All posts by Black Girls Cry

I remember being told when I was growing up that I was crying "crocodile tears." As an adult my tears were neglected and I've been told to "be strong." So this blog is a safe space for Black women and girls to express themselves and find words that fit.

What Being Sexually Assaulted at Afropunk Taught Me

I’m no stranger to unwanted touch, non-desired looks, and involuntary comments. I’m used to people having the impression that my body exists for their gaze, and no longer has value when they’ve finished with it. This isn’t the first time I’ve written about sexual assault, and given the world we live in, I doubt it will be the last. 

I attended Afropunk this past August, for the second year in a row. My first year wasn’t too amazing considering that the festival over-sold tickets, and due to the high quantity of people there were numerous jams and congestion at the festival. I’m someone who has social anxiety and I do tend to have panic attacks when I’m in large crowds, so I suffered from feeling severely triggered my first year there. My second year was a lot better in regards to congestion, there weren’t as many people so I was able to actually enjoy the festival without having a mental breakdown (haha). I was also joined by friends that I don’t get to see often and new faces that I hope I will be able to get to know better over time. For the most part, my Afropunk experience was pretty amazing. Between seeing Tyler the Creator, Erykah Badu, and ACTUALLY being able to eat all the vegan food I want, I was living on cloud-9.

This year there were only really three things that made me feel uncomfortable, and I’ve spent a significant amount of time on my own trying to process it. The first being the presence of so many non-black folks. I love seeing so many people celebrating Black culture and Black joy, on the other hand, I understand Afropunk to be a festival for Punk Black folks by Punk Black folks. Afropunk to me is a festival that celebrates the Black kids who were teased for being weird, or acting too “White.” Obviously, it’s not become a festival that is for ALL Black folks (which is a conversation for another post), but I can’t help but side-eye White folks in African print and Dashikis made in India. I can’t help but wonder if they put on my culture for the weekend, and consider it unprofessional for the rest of the year. I couldn’t help but feel like it was ironic that folks were wearing tribal face paint while taking selfies next to shirts that say “No Cultural Appropriation.” 

The second thing I realized out of relief actually. When I would attend other festivals I’d constantly feel uncomfortable because of all the kids running around trying to drink illegally, or asking me to buy them alcohol (awkward). Then I realized, the reason why there were more adults at Afropunk is that a lot of Black families might not be able to afford for their kids to go to a super expensive festival. Yeah, you can volunteer and get free passes, but I started to feel uncomfortable that Afropunk wasn’t really for Black people. It was becoming a festival for the Black middle/upper class. 16-year-old Monisha, no matter how much she’d be able to benefit from being there, couldn’t afford the ticket. 23-year-old Monisha gets to bask in the magic because now she has a bit more privilege to afford it. The third thing that bothered me about Afropunk was a situation I’ve had to force myself not to be numb to. A situation I’ve spent a great deal of talking about, and researching about.

At the end of the first day of Afropunk, I was rather intoxicated and exhausted. I walked away from my group of friends because I felt extremely weak, my feet were hurting because I was wearing wedges, and I wanted to find somewhere that wasn’t so crowded so I could sit down. I went to the 21+ section and found a bench to relax on until my feet could recover a bit. “Hey.” I turned to my right to see a slender, clean-cut White man with a moderately thin mustache on his face (think Porn-stache, because that’s ALL I could think of). “Hey” I replied, figuring that there was no harm in having an exchanged with this stranger. It started with small talk, he asked me how I liked the festival and I explained how I loved that there were so many diverse types of Black folks. I loved seeing LGBTQ people being able to express ourselves, and that this festival really felt like a safe space for me. He then cut me off and asked: “Do you identify as trans?” I wasn’t stupid, at this point I figured he was probably asking because he found me attractive. I do technically fall under the trans-umbrella, but I didn’t feel like I had to answer that question. I tried dancing around it and expressing avoiding the question, but he just kept asking. Eventually, I snapped and said, “If you’re asking if I have a penis, no I do not.” You’d think he’d get the hint that I was really annoyed and was no longer wanting to engage, but I guess he figured that was a pass to pursue (looking back I wish I knew how to better handle that question).

“Oh, I’m not a millennial you know.” I couldn’t help but rolled my eyes. “Being Trans isn’t anything new.” I can’t remember if I thought that or said it out loud; guys I was really gone. I’m the type that has one drink and I get drunk off of that, do imagine a day of day drinking under the sun. I don’t exactly remember the rest of what he was saying, but eventually, I just became more uncomfortable with him than I was my blisters. I do recall him trying to get me to stand up and spin around for him, but at that point, I was REALLY over it and told him “I’m going to go… To better watch the show.” I started to walk away, and he went in for a hug. It seemed harmless, so I returned it. He used that as an opportunity to pull me in close, to run his hands down my back, my butt. I started to push him away, and he attempted to kiss me goodbye. I didn’t want to make a scene, so I went in like I was going to give him the European/Latin American kiss on the cheek farewell. Then he held my shoulders and tried to force me to kiss his lips. It was a back and forth for about 30 seconds of him trying to force the kiss, and me trying to dodge it. Him expressing that I should take it, and then me pushing him away and quickly darting out of the 21+ section.

I didn’t consider this sexual assault when it happened. I just figured I was being groped, he was transphobic, I was uncomfortable, I didn’t want any of that, he was preying on me because I was intoxicated and alone. But I never considered it sexual assault. I originally laughed it off with my friends, joking you can’t trust those guys with Porn-Staches. I figured next year I’d just pay the extra charge to be VIP, then maybe I’d be safe from predators and anxiety attacks. It wasn’t until I started noticing other people critique Afropunk for ‘selling out.’ So many of my Black friends have expressed feeling like Afropunk is no longer for Black folks, that it’s just perpetuating the commodification of Black bodies. After enough time to process, I sorta feel that way too. I’m biased, what happened inevitably makes me look at things from a cynical perspective. But I kinda look back at Afropunk sorta feeling like it’s becoming like a zoo for Black folks and Black culture. I’m beginning to feel like it’s a place where people can oogle-oggle at the mythical “Black Magic,” and can enjoy dressing up like a Black person with cheaply made African print.

Ironically, I’ve never been assaulted, harassed, or made to feel unsafe at any other music festival until Afropunk.

I don’t blame anyone at Afropunk for the singular event, nor do I think they are responsible for vetting every person who enters the festival. I do think though, that this festival no longer serves the people that it was intended for. Afropunk was made for Black punks, it’s evolved to include all Black people. Now it’s evolved to include all people that take interested in Black people. Now it’s starting to feel like it’s becoming a festival for people who want to sample Blackness and Black people.

I’m not going to end this by undermining my opinion or excusing this. I am going to end this by pointing out that all things evolve, and by questioning what is Afropunk evolving into if it’s no longer serving the folks it was intended to serve? 

Damn, I’m a Pick-Me Ass Bitch

A “Pick Me Ass Bitch,” by definition is the “woman” who tries too hard to be liked (Men can be pick-mes, but this ain’t for them right now). She will compromise her independence, her self-esteem, and her self-respect for the opportunity to be chosen. Some examples of Pick-Mes are Phylicia Rashad, in the case of defending Bill Cosby’s rapist ass, and Erykah Badu arguing that Teenage girls need to ‘cover up’ so as not to distract male teachers. “Pick Mes” are women who are conditioned to internalize misogyny and changes their behavior to fit the narratives of a sexist society. Growing up in the rural South, I was surrounded by religious propaganda that conditioned me to internalize self-hate. Statements like “Don’t be easy” and “Boys don’t want a woman who has been used” were the main motivation for me wanting to be a virgin till marriage. I felt as though that’s how I would gain a man who respected me, by being “worthy” of “respect.”

Then I was raped… I found that living in a world where I internalized misogyny became difficult for me; how was I supposed to heal when in the back of my head, I felt as though my value had decreased. On one hand, I believed it wasn’t my fault, I was completely covered up, I wasn’t a “whore.” But in the back of my head I remembered the details, I had “no business being intoxicated,” why was I even at a boy’s home? I faced a rude awakening that existing as a woman, as my own woman, meant existing outside of other people’s expectations of me.

Now as a grown ass woman living in New York, surrounded by people who are “sex-positive,” I feel as though I am still unpacking my pick-me ways. Yes, my environment has changed, the narrative has changed, but I still found myself performing the same song & dance. For most of my life, I’ve had issues with my self-esteem, and finding “self-validation.” For as long as I could remember I would talk to my friends about every single thought, feeling, emotion, and response. I’d look at them as my stamp of approval, the people to prove I wasn’t crazy. When I dated men, I tried so hard to not fit into the “crazy” or “jaded” archetype.

In my last relationship, I think I went in with the subconscious thought that it was my job to compromise who I was. I had committed to him, so I had to be comfortable with the fact that he wasn’t comfortable with me showing too much flesh. I had made a commitment to him, so I get why he wouldn’t want me to be friends with males I’ve had sex with. He was my man, so I had to be understanding of why he was uncomfortable with my sex worker past. I felt like I owed him countless explanations, I owed him undeserved vulnerability, and that I owed it to him to shrink myself. But damn Y’all, I gave that man an inch and he took a WHOLE mile. When I cut my hair, he told me I looked like a man and expressed an issue with the fact that I didn’t “consult” him first. When I had sex with someone else after he broke up with me, he expressed he didn’t understand how I could be so ‘easy’ if I had been raped. The micromanagement only increased over time, and I was punished for standing up for myself or confiding in my friends and family.

Now, I’m at a very similar place as I was when I was 18, trying to figure out how to heal. After I left him I internalize his messages: “Good luck finding someone that will deal with you.” He made me feel like because of who I am and who I was that I had something to be ashamed of. The next guy I dated I found myself trying to do everything to appease him. He was surprised when I wore a crop top, so I changed it (even though he said it was fine). I kept my past hidden from him, “He doesn’t need to know the ‘dirty’ parts of you that made you who you are.” Eventually, when it came time to commit, I truly don’t think I was ready. But so many of my friends seemed happy with him, and I figured that I was stupid for dating so many “bad guys” that why shouldn’t I give a “nice guy” a chance? Then very shortly after he asked me for a relationship, he ghosted me. Immediately I blamed myself. I figured it was because of the times I was too annoying, too affectionate, too attentive, too me.

I felt destroyed, I felt like my ex was right. I wasn’t able to keep him, and I wasn’t able to keep the next guy. I didn’t begin to snap out of my funk until I realized that it’s really hard to mess up the “right thing.” That no guy who REALLY likes you sits at home and thinks: “Damn, shawty type bad and I deadass like her, but, she was too affectionate, so I ghosted.” Maybe men don’t prefer the affectionate type, but a person who is invested in and values you won’t just ghost you. Once I accepted that I realized that being ghosted hurt not because I really liked him, but because just like he was probably using me to validate himself, I was doing the same. I allowed myself to commit when I wasn’t ready and almost agreed to a situation I felt tricked into (that’s another story) because I was seeking validation that I could keep a man. I wanted to feel worthy, and I wanted to believe that I was able to pick a “good guy.”

Y’all, just like 18-year-old Monisha had to do, 23-year old Monisha is working to undo her pick-me programming. Very shortly after I was raped, a man told me that if I had a dominant man in my life that I probably wouldn’t have been in that situation. I don’t think I’ve talked about how I internalized that things that happened to me were my fault. I don’t think I’ve owned up to the fact that in some cases I date men who are more “traditional” because I lack the self-esteem to combat my internal feelings of incompetence. I think I still have a lot of “pick-me” in me because I’m scared Y’all. I’m scared of being alone, I’m scared that I won’t have to protect myself, I’m scared that I’ll always have to be a “Strong Black Woman.”
When I have daughters, I hope I can raise them to have more faith in themselves than I did. Cause nothing for nothing, I don’t want to raise daughters, I need to raise women. I need to raise girls who don’t internalize that they are incapable of being their own person, I need to raise myself to internalize that I am cable of being my own person. It’s a process, I am healing, I am transforming.

Internalizing Self Love and Body Positivity

I’ve touched on the body positive movement before, in a way that strongly critiqued the mainstream trend (see here). Now I’m all for think pieces and opinions, but after you tear something apart it’s important to suggest solutions. When I wrote that piece I was extremely unhappy with myself, and my body. I constantly compared myself to my other friends, and spent hours obsessing over my weight (and how to lose it). In many ways I think I was trying to disappear, to take up less space, to have less of me that could be critiqued. I knew the importance of loving and accepting your body, but I was so impatient to gain results; “why?” 

Self harm isn’t limited to physically harming yourself; self harm is also allowing your head-speak to hurt you. What I mean by that is, sometimes we (myself included) will tear ourselves down before we give anyone the importunity to. We become our worst enemies, so maybe it doesn’t hurt so much when we perceive threats. “What does this mean?” Using myself as an example, I used to have someone in my life who was constantly belittling me. They’d attack my intelligence, life decisions, friendships, and even past traumas. I felt broken down in every direction. The issue wasn’t that I was internalizing these messages as true, but I think I became obsessive about attacking my actual insecurities before they could. Which as a result doubled down on the toxicity, and poisoned the air I was taking in.

I say all this to say, self love is NOT achieved all by ourselves (contrary to popular belief). As touched on my previously mentioned post, the environment we live in and the messages we receive highly impact our ability to internal positive feelings about ourselves. That means, who we hang out with, who we live with, where we live, the things we watch, and who we have close relationships with have an impact on our ability to love ourselves. “Why?” Because, humans are inherently social creatures! Which means we seek approval for others, we want to fit in, we care about what others think of us. Now do you understand why it’s important ensure that the people in our life are on our team? Do you understand why when we have people in our life we have to ensure:

  • They advocate for you.
  • They build you up.
  • They are thoughtful towards you.
  • They are considerate towards you.
  • They are patient with you.
  • They have faith in you.
  • They are understanding towards you.
  • They love you in a way that does not make you question it’s validity.

There are always going to be people who want something from you, or simply just want to be in your life. But on our quest for self love it’s important to reflect on how people impact you, and what you end up doing with that impact. I told my mother recently: “People in your life will either build you up or break you down, there’s no in-between.” That might be a bit radical, but the older we get, the less time we have for ourselves. We must be selfish with who we let into our lives, we must ensure that people are building us up. Because even if we allow toxic people into our lives, just because they can’t literally break us down doesn’t mean we won’t start helping them.

“So how do we internalize self love?” Simply put, look at the quest for self love from a Micro (You), Mezzo (People in your Life), Macro (Society) perspective. On a micro-level are you doing what you can to internalize self love:

  • Are you feeding yourself?
  • Are you drinking enough water?
  • Are you moisturizing your kinky curls?
  • Are you putting yourself first within reason?

Then on a mezzo-level, are the people in your life aiding to your ability to internalize self love:

  • Are the people in your life kind to you?
  • Are the people in your life present through the good and the bad?
  • Are the people in your life supportive of your decision?
  • Are the people in your life jealous of you?

Lastly, the level we have the least amount of control over (but one we should still consider) is the macro-level:

  • Are the shows you watch providing you with positive representation?
  • Are you in an environment where you felt seen and heard?
  • Are you in an area where you have access to products you need?
  • Are you in an environment where you feel safe to be your true self?

The more or less privilege you have will impact how much you’re able to do to support yourself. However, I still think it’s mindful to be considerate of these questions, even if you’re unable to change them. This is because we must be kind with ourselves.

“Some days I’m not able to wake up and go to the gym, because i’m tired. Some days I will keep toxic people in our life, because I don’t know where else to get support from. Some days I will continue to live in environments where I feel unsafe, because I don’t have the access/ability to live anywhere else.”

We can not allow our lack of privilege or energy to be an excuse to belittle ourselves; “Be understanding and forgiving of yourself.” Sometimes self love means accepting what we can not change and control, and celebrating ourselves for what we did have the ability to do.

So let me ask you this, what have you done on a micro, mezzo, and macro level that showcases you do love yourself?

 

For Black Women who “Look Like Men.”

Us Black girls don’t tend to have hair that falls down our back, our hair grows upward towards Heaven.

I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with my cotton-candy curls, loving them is a battle I’ve had to fight internally and externally. “You look like a boy” is a statement my ears are far too familiar with, and my heart feels too tired to argue. I didn’t have the words to explain to people at 7-years-old that little boys and little girls don’t look all that different, and hair isn’t a means to tell someone’s sex or much less their gender. “You look like a man” is what I’ve heard too many past lovers tell me whenever I took my extensions out, as if it wasn’t enough for them to not love me, now they had to try take away my ability for me to love me. I’ve always had difficulties accepting how femininity was both forced on and taken away from Black women, completely depending on the situation.

I’ve had difficulties grappling with how our bodies are seen as museum exhibits for oogling, ogling, and appropriation. From an early age Black Girls are fetishized for our butts; “twerk for me.” For our lips; “damn girl you have some DSLs” Yet degraded for our hair; “She’d be cuter if he sh*t wasn’t nappy.”  From the moment we begin to exist our bodies are controversial war-zones, and like land, we are damaged from the cross-fire. Our basic humanity gets negated from all directions, Black men, Non-Black men, Non-Black women, and yes even ourselves. We are taught from an early age to shrink ourselves like hair being met with water (this metaphor ain’t for White girls); “Don’t walk around with an attitude.” Our tears are perceived as ugly, our bodies treated as unfeminine. As a child, I never had the words to express what was happening against me, but damn, I was always left wondering “Ain’t I a woman?”

I never understood Sojourner Truth’s speech in its entirety until much later in my life (if you haven’t read it, please read it), what resonates so deeply is that even to this day Black female bodies are still subjected to the mockery and critique of others. When someone wants to embrace our femininity, we are expected to be “lady-like”. When someone wants to de-feminize us, it’ll happen within the blink of an eye. Originally this piece was going to be about hair, but it’s so much more than the way our hair grows out our head. It’s the fact that our dark skin is seen as a threat, so people treat us very similarly to how they’d threat Black men in this society. It’s the fact that our voices tend to be deeper, so we are expected to make the pitch higher so as to not come off as rude when we speak. It’s the fact that we have always been treated differently than other women, as if we are expected to be Super-Woman and depend primarily on ourselves. The worst part is, I think the internalization of these messages are unavoidable.

From afar, I appreciate how Non-Black feminists are growing out their body hair, spreading their legs when they sit, and paying for themselves (and maybe even the guy) on dates. But I can’t help but feel like we, Black women, our feminist movement has to look a little different. It has to look like not laying down our edges and cutting our hair short (if we want that). It has to look like wearing those booty shorts and that crop top if we want it, because it isn’t our fault that our bodies are hyper-sexualized. Our feminist movement has to look battling double standards of attire, because why can that White girl wear it, but I’m a “slut” if I do? Hell, I think our Black Feminist movement looks like Black women reclaiming their sexuality, however and whenever they want (That’s why Amber Rose is important to me). The world isn’t going to be kind to our feminist Black movement, I don’t even expect most of our mommas to understand it. But from one Black girl to another, we need a movement for Black Women who are told they “Look like men.”

For Black Girls who are too young to understand the battle ahead of them, 
don’t listen to the haters. Your hair is beautiful, long, short, curly, or kinky. Your skin is beautiful, regardless of if your Light and Bright or Midnight Black. Black girls, your bodies are yours, and you’re gonna have a lot of people who try to take that away from you. But whatever you do, try not to let your self worth as a Black girl be belittled by a society that doesn’t see the beauty in you. 
For Black Women,
we have to go out our way to make Black girls feel special. We have to compliment their hair, we have to compliment their skin. We have to tell them that they are beautiful, not because girls are supposed to be beautiful, but because beauty is something we Black women have grown up thinking we don’t have. We have to engage in conversations with Black girls about how they feel about themselves, and really listen to what they have to say. We have to protect them from a world that will make them feel like they aren’t worth protecting, we have to show them they are worth protecting. Because anti-Blackness comes in many forms, and society not seeing us, Black women and girls as what we are, that’s declining refusing for the inclusion of our being. 

How Can we Practice Self Love?

Two weeks ago I went out to dinner with an older male friend, and we spent a significant amount of time talking about love and relationships. He, due to our age difference, is at a different point of his life than I; I have a fresh pair of eyes and he carried wisdom in his. I started to confide in him about my lack of confidence to love (I’m sure I sounded like an over dramatic 20-something-year-old), I expressed to him how I was scared that I’d never figure it out (Yup, over dramatic 20-something-year-old). The more I opened up, the more I had questions:

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing, you’re 20-something”

“Am I unlovable?”

“From where I’m sitting you seem very lovable.”

“I don’t think he ever loved me, what even is love?”

That’s when he said something that really hit me, in ways defining love for myself never could. “I think that love is having faith.” I’d never heard love defined as that; so simplistic yet it forced me to pause and view love from a new perspective. “I don’t think he ever loved me. He spent so much time trying so change me, he never had faith in me… I don’t think I have faith in me.” At this point my friend probably felt like a guru, he had that feeling we all get when we blow someone’s mind. I think it’s fair to say that love is one of those indescribable, intangible, multi-meaning kind of concepts, but the concept of loving yourself meaning having faith in yourself hit me in a unique way.

In relationships and friendships I’ve never had issues having faith in people, I always assume the best in others. If I am slighted I like to think that people aren’t perfect, and if I speak to them then maybe positive changes will result in that. I’ve had no issues investing in those I care about, because I believed in them as well as the bond I have with them. So much so that I really started to compromise myself; I gave so much to others that I forgot to give to myself. I think I’ve always struggled with believing in myself, and having faith in things outside of my control. When I was in school I would obsessively apply for jobs because I had so little faith that I would have one post grad. In relationships I’d try to hard to adapt to the needs of my significant other that I rarely voiced the things I wanted, until the end.

I am making conscious changing to invest in myself more, and I am practicing the act of having faith in myself. I go to the gym everyday now, even if I don’t feel like it, because I do believe that I can consistently commit 30 minutes a day to the body I want to have. I created this blog and stopped posting on thought catalog, because I think it was important for me to believe I have a message and it’s worth investing in my dreams of being a writer. I am also being more mindful of the friendships I commit myself to, I wrote down a list of friends who seem like they mesh well with me and now I am going to be a better friend to them.

I think it’s easy to fall into a pattern. If most of our lives were were used to feeling like we messed things up, it will take conscious decision making to raise our self esteem. I think having faith in myself, having faith in my ability to have healthy relationships, and my ability to achieve my dreams is an act of radical self love. Failure is inevitable, but in order for my to increase my self love I think I have to view myself as someone to have faith in.

Maybe you’re struggling with the ability to love yourself. Maybe your self esteem isn’t where you’d like it to be. I challenge you to think about the one dream that you have, or one aspect of your life that you’d like to change. Thought of one?

Change it.

How Do We Fill the Empty Feeling?

One of my best friends texted me last week expressing that she was “Sick and tired of being sick and tired.” That quote resonates with me all too well, both from experience and observation. Life is hard, and when you’re young it can be so overwhelming because you’re just starting to figure things out (I don’t think we ever totally do). In high school we might be facing difficulties fitting in, and social relationships might seem intimidating. In early adulthood we are a bit more self focused, trying to chase enjoyable moments and career prospects. In young adulthood, I’ve found that now life seems to be a balancing act. I am juggling my personal health, relationships and dating, friendships and social relationships, my career, my free time, and a ton of social responsibility. Admittedly, I am still trying to figure it all out.

For most of my life I found that I seemed to be carrying this empty feeling inside of me. I felt like an ominous Black hole that was unwilling to be fed; and even if it was hungry I didn’t know what to feed it. I carried that feeling with me when I hung out with my friends; “Do they really want me here?” I had the feeling when I was with lovers; “They are all just going to leave me, right?” I think I even became familiar with that feeling when I was around family; “I’ve always felt pretty alone.” I’ve tried to fill the feeling with food, sex, money, shopping, and alcohol; “I think these things make me feel worse about myself.” I did try less dysfunctional ways of fulfilling myself, I would confide in friends, attend group therapy, individual therapy, take medication; “I still feel so f**king empty.” Depression was something I’ve faced for the majority of my life, then with age came anxiety. College and graduate school were difficult for me for a number of reasons, I felt like I wasn’t represented and I felt misunderstood. With experiences though, came the ability to put words to my frustrations. I could pinpoint what made me feel empty:

  • Lack of representation
  • Lack of community
  • Being around toxic people
  • Not making enough time for myself

Then I learned the importance of self awareness, understanding self, and expressing self. I realized that yes I may not have control over the circumstances I am under, nor may I have control over the events that unfold before me. But what I do have control over is my ability to exist in the present, and my attempts to plan for the future. I realized that a lack of representation and community went hand and hand, so I decided to intentionally befriend more Black women around me. Being around toxic people in many cases is inevitable; “Sometimes you just have to grin and bare it at work.” But other times you can either cut those people out of your life even if it’s difficult; “Call it radical self love.” Which led me to not making enough time for myself, this was something I could control. I’ve been filling my space with plants, which requires me to take time out of my day to care for them. I find it peaceful, when I give to them it feels like I give to myself. I am also learning not to make solid plans on weekends, and I am forcing myself 30 minutes every day (sometimes I skip) to exercise. Even though it seems like a small amount of time, the time we allot for ourselves adds up, and I think that pieces of our self esteem do as well.

It’s been 3 months that I’ve made changes for myself, and I don’t feel so empty anymore. I don’t feel so depressed, and I don’t have such high levels of anxiety. Mental health and wellness isn’t an easy, and I’d argue it’s a life long effort (as we change the way we love ourselves may have to as well). There are going to be days where you’re going to be rocking it with mental health; “I’m so happy for you!” Then there are going to be days where you’re just too tired to heal yourself; “That’s ok, there’s tomorrow.” But I hope that you start to see yourself as worth putting other aspects of your life on hold, and deserving of treating yourself with the love you are seeking to receive.

I welcome you to comment ways you can exercise loving yourself; “what’s worked for you?”

 

Why Monogamy?

As of lately the concept of monogamy has been making me feel extremely uncomfortable. The thought of “belonging” to someone just doesn’t sound as romantic as it used to. The feeling of “jealous” never hit me in the way that it hits others, but now I don’t even want to have anything to do with it. I don’t have a fear of commitment, and I definitely still imagine what my wedding day will look like (Vera Wang can I get a discount or nah?). But the idea that there’s only one right way to have a romantic relationship with someone seems a bit outdated to me. It’s worth mentioning that I’m still pretty knee high to a grasshopper in regards to my years of dating experience, however I hope that my perspective can at the very least start a conversation.

All of my relationships have been monogamous, not necessarily because I wanted it (I was indifferent). In those relationships one of the major issues that I have encountered was the inability to adapt to change and find balance (this is on both sides). Two of my most serious relationships were abusive (the first and the most recent), and the two in the middle I acknowledge I either hold a significant amount of fault. The two abusive relationships were riddled with jealousy and insecurity, I was constantly being punished for the following reasons:

  • If I went out with my friends (to a bar or a club)
  • If I posted on social media
  • Having an instagram
  • Having male friends
  • Etc.

Now, I don’t blame monogamy for those relationships failing (those men were the problem not monogamy). But I can’t help but notice insecurity and jealousy being reoccurring issues, regardless of if the relationship was toxic or not. Moving into my healthier relationships with men, I chalk a lot of the issues up with my immaturity. I was expressive about my concerns and I was really honest, however I should have left when I realized I wasn’t satisfied (we live and we learn). Towards the end of those relationships Polyamory was attempted (and failed), but it did teach me that I was capable of caring about multiple people at once.

My only healthy experiences with Polyamory have been while I am dating around, because I don’t date just one person until it’s verbally agreed upon to enter a relationship. Before I get into a relationship I find that dating for me is fine for both parties, and the concept of monogamy is something that ends up freaking me out rather than exciting me. I’ve found that once monogamy happens people’s expectations change along with their motivation. You begin to “belong” to someone, they begin to act as those they are entitled to authority over your life. Slowly we all regress into childlike states, and basically become like toddlers in relationships. I think we start to objectify our partners unknowingly, and our expectations become unrealistic. Some of us want unreasonable amounts of time, unfair amounts of physical touch, unrealistic acts of service.

Sometimes I become so nostalgic of the point before monogamy happened. I spent more time focused on impressing the person and bonding with them. Knowing that I wasn’t owed their time and accepted that I might not have all of them didn’t bother me. I found it complimentary that they found me significant to see on a recurring basis (even though there’s the rest of the world). Before monogamy kicked in I felt as though the expectations were fair, and requirements of time were responsible. Before monogamy interactions felt fluid, they’d adapt and change as needed. Which isn’t to say Polyamory is a-ok either, there are definitely people who masquerade as “poly” when in reality they are just non-monogamous. But what I’ve found in a lot of my poly friends is there are many more conversations, there’s a lot more questions, and there’s a bit more compromise.

I’m not really sure if Polyamory is any better than monogamy, I guess I’ll write about it if I ever try it. But I do think we have to begin having more fair conversations about what works and what doesn’t work in relationships. Times are changing, and so are our situations. I don’t think monogamy is for everyone, just like I don’t think being polygamous is our final solution. I do think that in order for us to drop the 40-50% divorce rate in America, we have to be open to change.