other women, yet I still wish I could experience these natural parts of womanhood. Despite this, I know that I am just as real a woman as any other.

I remember a couple days after my surgery, when I could feel my new pussy underneath all the bandages. Finally everything about my body felt right. Somehow I knew where everything was, even though I couldn't see it and all I had known before was my penis.

In fact, ever since that moment, I have not been able to remember what having a penis ever felt like. For me, this is a wonderful freedom. I've had people tell me I'm "crazy" or that I would regret this, that I would miss my penis. The truth is I could never bring myself to go back, even if it were still physically possible. I used to have a recurring nightmare in which I would wake up in a hospital with my penis sewn back on me. Now, when I see myself naked, I can look down at my pussy and be reassured that it could never happen.

My vagina isn't much to look at; the slit curves near the bottom, and I have a thick scar on each side of my labia, which is very visible if I shave my pubic hair. Yet I feel a sense of satisfaction whenever I look at it. My pussy's beauty comes from its struggle for its own existence. I feel a connection with it that I never had with my previous genitalia.

I've had my vagina for a year and a half now, and I honestly can't imagine my life without it anymore. I enjoy sex so much more, as everything feels so much more natural and satisfying. My pussy has given me the confidence that I needed in order to love my body.

Today, I love being naked because I can look at my body and be happy with who I am, and my pussy is an integral part of that experience.

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Previous posts in this series:

• I'll Show You Mine: Jayla
• I'll Show You Mine: Erin
• I'll Show You Mine: Diana
• Wrenna Shows You Hers (and mine, and yours, and hers, and hers, and...)

Want some information on vulvas and other sexual anatomy, gender and body image? Check these links out to get started:

• With Pleasure: A View of Whole Sexual Anatomy for Every Body
• Innies & Outies: The Vagina, Clitoris, Uterus and More
• Give'em Some Lip: Labia That Clearly Ain't Minor
• Genderpalooza! A Sex & Gender Primer
• My Corona: The Anatomy Formerly Known as the Hymen & the Myths That Surround It
• From Us to You: Some Volunteer Aunties Talk Body Image

This is our second installment of some of the stories and photographs from I'll Show You Mine, a book by Wrenna Robertson and photographer Katie Huisman, and by all of the women featured in the book, collectively. To find out more about the book, Wrenna, and why we think this is such an important project, check out our interview with her here. Or, you can visit the website for the book to find out and more and get a copy for yourself so that you can see the whole of this amazing book.

As we mentioned in the last installment, if you would like to ask the person whose body and words are featured in each entry any questions or have a conversation with her, most of the subjects have agreed to make themselves available here in the comments for discussions with our readers. As mentioned in Wrenna's interview, so many people never get the opportunity to talk about genitals in an honest, open and safe way with others, so we encourage you to avail yourselves of the opportunity, and are so grateful to the women involved for making this kind of conversation available to Scarleteen readers.

We're also happy to talk with you as Scarleteen staff or volunteers if you like. Depending on your feelings about your own genitals or those of others, and your experience (or lack of it) in seeing vulvas so realistically before, reading narratives or seeing images like these may stir up feelings for you which are uncomfortable. We're glad to talk you through any discomfort if you like should that happen for you. We're also happy to answer any questions this series may bring up for you about sexual or reproductive anatomy, either here in comments, on our message boards, or through our text service.

As is always the case with any interactive content on the site, comments for this series will be moderated, and as we always ask of those who comment, please dedicate yourself to respectful and thoughtful conversation. Thanks!

Reminder: This post includes a set of unaltered, unretouched and detailed photographs of the vulva for the purposes of awareness and education, not for sexual or other entertainment. If you do not wish to view photos like this, or are in a location where you do not feel comfortable viewing them, you may not want to read or scroll to the bottom of this page. We have left substantial space in between the words and the images so you may read all of the author's narrative without also viewing the images if you prefer.

This post also includes a first-person narrative reflective of the author and their thoughts and feelings, which may or may not reflect the opinions or values of Scarleteen as an organization.

My name is Erin.

When you think of it, it's a bit silly. Nothing to get excited about, right? A couple flaps of skin, a bunch of nerve endings and hair, all covering some inner bits that resemble a water slide I went down once as a child. But I love it.

I think the vagina is powerful. It's a source of life, a source of pleasure, and even though I'd never admit it, my vagina makes me feel like a goddess. There is this smile that shows up on my lover's face when his fingers are disappearing inside me. I can't help but be blown away by the fact that in those moments, he is worshipping the most hidden part of me. That nothing else exists for him except me.

As strange as I am sure it makes me, I even adore my menses. It's this deep, dark red blood that reminds me I'm connected to something primal. How cool is that?

I did not always feel the vagina love. I grew up embarrassed and confused by my body and, by extension, my vagina. I was taught that I was somehow unclean and that my vagina was the dirtiest part of all. It was not until I was living away from my family that my feelings towards my body began to change. I began to realize how wonderful my vagina was. I did a great deal of thinking about myself and my body and how I interacted with the world, and I just kept on coming back to one thing.

"Why?"

"Why should I be ashamed of my body and my vagina especially? Why should I consider it and its fluids dirty?"

I spent a good deal of time meditating on the subject and I honestly could not come up with any answer at all, let alone a reasonable one.

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Want some information on vulvas and other sexual anatomy, gender and body image? Check these links out to get started:

• With Pleasure: A View of Whole Sexual Anatomy for Every Body
• Innies & Outies: The Vagina, Clitoris, Uterus and More
• Give'em Some Lip: Labia That Clearly Ain't Minor
• Genderpalooza! A Sex & Gender Primer
• My Corona: The Anatomy Formerly Known as the Hymen & the Myths That Surround It
• From Us to You: Some Volunteer Aunties Talk Body Image

This is a guest post from alphafemme, part of the blog carnival to help raise awareness and support for Scarleteen.

My mother reads Dear Abby religiously. She’s done it for as long as I can remember, always picking out the “Lifestyle” section of our local daily paper and turning to page B2.

Some days growing up, my sister or father would abscond with the section before she got to it to do the crossword or read the comics, but she would keep her eye on it, calling dibs on the section next. As a kid, it didn’t occur to me to question her loyalty to the column, and in fact I blindly followed suit–reading Dear Abby, it seemed, was something one did if one was to be a Woman. I was never all that impressed by the advice “Abby” (Jeanne Phillips was her real name, if I remember correctly) doled out, and eventually I got bored of her predictable responses and stopped reading. The act of stopping wasn’t all that memorable or all that conscious; it just sort of slipped away, superseded by more important things.

It wasn’t until I was in college, home from a break one year, that I thought to ask my mother why she liked Dear Abby so much. I was sitting at the breakfast table with her some late morning (summer? weekend?), watched her reach for Lifestyle and turn to B2, and was momentarily struck with mild curiosity.

“Mom,” I said, “why do you read Dear Abby every day?”

She looked up at me, stricken, and sighed. ”Well,” she said, “I guess there’s no reason not to tell you.”

When she was 11, she told me, she’d been assaulted by a friend of her parents’. At that age in 1964, she didn’t have the language to identify what specifically had happened, she just knew she’d been violated. And she was scared. She knew, vaguely, that babies were made by men “doing things” to women, unspeakable things, and she knew that something unspeakable had been done to her, because the man had told her so, admonishing her that it was their “secret.” She felt isolated, ashamed, and was afraid that it mean she would have a baby, too.

So, unable to talk to her parents and lacking knowledge or awareness of any other resources at her disposal, she wrote to Dear Abby. Asking if she was pregnant. So every day, 11 years old, she read Dear Abby, hoping for a response.

And she got one. Dear Abby printed her letter, and wrote a warm and kind response explaining exactly what would’ve had to have happened for her to be pregnant, affirming that no matter what he’d done, it was wrong and not her fault, and telling her about some books that she could check out at the library for girls about their bodies and their sexuality. In printing her letter, Abby made a connection with my mom that she didn’t have in anyone else, validated her when otherwise in her life there was silence, unflinchingly and lovingly spoke to the fears and ignorance of a little girl coming of age in an environment so sexually repressive that she couldn’t even ask what exactly it was that made babies. In printing her letter, Abby unwittingly secured for herself a lifelong follower. It is an emotional connection, my mother told me, that hasn’t wavered, even though (she admitted) the printed responses these days seem more canned.

I cried when she told me this. I cried for the lonely and scared little girl in 1964; I cried because suddenly my mother wasn’t just my mother but a complete person whose life began way before I was even imagined; and I cried because I’d silenced myself, too, at 15, perhaps not so ignorant as my mother at 11 but every bit as lost and alone, when I’d been raped. I cried because I hadn’t told my mom, just like she hadn’t told hers, generation after generation recommitting itself to isolation. Wait, no, strike that — we don’t commit ourselves to isolation — isolation is imposed on us by a dominant society that reprimands and shames sexuality expressed, that awkwardly and embarrassedly approaches very limited and basic lessons about sex and sexuality, that embraces tired discourses of women as sexual “gatekeepers,” men as sexual animals, and rigid heterosexuality within the confines of marriage as the only acceptable sexual option, that does not invite questions, conversation, or any sort of genuine human connection around the topics of sex and sexuality.

My mother’s and my own fear and isolation after experiencing sexual violence is only one effect of the smothering silence. My fear in high school of being gay and praying to a god I didn’t even believe in to send me a boyfriend was another effect. My complete ignorance of any kind of sex and sexuality other than heterosexual penis-in-vagina-in-and-out-cum-done sex, including ways that non-heterosexuals have sex and specifically have *safe* sex, is another. My going to the public library after I was raped to search for ways to force a miscarriage in case I was pregnant, rather than asking my mom or my health teacher or any teacher for crying out loud, is yet another. And these are just the ways that a dearth of information and conversation about healthy sex and sexuality affected me. My heart hurts for all the other kids and teens out there now who are suffering through the silence in their own unique ways.

Scarleteen is a website that is breaking through all of that, providing a robust, inviting, kind, and healthy space for teenagers to get answers, make connections, and feel supported in all aspects of their awakening sexualities. They need support to stay on the web, and kids need them.

I needed them. My mom needed them.

If you can, give a little bit. If you can’t, tell people in your life, especially teenagers, that the website exists. You know, just slip it casually into conversation… teenagers don’t respond well to directions ;)