It seems a great doubt has befallen Australian women.
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IāVE always been completely and utterly terrified that my vagina is in some way not normal, that it somehow doesnāt stack up against the generally accepted standard of vaginas worldwide.
My whole life, I just assumed that every other woman had the same thought process, this natural curiosity as to whether the lady bits that theyād be given were on par with the next personās.
I guess itās normal to compare your physical self to the rest of society. Most of us are constantly stacking ourselves up against the next person ā walking down the supermarket aisle, scrolling through Instagram or flicking through a mag in a waiting room. Is my hair as shiny? Are my calves as defined? Does my butt sit the same way in a pair of skinny-legs?
Itās something we learn to do as little kids. Who remembers running nude through the sprinkler with a male cousin or having a bath with their brother and noticing that their private parts look nothing like your own?
āWOAH, ITāS LIKE THEREāS A WORM IN HIS PANTS ... I WANT A WORM TOO MUM!ā Itās intriguing to realise that not everybody looks the same as you do.
But as you grow up and the acceptable age of nudity around blood relatives becomes a distant memory, youāre left wondering, āDo I still look like every other girl ādown thereā? And how the hell will I ever know?ā
Short of asking my besties to drop their dacks for confirmation, I lived in this thick doubt that Iāve never managed to totally shake. This innocent curiosity as a child has morphed itself into fear. An ugly, tightly wound ball of fear. A fear of being different.
āIāve always wondered, is my vagina normal?ā
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IāVE always been completely and utterly terrified that my vagina is in some way not normal, that it somehow doesnāt stack up against the generally accepted standard of vaginas worldwide.
My whole life, I just assumed that every other woman had the same thought process, this natural curiosity as to whether the lady bits that theyād be given were on par with the next personās.
I guess itās normal to compare your physical self to the rest of society. Most of us are constantly stacking ourselves up against the next person ā walking down the supermarket aisle, scrolling through Instagram or flicking through a mag in a waiting room. Is my hair as shiny? Are my calves as defined? Does my butt sit the same way in a pair of skinny-legs?
Itās something we learn to do as little kids. Who remembers running nude through the sprinkler with a male cousin or having a bath with their brother and noticing that their private parts look nothing like your own?
āWOAH, ITāS LIKE THEREāS A WORM IN HIS PANTS ... I WANT A WORM TOO MUM!ā Itās intriguing to realise that not everybody looks the same as you do.
But as you grow up and the acceptable age of nudity around blood relatives becomes a distant memory, youāre left wondering, āDo I still look like every other girl ādown thereā? And how the hell will I ever know?ā
Short of asking my besties to drop their dacks for confirmation, I lived in this thick doubt that Iāve never managed to totally shake. This innocent curiosity as a child has morphed itself into fear. An ugly, tightly wound ball of fear. A fear of being different.
āIāve always wondered, is my vagina normal?ā
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