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.

Ethical Non-Monogamy 101: Language and Inclusion

This post originally appeared on aceinthehole.co

As a twentysomething, within my lifetime I’ve seen ENM go from a relatively unknown alternative lifestyle more commonly associated with kink communities to a better-known relationship configuration style that is gaining more widespread approval. 

With visibility, though, does not necessarily come understanding. Popular depictions of non-monogamy in traditional media as well as social media are still susceptible to influences from hetero-patriarchy and its accompanying -isms like racism, colorism, sexism, and fatphobia...ism. As a Black polyamorous woman, I find myself playing double duty as an ambassador for non-monogamy to my personal communities and an ambassador for Black people in non-monogamous ones. This is a common experience, as discussed by educator and author Kevin A. Patterson, M.Ed in his book, Love's Not Color Blind: Race and Representation in Polyamorous and Other Alternative Communities.

What I’ve observed is that education for something as misunderstood as ENM needs to be, at the least, dual-natured. Clarifying language and definitions helps those who are not non-monogamous understand the differences in relationship styles. Within ENM communities, the onus is on those more aligned with dominant identities to foster an inclusive community which starts with introspection and self-education. Consider this post an opportunity to do just that, pull double duty to educate across communities because those of us who overlap within them have to do it whether we want to or not. 

Ethical non-monogamy is, to put it simply, the sum of its parts. In my daily life I don’t often use the “ethical” portion of the term because it’s implied, but for education purposes it’s important to understand what it means. Non-monogamy, in and of itself, refers to having multiple romantic and/or sexual partners at one time. This is why the distinction of “ethical” non-monogamy is so important for people who practice it because the definition of non-monogamy alone includes cheating, which is always unethical regardless of relationship orientation because it’s inherently non-consensual.

Many people choose non-monogamy for a variety of reasons, so if you ask 10 people what their non-monogamous relationship(s) look like, you’ll get 11 answers. Below, I’ll list some non-monogamous relationship styles and their common definitions. I cannot emphasize enough that this list is not exhaustive and may not be the way that a particular person defines how they do [insert relationship style here], but it’s a good starting point for those who aren’t familiar with ENM. This blog post by Franklin Veaux has an in-depth chart you may have seen floating around the internet that shows more relationship configurations as well as their overlap.

  • Polygamy/Polyandry: Multiple marriage. Polygamy is one person with multiple wives, and polyandry is one person with multiple husbands. This is what most people think about when they think of ENM, as it’s what’s most commonly depicted in the media (like Sister Wives) and has some cultural acceptance because of the legality of multiple marriage in certain places.

  • Polyamory: Multiple sexual and/or romantic relationships with consent of all involved. This can take multiple forms, but polyamory includes romantic relationships in addition to sexual ones and people are aware that they are involved with a polyamorous person. Other kinds of ENM also fall under the polyamory umbrella.

    • Polyamorous relationships can include:

      • Solo Polyamory: People who engage in polyamorous relationships but are still independent and don’t seek a primary partner (in hierarchical polyamory, a primary is a person’s most significant relationship). Solo Polyamory can be closely related to Relationship Anarchy but isn’t the same.

      • Triad: Three people who are dating each other, most commonly a couple who finds another partner.

      • Quad: Four people who are all dating each other, most commonly a couple who finds another couple.

      • Vee Shape: One person who is dating two people who aren’t dating each other, like a triad without one of the links.

      • Parallel Polyamory: People who do not engage with their partner’s partners (also called metamours). People who have multiple polyamorous relationships that do not intersect. 

  • Open Relationships: People in an already-established relationship decide that one or both of them can engage in sexual and/or romantic relationships outside of their own. ORs can encompass other ENM types.

  • Swinging: These are generally casual sexual relationships that both partners of a relationship engage in, but can be more formalized group dynamics while remaining strictly sexual.

  • Monogamish: Members of a couple occasionally date other people.

  • Relationship Anarchy: Prioritizes spontaneity and freedom between and with partners. This one is a common identifier but also hard to clearly define.

For people interested in ethical non-monogamy, all the definitions and categories are overwhelming. As an example, I am in an open relationship and practice parallel polyamory. I have a primary partner who I’m marrying this year, but we do not date the same people and the people we date do not engage with each other. We’ll also remain non-monogamous after we’re married. It’s so easy to get caught up in doing ENM the right way that you don’t do it in a satisfying way. This is why community is so important, and why the digital age has done wonders for helping people access information about non-monogamy. What happens, though, when these communities don’t feel welcome to you because you don’t see faces like yours in these spaces? This creates the feeling that Kevin Patterson describes in Love’s Not Color Blind, that non-monogamy is “white people shit”. What happens all too often is that well meaning white people and their attempts to diversify end up tokenizing people of color-- or anyone with a non-dominant identity. To say nothing of the interpersonal racism that happens in polyamorous spaces. 

Tokenization is defined in Love’s Not Color Blind as “the practice of making only a... symbolic effort to…[recruit] a small number of people from underrepresented groups in order to give the appearance of sexual or racial equality…”(p. 82, emphasis by author). In polyamorous communities, tokenism shows up as the same few people of color being heralded as the faces of non-white polyamory. In in-person gatherings, a handful of PoC at an event is considered a success because the expectation is that none would show up. 

Love’s Not Color Blind details multiple people’s personal experiences with tokenization in polyamorous spaces, and Patterson takes community organizers to task for their “passive exclusion” of marginalized people. Passive exclusion, Patterson explains, happens when community leaders and event organizers are not working to be actively inclusive. This puts unspoken stress on people of color who want to be part of these communities to always show up and bring other people to enhance visibility of non-white members of the community. Unpaid labor like this is often thankless and exhausting, and takes all of the fun out of something that, at its core, is supposed to be about forming new connections. 

Whether you’re a monogamous person who’s trying to understand alternative lifestyles or a white polyamorous person, we all have (un)learning to do. Looking to educators of all identities and stepping outside of your comfort zone is the first step towards a more loving world. While it’s challenging, internal growth only happens when we’re pushed beyond our edges of experience.

Sometimes It's Not Imposter Syndrome

TW: Discussion of mental illness

Being a person who wants to make things for people to consume and enjoy is hard. It’s even harder during a pandemic. We’re at month seven now and there’s no end in sight. For me, this meant that I had to stop waiting for “things to get better” before I got my ass back in the saddle and buckled down on doing this work. And while I understand that I can’t continue to beat myself up for being depressed or overwhelmed with school while grieving a lost family member because WE ARE IN A PANDEMIC, it still feels like I’m failing. I can chalk this up to capitalism, depression, Superwoman Syndrome, literally anything. But at the end of the day I’m still not doing the work I want to do [emphasis on WANT] because I’m getting in my own way and that doesn’t sit right with me. 

I want to name this feeling and really hope that I’m able to articulate it the way I’ve conceptualized it in my head. I don’t want to remove accountability from systemic factors that pit people against each other, but I also think that we default to these macro-level ideas when sometimes it’s a lot smaller than that. Yes we all live in a capitalistic system that prioritizes what you do over who you are, and it’s impossible not to internalize those feelings. 

However, I’ve seen in my own life and those of people around me, sometimes we name our regular-degular insecurity and jealousy as Imposter Syndrome almost as a defense mechanism because it’s easier than confronting the real reasons we aren’t doing the work we want. For my purposes, we’re defining Imposter Syndrome as “[people] attribut[ing] their accomplishments to luck rather than to ability, and fear that others will eventually unmask them as a fraud.” 

We’re honestly doing ourselves and our work a disservice by immediately scapegoating it to Imposter Syndrome rather than confronting feelings like jealousy and insecurity. The actual definition of Imposter Syndrome kind of highlights the flaw in this behavioral tendency in informal contexts because it’s hard to be seen as a fraud or un-knowledgeable in your field if you’re not actually demonstrating what you know in the first place. The anxiety of what could go wrong if you Do The Thing or questioning if you should do it at all because someone is inevitably doing it better is not in and of itself the result of Imposter Syndrome, but the result of what it means to be a person producing things in a world that values you for what you put out and internalizing that external value. 

I have to specify that this applies mostly to work we do for fun or as a hobby, and not necessarily career or academic work because those hierarchies are more structured and leave less room for less-than-perfect work, especially if you’re already marginalized. I can say that I feel bad about sex blogging because if I say the wrong thing I’ll get cancelled and no one will ever trust my expertise again so it’s hard to feel motivated to write. That is partially true, and partially the result of Imposter Syndrome. What’s harder to say, because it requires introspection, is that I’m not motivated to write or make content because I haven’t done enough self-work to feel educated on certain topics I want to write about and I don’t have the mental energy to put the effort in to do so right now. 

I don’t believe in validating my own mediocrity just because white people get away with it. I either give things my all or don’t bother in the first place because what’s the point of expending energy just to half ass something? When I say mediocrity, I mean mediocrity by my own standards, not “traditional” ones (thanks Virgo rising).

To take it a little bit further, I’ve been unpacking these feelings of guilt and insecurity over what I haven’t been doing with my therapist. She’s helped me by asking me what it means to me to be doing what it is that I do and what I feel like I’m losing by not doing it. Is it doing the thing that makes me happy, or is it being known for doing the thing that makes me happy? If it’s being known, what internal gaps am I trying to fill with this external validation? 

Having her help me draw those lines gets to the ego innate in so much of what we do, and why even those of us who are aware that we’ve been socialized to internalize our worth based on production still fall victim to these feelings of guilt and shame when we’re not producing things. I got into this work because I want to be able to help people, yes, but I also want to be known and compensated for what I do! A lot of us do and it’s not shameful to name that.   

Please understand that this is a self-drag more than anything. I’m absolutely not advocating for “grind culture” or working yourself into the ground. I actually feel like tapping into why you feel like you’re not able to do what it is you have a passion for is a necessary part of overcoming the need to work even when our bodies and minds aren’t up to it. This summer, I was (re)diagnosed with depression, and while I’m a massive advocate for being open about mental health struggles I’ve so far mostly dealt with mine in silence, choosing to step away from various roles and spaces while I deal with my diagnosis, my reality, and work through my treatment plans. It’s not a logical decision, but even being a mental health clinician in training doesn’t undo decades of internalized mental health stigma. Detaching from owning that identity publicly, to me, made me feel as if I was actually giving it less power over me. Again, not logical at all but it’s how I’ve managed these few months.

 On the outside though, it looks like I just fell off the face of the earth. One thing about me, I work in strides. I try my hardest to front load as much as I can while I have the energy and passion to because I know the train eventually stops for me. But maybe that’s less about working styles and how I just live with my mental illness. After returning to Instagram after a year-long hiatus, I worked so hard during the summer making content and hitting a stride just to hit a wall as soon as September hit and school kicked into overdrive for me. I also experienced a sudden loss in my family and have had to continue to work through my grief. While I’m sure people understand why I vanished, I never gave them the chance to because I didn’t explain what was going on or how I’ve been feeling. 

Others who I consider peers in this work are still working, and I can’t help but compare myself to them. This is the crux of this post and why I felt it prudent to share now. I am not minimizing the impact of competition on our self-esteem either, but rather acknowledging that most of the time we’re our own harshest critics and let the fear of what we’re doing not living up to someone else’s standards dictate what we choose to do. 

One of the biggest lessons I’ve ever learned in life is that you are not nearly as big a factor in other people’s lives as you think you are. It sounds harsh but it actually brings me comfort. I’m not doubting our ability to impact people positively but it’s more likely that, on the whole, people aren’t watching your every move. You can absolutely have people who keep up with you whether they like you or not, but as people we’re so focused on ourselves we don’t really think too hard about what other people have going on unless it directly affects us. 

I’m saying all of this to say that we don’t always need academic or social concepts to justify or explain how we feel. Sometimes feelings are just feelings. Engaging in our work when it feels good and right is key, because forcing ourselves through it anyway is a great way to start resenting it and your own abilities. I’ve noticed that creating whatever it is I need to hear or see is when my work is best received, which is why I’m doing this now! When you’re feeling unmotivated, scared, or insecure, ask yourself why it is you’re doing what you do, and let those answers guide how you move yourself and your work forward.