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Originally from Vancouver, Canada, I'm a health educator, wellness coach, and writer based in Brooklyn. I am the author of the book, "Good Sexual Citizenship: How to Create a (Sexually) Safer World." My writing has appeared in places including the Washington Post, the HuffPost, Rewire News, Salon, Motherwell, and Parents. For wellness coaching, find me at ellenfwellness.com. I'm at ellenkatef@gmail.com
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Studies continue to show that partnered sex, across all demographics, has declined in the U.S.
YA author Melissa Kantor talks about her latest book, Biology Lessons, featuring a 17-year-old seeking an abortion in Texas.
Yet just because benevolent sexism is so common, and the harm it causes is often unintended, doesn’t mean that the negative impact is any less real.
Whether your kid came to you with this information or you found out another way, how you respond is critical.
Ellen Friedrichs gives us a few short phrases that help people navigate the murky waters of sexual consent. This is a must listen for everyone and especially parents.
When I woke up that morning and Joe wasn't in bed beside me, I momentarily pondered his whereabouts. Most likely, he had fallen asleep in front of the TV, I mused. But it was also possible that he had gotten up with the kids, who at three and six, were still early risers.
By Ellen Friedrichs @ellenkatef Earlier this year, the organization Common Sense Media released a report on children's exposure to pornography. This revealed that close to 75% of teens had seen online porn by the time they turned 17, and many had watched it by the time they turned 12.
In February of 2020, my family got fancy rats. Our much-loved cat, Clifford, had died a few months earlier and my eldest, then thirteen, enlisted her younger siblings to advocate for a new pet.
On November 15, 2012, I woke up to discover that my partner had died while we slept. He was forty. I was thirty-seven. Our kids were three and six. The cause would later be identified as an undiagnosed heart condition, but in the hours right after his death, I had no idea what had happened.
My family was just a handful of days into our new covid-19-fueled self-quarantine when my partner and I got into a fight over a missing phone charger. The issue got resolved shortly, but our petty argument was a reminder that the close quarters now demanded by a global pandemic can exacerbate even the smallest of tensions.
In 1985, my family's synagogue in Vancouver, B.C., was firebombed and burned to the ground. Public figures, including the mayor, expressed shock that such a brutal act of anti-Semitism could occur in a city that, even 30 years ago, prided itself on multiculturalism.
It's a sunny Saturday in June. My daughter is 12, almost 13, and new to taking the subway alone. But today, her two siblings have prior commitments, which means that since she wants to go to a friend's house on the other side of Brooklyn, she will be getting there on her own.
The first time I formally learned about was in grad school. I was training as a peer sexuality educator, and we did an exercise where we had to decide which activities needed to be discussed with a partner: "Do you need consent to hug someone?" the facilitator asked. "To hold hands?
Growing up, my mother loved to tell stories of her father, a family doctor who had died while she was in high school. I heard about things like his dramatic wartime escapades, his subsequent three-pack-a-day habit, and his practice of exchanging medical services for the art of dubious quality that decorated my childhood home.
The walk home from school was long - like four-hours long the way we did it. But it kept us out of an apartment full of grief triggers. Rocco was 3 and Clementine was 6, and now their dad was dead. As in, we never saw it coming, then "oh my god that really happened," dead.
At the end of 2012, my partner died suddenly. He was 40, I was 37, and our two kids were only 3 and 6. His death from a rare heart condition was a devastating shock. But so was the matter of closing out his estate, something I assumed we were decades away from having to address.
Recently, I was Zoom teaching a college class, and I asked my students to share any questions they had about sexuality. One of the young men unmuted himself and asked, "Why do so many girls lie about being raped?" The thing is, very few people actually lie about this crime.
Last year, I was teaching a college human sexuality class when one of the students referred to someone with a sexually transmitted infection (STI) as "nasty." I asked her what she meant, and she faltered before saying, "I don't know. I guess that's just kind of how they made it seem in my health class."