Not Your Mothers Playground» Self esteem

Boundaries. Expectations. Assumptions.

samantha — Sat, 14 Apr 2012 18:33:39 +0000

The word boundaries has come up so much in my recent conversations that I’ve started to almost say it daily. On top of noticing that it’s been making such a regular appearance with both friends AND lovers, I’ve realized that it’s not something that we – and by we, I mean mainstream society – encourage much discussion about.

You may be different but when I look at the majority of my friends, a discussion about personal boundaries never comes up. We fall into routines with the people around us and base our future decisions on past behaviour. It might not be that the friends you usually only grab monthly weekend drinks with aren’t into spontaneous fun on a weekday; maybe you’ve just never asked them. Shit, maybe they’re wondering the same thing about you!

I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently and asking myself how many of my relationships are defined by true boundaries compared to expectations and assumptions? Maybe I’m not giving my friends or lovers a chance by putting them into a certain category in my mind. Maybe they’re not giving me the same chance. Maybe I’m restricting myself without even realizing it.

What are the fences I'm putting up, and are they as obvious as this?

We can fall into patterns with people we care about. Roles get defined without us realizing that it’s happening. I don’t find out if some friends (or lovers) want to chat on the phone or hang out for impromptu dinner because I just assume that they don’t since we never have. I edit the sides of myself that different friends see, based on my own assumption that they wouldn’t be interested in the rest of me. At times when people I never talk about my non-monogamy with tell me that they read my blog, I feel like slapping myself in the face for making a blatant assumption of how they view me.

Society does nothing to help us address our personal boundaries and more importantly how to share them. While we’re encouraged in some media to stand up for ourselves, embrace our differences and do what makes us happy, we are left to our own devices when it comes to actually relaying how we do these things to others. You’re just supposed to be there for your friends and should automatically know what that means.

I’m learning that I haven’t been very good at managing my assumptions about others. I always like to joke that non-monogamy is similar to having different friends for different purposes; a gym buddy, a movie buddy, the get blottoed buddies and so on, but I don’t think that I’ve been fair to those around me – or to myself – by pigeonholing everyone I care about.

On Conflict

I had another big revelation this week involving how I deal with conflict, specifically issues that I need to share with other people. In that, for the most part, I don’t. So much of my time is spent being outwardly focused, being there for others that need me or responding to their feelings about things I have done. I don’t tell people about things that have hurt my feelings because I don’t want to give them bad feelings. This is a result of a few things including; a) me always being the strong one growing up – being there for family and friends whose problems seemed so much more important than mine ; and b) many years of trying to talk to Steph about different things I was feeling, only to end those conversations reassuring him that he didn’t need to feel guilty or frustrated but without my issue actually being resolved.

I’m afraid to confront people. I’m afraid that by sharing my boundaries, needs or feelings, that I will either be spending time telling the other people it’s ok OR that I will be told that I am wrong for feeling those things in the first place.

So I keep quiet, and adjust my own personal boundaries. The key step that I’m missing though is that moment when I share with other people either a) if there’s a conflict or b) that I just need some time to deal with stuff on my own. I don’t feel like anyone’s going to notice when my behaviour changes. I make an assumption that relationships will simply adapt to my new thoughts, because I have no idea how to communicate to those that matter what I’m really feeling; what’s going on with my head, what I need. I’m programmed to help people, not help myself.

I don’t WANT to be needy. It’s in my blood to be there for others and I want to be able to always give myself to their needs at a moment’s notice. However, this idealistic view that I used to follow in the past doesn’t match up to my current needs. As I grow older, I learn more about the things I require from myself and my friends to live a happy, safe and loving life and I make assumptions that people will just know what those things are, without me actually communicating them. Sharing a few things here and there on the internet is certainly not an accurate representation of who I truly am and what I truly need, even if I am an “over-sharer”.

Strangely enough, the people who I feel the most comfortable just verbally vomiting all over are the dominants in my life. I am not hesitant to ask them if I’m sharing too much, or crossing the lines because I’m afraid of the consequences. I should show other people similar respect and allow them to tell me their own boundaries instead of assuming that they understand my own.

With all of the above soaking into my brain, I’m accepting that I may not be as good a friend as I aspire to be. When it comes to boundaries, I haven’t been sharing mine with others and made my own decisions on others, without asking them. With expectations and assumptions, I have simply expected that people are not interested in what I have to say, so I let the relationships I have remain as they are. I also assume that people can’t handle my conflict or will react negatively to it, for no fault of their own but because I’m afraid of being wrong for having my own feelings or for feeling guilty for not being 100% there for their needs because I have my own. Then I go and focus on my own needs anyway, and end up making others feel shitty.

If I don’t tell them that they’ve done something that sucks; I suck too.

We are all wired differently and I realize that I have to learn to communicate my boundaries, expectations and assumptions with everyone I care about. I have to give people the chance to react to me in their own way and I have to treat myself with more respect than I obviously have been. Point taken, self.

Confessions of a Fat Kid: How “I’m lazy” destroys self-worth

samantha — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 04:26:54 +0000

I’ve been holding off on writing anything lately because I’ve had a bit of a chip on my blog’s shoulder that I’ve needed to remove. I told myself that I can’t write about anything sexy or otherwise until I am finally honest with myself about something that is really eating at my core. I’m afraid to write this post because I feel I will cry while doing it, but I suppose that’s not really the end of the world. (*note*: I did fight back tears while writing most of this.)

You see, I have a confession to make. I’m a fat kid; you probably already know that. But what you might not know is how evil I am to myself because of it. How I’ve let my inner voices rule my decisions, my self-worth and my motivation for years. Forever, really. This is what I’m having trouble admitting to myself, and to you. I don’t really like to talk about my weight struggles much, outside of acknowledging that they’re there, however I have to now. I feel like I cannot move forward and share with you other sexy stories, other activist-like posts and so on, without being 100% honest with everyone about what I’m thinking all the time, under the surface. All. The. Time.

Fat in Grade 10. And obsessed with Shaq. Can you dig it?

After finally separating my self-worth from my body image, years ago, I thought I was free and clear of all that negativity. Who was I kidding? Sure, I reached a point where I realized that I could be valued as a person with opinions, fears, ideas and personality – and that had little to do with the size of my ass, but I’d be lying if I said I’ve always been comfortable with myself. Just comfortable enough to get by and fake it. I would say that’s a pretty successful and content place to be.

Then 2011 happened. 2011, or as I like to bitterly think of it as, “The year that my heart was stomped on and I allowed my confidence to be removed out from underneath me.” Never mind the fact that I had three relationships end; the most serious one of all dragged on with empty promises and ill intentions. And what was worse was that I allowed it to for far too long until I just physically could not take it anymore. But the damage was done.

Somewhere along the way, the mixed messages full of compliments and rejection broke me. Those two separate bubbles of self worth and body image became one again and I began to once again tell myself, deep in my sub conscious, that I wasn’t worth anything because I’m fat. To add insult to injury, I actually gained weight last year and took terrible care of myself. And not just a little weight, but enough that my comforting tights that have fit for years suddenly don’t anymore. I got dressed this morning, into a favorite dress, and it was tight and I felt terrible in it. And my tights wanted to fall down. And my underwear wouldn’t stay over my belly. Because it’s too big. And I just wanted to crawl under a rock and melt away.

The reason I’m writing this out isn’t for you. I think that’s pretty clear at this point in this sappy, emo post. I’m writing this post to finally admit to myself all of the hurtful and harmful things I tell myself without realizing. This is me coming face to face with all of my inner demons and starting down the path to set them free.

“I am a lazy, fat slob.”

This is a perfect example of a sentence that I have told myself for years. Of course I would never say it out loud to anyone else, unless it was in jest; instead it’s always remained at the surface, like a little invisible monster that nobody sees but me.

I must be lazy because if I wasn’t I would work out more, right? I must be a slob because otherwise I wouldn’t feel hungry enough to eat that one bite more than you had. I must be not worth dating because I have a larger tummy than I should have for this body.

Right???

I think a lot of us fat folk tell ourselves we’re lazy far too often. We’re so used to failing that it just makes sense that we’re lazy. Might as well just accept that fact and get on with it.

If I don’t want to go to store on the weekends, I’m lazy. If I don’t put my laundry away, I’m lazy. If I don’t do anything but sit on the couch and binge on Netflix, I’m lazy. Ok, well that one counts. Point is though, I tell myself that everything I do (or rather “don’t do”) is because I’m lazy. Because everything connects to how I feel about my body and being lazy is what makes sense.

Except I’m not lazy actually. Well, on a Saturday morning I am. In fact, most mornings I am, but I prefer to call that “night owl syndrome”, not laziness. Anyway, I digress. It took a good friend pointing out to me that when I want something, I pour my heart and soul into it. Last year when I planned Digifest, and my baby, Playground, I gave my absolute all to those events. So much so that I ended up with a 5 day flu that had me barely able to walk to the toilet after they were finished. I worked about 40/50 days straight, barely stopping to pee or MSN for months leading up to the events.

And yet, my inner voice would still tell myself that I was a lazy failure. And some illogical part of my psyche would agree, and the self-hate would perpetuate.

What I’ve learned from my friends’ advice is that I can, and DO, succeed at things when I really want them. It has nothing to do with being a slob, instead it has everything to do with motivation. I succeeded at writing 220 pages of my book but have yet to finish the remaining 30. How could I be so motivated for the majority, but fail on the rest? I’ve been secretly telling myself I’m a failure for over a year because of it, but I’m sure I’m simply scared instead.

A similar story is to be told when it comes to my weight. It’s not that I have no idea how to be healthy. I’ve done so many good (and bad) things to lose weight and get healthy over the years. Bernstein, Weight Watchers, anorexia, bulimia, a personal trainer, working out at home, yoga, WiiFit, changing my diet … blah blah blah. I know the things that work, and with many of those things I’ve been relatively successful. Then something would change in my life and I’d move on to either something else … or nothing at all.

“Get back in the gym!” “Stop eating that cheese!” “Stop being a baby and just lose the weight already!”

I get it. Some of you might want to yell those things at me. Some of you might have been born with excellent metabolisms and the ability to wake up in the morning and work out without feeling like ass. You might have not had experiences with body hatred. Or maybe you have, and have gotten over it and forget how hard it is. Your parents might have never gotten divorced and lived across the country. You might have more than just one parent left alive. You might have never been mocked with fat phobic remarks like I have been my entire life. And while I don’t resent you your body privilege or ability to go go go, and while I won’t deny envying you, I will defend my right to be fucked up because of those things as the reason I am writing this confession to you now. It certainly doesn’t help that the first time I ever lost any fat I was anorexic, bulimic and an obsessive exerciser all at the same time. Because if there’s ONE thing I’m good at, it’s multi-tasking.

In order for me to succeed, I have to want to be successful. My lack of energy to try isn’t because I’m lazy, it’s because I’m unmotivated and absolutely terrified.

The absolute 100% truth in the matter is that I am pretty convinced that whatever I start to do for weight loss and muscle gain – I will fail in. And this is the battle I am up against. This stupid inner voice telling me that this time will be just like the rest. That I will have some success but then I will lose focus and get fat again. That I will never NOT be the girl who takes up too much space on the subway seats. That I will always be the girl who can’t wear heels because I’m too heavy and weak to hold myself up. And of course I will always be the girl pulling up my tights or my pants because they don’t fit me perfectly as there’s just too much fat there.

I WILL ALWAYS FAIL SO WHY EVEN BOTHER TRYING???

I don’t want to think that anymore. I don’t want to be distant with my husband because I can’t bare to take his compliments when I’m hating myself. I don’t want to avoid putting my laundry away because it makes me see all of the clothes I look terrible in. I’m finally trying to start owning it. I’m finally acknowledging those inner demons and trying to acknowledge every time, or at least more often, when I feed myself hateful language. I have only just started to realize how hateful and mean I have been to myself for years. And years. And years. I have let the fact that I have a large stomach rule almost everything I do, without even realizing it was happening. What’s funny is that I am comfortable as a big girl. I *could* be a smaller girl, but I’d be happy as a curvy girl forever. I have no big desire to be skinny. I mainly just want my tummy to go away. And I want to love myself again. And feel sexy. And give my love to others.

And fit into my fucking tights.

Now I just have to figure out which direction my baby steps need to go in and who can help me along this path. Because being stuck in my own head is obviously not working for me.

Let’s do this.

Please note: I am not looking for sympathy as a result of this post. I’ll take empathy and hugs, questions about what I’ve tried and what I haven’t, followed by suggestions if you have them. I didn’t write this or share it to have you tell me I’m pretty. I AM pretty, and smart, and sexy and pretty talented at a lot of things. I haven’t forgotten any of this stuff; the narcissist in me won’t let me. I just needed to share with the world. It’s a bit of a compulsion I have. If I tell the world what’s going on, I can’t pretend it’s not happening anymore. Thank you for reading this far. You’re probably a pretty awesome person and I hope lots of people love you.

Why Playground? Why Now?

samantha — Sat, 20 Aug 2011 03:14:55 +0000

When I first had the idea for Playground around the end of last summer, I had a lot more time on my hands. I had quit my job a few months prior to finish working on my non-monogamy guide book – which I promise to finish sooooon – and had seemingly all the time in the world to plan a small sexuality conference. I had plenty of event experience from my time as a wedding planner and working for a digital media events company, now I just needed to branch out from behind my laptop screen and meet the people that would fill my stage.

I was noticing more and more sexuality / sex / relationship based events on Twitter, happening all over the States and found myself baffled at why we here in Toronto didn’t really have any events that could be considered all-inclusive. I envied the population size of America and how it seemed so easy to fill an event space with sex-positive folk from multiple backgrounds. But why should a smaller population mean that we couldn’t have open talks about sexuality for all?

It didn’t and so Playground was born.

As I was beginning to plan and form an advisory team, I was excited to watch the plans for the very successful Momentum 2011 in Washington, D.C. take shape. I was beginning to see and read about the types of discussions that people were interested in having around sex, sexuality and relationships and wanted to continue that dialogue here. Toronto is a wonderfully sex-positive, culturally diverse city where there is an event to be found for every interest. If you’ve got a fetish or want to find the community for you, you can find it here.

So why the need for this event? And why me?

I’m not under any false impressions; I’m but an up and comer on the sex-positive scene, but in between my full time job in digital media, life coaching and workshop teaching I am throwing myself into this plan. As someone who dabbles a little bit here and there in many sex-positive communities, I wanted to create a space for others like me. Others who want to engage in dialogue and learn something new (or something old!) from some of the best names in the industry.

After meeting many of these amazing educators at Momentum this past April, I am thrilled to be bringing the conversation to Toronto this November. I hope that you are as excited as I am to have the walls of the Gladstone Hotel busting at the seams with so much sex-positive goodness!

Early bird tickets are on sale now. Rates go up September 5th!

Kisses, hugs and licks.
Samantha
~Playground Executive Producer

On Self Suffering and Destiny

samantha — Sat, 23 Jul 2011 04:38:48 +0000

It’s completely stating the obvious to say that we as a people are complex. There are too many idiosyncrasies out there to make any one person truly “normal” and most of us experience some sort of pain and suffering at any given point in the day. Whatever that pain might be is relative as the end of my world may seem like nothing more than a hangnail to you. There are times when selfishness shuts off and we remember that there are many out there in worse spots than we are, and then there are those other times that we have to allow ourselves to just be in our own worlds, and that’s ok. Accept that while on paper our problems might seem insignificant next to others, we are still allowed to feel what we feel. It’s how we choose to act on those feelings that matters, not their existence.

Looking further for a moment than our own reflection, we can see that the world as a whole is full of suffering and pain. Today’s news in Norway is a grim reminder that the human spirit can be corrupted so far that right, wrong, moral and immoral become blurry and self-motivation, greed and craziness can take over the mind.

Most of us will never have to deal with picking up the pieces after that kind of trauma but yet we still cannot seem to do without personal trauma on some level. This is not at ALL to belittle anyone or say that their feelings are invalid, silly or worthless – especially when dealing with outside circumstances – but I ask you how much of our own personal suffering is self-induced?
All sorts of relationships contain many classic examples of self induced suffering. Instead of enjoying moments with other people for what they are, over-analytical minds dissect every word, text message, pause and breath, trying to find the deeper meaning. Could it be that we create the illusion of problems because for some deep and dark reason we don’t think we deserve to be happy? Could it be that life is more simple than we give it credit for? Sometimes no reply means nothing more than a phone is dead. Sometimes a blunt reply means someone is swamped or pulled into a meeting. Sometimes we have nothing to do because we rely on others to plan our lives for us and when they get busy we mope and call unfair. Instead of keeping internal analysis at a reasonable volume, people allow it to fill their mind with self-doubt or use it to paint others in a negative light. Rather than keep the door open for potential happiness to come in, how many of you instead allow self suffering to take its place?

The workplace is another classic example as some employees stay in jobs they hate because they choose to not allow themselves the opportunity to push past their daily comfort level and discover where their passions really lie. (Of course, many people are happy with jobs that don’t fulfill them as there as many outside things that do.)

I saw a great billboard on the highway the other day that speaks to my point:

Destiny is not a matter of chance. It’s a matter of choice.

We all make bad choices and accepting that we make mistakes is another area we self suffer. When people fuck up, which we all do, it is not uncommon for self punishment to run their lives for a while, or indefinitely. Instead of conquering the fear of owning mistakes and using them as an opportunity to make things right with people we may have hurt, and gain insight into where own strengths and weaknesses lie; we will often deny ourselves the chance to be happy, feeling personal joy to be undeserved based on previous fuck ups.

It is definitely hard to make mistakes and deal with the aftermath. It is hard to let yourself down, and often harder to let those important to you down, but we all do it. Sure, that fact doesn’t make it better, but remember that while we’re certainly not all raving gunmen, nobody is “dictionary perfect”. True perfection comes from finding the strength to admit our struggles, own our flaws and accept what we can and cannot change. Self forgiveness comes from choosing to not let making mistakes put the rest of our lives on hold.

Life is too short to self-suffer. When we look around the world, everything seems to be falling apart bit by bit, every day and night. There are moments of hope though as people learn to admit their mistakes to others – and more importantly to themselves. Instead of self punishing and denying their own personal happiness, these people work on making whatever they can, in their own worlds better.

You could spend the rest of your life beating yourself up for not doing the right thing, or you could focus on doing the right thing the next time around. How can we begin to expect the world to ever heal if we don’t even forgive ourselves for fucking up, then allowing room for growth, love and self-acceptance?

Unless you’re an evil being who makes a point of hurting and destroying other people, chances are you should let yourself off the hook a little. Give it a try; you probably deserve it.

One ring to rule me

samantha — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 04:14:06 +0000

My wedding ring and I have a strange relationship. When I’m at home, I often pay it no attention, abandoning it on a random shelf as soon as I walk in the door. It never sleeps with me or sees me naked. I won’t let it eat at the dinner table and it certainly never gets to hang out during sex.

However when it’s time to leave the house and go out in public, I am absolutely lost without it. On those days where I cannot remember which one of five random shelves has been graced with my white-gold, sad excuse for bling band, I find myself sometimes hiding my ring finger when surrounded by strangers, lest someone see me as not married or worse … with a wedding ring tan line (a sure sign of cheating, some would say).

My relationship with Ringy started out pretty rocky in the early days. I really resisted having to hook up with a wedding ring for a few reasons. First, I really didn’t think that having one was necessary to be married. It’s like I was ok with actually getting married, but still an activist against all of the traditions that came along with it. Second, we were poor. Spending money on a piece of jewelery that I assumed I would inevitably lose seemed like a complete waste of good resources. So Steph and I did our very best to get the almost cheapest rings we could find.

We spent $150 on a simple white-gold band for me. A figure that we decided was ok to have to spend again should we have to replace it. (so far, we haven’t.) And somehow, seemingly against my will, Ringy and I are stuck together.

When I’m out dancing or looking at cute boys – and girls – I can’t not wear the damn thing. If I’m in one of those moods where all I want to do is make out with a stranger or maybe more, there’s something that makes me feel uncomfortable not wearing that identifier. When I sometimes take it off and put it on my necklace I feel amazingly cheeky, like a nine year old boy who’s just found his first Playboy magazine. Those casual hook ups I sometimes want would likely be much easier if I didn’t have the strong desire to point out “Hey! I’m married! I’m ALSO non-monogamous! Hope you’re super cooooool with that!” from the get-go. In fact, maybe there actually would BE some casual hook ups because I would likely be more relaxed about the whole situation.

(As a side note; lately there have been a severe lack of casual or serious hook-ups. 2011 has been a very boring, yet interesting, yet tragic year in my non-monogamous life, but that’s for another blog post … or auto-biography.)

Good ol’ Ringy here holds a sick power over me. I would love to chalk it up to sweet sentimentality and something along the lines of; I just have to make sure I’m always wearing my ring because it shows how committed I am to my husband and how I love him more than life itself and we will always be together and it is a symbol of our love and affect …

barf.

Not that I don’t adore Steph. Not that I’m not completely committed to him, but if I dig deeper into my relationship with Ringy, I highly suspect that we will find insecurities ruling this twisted relationship. For some strange reason, our formative years can often have more of a hold over us than recent times – perhaps because we haven’t lived as long then, so teenage angst takes up a much larger percentage of our overall life then vs. now – Anyway. In MY formative years I was never the girl in a relationship. Boys didn’t want to kiss me, or maybe they did and I didn’t notice. Without getting into the whole “poor me” routine, I was a bit of a tragic, single, third wheel, fat kid for a long time and that persona has stuck with me, albeit under the surface, for years.

I never grew up caring about getting married one day but now that I am? I have to make sure that when I’m out in public my persona is that of married woman. Like I’ve succeeded at relationships. “Ta da, look at me! You all thought I was a looooser, but Ringy and I are joined at the hip now, bitches!”

I suspect part of it is that I find it more amusing to tell people I’m in an open relationship AFTER they find out I’m married because they sometimes squirm more and boy, I love a good squirm. Maybe it is simply insecurities that make me cling to that ring, and even buy fakees to store in the car in case I do forget ol’ Ringy in the bathroom. I don’t know, and I suppose it doesn’t really matter.

Maybe I just like those times when I’ll catch a guy on the subway looking down my cleavage and I’ll slide my hand slowly in front of my tits, just enough to show off that evil, lovely band and bring a little Catholic guilt to a strangers face.

Gooooooo Team!

samantha — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 04:28:28 +0000

For whatever reason, there’s been a lot of chat lately between friends, strangers and I about my relationship with my husband and I’ve been doing some thinking about things I’ve known for years. Questions that I’ve been asked have caused me to reflect on where we are now.

I’ve been thinking about he and I, and he and other people and myself and other people. I’ve wondered about being “enough” for him and what he gets out of relationships with other people that I can’t give him. And then I stop myself because I know the answers.

What he gets from others is the opportunity to hang out and be with them. They add value to his life by being who they are, not because they are “not me”, though that’s certainly an obvious statement. It just kinda’ goes without saying. They might click differently than we do, but that doesn’t take away from whatever we have together. And if it highlights something in us that isn’t working so well, while it’s tough to accept, once you overcome it, it can be a catalyst to work on problems within, together.

It’s tough to feel good for your partner being happy elsewhere when you’re going through things yourself. I’ve dealt with my fair share of insecurities or other relationship issues and trying to turn my own inner attention away from “me me me” and recognizing what we both need is challenging, but necessary.

And really, it doesn’t matter if you’re open or not. Whoever you are, it’s important to remember that, if you’re in a relationship, you are part of a team of more than one person. You have your needs and desires, but so does the other person. Not everything will go according to plan and not everything will go according to what makes you happy, first. But can there be happiness in compromise?

Absolutely. The strength we get by gaining control of our insecurities and owning them can help us come to the table with a clear mind and a clear heart. When we know that something is holding us back or causing us to feel pain, we can stand up for our rights, ask to be respected, but also be open to hearing why someone else may feel differently than we do and learn a new viewpoint to things that previously were quite self focused. When we feel insecure about not being a person’s everything we can reach out and ask for reassurance. We can be reminded of our value and our importance in each other’s lives.

My happiness is not based on if Steph chooses to be with just me or with other people, but instead it’s based on the life that we build, together. Ensuring that we are respected team players, secure in the knowledge that we support each other as individuals and as partners.

Y. Oh Y.

samantha — Wed, 18 May 2011 04:38:18 +0000

Unlike riding a bike, dating for me, is quite … unlike riding a bike. It’s not something I can just pick up again because there are so many factors like state of being, state of relationships and state of confidence that come into play each time.

However, I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe I should start at least consider dating again; men that is. I am really missing having another man in my life. As much as I lust and love after my husband, I cannot deny that other men bring a new emotional and / or sexual energy to my being that I haven’t connected with in a long time. To be honest though, I am pretty sure that the idea of dating again completely terrifies me. I don’t remember how to flirt with someone new and I’m pretty convinced that I don’t think I can be bothered with the whole “getting to know you” stage … again.

Plus, as much as I am trying to tell myself that I *want* to start dating men again; in reality, I just want my other two relationships back as they were. I miss them both terribly and feel like they’re both just floating in the ether and I can’t reach them. While both situations are very different, they happened at the same time and have both left me feeling empty. (Thank fuck I’m super busy at work and have other amazing people in my life that take me out and adore me or else I’d be a complete disaster.) The attempt to be friends with Don, which, while very difficult for me, I thought we were succeeding at, seems to have failed with no contact in a week after an intense email exchange. And while I remain hurt at Crush’s complete nonchalance about disappearing for so long, I’m also frozen at the idea of talking to him about it. What if I’m being too harsh? Or what if I’m right? It’s likely closure I need in both cases, but I feel like as soon as I get it, I’m slamming the door on possibility. And this fills my throat with a lump at the mere thought of it.

That’s another reason I’m scared to date. For the majority of my relationship with Don, I didn’t want to date any other guys. There were a multitude of reasons behind that, but the main one was that I felt fulfilled and just had no interest. I felt no craving for extra male energy so when Crush came along, it was a surprise to me that I fell down that rabbit hole. By now considering dating guys as a possibility, it’s like I am admitting total defeat and waving my white flag when it comes to accepting that things are no longer as they were.

Going back in time a few years, my relationship before this was six months long with S, and my “dating” phase before HIM was a BDSM discovery phase, which was certainly very, um, different than your standard first date, first base adventure. (First date, home run, whatever.)

The point is, I don’t remember how to be only in one relationship with a man – being my husband, of course – and meet a new guy as it has been a really long time since that has happened. When I met Crush, I had the security(?) of Don behind me and while I have two gorgeous and wonderful women in my life at the moment that bring me a lot of happiness, I have always found there to be distinct differences between dating men and dating women. While dating a lot of new people was something I was more comfortable with years ago when we opened up, now I feel full of fail at the very thought of it. My failure at keeping relationships healthy with two men I care deeply for has really kicked my confidence square in the nuts, despite the fact that I may be / have been helpless to save either of them. (note my not wanting to choose a tense there, as I don’t want to make assumptions on the status of either of them). Although I have met plenty of men and women that find my larger body size sexy and appealing, I have also stopped believing that the type of men I am attracted to might also be attracted to me. I can’t really explain it, but whatever that confidence was stored inside of before has cracked and now it has leaked out and disappeared.

I refuse to believe though that because I have suddenly reached this point in my life where I am very professionally confident for the first time ever, that I cannot have both this and personal confidence. I know that it’s up to me to just … fix it. I need to woman up, kick myself in the ass and be happy with myself again. I have done it before, although I haven’t been up against such strong interior and exterior demons. I need to date if I WANT to date, not because I feel I have to. But if I do find out that I want to, then I have to make myself available to do that. There’s nothing that says I must get into emotional relationships with people; although those types of gigs do follow me around. Why not consider casual and simply enjoy a sexy romp or two or seven? Either way, I will have to find time to write messages, meet people, ask people out, or respond if they ask me. I have to accept things about myself that will never change and either begin again to make changes on the things I can, or accept that I’m probably not going to. I have to not be afraid of rejection because its after effects have had me in their clutches for far too long and I am suffering for it.

I have to stop assuming that the cute boys I might want to get to know want me to go away. If they do, then I will. But what, I ask myself, if they don’t?

Maybe I’ll consider finding this out.

Upcoming workshop: Sex In The City

samantha — Mon, 16 May 2011 14:21:59 +0000

We hear and see sex everywhere but even with all of the information out there, how many people are truly enjoying happy, healthy sex lives? In this workshop, educator, author and organizer of Playground, Samantha Fraser will engage participants in a dialogue to help them bridge the gaps between sex and sexuality.

Attendees will learn how to break through the layers of expectation, self-doubt and perception, holding so many back from sexual freedom, to connect confidently with what they really want, need and desire. Topics discussed will include body acceptance, communication, misconceptions, self-love and more.

Come with questions if you feel comfortable sharing your stories or simply sit back and listen. People of all genders, orientations and relationship styles can benefit from this workshop.

Admission: $30, pre-registration is required. If you do not purchase a ticket, you will not be admitted to the workshop.

[REGISTER ONLINE HERE]

Refreshments will be served.

Sunday, June 5th, 4-6 pm
Lucky You
2920 Dundas Street West
Toronto, Ontario
www.lucky-you.ca

I’m Here. I’m … ?

samantha — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 03:23:20 +0000

“I don’t care which way you swing, Samantha, as long as you’re honest.”

I will always remember my mum telling me those words in our kitchen when I was about 15. I don’t think we were talking about anything serious at the time but for some reason I held onto that knowledge – that my mum would love me no matter what – because I must have known that my sexual identity would play a major role in my life in the years that followed.

I have talked before about how I don’t like labels and believe they belong solely on soup cans, and I suppose other grocery store items if you insist, but this post speaks to my recent discoveries and realizations about labels and identifying not only myself, but others.

For the past however long I have told myself I am bisexual, if I had to fit into a category. But really I’ve never been completely comfortable with that identity. I’d rather say that I’m a 2.78 Kinsey, meaning that I can have relationships with women, as well as men, but they likely need to be open because there’s .12 of me that just loves cock too much to be monogamous. That – and I’m built for non-monogamy anyway.

Bisexuals get a lot of flack though which is why I haven’t been comfortable with it always, especially as a non-monogamer (yes, I just said that). Not only can she not decide between girls and boys, but she gets to be with ALL of them, how DARE she!

Frankly, attitudes like that have to stop. We need to stop hating on others because of how they choose to identify – or not identify – themselves. Bisexuals get flack as well for reinforcing the binary that there are only two genders, but that’s not fair either. One could say the same of the straight and gay communities, that by choosing “one or the other” that they aren’t including all of the other delightful genders that make up the spectrum of human sexuality. And not everyone that is bisexual is only about being with cisgendered people. While the opportunity has not come up for me, I’m pretty sure that I wouldn’t have an issue being with someone whose bits and pieces didn’t match their perceived gender identity. It might be tough as first, but not for any reasons of prejudice, simply because it would be something new that I have not yet experienced.

As long as people are sexy, cool, giving and awesome … I could care less what’s going on between their legs. Including an obvious sexual attraction, it’s what’s between their ears that matters to me.

I understand how “bisexual” doesn’t really seem to be the right choice of words to express this viewpoint and this past weekend, while speaking / attending the first edition of Momentum in Washington, DC, my views on the word “queer” started to change.

To start with, my travel companion identified herself more as queer than bisexual which threw me for a loop. Perhaps it’s a matter of ignorance or lack of exposure – though often they are one and the same – but when I’ve heard the word QUEER in the past, I have always associated it with LGT but never B. I felt like being bisexual was already being viewed as taking too many liberties and attempting to claim a queer identity wasn’t my place. Nor do I think I ever wanted it to be. The word queer often brings up thoughts of activism, fighting for equality, theory and politics. It has never clicked in my brain as an umbrella I can stand underneath.

And then I spent the weekend surrounded by a community of people that exuded their sexuality at every turn. I spent more than a few minutes in public with a beautiful girl and felt no qualms about showing my affection for her in public, surrounded by a fantastic array of awesome and supportive people.

It was unnatural how natural it all felt.

Eventually it hit me that while at home I feel quite straight and married, out with her I can feel totally bi and with others there are various degrees of – let’s say – Kinseyness that I experience depending on the relationship. Outside of being a fan of people, genitals and connecting, my identity fluctuates with every relationship I take part in but they all fall under one, beautiful queer umbrella.

I can be femme and be queer. I can be an activist for the mainstream that wants to feel comfortable entering communities that can seem terrifying and be queer. I can eat vagina and I can eat dick and I can be queer. I can have sex with myself or with five people at once and be queer. I can wear a wedding ring or rope and … you get the idea.

On the way home from Washington on Monday I confessed that I was worried telling my husband that I’m queer. I thought he’d feel like I left him for the weekend, had all sorts of sexcapades, and was leaving him for a hot butch. Was this a coming out fear that I was having and if so, what caused it? I think the answers are yes and again, ignorance. He didn’t seem to be phased by my new identity as the parts that made it up are still the same as they have been: People, check. Genitals, check. Bingo bango.

When I was talking to a student of mine yesterday, telling him that I was queer, he replied with “Of course you are, duh.” like I was a dummy for not being aware. I couldn’t deny that his answer surprised me, but upon further reflection … I’ve just never really thought about it and he was right to react that way.

Now do I feel the need to walk up to people and say “Hey, I’m Samantha and I’m queer.”? (outside of writing this blog post) Of course not. I won’t deny the privilege that I get to live, living a hetero “normal” life on the surface, and I certainly wouldn’t want to take away from anyone else’s long term battles for equality and fair treatment but on the flipside I have had my own internal struggles making the “in public” transition from straight and married to “Hey I like fucking chicks and dicks, maybe chicks with dicks? I can’t say one way or the other.”

Everyone deserves to love and be loved however they want and with whomever they want and I hope that there’s some room for me under this umbrella because I’m here. I think I’m queer. Now I just have to get used to it.

Thanks for reading,
Samantha xo

Further Reading: Bisexuality does not reinforce the gender binary.

Join us in Toronto this November 5 and 6 for Playground, taking a multi-faceted look at sexuality and relationships. Early bird tickets are on sale now and speaker submissions are still being accepted!

Knowing is literally only 1/2 the battle

samantha — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 20:04:43 +0000

(Thanks GI Joe!)

Seeing is believing, right? If only that could be the case all the time. I used to have a huge problem with knowing something about myself and still believing the exact opposite. This often affected my self-image. In fact, it was mainly ONLY related to my self-image. No matter what I knew, whatever I believed was always the thought that possessed the most control over me.

You see, as a bigger girl, I never believed that I was worthy of a love as a teenager and as I became an adult. I also knew at the same time that thinking those thoughts was ridiculous. I was completely worthy of love and eventually one or many would come along, but at the same time I knew it, I also did not believe it one bit. Confusing, yes?It took many years for me to merge my two ways of thinking. My knowing and believing streams finally crossed at some point and became one form of thought. I don’t know when it happened, nor do I remember what caused them to finally get along, they just did one day. Occasionally they would separate for an hour or a day, here and there as I suppose they needed to take a break from certainty and happiness to really appreciate what they had become together.

Whether it’s finding out I’ve lost some muscle and gained some weight, the winter blahs, or side effects of the break(up) … it seems that Knowing and Believing are in a fight once again, currently in a temporary separation. I have started looking in the mirror and not liking what I’m seeing. I struggle with clothing, finding anything that I like as it seems my muffin top appears in every pair of pants or on top of every skirt. In photos I am noticing that my face is larger, my arms thicker and my smile smaller. This part is actual fact, not me being crazy but I still wouldn’t have been so affected by it before.

Outside of my appearance comes the breakup insecurities. I realized this morning that I have been avoiding trying the “friendship” route with Don because I feel that staying in constant contact with him means two things: 1) I’m showing that I’ve accepted and am ok with us as just friends and 2) that he won’t miss me if I’m around. It’s a self-preservation mechanism, I suppose. When we text and joke and things seem happy I reach this point where I am suddenly very conscious of our interactions and feel the need to pull back, to avoid him thinking that everything is ok. I hate having that urge.

I know both of these things aren’t true; he’s even said so, and yet I can’t help feeling them. Also, while I know I wasn’t dumped for anything I had done, or any bad feelings he had about me – in fact completely the opposite as he needs to work on his life focus before we can possibly be together again – I still feel it.

I feel discarded and unwanted. All of the standard break-up things that people go through, I am feeling – even though I know from his mouth directly that I am way off base for feeling them. I seem to have lost my ability to remember what someone has said to me, then hold it up as fact and instead am allowing my insecurities to wreak havoc on my mind and stomp on any sort of truth that is trying to survive up there. I think it’s mainly the way that it all went down – very traditional crappy break-up. The new dynamic we’re attempting for now doesn’t match up with those few days of shit, but for some reason I can’t seem to get past that and look at things with a clear head.

So what can be done to fix it? Well, it’s nothing that other people can really help with; this I’ve learned over the years. My work life is currently super hectic, stressful but amazing and I have plenty of fantastic things to look forward to, this year and beyond. I am always grateful for the compliments given to me by my amazing friends and internet strangers, and I know that they are true or at least you think they are . Working on believing them again though, that part is up to me. Perhaps it’s a matter of connecting with my sex drive again. Maybe feeling some muscle or losing a few pounds would make a difference. Or maybe one day I will simply wake up to discover that while sleeping, Knowing and Believing have made up with one another and I can once again be at peace.

Whatever the solution is, I hope my brain finds it quickly. I’m done feeling 15 again. Mama wants to have some fun!

(PS: Writing this blog post has actually allowed me to feel free of a lot of this so maybe this was a good first step.)