Button, Devils’ Doorknob, Bald Man in a Boat…the English words for the female clitoris are far and few between and not particularly positive or enlightening. As a woman in her 50s, born and bred in England, I have a suspicion that my lack of vocabulary to describe this part of my body is a symptom of the fact that we hardly ever mention it, even in the company of fellow clitoris-owners.
A fascinating fact about the clitoris is that Columbus discovered it. Yeah, not THAT Columbus – this one was anatomist Renaldus Columbus who, in 1559, wrote about this body part as the ‘seat of female pleasure,’ and alluded to it’s erectile capabilities. But just like the other Columbus didn’t actually discover America, the clitoris was there, the whole time, fully known and enjoyed by its owners. And unlike Christopher Columbus, Renalus’ work has been largely forgotten by history; after this little foray into the light, the clitoris was firmly shut up in the dark for centuries, forgotten, unstudied and belittled.
Of course, the reasons for this censorship of the clit are pretty predictable: the prudery and misogyny of the Church and the patriarchal attitudes that centre the phallic, didn’t give the humble clit much of a chance. And this has meant that our knowledge of the anatomical structure and mechanisms of the love-button has been minimal. Until recently, anatomical diagrams in medical texts regularly omitted the clit completely. It wasn’t until I was 28 years old that the real size and shape of an important part of my body was revealed, by Australian Urologist Helen O’Connell, whose research was finally able to uncover the true iceberg nature of this organ; the ‘button’ merely the tip of this large structure, whose tails curve and curl deep within us, encompassing and surrounding the entrance to the vagina. And I didn’t learn this until I was 45!
How have we become so ignorant of our own anatomy? I’ll rephrase that question: who benefits from our ignorance? We haven’t just lost the clit, we’ve had it stolen.
And yet the clit hasn’t always been shrouded in mystery. That famous text, The Karmasutra, mentions it extensively, emphasizing the importance of female sexual pleasure. Wendy Doniger, one of the English translators of the original Sanskrit text, says that the word for clitoris in The Karmasutra literally translates to ‘Umbrella of The Love Gods’. How wonderful is that?! And so amazing – hundreds of years before modern science mapped the shape of the clit, people realised it was a structure with arms that opened up when needed.
I am fascinated by why this subject is still veiled in taboo, even in 2022. I suspect that, like birth, the female orgasm is something that terrifies the patriarchy. It is a reminder of our power and magic and therefore must be squashed and vanquished. And vanquished it can very effectively be in our culture, with only two thirds of women reporting that they regularly cum vs over 90% of men. And birth is a wonderful way to erase our power and pleasure – from psychological trauma to the severing of our sexuality by cutting through one of the tails of the clitoris with an episitomy, there are many ways to punish and erase us. Whilst episitomy rates have fallen since the 1970s, thousands of birthing people are still being cut every year in the UK and even more suffer some kind of perineal trauma (around 85%), largely due to the technological birth practices and birth positions favoured by modern obstetrics. And as Birth Centres close and homebirth teams are suspended, instrumental birth and severe tears are certain to increase.
And it’s not just the diminishing of sexual pleasure that is the result of clit-cutting. We are only just beginning to understand the clit-brain connection – our creativity and imagination reside, in part, in our pants. The cognitive changes I see in so many women and birthing people after a sensual, juicy, powerful birth experience are immense. Often these changes are surprising to them, with creative tendencies coming to the fore, or emerging for the first time. Birthing in our power creates much, much more than a baby.
Even in physiological birth we have much to learn about the role of the clit. It seems logical to me that as the baby’s head travels between the clitoral tails, this sensation causes more oxytocin to flow, thus triggering the fetal ejection reflex. The clit also has huge power to help with the strong sensations of labour. I have seen more than one mother stimulate herself during contractions and at least a couple cum during childbirth. This is a secret power, one that our culture does its best to keep hidden, despite the best efforts of Debra Pascali-Bonaro, the doula behind the Orgasmic Birth book and film. Debra is attempting to connect us, once again, to our human right to pleasure and even ecstasy during childbirth. This remark, made by a friend about her birth experiences, is not what our culture tries to tell us birth can be:
“During my orgasmic births, I felt the glans of my clitoris swell and throb either side of my baby’s head. Crowning was the most pleasurable part of labour for me.”
For me, the subject of the clit is very much like its anatomy – iceberg-like. It is a powerful image, reminding us that a huge proportion of our female power is hidden and has been obliterated by a patriarchal paradigm. Veiling our anatomy in taboo and ignorance takes away our autonomy, our self esteem, ability and potential for joy. Maybe it’s time to shake off the shame and revel a bit in the magic of the clit.
I’ve been thinking about writing about this for a long time, so thanks to Kate Lister of the Betwixt The Sheets podcast, for giving me a nudge. Also, a nod has to go to Margaret Jowitt, author of Dynamic Positions for Birth, who is the only person I know who talks about the role of the clitoris during physiological childbirth.
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