a good feeling is when you start to love yourself and nothing else matters anymore
sorry not sorry
I had a minor epiphany / remembrance / rediscovery last night about why I don’t speak up for myself. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot this year and also my whole life.
Yesterday I was out eating sushi with ladybae, and some grown crusty white woman was standing between us and the next table having a very long, very animated conversation with the most extra woman I have ever met in my life*. And in the heat of their conversation, she was essentially putting her ass on my elbow. Literal physical contact. And no matter how much I moved my elbow, she was moving deeper and deeper into my personal space.
And I didn’t say anything. I didn’t do anything, except to make increasingly gif-worthy faces to ladybae about the casual privilege that white people continue to exert into my space throughout my entire existence – until she politely spoke up and asked the woman to move.
So we deconstructed this a little bit later, and I told ladybae that I don’t know how to regulate my tone the way that she was able to. And I realized that, as sweet and kind and bend-over-backwards people-pleasing as I can appear when I put on my impersonal public self, it is mostly because I can never modulate between that and Absolute No Chill Next Level when I’m upset. I had a conscious thought in the restaurant that if I opened my mouth, something crazy and 100% Too Much would come out (like seriously just mid-thought screaming, when you think you’re saying something acceptable but everyone in the room cocks an eyebrow), so I didn’t say anything.
I have memories of being very young and deeply regretting misspoken words and off-kilter tone for months and years with deep shame and eventually making the conscious decision to always think before I speak. Working at it for a long time. Developing a pause.
So now I’m stuck at the other end of the spectrum, constantly holding my breath.
*Mrs. Extra later interrupted our conversation to ask ladybae – regarding her ginger – “You’re don’t eat it?!!”, and then, after hesitant assent from my buddy, proceeded to grab it wasabi-and-all off lb’s plate with a full fist and it was actually INSANE??????
This is one of my favorite things to do. It occurs spontaneously, preferably. Also, I struggle to just *sit* on a be-dicked lap. Possibly because I enjoy feeling boners through pants so, so much??
Additionally, I like being sexy in ways that are extremely frustrating. That can’t be recreated in an orgasmically satisfying way. That is a truth about me. You can take that to the bank and cash it.
White ppl will never understand how much we have to compress, compartmentalize, and compromise ourselves in order to interact with them on a day to day basis. And when I say white ppl yes that includes you, white friends and allies.
THIS.
Kevin Spacey in American Beauty (1999)
One of several Grown Ass White Man crushes I cultivate.