I recorded this one before I came down with COVID two weeks ago… What do y’all think of my Lainey Wilson accent?? (OK, maybe I still need to work on it, but her songs are super fun to sing.) And actually, I’ve decided this is a thing I need to do more of: change the lyrics to country love songs ever so slightly, just to queer them up a bit 🤠🏳️🌈🏳️⚧️
So I’m not what they call a “gold star lesbian”… not by any stretch of the imagination. (Some relevant deets in “by the numbers.”)
But know what, y’all? Turns out sexuality and attraction can be pretty damn complicated.
Because you can be a lesbian if the Prozac they put you on as a teenager resulted in genital numbing and took away your libido, but you had no benchmark for how things were “supposed to” feel. And then a little over a year ago you learned about PSSD (Post-SSRI/SNRI Sexual Dysfunction), and everything started coming into focus. And coming to terms with what was taken from you has been more painful than most of you could ever imagine.
You can be a lesbian if you’ve never been in an actual “relationship” with a woman, because the bullying you got from the girls in school for being weird (read: undiagnosed autistic) was so harmful that you became largely unable to develop any real friendships with women as an adult, let alone anything more.
You can be a lesbian if you’ve been performing heteronormativity (badly) for your whole life, even though you know all the words to every song Ani DiFranco recorded throughout the 90s, and sometimes people told you there was this “kinda manly” thing about you, which you made an effort to conceal. Even though you’ve always been somewhat repulsed by the male anatomy, and any sex fantasies you had since age 18 exclusively involved women, and the only internet porn you’ve ever occasionally dabbled in is the girl-on-girl kind.
You can be a lesbian if you married a man and had a child with him.
You can be a lesbian if you started thinking you might be bisexual and try to explore that after your divorce, but you felt judged and dismissed by the queer community at the time, because you had never even kissed a woman. So you somehow ended up falling in with a swinger crowd for a while, which was probably dangerous to do as a single woman, but you finally got to experiment with women. And you liked it. A lot. But it was too difficult to meet other single bi women in their 30s to actually date… so you ended up in a relationship with another man for the next 13 years.
You can be a lesbian if, nearly a year after you finally broke off your engagement to the above-mentioned man, you develop an unexpectedly intense, alterous attraction to a human who happens to have the Y chromosome, and a penis. And it’s terribly inconvenient, because you’re finally trying to show up in the world as the authentic, queer self you never got to be, and you don’t understand why you feel this way, just wanting to be close to this person... And you spend months agonizing over what kind of toxic patterns you’re repeating from the wounds you still carry: the father who used to hit you in the face as a kid. The uncontrolled, risky, hypersexual shit you were doing but were too ashamed to tell anyone about, throughout the 16 years you were on Abilify. (This is a side effect that is now well-documented and carries an FDA drug safety warning). And you share all of this with the Y-chromosomed human with a penis, just so they have all the information, and it doesn’t scare them away. And in your heart you can just feel that this is different, that they are different, that you are different, that this is not about those toxic patterns. It’s some other kind of connection entirely that you don’t understand, and it’s so healing to have these feelings for someone who can actually see you.
You can be a lesbian if you beg the Y-chromosomed human with a penis to move into your spare bedroom when they talk about leaving their spouse (and, for the record, that shit was already in the works well before any of this started––like, I may have helped accelerate it, but my person most certainly did not leave their spouse for me, no matter what said spouse has been known to say when I’m not around). And yeah, you know it would look weird from the outside, but you’re worried they are still vulnerable as they recover from what they went through in the past few months, and you could use a housemate anyway, because you’ve been out on disability for over a year, you’re having trouble making ends meet, you’re barely functioning due to psych med withdrawal, and you’re desperate to keep your home… They consider it briefly, gratefully, and ultimately they decide against it, because they need their own space. But from then on you refer to your spare bedroom as their room.
You can be a lesbian if you realize that when you are close to the Y-chromosomed human with a penis, your withdrawal symptoms settle, and you feel a kind of safety and peace in your body like nothing you have ever felt before. You tell them this. You can’t stop saying that you fucking adore them, but you also tell them that what you adore about them is entirely separate from the fact that they have the Y chromosome and a penis. And they don’t appear to be bothered by this at all, and they are enjoying the hugs and snuggling too. And one day you discover the term queerplatonic relationship (QPR), and you can’t explain it, but it just fits, and you have never wanted anything so badly with anyone ever, especially now, when no one else in your life is showing up for you in the ways you need, but this one human is. And for a while, that’s what the two of you are: a “third thing” that is more than friendship, but not romantic or sexual. Which you both make an effort to hide from your mutual contacts, because you don’t think anyone else would understand. Not that either of you understand it either—but it works. It’s not perfect, and it’s not always easy, but there’s so much love there, so much care, so much that is beautiful and healing, and in so many ways, it feels like a predestined connection. A soul contract.
You can be a lesbian if this thing called a libido miraculously materializes out of absolutely nowhere, as you continue to heal from the series of psych med injuries and decades of PSSD, and you don’t know what to do with these feelings in your body now, whenever you’re with the Y-chromosomed human with a penis. Everything is different… And soon enough, during the snuggling sessions and goodnight hugs, you start wanting to get closer, to put your mouth on their face, neck, and hands, in ways that might skirt the boundaries. It’s not exactly kissing, and it’s not intended to be sexual, but it’s definitely sensual. Most of all, it’s loving. You always ask if it’s okay, and there is a nebulous, shifting boundary you always manage to push up against, mostly unintentionally. But you always do your best to respect it. And they say what you’re doing is “pleasurable,” so you keep doing it. They have told you they are not attracted to you sexually, so you’re not really thinking that much about where it might lead. And where it could lead, in theory anyway, is actually a scary prospect for you right now, for some reason.
You can be a lesbian if one night you type into the Google search bar: “can a hetero couple have queer sex?” And as you go down that particular rabbit hole, you realize that in all your sexual experiences to date, you’ve only scratched the surface of what it means to make love. And now you’re intensely curious about what this might mean for you, for your body that suddenly feels everything.
You can be a lesbian if you just want to see what one kiss would feel like, with this Y-chromosomed human with a penis, during what was supposed to be the last good night spooning session (which they requested). You had told them a few days earlier that you’re giving it up, the snuggling, so they could pursue connections with other women who are no doubt prettier than you, more "normal” than you, who have jobs and money and bodies that don’t hurt all the time and nervous systems that aren’t in constant fight or flight. And it kills you to do this, but you finally see that you are in the way, and you want the Y-chromosomed human with a penis to find joy and figure out what they want out of their new lease on life. And they seem on board with one kiss, if perhaps a little reluctant… but then they are the one who suddenly starts kissing harder, and they are the one who initiates the touching, the undressing. Of course, they ask every step of the way if it’s okay, and you say yes, yes, yes… because it is okay, even if it feels like seduction, and you can’t even believe it’s happening, let alone stop to consider the consequences. But you love them, and you’ve been so curious about what it would be like, and you have neurodivergent impulse control problems anyway, and who doesn’t want to be wanted like that? Most of all, it feels so safe and right, for your “first time” to be with them, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. (See “fire sign”… more crappy poetry, which my person said at the time was my best ever.)
You can be a lesbian if the first full-blown orgasm you’ve ever had in your entire life happens in the arms of the Y-chromosomed human with a penis, which is the only place it could have happened, the place you feel safest in the world. And yeah… it’s absolutely epic. And you haven’t tried again by yourself since the last time you were with them, when they left you naked in their bed with the taupe sheets, got dressed and went off to go see the other woman, then didn’t come back that night like they had promised. And now you couldn’t get yourself off even if you wanted to, because sensations that deep and intense just don’t feel safe…
You can be a lesbian if you know how to please the Y-chromosomed human with penis, because you have decades of experience abandoning yourself with men in exchange for attention. But you’re surprised by how much fun it is, with them... And it’s so wild, in those magical moments together, the way sometimes they are a man, and sometimes they are a woman, and sometimes they are both at the same time, or neither… And it’s all so goddamn beautiful, all this uncharted territory opening up to you to explore, and you still cry when you think about how they probably don’t even remember any of this now. But you will never forget.
You can be a lesbian if your heart breaks when the Y-chromosomed human with a penis, who said so many times that they loved you and always would, puts up a wall, repeatedly withdraws for days at a time and doesn’t tell you why, discards you (for a chick who evidently doesn’t trust them much––probably for good reason, at this point), and breadcrumbs you like a pro every time you try to rekindle the connection. And all this contributes to your rapid destabilization and worsening of your scariest psych med withdrawal symptoms—which was already happening ever since you realized you couldn’t afford to keep your house, and the process of selling, packing, and moving out with nowhere to go just fucking broke you. And for so many weeks, all alone in a cabin in the woods, you fight to stay in your body, to somehow stay tethered to reality and not float off into DP/DR Land, to keep breathing through the torment of akathisia, the incessant thoughts and images flashing in your mind of all the ways you could just end it all. And even today, you’re not quite sure how it is that you are still alive.
You can be a lesbian if you can’t stop thinking about that Y-chromosomed human with a penis, in utter disbelief over the way they hurt you, cycling through feelings of anger, grief, and betrayal so intense in your body that it scares the hell out of you at times. And what you’ve been grieving are the rituals of connection, devotion, support, laughter, and love you had together, the way those grounded you, the way you almost started believing that maybe you’re not hard to love. And at some point you start questioning whether any of it was even real, or whether it was the BIND or whatever the fuck else was done to their brain the last few years that might be responsible for this behavior, for the way they’ve been unable to grasp that they way they have treated you has been incredibly hurtful and unfair. And to that, as of last night, you now can add: cruel. The lowest of blows, saying you were the deceptive one and throwing the most painful parts of your journey in your face, while still refusing to take any responsibility for the hurt they caused.
You can be a lesbian if you discover that the Y-chromosomed human with a penis had subscribed to your Substack three weeks ago using a fake email address. And you had a funny feeling about that particular subscriber at the time, when the back of your mind was tingling weirdly... But you thought, nah, they wouldn’t be so dishonest as to read my stuff and not say anything to me. And you were planning on sharing it with them––you had told them when you reconnected at the beginning of the month that you wanted to share it with them, when they were ready. You wanted to talk about what had happened, face all the difficult stuff together, finally get the heartfelt apology you believe they still owe you, and try to be friends. Maybe even be “the third thing" again, if that ever could happen, albeit long distance… But they had asked to “take it slow” as you reconnected, and you wanted to respect that. So you asked them not to look for it, and they said they wouldn’t. But they dug into it the very next night. And they had plenty of opportunities to confess, but instead they handed out lame excuses and went cold, and now you finally know why. And sure, they have had some legitimately heavy stuff going on in their family life right now, but it’s quite evident now that all that has just served as another reason they keep avoiding accountability, avoiding communication, avoiding the truth.
You can be a lesbian if your heart is breaking apart, once again, for that Y-chromosomed human with a penis to whom you gave more chances to apologize than they deserved, who said they are blocking you “permanently,” whom you clearly will never be able to trust again with your heart or your nervous system, even if you wanted to. And whom you know nonetheless you will never stop loving, never stop worrying about for the rest of your life. And all you ever wanted was to be close to them, to heal together, to take care of them, even… and they will probably never appreciate the level of ambiguity you actually would have found a way to put up with, if only that could have happened.
But not anymore.
And yeah I know someone
Who gave up and got it wrong
If you really love a woman you don't let her go
I know a few things a man oughta know...
This broken-brained, broken-hearted lesbian will continue to grieve the connection she once had with that Y-chromosomed human with a penis who meant so much to her for almost a year. I’m getting better at feeling the difficult emotions when they threaten to engulf me, in this body I can now feel, when there is nowhere to hide. I have support I didn’t have before, and most importantly, I know I’m worthy of something better. My tall, tattooed farm grrl is out here somewhere, and I know the universe will send her to me when I’m ready. ❤️🩹
So as the full snow moon in Leo makes its way across the sky tomorrow night and a nine-year soul cycle comes to a close, I will do my best to clear out all the bad energy from this giant shit show I held onto for way too long. And I will continue along this healing journey, and build my new life, and keep becoming the person I was supposed to be…
AND THAT PERSON IS A FUCKING LESBIAN, Y’ALL.
Because I’m the only one who gets to define my sexuality. And nobody calls me a liar and gets away with it.
