Origin Stories: How we became Polyamorous (Part 2)

So, I made the last Origin Story post more about how, positionally, we were primed and prepped to open our relationship, but this is the nitty-gritty mechanics of how it came about. Covering about a year’s worth of development is difficult. I apologize for the length, but that was the only way I could tell this story.

Redefining faithfulness

819e5934ff5a4f62739e34e17e85f0a8There were too many moments to count where my ability to stay “faithful” by society’s definition was tested not just in my marriage but in pretty much every relationship I ever had. And there were too many moments where I didn’t abide by those standards and others where I felt resentful and caged.

I remember, a week before our wedding, during law school finals, I confessed to Husband that I had done more than just kiss Navy Boy on a recent trip out to visit him. I didn’t want to start our marriage with a lie and I felt a strong urge to share the truth with him.  “I know. I just wish you had told me about it at the time,” was Husband’s response.

He knew about the people I habitually flirted with and understood.  He knew about my desire to revisit with old flames and understood. He knew about how I desperately wanted to explore my bisexuality (another Origin Story to add to the growing list) and understood. He’s always known me so well and always understood.

By the end of law school, a year after our wedding, I was pregnant with our son. We were buying a house and I was studying for the bar exam. Midway through the pregnancy, because of the physical impact on my old injuries, I could no longer have sex. There was no position where I didn’t feel pain or numbness. Those were a lot of lonely days and nights for us, especially since neither of us had thought about this side effect.

Once I had given birth, I was anxious to be able to get back to being able to have sex. It had been at least 6 months and I was ready.

I don’t want to go into a lot of detail here because I still hold shame about this part of my story: I cheated.  It was March 2004 and because of the way the pregnancy affected my body, I wanted to feel desirable and beautiful still.  Husband would probably say that he just couldn’t keep up with me, but that isn’t true. My sex drive wasn’t the issue, nor was his. The issue was a need for approval – from someone other than the person who just watched me birth his child. I needed to find myself sexy through someone else’s eyes.

When Needs Backfire

That need hit me like a ton of bricks. I had gained a significant amount of weight during the pregnancy. The doctors assured me that I had so much fluid and he had been such a big kid (9 lbs 1 oz at a month premature) that I would likely go back down to my normal size in no time. But I didn’t. I never did.

I went back to the flirting I had done before. But instead of staying safe and monogamous, I was actually entertaining meeting these men.  I needed to feel desirable again, a vital slice of anyone’s self-worth that in carrying all this extra weight I didn’t know myself anymore.

In my younger days, I may not have been the prettiest girl on the block, but I could more than make up for that with charm and wit and intellectual intrigue. I relied on my adaptability to be valuable and thus desirable to others. I had insecurities about my body, like most women, but I never felt it was unfuckable or undesirable in some fashion. SCN_MomBod_1920x1080_002

They don’t tell you about how you’ll feel about your body after motherhood. You spend most of your life being told that you need to be attractive to find yourself a spouse. And once you have kids, you devote yourself to them but stay attractive and available enough so that your husband doesn’t stray.  That’s the national romantic “happily ever after” narrative, right? But no one tells you how you will feel as a woman, as a sexual woman, once you’ve pushed a live being into the world. Or that there will be a thousand conflicting messages and judgments about your value. Or that the very act of being sexual is somehow dirty and wrong, but if you don’t bounce back to your pre-baby shape you’re somehow a failure of femininity.

Cheating wasn’t planned or deliberate. I sort of slid into it, driven by this need to prove myself. The men I eventually met up with, one was a yuppie banker type cheating on his wife, the other was a bulky personal trainer type who worked security at night. Both were not just disappointing, but downright insulting. Banker dude asked to see under my skirt and told me I was “good enough for a blowjob” but nothing more. Personal trainer dude got up to go to the bathroom during lunch and left me with the check. When I confronted him in the parking lot, he told me I must have sent him an old picture because I wasn’t at all hot or worth his time.  Although neither situation involved intercourse, I had definitely broken the agreement that Husband and I had set with each other.

I was devastated and on the verge of suicide because these encounters had been so shaming and I had been deceiving Husband and not telling him the truth.

And I had no one to talk to.

Facing my truth

1621584_originalAt the time, I had just started writing on LiveJournal and was becoming more and more active in the communities there. I carried a lot of shame and guilt over what I had done and I was passively reading others’ journals to gain some insight.

Our anniversary that year followed my first Mother’s Day after giving birth. Both days were marred by these feelings, the burden of the half-truths I had been hiding from Husband. We fought more, picked at each other more and had more difficulty seeing eye to eye.

I remember standing in our makeshift office in the basement, him asking me to tell him why I was crying all the time, what he could do to help.  Eventually, I broke down and told him what had happened with both of those men–how each rejected me because of my body and how I was on the verge of killing myself over it.

Again, he forgave me–far more than I had deserved from him. And once again, he told me that all I needed to do was talk to him about what I was feeling and what I needed. That he didn’t object to me getting attention from others if that’s what I needed, but that those interactions would have an impact on me, and thus in our household and that he needed to be included in that, no matter how embarrassing it might feel.

Calling it by name

The more I was on LiveJournal (May 2004), the more I was exposed to others who were in or considering open relationships. It wasn’t a new concept per se, but at the time if you looked it up, all you’d find are swingers groups. Husband isn’t very flirtatious or outgoing, so swinging would never be something we could be comfortable doing together. I kept seeing allusions to the term “polyamory” but had trouble finding out more about it.

grungy_polyamory_heart_light_tshirtOne of my newest followers at the time, a guy in Seattle, introduced me more fully to the idea through his blog.  He and his wife were polyamorous and had been foIr at least a few years.  Through our conversations, I started becoming more familiar with the term and heard some of the tales of people who actually lived this way.

It’s amazing how much your world opens up when you say find an identity that fits.  This not just fit, but was focused on the love that I felt for so many people. While many people have floated in and out of my life, they have all mattered to me, contributed positively to my life and left me a better person. Polyamory seemed to welcome this–not just the sex, it was never just about the sex for me–it was about the connection.

Swing & a miss

Our very first foray was with a man on the east coast I had been talking to through LiveJournal. I had been given permission to play with him and would stay in contact with Husband about how it went. It wasn’t just the play that drew me in, it was the fact that this guy saw me like really saw who I am. I needed that. And I was falling for that now that the reins were cut loose and I could connect and love and be who I truly am.

So, before a Sarah McLaughlin concert, between dinner and walking into the Pepsi Center, I had a conversation with Husband about this new guy on the east coast. I was falling for him. Talking to him multiple times a day and wanted to take things to an actual relationship. I told Husband about polyamory, about open marriages, about the fact that I felt we were solid and supportive of each other and we could make this work.

Jumping into the rocky end of the poly pool

Things never worked out with the guy on the east coast. The moment I confessed my feelings to him, when I bought a ticket to go out to DC to meet him a month later, he cooled off. (He also requested a full body photo of me and never responded to that, compounding how I already felt about my body).  It was a shitty choice of a first try. I not only was rejected but felt I had been played and neglected once I wanted to take things into a less pixelated realm.

After that, Husband started instituting some rules and expectations. I don’t even remember those early rules anymore.  At one point it was the “only girls” rule. While common for many who are just starting poly, it was a rule only because men were hurting my feelings so terribly by their rejection of my body (hence the body shame I still carry today). Husband thought that the women would be at least nicer and give me a chance to understand my bisexuality that I still hadn’t embraced.  I wasn’t ready yet to fully embrace that part of my sexuality–so that rule went to the wayside.

Lots of rules came and went during those first few tenuous months as polyamorous. I went to DC to visit that guy–where he didn’t respond to my messages until the final day I was there.  Guilted by our mutual followers he at least met up with me for a drink.  But it was clear I had crossed a line by making our online interactions real and I was let down and dejected. Was this what polyamory was all about?

That was until I found Laz.  In November of 2004, the day after the election, a smart, witty Texan found his way to my LiveJournal. He quickly moved into the role of a trusted friend and flirty confidante.  And while he wasn’t the ideal partner (he was married with kids at the time), he was my first poly love and eventually, 6 months later, became my first poly husband.

Others would follow, but Laz will always hold a special place in my life for the role he played, for the support he gave and for the full realization that polyamory was right for us. I might not have ever stuck with polyamory had he not shown up in my life when he did.

To be continued…

At some point in the future, I’ll address Husband’s feeling about poly, how he manages his jealousy and all of the other little how-tos that people usually want to hear. But the how of it was more simple than people want to hear: He fully accepts me for who I am including the gift I have for connecting with multiple people and he gives me support and encouragement to be the best me that I can possibly be.

And that…that’s why I still love being his wife.

 

SexEd Tales: Self-Sabotage, Deservingness and Success

This week I’ve been a very busy sex educator, but not a terribly prepared one.  This always happens. I get word that I’ll be presenting. I have plenty of time to prepare. But I leave it until the last minute to get my notes together and to prepare a loose outline of what I want to cover. Then throw in packing, finishing up the taxes, my period and a heap of work pressure and I’m pretty primed to be stressed by the time I arrive at the hotel tomorrow and fully drained by Sunday.

This is how I sabotage myself and drive my perfectionism into overdrive mode. It’s a vicious and ugly cycle that keeps me running from one extreme to another. I spend most of my time so amped up and I don’t know what to do with myself when it’s calm. My stress, my guilt, this ugly pattern of high powered ambition matched with crippling fear of failure. Eventually, I stack so much on myself that I’m not fully present either as a partner or a presenter. 

It’s just another way to make myself undeserving. My procrastination, my addiction to stress hormones, my anxiety and perfectionism, my insecurities are the manifestations of my fear that I am just not deserving of the success I want in this arena.  Because…

If I’m successful, I have to show up.

If I’m successful, I’m responsible for being present within that recognition.  

If I’m successful, I have to own it.

When I’m not successful I can avoid it–the responsibilty, the ownership, the risk, and the reward. But that avoidance, the wallowing in the seeming inevitability of failure, is what invites my inner shrew to take up residence and keep me stuck exactly where I am.

The shrill call of the inner shrew

I hate that term in general, but it’s the voice that lurks within all of us that tells us we’re not good enough. “No one is going to listen to you”. “You’re not an ‘expert’ and everyone will see you’re a fraud”. “If you’re not 100% careful, you will get disbarred.” It really never stops. That self-talk that says I’m not good enough or smart enough or gosh darn it, nobody likes me. It’s a relentless critical nagging in the back of my head. 

This voice is at its strongest whenever I’m at my weakest. When I’m worn down by stress and anxiety already present in my life, it’s easier for that voice to beat my psyche to a bloody pulp with all its accusations, suppositions and assumptions. So highly critical of my own success, that voice gives me excuses to sabotage myself at every turn. To stay stuck where it’s safe.

Risk and reward

Why risk defeat when you could just stay safe?


Self-doubt accumulates and builds over time. It starts as just a slow drip. An occasional stray thought that goes through your head sounding plausible and rational and then it dissipates. But then the next drop falls and the next, each dissipating more slowly, like each new doubt gains power from the one before it. If I’m not careful, I’ll go from the very reasonable “You really need to double check those stats before the conference” to “Everyone is going to hate you and they’re never going to invite you back and you’ll never date again and die without ever feelings NRE ever again.” 

I can go from a drop to deluge to  drowning in 10 minutes flat.

As a sex educator, I talk a LOT about self-care. It’s a tool in dealing with the inevitable fuck-ups you’ll encounter along the way. We all make mistakes and have bad experiences in our relationships and sexual expression. Self-care is a great tool to recover and get yourself back out there again. 

But it’s just as much about recovering from the moments where our own inner shrew seems hellbent on beating us down, especially in our thoughts and fears about our intimate relationships. She’ll criticize us for needing care. She’ll belittle our attempts to ask for what we need because she’ll convince us that we’re not deserving. She’ll wrap us in indecision and fear of rejection, causing us to stay silent about boundaries or unmet needs.  She’ll convince us that we’re not smart, or pretty, or fun enough to be loved. 

We steal our hope to protect us from success

It wasn’t until last night that I realized how insidious my own relationship with this voice is. My son was having trouble sleeping before a big day of testing. He was putting so much pressure on himself to succeed, to force himself to perform even if he was already giving his best. It was making him sick with worry and fear.

This is the curse of my family — growing up Latino, I was taught I had to prove myself by giving 110% all the time, every day.  It was ingrained in my upbringing, rewarded but not always recognized. Stopping for something as silly as self-care was a luxury and indulgent. Vacations were few and far between. And don’t even get me started on massages, manicures or parties. The point was drilled into me, not just by my Mexican family but by the Catholic Church, that I am not worthy and nothing I could ever do will make me worthy in the eyes of either the mainstream or the divine.

What a depressing and utterly exhausting way to live. So undeserving I felt I was that I purposely threw some of my tests in high school just so others would get awards and not me. I don’t like the spotlight in general, but recognition was far beyond the scope of what I could hope for or want for myself. I just didn’t deserve such accolades. That voice told me that I had to be perfect in all things before I could be entitled to any rest.

To see that reflected in my son–beating himself up in the same sick way I’ve done it to myself, it really hit home.

It’s time to Tame the Shrew

Taming of the Shrew

Kiss Me Kate was one of my favorite musicals growing up. It doesn’t help that I was equally in love with Howard Keel & Ann Miller. Too darn hot!


Recently, I’ve had some remarkable experiences where I’ve had to accept that maybe, just maybe I’m deserving of my own success–if I would stop standing in my own way long enough to receive it. I’ve had to start coming to terms with the fact that it’s not the voice that is my problem, it’s the fact I keep listening to the voice and allowing it to lure me away from what I want to achieve. I have been giving my power away to a liar and the thief of my joy.
Back to the context of my current situation: I am 2 days away from a weekend of presentations, connections, debates, potentials, emotional enlightenment and not a small amount of consternation with my family about missing Easter dinner.

Freedom of Choice is my best method to taming this voice. I get to choose what I want for my life. I don’t have to be subject to the fears and victimization that this voice tries to impose.  I can choose how to prepare myself and own that choice no matter what the outcome. Should I choose to prioritize self-care over researching that one last statistic, so be it. Own it. Should I choose to write an outline for the Poly Political Agenda but skip doing one for the self-care workshop, so be it. Own it. Should I choose to prioritize a hotel weekend with Warrior and Blush over mingling with new couples, so be it. This is my choice and I own it.

By keeping myself locked up in fear all the time all I do is make it harder for me to achieve the successes that I want. I allow my procrastination to accumulate, the self-doubt dripping down from on high to make it excusably sloppy so that I will never know what it feels like to truly shine in my element. But if I want to be the woman I have always wanted to be, I have to step into that right now and choose to live my life in such a way it drowns out the voice of that indidious, traitorous shrew. 

It’s time for me to rule my life as the Queen.

Long Live the Queen. Choosing to live my life louder and bigger than my critics.


 

 

Origin Story: How we became polyamorous (Part 1)

Everyone comes at polyamory from their own background and series of choices. For some, it’s their “cure” to cheating. For others, it’s a slow slide away from swinging and into more romantic partnerships with others. Others start it out as an experiment with fantasies until suddenly you can’t imagine what your life would look like without sharing it openly with others. And whether I’m talking about my personal origin — how I, personally, knew I was poly–or how my Husband and I came to open up our marriage, these are the fundamentals of what led us to where we are now.

While ultimately the decision was made on a Wednesday in July 2004, right before a Sarah McLaughlan concert, there were a series of events and conditions that led us to that decision. Here’s a look back at the major components that led to our polyamory story.

We are individuals who choose to share our lives together

I’ve known Husband-Writer since 1996 when we went on a musical tour of Europe together. He was a musician and writer with a generous soul and a sharp wit. We got to know each other very well on that tour and he quickly endeared himself to me by being in my life. Our love is based on the friendship we developed at the time, the rapport that was built on a shared sense of humor and a passionate love of expression.

Read the rest of this entry

My Sex Educator CV

I’ve spent a lot of energy resisting the idea that I’m a sex educator in part because I always felt like I don’t fit the image I’ve grown accustomed to: beautiful, flirty, fun, with an elusive effervescence and trendy style. The person who oozes sex with their every word and who can immediately name the different qualities of lube in a dizzying display of scientific sexiness. I don’t own a pussy puppet and am not sure what I would do with it if I did. I don’t teach “how to” be sexy; I help you remember “why” you already are sexy. I can’t tell you how to make your girlfriend have a mind-blowing orgasm; I can tell you how to talk to each other about it with graceful vulnerability.

I’ve been poly for a long time — 13 years. And I’ve been kinky way longer than that. I’ve been public speaking since 4th grade when I went to Space Camp. I’ve taught numerous classes including to law enforcement and other attorneys about poly & BDSM and how to identify nuanced consent and differentiate it from abuse. Yet somehow I don’t feel like I’m qualified to call myself a sex educator.

I haven’t written books or published articles or received awards. I haven’t changed lives with my message or gotten hundreds of thousands of followers. I’m not popular. I’m not credentialed (other than as an attorney and no, I won’t give you legal advice). I’m not a researcher. I don’t hold a bevy of statistics in my head. And yeah, I’ve done presentations and given talks, but most of that has been local and not national.

There’s also a lot of Imposter Syndrome talking here.

Over the next thirty days, I will be giving four different talks about sexuality or sexually related topics. Tocday, I am a guest lecturer at a local community college for a human sexuality class — essentially debunking myths about BDSM and polyamory. Then, in two weeks I will be presenting at Rocky Mountain Poly Living (“Extending Empathy” and “Poly Political Agenda”). Then the week after that I’m leading a discussion at StarFest about Intergalactic Influences on Love and Sexuality (Sci-fi and Fantasy’s influences on our own sexual development and experiences with love).

It’s a busy, whirlwind of activity and the likelihood of my anxiety making a nasty return is very, very high. And while self-care is certainly necessary, I always do better when I can talk it out. Both husbands are asleep — so allow me to use this space right here to remind myself — 

My Sex educator super power is just being me. Photo by Anthony Graham of Broken Glass Photography (Colo Springs, CO)

I am a sex educator and I am qualified because:

I know my own experience. I know how to call out shitty experiences. I know what it feels like when you don’t call out a shitty experience and swallow disappointment and discouragement.

I know what it feels like to gather up the courage to ask someone out and to be rejected (oh fuck, I know that one well).

I have met and loved (and lost) soul mates.

I have encountered submission as a spiritual transformation and inched my way closer to deeper dominance. And love the romanticism of vanilla sex as well.

I have been publicly shamed and outed. I’ve been unemployed as a result of how I identify and the perverse assumptions that people make as a result.

I’ve grieved for the loss of my sensuality and triumphed over its return. Over and over again.

I have been sexually assaulted in both the vanilla and sex positive worlds and have healed by sharing my stories and connecting with others who need to hear they’re not crazy or alone.

I have seduced and loved many impossible people–people who felt they were unlovable, people with outward importance who needed an inward experience, people far more beautiful, popular or genuine than me.

I have slept with more men than women, but can tell you what it’s like to fall in love with both.

I have walk-of-shamed my way down lonely Chicago streets and given my sex as comfort to the broken-hearted.

I’ve been a wife and a mother and had difficulty with balancing the expectations of both roles.

I have been a sexual healer, a divine mistress, a wanton whore and a demure princess in one night.

I have walked this earth as an intelligent, passionate and spiritual woman. I am femme and geek and Chicana and fucking brilliant when I choose to be. I am curvy and vulnerable and maternal but I’m not your Mommy. I am the laughter of seduction and the mediator of souls.

How can I possibly be an imposter?

By sharing lessons through my own vulnerability and experience, my learning and mistakes, I serve as a companion on the journey.  By weaving stories of empathetic experience, I aim to illustrate the patterns of our own truth and experience. This is both who I am and who I want to be. That is the most real and authentic me I can offer–my own lessons and experience and knowledge and outlook.

That is the most real and authentic me I can offer–my own lessons and experience and knowledge and outlook.

And for some, that is exactly what they need.

 

 

 

Intro: Origin Story Series

Part of a series of posts in which I revisit my past, look on my origin story with new eyes. Draw lessons, revisit fond memories. Could be any of the people, places or choices that have influenced me over the years and shaped me into who I am now. 

Nostalgia is fun. 

For the years that I’ve been attending conferences and giving presentations, I’ve been asked the same types of questions: How did you know you were poly? How did you become kinky? What made you realize you were bisexual?  Maybe it’s the geek in me, but I think we’re acculturated to crave origin stories. Adam & Eve. Batman Begins. We want to know where our heroes come from. We want to know their backstory. We’re dissatisfied as audiences if we lack context for the image in front of us. Sometimes, the more unattainable, the better.

It’s a way for us to keep ourselves detached from our dreams and ideals. A ready excuse for why we’re not exceptional. Why we’re never going to attain our dreams.  When I go back to my hometown, for example, I’m told “of course, you’re polyamorous. The rules don’t apply to you.” They don’t because I chose for them not to. The rules don’t apply to me because I took a chance on being authentic and making hard decisions for myself and defining my own rules. It didn’t happen overnight and it wasn’t without its consequences, but I am not fundamentally special in this ability. If i can, you can. 

And so in this series, I’ll be talking about my own origin stories. Maybe it will be my Catholic upbringing. My calling. My bisexuality. My awareness of polyamory.  Maybe some of them will be short little statements or photos. Maybe some will be entire chapters of insight and story. Most of them biased by hindsight. All of them a true reflection of who I am. 

I look forward to sharing my stories with you. 

Suggestions for future topics?

New Categories (Blog Maintenance)

Going through and changing the categories of all these felt like a hopeless task since a) the blog has gone through a LOT of purposeful changes since I started it so many years ago and b) it was a little painful and embarrassing that I haven’t been more dedicated to the role of this blog.

But since my posts get broadcast to 1200+ people on Twitter at least, I figured it was time to get this rolling and start getting serious about what I want to discuss here. So for those that were keeping track here are some other changes:

  • Some posts that are more personal or meant for a smaller audience are being moved to the Private category
  • Sub-categories are a thing now
  • Manifesto posts have been transitioned to The Queen category – it’s not just about a plan of action for my life, it’s about stepping into the role I want to live in. Each of the sub-categories represents aspects of the Queen – other archetypes that are also a part of me.
  • I haven’t messed too much with content–yet. I’m a strong believer in preserving the past, no matter how embarrassing, but some posts need to be retooled.

It’s actually been eye opening to gain insight into my patterns of blogging. Giving me ideas for the future.

An Open Heart Hears the Message

The past five years have been unusually dark for me. Full of family turmoil and career drama. I’ve had plenty of reasons to run and hide, to isolate myself from the world. I stopped dating, I stopped really socializing too. I locked away in my little protective bubble where nothing could touch me. And how fitting that this spring I’m starting to emerge into who I have always wanted to be.

I’m sure the isolation served a purpose, allowed me a chance to rest, regroup and plot my way forward. But so much hurt, so much shame, so much trauma and I was more stuck than empowered. Contrast that to where I am now, more social, more vocal, more grounded in who I am. I believe strongly that this is where I need to be right now, in a space of manifestation and creation, fulfillment and passion. It’s time for me to start making some of my own dreams come true and actualizing the purpose I have for my life.

It’s even more important for me to be in this space…

Right here and right now 

I can’t even say how long it’s been since I used the word “passion” to describe myself. I’ve been in survival mode for so long that passion had hardened into a strong shell of resentment over the years I had to put aside what I wanted and desired to avoid judgment and shame. And that passion barely had any embers left until the beginning of 2016.

It was a shitty year….we know this now. And when I had started writing this back in October, I had no idea how bad it would get. I had no idea that so many of us survivors of sexual assault would get activated and retraumatized all at once. I couldn’t see that coming. But to have that same person now in the White House is even more terrifying. And more threatening. Read the rest of this entry

Body Positive Catch-up time: Days 9-11 (#bodposfeb)

Yep, because I can’t always find time in my day to write and because the shit show of the news has captured most of my available attention span, I haven’t kept up with body positive February posts. Not that you were necessarily keeping track, but here’s my attempt to get caught up. These are somewhat big assignments, so I can only break it down into a few days at a time per post:

Day 9: Express appreciation for a source of support in your life.

It would impossible for me to narrow in on just one person in my life, or just one source of support in my life. I could talk forever about the gratitude and appreciation I feel for the sources of support I have access to in my life, especially my husbands and my family. But I thought I might highlight a few people who don’t get the praise and recognition that they deserve. Here are a few highlights.

  • For Blush – To say she’s my girlfriend would be inaccurate unless you also include the fact that she’s the closest I come to having a true best friend in my life. She is the earthy, airy equivalent to my intense fire and watery adaptability. We have similar tendencies, similar callings, similar structures in our relationships. But offer each other a non-judgmental place to vent and work through problems as well as a place to obtain release without the strings of expectation or over-attachment. I love her feedback in my life and love the safe space she provides always.
  • For S – To say that I look forward to his emails, to his manner of prose and his confessions of the challenges he faces in his life would be an understatement. He has an ability to see into my heart whenever I write and to pull out the main points much better than anyone else. He’s a writer, teacher and lover, and his messages never fail to lift my spirits, touch my soul. He “sees” me and that is one of the most powerful ways to support me in my life.
  • For Chris (PA) –  Well, there are two Chris’ in PA in my life, but if I were a goddess, this one would be the high priest of my temple. In fact, a lot of out interactions these days focus on me building my temple. He offers such unconditional support. When I’m feeling down, he’s there to remind me who I really am. When I face hardship or a loss of faith in the process, the system or my own fate, he is there to remind me that I am building something grand in my life, something worthy that only those who are equally worthy can witness. He promotes my spirit without making me entirely inaccessible on a pedestal. He guards my soul.

Day 10: Share a song, poem, book, movie or TV show that helps you feel body positive.

There are two of them. I always listen to these songs back to back in this order:

English translation of the lyrics:

Lyrics for Soy Yo by Bomba Estéreo has been translated in 2 languages

I fell down, I stood up, I walked, I rose up
I went against the stream and I also got lost
I failed, found myself, I lived it and I learnt
When you fall harder, the deeper the beat

I keep dancing and writing my lyrics.
I keep singing with all the doors open
Going through all these lands and you don’t have to travel so far to find the answer

and don’t you worry if they don’t approve you, when they criticize you, just say
That’s me That’s me That’s That’s That’s That’s That’s
That’s me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me

I keep on walking, keep on laughing
I do whatever I want or die trying
Nobody cares what I’m doing, the only thing that matters is what’s on the inside
I like to be on the sand, bathing on the sea without a reason without a care
To sit down doing nothing, looking far away and being relaxed

and don’t you worry if they don’t approve you, when they criticize you, just say
That’s me That’s me That’s That’s That’s That’s That’s
It’s me me me me me me me me

I’m like this I’m like this I’m like this
Relaxed
and you don’t even know me
So relaxed
I’m like this I’m like this I’m like this
Relaxed

and you don’t even know me
You know what I mean
You know what I mean
Relaxed
So relaxed
Relaxed
So relaxed
and don’t you worry if they don’t approve you, when they criticize you, just say
That’s me That’s me That’s That’s That’s That’s That’s
That’s me me me me me me me me
Yes, That’s me


Oh holy shit. This was a hard one to do, partly because crawling into the brain of my past selves is an exercise in confronting many of the same insecurities I feel today. I am in tears at a coffee shop writing this…But I suppose that’s the point, isn’t it?

So, here we go:

Dear Janet, 

At this point in your life, Spring 2004, you gave birth a few months ago to your amazing and wonderful little boy. You carried a life inside you, have been nurturing him to grow into a healthy and happy little boy. And you are impatient to finally act on all the return of your sexual energy. And you’re starting to delve into the world of polyamory, one salacious LiveJournal post at a time. 

For the time being, you are keeping your inklings secret from your husband because you don’t want to hurt him, you don’t want him to feel like he isn’t enough. You remember being good at seduction and by this time in your life, you’ve decided to take a few tenuous steps toward exploring multiple partners and satisfying a voracious and vivacious sexual appetite. But because you have not yet found your local communities to create a safe space for this exploration, you are talking to people on Yahoo messenger who are more invested in the thrill of the illicit conquest than being a caring partner in your journey. But remember this: 

YOU ARE NO ONE’S CONQUEST

You just met with a guy who we’ll call Mitch. A professional cheater. He meets you close to the office and you give him a blowjob in his Mercedes. When you meet with him again, he asks you to hike up your skirt so he can see more of you (since we’re just before the days of sending digital photos). 

A moment of truth for you. No one but Husband has seen you naked since you gave birth. A birth that took a severe toll on your body. Stretch marks. Weight gain of 60+ lbs that no matter what you to try to strengthen your core you just can’t seem to get yourself back into shape. And a paranoia about food thanks to gestational diabetes.  

Honey, I can feel the shame and self-blame washing over me as I write this. I hate how we’ve felt about our body. Our miraculous and beautiful body for what happens in this moment and for the moments you will endure after this. 

Because in this moment, he looks at you, at your vulnerable state of wanting to be accepted and cherished like the good old days. He takes one look at you and says, “Well, at least you’re good enough for a blowjob” as he pulls your head down for a blowjob in his Mercedes parked in the law school parking garage. You will feel dirty and used and wholly disposable and that will carry through for years to come. But more than anything you feel ashamed. Ashamed that your body isn’t good enough for this beautiful man with the empty heart. You will feel ashamed that the men you will encounter after him will reinforce this message–leaving at the restaurant to pay a bill because your clothed appearance “sickened” him and turned his stomach. Finally, sending a naked photo of yourself at the request of the man who has been giving you orgasm after orgasm on the phone for the past 2 months–only to not even get a thank you for two full weeks.  No response at all. 

All of this crushes you. Makes you feel unworthy of love. You look wistfully at swingers’ websites, longing to be as pretty and desirable as them to be able to attend their events. Subsequent people you will meet will reinforce the message that big isn’t beautiful (even though to be honest, your size is pretty normal). You will enter the poly and kink communities already apologizing for your body before anyone ever sees it. You will compare yourself to other women, opting out of relationships if they start dating someone thinner than you–assuming that you aren’t desirable, you’ll start to withdraw from relationships to make room in that person’s heart for the thinner, prettier, younger, or sexier partner. You choose not to pursue connections because you don’t want them to see your flaws and deem you unworthy. You do the work for them.

You’ll continue to push yourself to own that vulnerability and at least try to take nudes, to share yourself and to project yourself as someone with confidence in herself, because it’s important to you to at least try. I know because I still do it today. I still challenge myself to show up, to show myself to some degree or another (although being outed certainly had a chilling effect on ever being so public ever again). You’ll reject the compliments and shun those who claim to desire you. You’ll assume that your tits are your only asset and you will tell your body every day that you hate it for the shape it took after this pregnancy. 

But I am here to assure you that if you can recognize the opportunity, what is happening to you right now is not a reflection of who you are, but of the values that infect our society. You do not reflect those values and so to stand against them, to speak up against those standards is to pose a threat to them. Their words are not the world you want to live in. This will fuel your passion for social change–to change the very fabric of our societal values. This isn’t easy work, but these experiences are only a reflection of the reasons why the world needs an adjustment. 

Trust me when I say that the most common word people use to describe us is “stunning” with “radiant” being a close 2nd. And that is extraordinary. Because that is  what we want to be known for. This is who we are and what we want to project into the world. 

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Artist unknown 

We are Colorado girls. And we love what is natural and true to self. We are Chicana and driven by a fire and passion for societal change. We are amazing and beautiful and know how to seduce both men and women with ease and with compassion. What happens in these early days of your polyamorous expression is only a dismissive grumble from the unworthy world of the objectifying masses to the world of the thoughtful lovers. I promise, by the end of the year you will find people with a desire to truly see you and know you and they will change your life. Laz, Min, Husband, Hawk, S, BeachBum, Ambyr, and so many others will see you for not just the value that you bring into the world, but will absolutely worship at the temple that is your body. 

Have heart, my love. You are beautiful and loved and these early experience will prepare you to establish your boundaries, assert yourself and eliminate anyone who cannot approach you with the awe and reverence that you deserve.  Believe that we are growing more powerful by the day.

Don’t let these insecurities get you down…you will change lives in sharing who you are–stretch marks and all. You are sacred and holy and will one day rise as a queen and a goddess to guide those seeking the light in the darkness. 

 

 

 

 

“Show us your boobs!” and issues of consent.

Since December I’ve been broadcasting weekly Periscope videos focusing on various topics about polyamory. I’ve been having trouble deciding when it was best for me to do these live chats. Lately it’s been Friday afternoons between 4-6pm my time. Due to having previous Valentine’s Day plans with Warrior, I was going to do this one around 10am.

Maybe it was the difference in time and thus the availability of people to join in and watch, but there were a lot more people than usual. And there was more interaction. For this topic I was doing this time, looking at the notes from the session about  Poly Political Resistance, I was flattered that I could talk about this topic with so many people.

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As found on Whispr. I see about 20 of these in a day. Entitlement to see a woman’s body is the norm I’d like to see more of us question.

As any woman who is active on the internet who even hints about sex on her profile, you’re inevitably asked to show off for your  (primarily) male followers. I’ve had a few comments here and there during the few weeks I’ve been doing this. The ones that are “hi beautiful” and then ask for me to show them my boobs. Usually I will just say no and move on. Asking more than once is enough to distract me from what I was talking about. (How sad is it that I’m so used to it that asking once doesn’t seem to phase me?)

Well, this Friday, someone was asking way more than once for me to show them my boobs. Daring me to block them to get them to stop. Because I didn’t know how to do that and obviously telling them no wasn’t going to work, I just ended the whole thing. (I have since learned how to block during the broadcast).

I got back on a few minutes later (Video here) and tried to pick up before I had been interrupted. I had a few minor incidents during the 2nd broadcast and tried to handle them the best I could.

Read the rest of this entry

Adventures in #BodPosFeb Days 7-8

I’m still trying to get into the habit of posting and writing more often. As it stands right now I’m getting myself ready for an early Valentine’s Day with Warrior and Blush. Because my Periscope broadcast took so long, I won’t be able to get a shower in which has my brain working overtime with some anxiety since nudity is likely and I’m wanting my body to be looking its best.

But that’s a good reason to be writing this I think. The whole point of this exercise is  to be appreciative of my body, loving and accepting of it. 

Day 7: Put a quote or a picture that makes you feel confident up on your mirror. 


i had to think long and hard about what quote really made me aware of my confidence. And maybe I could have chosen something that focused on body positivity, but what really makes me confident is standing up to challenges in my life. Facing my fears. 

And one of the biggest fears that inhibits my body love is deeming myself  deserving enough. This is the fear I have to face everyday. The fear of being seen and appreciated. The fear of being found attractive and sexy. Even if it’s what I want and need. 

So each day in 2017 I am facing the challenges of my life, the boogeymen hiding in the shadows. I do what I think I cannot. 

Day 8: Write about something you are grateful to your body for allowing you to do. 

Photo by Broken Glass Photography in Colorado Springs, CO.

Bellydance. Beyond a doubt body positivity started for me when I started belly dancing. I have been dancing in some form all my life, including ice dancing. But when I started belly dancing I started blessing myself with movement. 

There is a certain kind of magic that happens when you witness your hips sliding side to side with ease and grace. You begin to realize just how precious your body really is. Just how magnificently designed it is. 

And in that moment, you love it and bless it just a little bit more. 

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