Pride Month 2021: Back, Black, and Bi-er

Long time, no see eh? I’ve missed y’all. Grad school was one of the hardest experiences of my life, and these last two semesters put me through it, to put it lightly, but that’s over and done with now. I’m going to take this summer to re-configure my relationship to sex ed work in general, but this feels like a good way to get my feet wet again. This Pride Month in particular has been a lot, so I’m glad I waited until the end of the month to post this.

The last time I wrote about Pride Month was back in 2018, when I was a baby bi and still monogamous. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was still very much invested in the biphobic idea of being validated as a bi person in a heterosexual-appearing relationship. This need for validation obscured my perspective and made me feel that I didn’t really have a place in the community. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had internalized a lot of rejection from the queer community at my undergrad university, most of whom were lesbians and who, for varying reasons, don’t give the time of day to bi women.

As an aside, I don’t know where I’ve landed in the whole “it’s biphobic to not date bi women that date men” conversation, but I do think it’s more nuanced than we want to acknowledge. It might be biphobic, but I also think it’s okay for someone who wants nothing to do with men to refuse to date people that still prioritize them as romantic partners. As I get older I’m just less invested in making people interrogate potentially problematic lines of thought. Unless I’m directly in community with you I’m not gonna spend my time debating this point.

Back to the topic at hand, I felt that I had to be out AND dating a non-man in order for people to let me claim the title of bisexual, but I don’t have to “let” anybody to a damn thing. Identity is weird like that; some of them, like race, are generally inflexible and if I say I’m something no one is going to see me as anything else (Rachel Dolezals of the world notwithstanding). But because sexuality is a spectrum it’s harder for people to understand that it’s more transient and can change between weeks or months let alone years. I don’t believe in the concept of coming out as much anymore either, which definitely shapes this new perspective.

Chalk it up to age and experience, but I care less about who does or doesn’t think my identity is valid. In the past few years, I’ve learned so much about compulsory heterosexuality and higher violence rates experienced by bi people, things that are missed when we spend days on Twitter arguing about the validity of a bi person who primarily dates people of one gender or another. So somebody thinks I’m not a real bisexual because my primary partner is a man…….okay? That has nothing to do with me. I remember going on a date with a woman a few months ago and wondering if I looked queer enough. That thought in particular makes me laugh because most days I look at myself and wonder how anyone thinks I’m straight. Perspective is key and validity is a scam.

I don’t necessarily feel more bisexual than I did in 2018 now that I’ve dated people who aren’t men. They were relationships just like any other, and I don’t think gender dynamics were as big of a deal in those relationships as I thought they would be. It’s funny because I always thought that dating a person who wasn’t a man would unlock some new level of gayness for me, but it didn’t. It was regular relationship stuff, just with another pair of titties and commiserating about period cramps.

Relationships are hard work regardless of gender, and people are capable of doing you dirty regardless of gender too. I’m less focused on labeling and describing every small facet of my identity and just making sure that I’m living in alignment with my goals, values, and priorities. I don’t know what my pride post in 2025 will look like (or if I’ll even be blogging then), but I hope whatever version of myself writes it is living their truth.

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.

I Went Abroad and Didn't Cause an International Incident: Life in the UK As a (Non-Hyphenated) American

This place has been quiet lately because SO MUCH has happened in my life since the end of March. I received a new job offer, went to Disney World, quit my old job, and flew out to the UK to spend two weeks training for my new position. My time is winding down here and it (as always) is making me reflective. (at the time of publishing this I’m back home in Texas).

This is my first time abroad since i was a child, and my first time overseas alone. I was fortunate that my partner was able to spend the first week of my visit with me, but I’m also enjoying being able to feel like a “big girl” and get around town alone, explore a bit on my own, things like that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still incredibly paranoid and recognize that I’m still a young woman alone on the streets and can easily be pegged as a tourist if someone talks to me, so I keep my wits about me and only explore during the day. I got to see a castle, eat a traditional English Sunday Roast, and buy some really pretentious loose leaf tea.

But aside from that, the culture shock hit me more than I thought it would. Things that happen in the US become global news easily, and in my experience Brits aren’t afraid to ask you, a complete stranger, why the US is obsessed with guns or why the hell we let Donald Trump get elected. It took me aback the first time it happened, primarily because I was put on the spot in a train carriage jet-lagged after an 8 hour flight across the ocean. But because discussing politics is so taboo in the US — especially in a conservative state like Texas — it was refreshing to say how I felt in mixed company and dispel some of those stereotypes. I do love guns though, so I couldn’t do much about that one.

I don’t have much experience in other countries, but I can say that my time in England has been the first time I can recall that I’ve felt like an actual American, and not a Black/Woman/Queer/Other American. There’s a fundamental level of tension that marginalized people in the US especially exist with day to day, because we’re constantly on alert to brace ourselves for something out of pocket or well-meaning but disrespectful that someone says. When people asked me questions here, I didn’t need to speak on behalf of the Black community, I was speaking from my perspective as an American. When complaining about the weather, or the cost of healthcare, or the lack of seasoning on the food, or the backwards way they drive, I was speaking from an American perspective, not necessarily a Black one (seasoning complaints notwithstanding).

I would obviously explain things that are specific to Black American culture and say as much (like Beyonce’s remix of Before I Let Go), but no one asked me ridiculous questions about my hair or tried to use AAVE to seem cool. I’ve had more in-depth conversations about race, class, and social issues with my new coworkers after 10 days over here than I ever did with coworkers (except the ones I came to consider friends) in 18 months at my old job.

And I know England has its own issues with race/ism and other forms of oppression, but no one was outwardly discriminatory to me or even that annoying kind of race neutral “we don’t see color”. As someone who talks about racism and other -isms all the time, I still feel awkward bringing these things up around new people because you never know how they’re going to react! But it was refreshing to talk about the social issues in my country without being met with defensiveness or intentional misunderstanding. We had a great conversation about the importance of acknowledging race and other differences, because it’s part of our humanity.

Don’t get it twisted though, I am not on some American Pride wave, nor do I really believe that England is a progressive wonderland. I very much acknowledge that it’s a country built on colonization with an imperialist monarchy at its helm still and rising anti-immigrant sentiments pervading its politics. But for once in my life I’ve been able to experience what it’s like to be seen as American first, something I’ve never experienced at home.