“I don’t have a fancy diploma that tells the world how f**king amazing I am. I’m not an artist with a gallery of paintings to be admired. But my accomplishments are just as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than a Botticelli angel. My life’s work has been the sacrifices I’ve made to give my children a bright and happy future. Sadly, my shattered family unity eclipses my greatest accomplishments. Maybe, I’m writing my own life story because it’s painful to be lumped into the category of an unsuccessful, slutty, exmo, divorcee.”
Those are the words I shared with a gentleman today. They are the same words I often share with people when I feel my hackles rise. I’m not as defensive as I once was–when I initially left Mormonism. I’m getting more comfortable in my new skin. But there are times when someone hits my “hot” button and I get really pissed. Today was one of those days.
In a message, this nice gentleman presented himself as a rather magnificent catch. While I was impressed with the many fine qualities he could bring to a relationship, his closing words were off-putting.
“I have only slept with women I have loved, so you can imagine I have slept with only a few women in this life. I am saving myself for that one special love that is my future. I will know her, and she will get all of me. I won’t expect that of her, because we each have our own path to walk where love is concerned. But I will be able to say to her, I turned down many invitations waiting for you. And the only way I will give myself to her is that my inner knowing sees her as the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.
Thus, she will know that I honor myself, not in some religious way or prudish puritan fashion, for I have known a few lovers, but in a way that says, I don’t give myself away until I give myself a way to love you forever. That way you could be assured that, when we had sex, it really meant something profound, and that feeling allows the friendship I desire to build into a relationship I cannot imagine life without. And when that happens, you have all of me, all of me, both feet in, and fully present.
For most women, this would seem like a really great guy. Not a player. Awesome. But for some f**ked-up reason, it left me feeling as though he’d placed himself on an altruistic pedestal and was pointing his judgmental middle-finger down at me. And even though he claimed he won’t judge another woman for having taken a different path, his words still stung with obscured superiority.
I know it wasn’t his intention to shame me, but, suddenly, I felt shamed. As I explore my sexuality sans ecclesiastical guidelines, I’ve found, much of society has this f**ked-up idea that it’s not only “okay” for a guy to score some pussy, but it’s actually really “cool” when he does. And, yet, when a woman puts more than one dick inside her, she’s a bona fide slut.
Following is my utterly defensive response to his glowing representation of himself:
“To be truly honest, I’m not sure how to feel about your message. In some ways, you’ve led me to believe you’re the perfect man and, yet, I feel as though you’ve talked down to me–as though I’m lesser than you. I’m sure your cog dissonance will chalk up my reaction to my being an insecure person, but I assure you I’m every bit as competent and confident as you.
I’m a daughter of a literal genius (my father), and an accomplished, six-time award-winning playwright (mother), a genetically perfect blend of left and right brained talents. Like you, my EQ (Emotional IQ) is off the charts. I’m so f**king brilliant that I kept a hoarding f**kopath incredibly happy for thirty f**king years. Every day of my life was spent reading the emotional nuanced signals he sent out. I had to adapt quickly to all kinds of bizarre scenarios and irrational thinking in order to keep my children and me safe. While in this environment, I didn’t have emotional, physical, spiritual, or financial support from a normal husband. As a result, I raised our children as though I was a single mom. The entire burden of providing for them, nurturing and teaching them lay squarely on my shoulders. But it was more difficult than just being a single mom because having a f**ktard for a husband was akin to having one more child…and not just any child…a special needs child. And not just any special needs child…a child who sought daily to destroy me because eight years into the marriage I made him angry when I asked for a divorce–even though I didn’t go through with it. For the next twenty-two years, he attacked me with Machiavellian-style cruelty. He was so bent on destroying me the he didn’t mind hurting his own children in the process–the worst hurt that can be inflicted on a mother. I didn’t receive help from church or community because we appeared to be a normal functioning family. It was me that presented this picture to the world because that was what was required of me.
On top of these challenges–or as Mormons would say, “Growth Opportunities”–was the burden of caring for a child who was also personality disordered. While raising her I didn’t know anything about personality disorders, so I was left to my own motherly instincts and creative devices to help this child face major hurdles in life. This meant I battled a f**ked-up school system that doesn’t cater to non-mainstream children while attempting to keep the daily emotional outbursts to a minimum.
Simultaneously, I launched and maintained a successful real estate career, nursed my ailing father—a stroke victim requiring 24/7 care for nearly three years—assisted my emotionally-imbalanced histrionic mother, faithfully fulfilled my numerous church callings, ran herd over my other children, and took care of all the household needs of cleaning, repairs and maintenance, including yardwork. I did all this with a smile on my face and stilettos on my dainty feet. I did all this with a major ball-and-chain-of-a-husband hanging on my leg, holding me back from every attempt I made to get help for our daughter. While in the midst of her multiple suicide attempts, he repeatedly counseled me, “If we just live the gospel, she’ll be fine. The Lord will help us. Psychologists are full of shit.”
My dear friend, I know you didn’t intend to make me feel defensive. I’m sure most of that is coming from me. I guess I just had to unabashedly brag a bit because, from the onset, I believe you may have misjudged me. I assure you that I’ve not responded in this message as a plea to have you as my lover. I’m in no way interested in a lover right now. I’m glad that you’ll be helping individuals with your brilliance. We aren’t much different from one another. We’re both good people with big hearts and much to give and share with the world–and with a future soul mate. I truly wish you all the best in your endeavors.
Note: For more on the topic of slut shaming, please visit, Laci Green at sex+
RE: JENNAMARBLES’ “SLUT EDITION”…