"Fun"

I walked into my therapist's office today, and I knew it was going to be a doozey. Last night, while online, I saw a post that stuck out. A woman explained that men immediately size women up into one of 3 categories- wife, fun, or forgettable. That one stung, because I'd long felt that men met me and quickly categorized me as a fun time girl, even if I never indicated plans or desire to sleep with them. It's one thing to theorize this categorization, it's another thing to see it written out in black and white.

I recall a while back that my former trainer had suggested that I dye my brightly colored hair (here), because he felt that a subtler tone would attract a caliber of better men. And I refused, because I don't want a man who'd immediately dismiss me for my bright hair, without even talking to me. And a year later, I stick with that decision, I only removed my locs because I was ready to. But with some reflection, I now understand more of where my former trainer was coming from.

It's been infuriating to me when I've met men who grow irrationally upset and act as though I've somehow cheated them by not having sex with them. I've come across men who are genuinely angry and act as though I've somehow deceived them, all based on a whole idea about my personality that they developed in their mind. I've had discussions with women who are deemed "forgettable" and attempted to explain how infuriating it is for a man to meet you and reduce you to nothing more than a walking vagina, in spite of your intelligence, education, and accomplishments. And I've heard those women say how they'd love that kind of attention, while I abhor it.

But I guess I can understand why a woman who gets no male attention would be elated to get such adoration. They'd love to be out and meet men who chat them up and want nothing more than to bed them in the worst way possible. And yes, I'll admit that I've had some fun in those times. But I've definitely grown out of it. Sure, bedtime moments have their purpose, but what sucks the most about being the "fun time girl" is that no one seems to ask or care about what you think or want. When you are slapped with that title, the expectation is that you show up, bend over, and pretend to enjoy yourself, lest you make some poor fellow feel uncomfortable for not wanting his creepy attention. And don't you ever try to change your designated station in life by talking about actual dates, relationships, or God forbid marriage. Nope, don't you dare! Guys won't even entertain that conversation with you, or if they do, they'll dangle that carrot of a relationship, until you get hip to the game and eventually realize that it ain't happening and block him.

I grew tearful at how exhausted I get at the idea of men who will place me in the box that they created for me and then play all kinds of sick mind games to keep me there. My dear doc then asked about my childhood. I told her about the relationships with my siblings, and how I had gone from that to a mistake of an ex, followed by the mistake of the ex I got pregnant by.

Coincidentally, I discussed with my doc about my long-term love, Fred. And I admitted to her that I missed who I believed Fred to be, but I don't miss the real him. And then I'd thought about it, and I don't even miss who either of the other exes even pretended to be. Like they were so terrible as human beings, that even in this space of reflection, there is not even a small part of me that misses either or wants either back in my life Seventeen years with Fred, there's bound to be some good memories. Tons of them, actually. Until there weren't. But what kept me with the first ex was that he was my first "love" and my first lover. That was pretty much it. He was mean, shallow, manipulative, and a know-it-all. He had loyalty to no one but himself and I thank God that he got with that lice-infested cum dumpster and left me alone to flourish.

And the ex after that wasn't much better. So even though both of those bastards carried emotional weight, in their own way, neither of them left a positive mark at all. Nope, instead, they left an emotional mess that I've spent years trying to clean up.

But I'm glad that I took this to my therapist today. She helped me to realize how far I've come. That my boundaries are non-negotiable, because I've come to value my peace. That after kissing so many frogs that my love goggles are off and I'm finally able to utilize some serious discernment, by cutting off men as soon as I detect problematic behavior. And learning how to use this discernment is priceless.