Kate is just like you or me: She is 29, lives in Ohio with her husband, holds down a job, and is the mother of a 3-year-old son. But for the past few years Kate has been living with the knowledge she is HIV+.
Kate blogs about HIV+ life at A Girl Like Me, a group blog written by women who are living with HIV. The blog is a program by The Well Project, a non-profit started by a woman living with HIV/AIDS which focuses on the needs of women living with the virus.
On the occasion of World AIDS Day 2010, Kate has generously opened up to The Frisky about how she contracted HIV, what her day-to-day symptoms are like, and how others treat her when they learn she is positive. — Jessica Wakeman Keep reading »
Don’t get me wrong. I was a step-kid. I know how hard it can be to be a kid and your parent who used to be married to your other parent starts dating somebody who is not your parent. It’s not easy for anybody: the parent, the potential step-parent, or the kid. So when I became an adult and tried dating a guy with a kid, I thought, Oh, this’ll be easy. I know what it’s like to be the kid in this situation. I can make it work. Boy, was I wrong. Keep reading »
Dear _________, Thank you for posting your prostitution ad on Craigslist. I’m not being sarcastic. Last year, I called you the “c” word when I asked you to stop writing my husband. We blocked your email address so your emails would stop.
I stalked your website. You were selling sex. I hated you and your youth. Your disregard for the norms I grew up with made me sick. I was taught that sex was special, and there you were, selling it. Worse, my husband took your bait. You pretended to be a Yale music student. You posed in your underwear and bra. You were “looking” for friends because you were new to town. In answering my husband, you asked if he could pick you up. The day he wrote you, he told me he loved me. Keep reading »
The first fire-red flag with Jack should have come across loud and clear when he asked me — in our very first email exchange – to “rate” his online dating profile picture. This is Match.com, I thought, not one of those sort-of-creepy hot-or-not sites. I wanted a guy to take me out for dinner, a beer, maybe even have a little make-out action; I didn’t want to be a judge on an episode of “America’s Next Top Model: Males of Match.com Edition.” Keep reading »
There are few moments in life more heart-stopping than realizing that there is something not right in your panties. A close second are the frantic Google searches you conduct with one shaking hand while aiming a mirror at your crotch with the other.
I was on the toilet when I first felt the strange patches of raised skin. Because they weren’t painful, the alarm took a moment to register. But when I got a closer look at the disturbance — bumpy white growths around the opening of my vagina — I immediately began to cry.
They’re called genital warts because that’s what they look like. I held out hope that I had some kind of simple, unshameful infection that could be cleared up with antibiotics until my gynecologist uttered the phrase. If I hadn’t already felt like retching, that truly disgusting combination of words probably would have done it. Keep reading »
Here at The Frisky, we have been getting all touchy-feely with our emotions for “Love Yourself Week.” But what about the more literal and physical side of the phrase “touchy-feely”? You know, the more hands-on approach to self-love. Masturbation, to be blunt. This little act is, uh, an important part of learning to love yourself. Up until yesterday, I have always taken a manual approach to masturbation and my fingers have suited me just fine. But I couldn’t help but think I was missing out on something by being sans sex toys. So I decided to be a big girl and set out to buy my very first vibrator. Keep reading »
Most of the time, when you hear “commitment-phobic,” you think of a man. But that’s not always the case. I’m commitment-phobic, and I’m a woman. The thought of being in a relationship terrifies me. The thought of committing to someone forever scares the pants off me. Oh, and getting to the altar? Watch me quake. Keep reading »
I had tried all different kinds of birth control pills to help control my period pains over the course of three years, but nothing worked. There was still no relief from terrible cramps and heavy blood flow. My doctor suggested I try the NuvaRing, the once-a-month birth control device that is inserted into your vagina and secretes hormones for three weeks. Supposedly, the NuvaRing sits far enough inside of you that a man shouldn’t feel it or find it, but I can report that isn’t always the case. Keep reading »
My husband has a male-ady. I call it MRC, Men’s Resistance to Counseling. Imagine a dog as it begs away from the bath, the leash straining as he pulls from suds and finishing fluff. Getting a man into counseling is no easy feat. Women talk about their problems to connect, but men see this type of discussion as threatening. They feel that by admitting they have a problem, they are confessing weakness. And so every time I brought up marital counseling, my husband cited cost as the deterrent. Then he upped the ante; he called the shrink a quack. He even tried forgetting about appointments and playing sick. Keep reading »
I’d like to say I don’t know why you’re letting him back into your life and bask in that ignorance, but I do know why. You’re almost 35 now and want nothing more than a flesh-and-blood child of your own with a man you love—more than you wanted that master’s degree, that great job you have, that beautiful house you bought with your own money or that strong, athletic body you worked so hard to get back after he broke your heart the last time and ran off with someone else. Keep reading »