Irrational Thinking

My self worth has been inextricably linked to myself as a sexual being. For so long I’ve been ashamed of this perverse relationship that I have yet to truly understand because the more I think about it, the more I give it weight, the more it hurts and shatters the perception of myself that I’d like to put forth. 

Hypersexualization - the increased sexualization of, in this case, oneself- is not always empowerment, as it is often perceived in contemporary media, sometimes it’s the cause of insecurity. The first interpretation I saw that intertwined a search for confidence with an overtly sexual persona without glorification was Phoebe Waller-Bridger’s ‘Fleabag.’

The main character finds herself obsessing over sex, putting herself in positions to be desired despite whether or not she desired her partner back. The instant validation that comes from a hookup is not lost on Fleabag, nor is it lost on me. 

Since I was 15, every sexual relationship I have had has followed the silent rule of ‘being desired means having to satisfy.’ I learned from a very young age that my body was not something for me to enjoy but rather something to be bargained for in return for me to feel love, or what I thought love was. 

Sex has been the backbone of my relationships with men, and it has transgressed into being the backbone of where I feel loved and thus the backbone of my inescapable unhappiness with myself. Like many other facets of instant gratification, afterwards I am left alone. I am left having to sit with the discomfort of my own exploitation of my body and how this reflects my level of self-respect I have for myself. 

“My personality has been lost in the ideals of the men who have wanted to own me. I use the word “own” purposefully, because none of these men sought to understand or love.”

In the search of empowerment and self-affirming confidence, I have put myself in positions of complete discomfort at the hands of men I truly don’t give a shit about. But for some reason I go back. For some reason breaking this cycle of desire to satisfaction to self-betrayal is an unnervingly difficult feat. 

I like to think of myself as someone who is strong. Someone who holds the power, as someone who is unafraid of sex as a result of my self confidence. But behind this façade of a sexually liberated and empowered women is a little girl who had every sexual experience reinforce the idea that this was all she was good for. A little girl who has been hurt every time she has been vulnerable, one who, as a result, is deathly afraid of intimacy and most comfortable with a man when it is just sex. 

My personality has been lost in the ideals of the men who have wanted to own me. I use the word “own” purposefully, because none of these men sought to understand or love.

Love was used as the justification to this possession, to this ownership. Love was used as an excuse for mistreatment and cruelty – rather than a doorway to realization and togetherness. 

My last boyfriend was the nicest man I’ve ever met. I put him on a pedestal for being the only person who truly loved me and saw me. Someone taking the time to see you versus taking time to understand you are vastly different, I learned this the hard way. I blamed myself for the mistakes in our relationship despite it being a wholly two-sided ordeal; I took on the shortcomings as my inability to love as well as he could.

I now see our relationship much differently. While love existed between the both of us, he loved me for who I could’ve been rather than who I was. If it wasn’t for sex being the backbone of our relationship, I think he would’ve left me much earlier. 

Our sweet relationship turned into one where we kept score of our wrongdoings; it became resentful and purposeless. The thread that held us together was our sexual vulnerability rather than true love for one another. 

This realization has been a difficult one to sit with, after all who wants to think that their self worth boils down to themselves as an object of sex. However, the hardest pills to swallow are often the most necessary to healing. 

In the summer, I had an anxiety attack while having sex with my very casual summer fling. Rather than saying something or stopping, I pushed through it and forced myself to only stop when he was finished. 

Rational thinking tells me no one deserves that, rational thinking gives me insurmountable respect for my friends who may find themselves in similar situations, rational thinking would lecture them on their beautiful souls deserving more - rational thinking doesn’t seem to apply to myself. 

I pity myself for how my seemingly never ending care and love for my friends abruptly stops when it comes to me. I pity myself for the overtly broken relationship I have with my own body that I would rather let a man have his way with me than say something that may serve as a disappointment to him. I pity myself for seeing my worth through the lens of men who only seek to possess my body to satisfy their sexual hunger. 

Acknowledgment is the first step to healing, or so I’m told. It is for that reason I’m sharing this. Rather than hiding under the blanket of oblivion that I have so long shielded myself with, I’m forcing myself to sit with the difficult truths and feel the pain I have so long put off. In doing so, I hope that someone finds comfort in this, someone feels like they can be seen by my words as God knows I was seen by Fleabag. 

Article By: Anonymous

Header By: Sadie Levine