The truth is, everyone reads for a different reason. Some people read it because they have lived within the confines of gender roles and societal constraints and it is refreshing to see someone deviate from the norm. Some people find it inspiring. Some read it for a cheap thrill. Some read it to judge. Some read it to learn. I didn't start this blog to be a part of some stranger's fantasy. It's not my purpose, but I can't control it. I don't need it, but if someone else does, who am I to say it's wrong?
At first, men leaving comments saying "God bless you" and "Thank you" were unsettling. They felt different than the comments from women saying the same thing, but I had to get past that. I can write for whatever reason I want, but it's not my place to pass judgments on why people read what I write. I have checked myself and put my sideways glances in my back pocket. I want everyone to read for whatever reason they need to read. My one request is that people realize when I write about trying anal sex or contemplating a threesome, those are MY decisions and not to be used to tell other women how they should or should not feel or act. That is the antithesis of what I am trying to do here. So men and women, if you ever tell a woman to do it because Poly did it or insinuate anything close, I will hunt you down and punch you in the nuts. Don't do it. But please keep reading and know I love all my readers. Even the ones that judge me.
This all spawned from the temporary low in which I currently find myself. I have had to sort through a lot of feelings in the past few days. Along with the fan mail from a 19 year old guy in Canada and a 30 year old woman in Nigeria, I have also received a fair amount of hate and judgment; not only from anonymous sources, but from people I care about. And last night, in the depths of PMS and insecurity, while sitting on Lewis' couch, I started to cry. I cried hard. A single question entered my mind, "Am I worthy of love?" All of society's judgments and my learned behaviors flooded me. For a span of about 30 minutes, I cried because I was wasn't confident; I wasn't empowered. For 30 minutes, I was a whore. I let it all get to me. The whole while, I hid my tears.
For a brief period, I hid in the bathroom and cried hard. I am sure he heard me, but I couldn't face him. At that moment, in my mind, he was better than me. Even when I came out of the bathroom and he was standing there, even when he pulled me close and hugged me without saying a word, I kept my head down. I couldn't bare to let him see me so weak. That is exactly what I was. I was weak and I was vulnerable. I wasn't a whore. I am not a whore. I am just a person. I have my strengths and I have my weaknesses. As good as he felt, it couldn't help. The solace I needed could only come from me. I excused myself to his room and sat quietly. In the dark and solitude, I remembered me and I blocked out the rest of the world.
Occasionally, I let other people's insecurities and judgments get to me. The truth is, when I want to have sex, I think about it, I act responsibly and I do what's best for me. If I don't want to have sex, I don't do it. I don't use sex to gain power over others or to feel better about myself. I do it because I own my sexuality and I own my body. In writing this blog, I open myself up and I put myself out there. i open myself up for ridicule, because I hope that I can take it. Most of the time, I can. Unfortunately, last night, I discovered that I do not fully own my mind, yet. Occasionally I let other people's feelings creep in; I let insecurity take over and I get scared. This is my journey. I do not claim to be made of steel, but I am working on developing a thicker skin. Thanks for supporting me. Thanks for feelin' me. And, thanks for judging me and forcing me to face and battle the judgments I pass on myself and to recognize when I'm internalizing other people's insecurities.