Woman as only I mean it

I was sifting through tumblr wasting time until sleep caught me when I ran across the following quote: “Life is too short for shitty sex and bad relationships. So go find someone who fucks you right and treats you how you deserve to be treated.” I immediately reblogged it grateful that my Tumblr which is largely unfollowed by anyone I actually know is still a space where I feel free to express all parts of myself. As I contemplated tweeting the quote I was hit with the notion of, “well who follows me?” Professionally, personally I want to be cognizant of how I say things and what I say. And in the same moment of consideration I thought how stifling. And so I tweeted it. And here I am writing about it in a blog post that will later be published to facebook.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Beyoncé Grammy performance and the backlash she received over being so openly sexual. Since when is it anti-feminist to be a sexual being? Isn’t that the exact point of the feminist movement? So that women get to make their own definitions of self? I’m aware of the arguments that say well women fought so hard for us to be so much more than sexual beings for the pleasure of men. Well, and does that mean I can NEVER be a sexual being for MY man without derailing years of sorority? I don’t find myself in defense of Beyoncé but certainly of her right to be whatever the hell she wants to be as an artist and as a woman. I want the same for myself.

I think so many people are uncomfortable with their own sexual selves that the projection of sexual images upsets them to no end. We can’t stand to look at the parts of ourselves in others we openly intrapersonally ignore. So how does that become my problem?

I have to do constant work around this. I recently had someone tell me after reading my blog and then meeting me in person their experience of me did not match my online presence. And I apologized that her experience of me was different than she expected. But the more it sat with me the more I wondered, why am I apologizing? How much is me and how much was their own projections into the situation? And even if it were me, even if on that day in that moment I was the biggest bitch of the west, is that cause to apologize? That was me in that moment. I am allowed to be sad. Mad. Angry. Cold. Dismissive. Stoic. Introspective. Allusive. Or whatever else, right? And it’s not about right or wrong it’s about understanding that however you treat people has a consequence. I genuinely didn’t mean to treat them poorly (if in fact I did which I did not recall). But it’s about that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. But maybe I’m okay with that and whatever it might mean. It’s really no ones call but my own.

I just find myself really calling into question so many of the rules and pictures I used to hold so sacred. I lived and died by precedence and tradition, Shoulds and supposed-tos. And now it’s just not that cut and dry. I write “woman” in my own handwriting and it means exactly what I mean it to. Nothing more or less. I define it myself and others opinion of me is of little concern to me, in that regard. I care immensely about those closest to me and how my actions affect them and how my actions affect my greater global community. But I simply cannot live in fear of disappointing, or in hopes of being affirmed. I’m learning to affirm myself.

20140202-030314.jpgThere’s a line in Perks of Being a Wallflower, “I would die for you, but I won’t live for you.” It’s kind of like that. So for me it means talking about sex. And emotions. And love. And sometimes not talking at all. My womanness is swollen with pride she stores in her hips and thighs. I don’t need to apologize for that. I don’t need to feel ashamed of a need or want to be touched, cared for, adorned, or taken care of be it sexually spiritually emotionally all of the above or otherwise. I read this article yesterday titled, “All I really need is a good f*ck and someone to pick me up at the airport.” It was satirical yet honest and I wanted to share it but felt the shame pour over me as I considered what other people would think about me reading such things. I shared it with a few friends but felt disappointed in my inability to shake the Shoulds. Who is this person I’m supposed to be? What ideals am I living up to? Who am I really disappointing by silencing myself? This is who I am. Let me be her. All of here. Let me carry her where ever I should go.

If I’m making my own rules, my own path, my own way then let it start with that. No apologies. I’m tired of being sorry for shit I’m not sorry for. I’ve been telling the truth, my truth, more than ever lately. As I grow my evolution has been such a shedding. I don’t feel the same pull to protect myself. I feel more secure in who I am and strong enough to handle the consequences of my actions. And more than that, I want people around me who understand that, who understand that I love them but I love me, too. And who, in some way, are doing the same things: Working. Living. And throwing Emily Post out the damn window. Looking for joy in small cracks, dancing when the mood strikes, and having sex when the itch needs to be scratched.

And doing so without apology.


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