In Defense of Silly B*tch Behavior

Historically, I’m a silly bitch in relationships. In this era of fuck feelings, get a bag, I find myself floundering in my desire to uphold this mentality that conflicts with everything I’m used to. Since I was a child, I found myself doing things I didn’t really want to do in the name of “swallowing my pride” to make a relationship work. Even with friends.

As someone socialized as a girl/woman (with a heaping helping of Blackness on top of that), allowing people to violate my boundaries was just par for the course. This pairs nicely with a lifelong inability to manage rejection well and a desire to prevent it at any cost. Compound that with my Blackness and the idea that I would be taking care of people for the rest of my life, I quickly came to understand that it was exclusively my job to make sure that my relationships would sink or swim. It’s not lost on me, though, that although silly bitch behavior transcends gender, it’s overwhelmingly present in people who are in relationships with men.

Which brings me to being a silly bitch. For me now, in the midst of my quarter life crisis, feeling rejected triggers my insecurities about being my authentic self and my not-so-secret fear that no one will actually like the real me, and that when I’m rejected because I’ve been trying to be who I thought someone wanted me to be it’s just a sign that the person wasn’t going to like the real me. The act of being who I think someone wants me to be is in and of itself, silly bitch behavior and I recognize that. Authenticity is something I’m working hard on in therapy, and part of that means knowing how to set boundaries in the first place that will stop me from wanting to perform for people so they’ll like me.

Establishing boundaries is hard enough in the first place, but getting over your habit of letting people backflip over them is an entirely different beast. And honestly, that’s all silly bitch behavior boils down to. Tap dancing for a partner’s approval, doing labor you otherwise would find irrational, or even going as far as committing violence in the name of showing someone you care about them are all manifestations of how we react to having our boundaries violated.

But what is the boundary violation, really? And why does it make us act so out of character? Generally, we’re not feeling prioritized or we’re being otherwise disrespected by that person we care so much about.

The prevailing culture of monogamy we all grew up with indicates that someone not doing right by us is OUR fault, that our partner is responding to a lack of something in the relationship to keep them invested. This is usually used as a justification for cheating, as an example. By extension, we now have to prove ourselves to keep this person around. Cue the spending on lavish gifts, alterations to our style or bodies, overlooking someone not tending to our needs, or even potentially dangerous behavior like stalking.

We tell ourselves that if we work harder, then they will finally love us the way we want to be loved. Regardless of the numerous ways they’ve fallen short of our expectations even with explicit communication. This is to say nothing of the cultural directive that tells Black women to “be a man’s peace” or be a “ride or die”. I could get into how that mindset is almost never reciprocated by men, because women are supposed to desire the affection of a man above all else and we’re socialized into this role.

It’s hard because once we’re out of it, realizing we’ve participated in silly bitch behavior is, among many things, shameful. It’s comical sometimes to look back on our relationships, or read someone else’s story, and see the ridiculous things we do for love. But silly bitch behavior isn’t always as obvious as taking back your partner who’s cheated on you 10 times or got you so upset you keyed their car. Sometimes, it’s as small as swallowing your frustration because they, yet again, forgot to do something you asked. Everything doesn’t have to turn into a fight in a relationship, but there comes a point where ignoring your reaction to something is more detrimental than just confronting it.

Nine times out of ten, engaging in silly bitch behavior for someone is a sign that the relationship isn’t going to work out without intentional communication and change from everyone involved. So when it doesn’t work out and we have time to reflect on what we did, it’s embarrassing more than anything else. But I get it. For everyone who’s been a silly bitch, I see you and I want you to have patience with yourself. We can’t undo what’s already been done, but we can hold our L in the moment and resolve to do better the next time we’re put in that situation. Recognizing what prompts us to act a certain way can reveal a lot about our insecurities, fears, and anxieties. But, choosing to confront them rather than putting them to the side is not only useful for avoiding dumb bitch behavior in the future, it also helps us grow as people.

I’m not saying I’ll never do some goofy bitch activity in a relationship again though. But, I’m learning to be okay with letting things be, and that sometimes mean removing someone from my life before I let myself do something foolish because of them. This requires confronting my fear of rejection, and understanding that no matter what hat I put on, I won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. Realizing that has made it a lot easier for me to stop trying to be who I think people want me to be. It’s definitely cost me relationships, but the ones that have stuck around as I continue this journey towards authenticity have become closer and deeper as a result.

Southern Sex Ed: How Helping Others Unlearn Shame & Stigma Helped Me Do the Same

This post is (not) coincidentally being released with my American Sex Podcast episode, up now on your favorite podcast platform!

Being a podcast guest was a completely new experience for me, but I give so many thanks to Sunny and Ken for making it super comfortable and really fun. This probably comes as a surprise to no one, but I struggle with imposter syndrome a lot as a “sexuality writer/blogger/personality/whatever” who doesn’t do this full time. I’m always wondering about if anyone cares about what I have to say and if it even matters. While I enjoyed defending POCs right to love mayonnaise and explaining purity ceremonies on the show, being able to talk about what I do and why I do it really put this-meaning my work as a blogger-all back into perspective for me.

I started this blog nearly 3 years ago at a point of major transition in my life. I was about to leave college and was just staring into the void of the unknown future. But because college was such a profoundly transformative experience for me (ask anyone who knew me in high school), I knew that I wanted to really take steps to find my voice and share it with the world because I have a passion for educating. And because sex ed was a big part of my life in school, it made a lot of sense for me to try to fill what I saw as a major gap in the digital world - young Black people talking about sexuality and relationships in ways that I could relate to. It was not this cohesive of a thought or purpose when it first came to me (I’m not even going to pretend), but this is what I eventually landed on.

In talking with friends while I was in school, I realized that so much of what I felt about sex wasn’t an isolated experience. But it’s really hard building community to be open in a positive and healthy way about something considered so shameful like sexuality. Especially as a woman. ESPECIALLY as a Black woman with a Southern Christian upbringing. But I took it upon myself to try and do so. Growing up, while I understood how sex worked and its risks, I never learned how to regard sex as something pleasurable for me. As something that I shouldn’t feel shame about openly desiring. And unlearning that is HARD when women are routinely ostracized socially and sometimes face violence for being open about their sexuality.

When you know how difficult it was to unlearn certain ways of thinking for yourself, it makes it that much harder to want to challenge those mindsets when it comes to talking to people you know. You don’t want to step on toes, ruin friendships, or make yourself a pariah, but it’s also hard to sit by and watch people struggle with dissatisfaction in their lives because they’re holding themselves to an impossible standard.

And that’s where I found a lot of trouble in my early days as a blogger. Trying to be relatable while still informative is hard enough, but sanitizing my message so it would be palatable to the masses just killed my actual purpose in writing in the first place. I was wondering all the time why I couldn’t find my voice or why it felt like my writing wasn’t impactful when the reality was that I was silencing myself to avoid rocking the boat too hard. That tension only resolves by being authentic.

I still struggle with owning my sexuality and being comfortable with being open about it, and that’s despite knowing all of the “right” things to do to overcome it! It’s so much more difficult feeling like you’re walking a path alone, which is why I wanted Sexology Bae to make people feel like they had someone who could relate to their experiences and feelings. Whether it’s twitter threads or answering Sexology Bae Says Questions, I try to remind myself and anyone following my work that unlearning stigma and shame around sexuality is a PROCESS. It didn’t show up overnight and it damn sure won’t go away overnight either.

What’s been really helpful for me, as I continue to learn and grow, is to acknowledge my fears about putting myself out there and being open about uncomfortable topics like sex. Granted, I generally avoid diving into specifics about my sex life out of respect for my partners’ privacy, but being a woman discussing sex on the internet is a vulnerable space to be in. Every time I’m sharing thoughts about sex, or my body, or relationships, I’m doing so with the full understanding that I’m exposing myself to judgement from people, whether they know me or not. But silence is a tactic of the privileged that enables power structures to remain in place, and it’s doing a disservice to myself and the people that support me to allow fear to control my actions.

Acknowledging the fear, for me, helps me feel a bit less hypocritical when I don’t live up to my own advice or delete a draft because I don’t think anyone will be receptive to it. It’s lonely being “that person” sometimes, but as time has gone on, I find myself connecting with more people as I continue to be more real about my thoughts and feelings. It truly feels like Sexology Bae, as a person, brand, and blog, is really just getting started so I hope y’all are all in on this ride with me.

National Coming Out Day 2019: My Closet is Actually an Invisible Box

Every year on National Coming Out Day (Oct 11), I have a dilemma. I always wonder if I should tell my story because it doesn’t really have an ending. Or, a cute one at least that makes people feel hopeful and inspired. But in therapy I’ve been pushed more to stand in my truth and be open about who I am because I owe it to myself. Playing small only hurts me-and people who could benefit from what I have to say-in the end. So here goes.

I should preface this by saying that the whole notion of coming out is kinda trash. There are a lot of reasons why people may not want to come out publicly, not least of which is the actual potential for violence. It doesn’t make their identities less valid, nor does it mean they’re trying to be sneaky.

That being said, I guess it makes the most sense to talk about the “thing” that people always think about on National Coming Out Day: Sexual Orientation. I really wanted to write about my journey into sex positivity and how I see myself as less of a sex educator and more of a Sexuality & Pleasure Aficionado but then this post would be an extra 2000 words so. More on that another day.

I’ve written about being bisexual before, but like a lot of identities my relationship to it has changed over time and I never had a true “coming out” so what better time to reflect on that. I first knew i wasn’t straight when I was about 9. I kissed one of my (girl) friends during a sleepover and liked it, a lot. I still had crushes on boys, but I had a crush on her too. I couldn’t really name what I felt but I just knew that I wanted to do all of the things I thought I wanted to do with a boy with her too.

Cut to middle school. I’d been ambivalent about my sexuality for the most part. But then “I Kissed a Girl” by Katy Perry came out, and suddenly it was cool to be into girls? Except, it wasn’t. During that pop culture moment it became abundantly clear to me that as a woman, being interested in other women was only cool at parties or to get the attention of men.

That’s the Bisexual Pride flag, in case you’re not familiar.

Otherwise, being attracted to women for your own enjoyment made you a dyke bitch and that wasn’t something ANYONE wanted to be. I remember hearing the word bisexual for the first time around then and trying to claim it for myself, only to be told I was just a poser saying it to be edgy. That makes me laugh now, but as a 13 year old who didn’t know a single thing about myself or the world, whose identity up to that point had been formed by other people’s opinions of who I should be, I just assumed they were right and let it go.

And then we make it to high school. After a disastrous couple of years marred by the grief of losing my maternal grandmother (the person who had the second biggest influence in raising me after my mom), bad relationships with abusive shitheads, and anxiety attacks that almost kept me from graduating, I met the person who I thought would solve it all for me, my soon-to-be-husband. Did I also mention that I was in the throes of a religious and spiritual crisis about my relationship to Christianity during this point in my life?

When I met him, despite being so young I thought I had finally figured it all out. I didn’t have to worry about my sexual orientation any more. I was dating a man and we had no immediate plans to break up so even if I was still interested in dating women it didn’t matter right? I was straight for all intents and purposes because I had picked a side. You see where this is going.

My freshman year of college I went to a talk by Robyn Ochs, a bisexual activist. It was like the heavens opened up. I guess the whole time I had been looking for permission to admit to myself that I was bisexual and that that was okay? It sounds so obvious in hindsight, but one of her major points was that your relationship status doesn’t invalidate your identity. Cue my 18 year old brain exploding. You mean I can be in a long term relationship with a man and STILL be bisexual!? Color me shocked.

In the years since, I’ve interrogated my relationship to my identity, in part because it really bothers me how much of my identity is ascertained by my romantic proximity to an assumed cisgender, heterosexual man. No one knows the intricacies of my relationship and yet there’s a lot of assumptions made about me because of it. By straight people and other members of the LGBTQ+ community (bi erasure by other queer people is a WHOLE post in and of itself). I dabbled in id’ing as queer for most of college, because it was just nebulous enough that I didn’t think anyone would make me defend myself. Plus I had short hair and a septum ring for a lot of this time period so I just generally fit the aesthetic of a queer liberal arts major.

After graduation, around the time I started Sexology Bae, I began id’ing as bisexual again. I try to avoid being a hypocrite, so I felt that it was doing a disservice to people I was claiming to want to educate or inform to tell them that they should be honest with themselves about needs, wants, and desires when I’m not doing the same!

Identities are as varied as humans are, so I don’t claim to be the One True Bisexual. It’s just that this the most accurate way to define myself, and I felt like Identifying as queer was a reverse flattening of my identity, basically another way to hide without naming who I truly am. So that’s where I am now. I’ve “come out” to myself, the internet, and the people closest to me. And it’s interesting how little a difference it makes in my daily life.

I felt crushed by the weight of not knowing how to name who I was, but I don’t really see it as a “coming out of the closet” story either. I was never really in a closet, more like an invisible box. And I still find myself in that box, mostly when I’m dealing with hyper-religious family members (or coworkers) and decide to pick my battles. But being read as straight isn’t a privilege to me because straightness isn’t something I aspire to. That being said, not being read as visibly queer in most arenas of my life affords me a certain level of privacy which depending on context can be a blessing or a curse.