I realized from a young age that the boys had more fun. They had more power, more independence.

They were allowed to be dirty, too loud, too fast. Wild. 

I also realized I was meant to be wild, and that this was going to be an issue. 

Don’t get me wrong, I can respect a time and a place. I didn’t want to be in church, but I respected that some people did. So I resigned to daydreaming and napping like a good “bad” kid. But my friends are going to the woods to build a fort, and I cannot go because I’m a girl? No. This simply wasn’t going to work for me. So I acted like a boy. Dressed like a boy. Stopped washing and combing my hair with as much frequency. This was the first disguise I would assume in my life, and of many, many disguises. 

Being one of the boys is so fun. 

What’s better, is the group of boys I grew up with loved me like a sister. They included me at equal gender value, protected me.

So here I am. To the world, a tomboy. Then I would go home and privately be a girl. Play with my barbies, daydream about being a mommy, and a beautiful rock star, or honestly maybe just a rock star’s muse. I don’t think I had the vocabulary to realize that actual dream yet (who doesn’t want to be the inspiration in line notes?).

I wanted to wear beautiful dresses, and I wanted boys to think I was pretty. But I thought if people knew I actually desired to be girly and like to have fun with boys, I’d lose my privileges. The boys wouldn’t treat me the same. My parents would pull in the reigns. So a filthy boy in cut off shorts I became. 

What that had absolutely no bearing on, is my sexual orientation. I’m so painfully cisgender, that I’m bored even thinking about myself. I admire women but only desire men. Trust me, I am super disappointed it isn’t a choice.  

But what this did do, was allow me backstage access into how boys, and later men, think.

Once my disguise was concrete, I stole their culture, fun, and their secrets.

Then, I went through puberty, and was ready to find him. Who? Prince Charming? My husband? No. 

Mom, if you are reading this, take a seat. Or stop scrolling and I can send the rest of the photos of the kids in an email. <3

I was looking for a boyfriend to fall madly in love with me. You see, then we were allowed to hold hands, pass notes, say “I love you” and kiss. 

Then, the absolute opposite of the point of “Wonders of Wonders” happened. I took notes. I wanted to get laid as fast as possible, and I was going to protect the hell out of myself from STDs and pregnancy. My pubescent mind was spinning. I had to get to work. 

Enter: my “first” boyfriend.

This guy waited years. If he’s reading this, he is laughing and shaking his head “yeaaaaaah”. Sorry, dude. 

Once I felt enough time had passed, I made my move. Only, he thought it was his. We did all the responsible things to protect ourselves. We were safe in every regard. And I’ve never regretted the timing or partner. We fumbled our way into having a sex life.

Unfortunately, this would also be the first time I would learn that no matter what you do, sometimes you won’t be enough. Just because he loves you now, doesn’t mean he will love you forever. No matter how nice, sexual, loving, funny, or thoughtful you are. 

I just desperately wanted to hold onto him, and now I realize it was because I didn’t want to start this process all over again. 

This would start a very shitty pattern of me staying way longer than I should. 

I knew better. I just sucked at letting go, and even let myself get disrespected because of it.

I liked having steady sex. A consistent date to the party, or the dance. 

I liked…and at this point…needed his validation. He was living proof I was desirable.

So when it became clear we should part ways, I didn’t. I don’t want to overcome heartache only to turn around to find someone new that I have to fall in love with to have sex again. How. Exhausting.

I wish someone I loved and trusted would have told me that these were wildly unnecessary expectations to put on myself, and the poor guys I dated. 

I wish I hadn’t limited myself from new partners. I see now that all we really needed was desire, protection and consent. And then moved on if we wanted to.

And as I reflect on the remains of my childhood, I turn around to see my new role: mother. So this is the moment. This is how I can try another method, and hope for better results.

I’m stomaching the risks of teaching my kids rhetoric that was once unknown to me, but damn, I have to try. I have to hope that they all have happy and healthy sex lives (which I know the absolute minimum of unless they need my guidance). And in the least, they are spared any of my emotional and sexual trauma.

I hope my daughters have the courage to leave when it’s clear the vibe has turned bad. That they, and their self respect know when to take the door. 

Guess what else my daughters are gonna know about? Not needing a partner to get off.

Yeah.

We love to joke and praise men for getting hair on their top lip and spending their afternoons learning how to beat it.

But girls? Nah, we not only don’t talk about this, it’s treated as shameful. Which is absurddddddddddddddddddddddddddd.

I have no fucking idea how I’ll have this conversation with them and not make it awkward, but I have time to figure it out. 

I have wasted a ton of time trying to figure out how men work.

So, I can absolutely find time to find the words to raise sexually confident, protected and respectful human beings.

I need to insure that they are able to see the distinction of love and sex. And the fact that they are the tits when you pair them, but what’s so wrong with a jelly sandwich. Peanut Butter will literally kill me, I can’t eat it, and I won’t deny myself a fresh strawberry jam on white, alright? No? Whatever. 

And you can stay tuned for how I inevitably screw up my kids too.

I promise I will, and I won’t need you to remind me. I lose plenty of sleep on my own, thank you. 

Photo credit to my beautiful baby boy, Elliott. Who I promise I only mean to help and not hurt. I love you.

Headshots credit to my girl, Courtney Santo. A best friend, safe harbor, and life-long love.