Category: 11…

11…
A list of things, people, places, whosits, whatsit, and random things I write about on Mondays at 11:11.

11..., Lifestyle

11… Moments Leading to Embracing the Fact I Have Sexuality

RaeAnna

It’s Women’s History Month, and I am an absolute history nerd. I’m also a woman. So yay for this month. I had a voracious craving for history as a kid. As an adult, I realize I was searching for women. Women who bucked tradition, lived exceptional lives, did the unexpected. Women who did not sit down and look pretty. History, more often than not, has been documented by men, who were more concerned with their own stories than those of their mothers, sisters, wives, mistresses, and daughters. Though the stories I sought out were harder to find and less documented, they did exist. As I pulled on the thread, I found more and more extraordinary women. 

I am very anxious putting these pictures out into the world…

As a student of history since I was seven years old, I have been acutely aware of the problems women have faced throughout documented history, and I have seen those same problems play out in far too similar ways in my own life, my friends’ lives, and in the media. For as far as we’ve come… How far have we really come?  

By the time I turned into a teenager, I was in love with the resilience, audacity, innovation, and endurance of women throughout time. I still am. I also saw the glaring pattern. Women were noted in history, novel, song, and poem for two reasons: they were born to the right family; married well; and gave birth to someone [usually a boy] important OR they were someone’s mistress and or a prostitute. There are exceptions, but by and large, the pattern is clear. At the heart of this… S.E.X. Let me be clear, sex for men. Not with. For. Sex for men’s desire, power, wealth, name, lineage, so on and so forth. Wife or whore, women were notable for one reason and one reason only: their sexual/fertile availableness to men. Even the women who were not attached to men, so much focus is placed on their fuckability or their “virginity”—looking at Elizabeth I—or their sexuality was questioned—fair, lesbians have existed for a lot longer than TikTok; it’s just upped our visibility. This is a long-winded way of saying: By the time I was a teenager, it was blatantly obvious how powerful women’s sexuality is. For the good and the bad. Every single woman noted in history books (up until a very recent point but even they probably have had to do some of this) has had to leverage their sexuality in return for protection, shelter, food, power, money, and all the in betweens. Some did it overtly by being a mistress/prosititute, not having sex but leading men on, or marrying and having a “cushy,” “respectable” life. I had read enough history to know all the outcomes, the positives, and the negatives. Whore, wife, or virgin, I knew I was damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. 

But then again, it’s just a body…

Sexuality and I have quite the shituationship. 

I don’t and shouldn’t have to choose between the two. Fuck convention. Normal doesn’t exist. It’s all a spectrum, and I don’t have to pick one static spot on that spectrum. I and everyone else can be wherever we want to be on that spectrum whenever we want to be there. And that’s the problem… History has always divided women into wives and whores. One doesn’t like sex; one is only sex. Both versions erase the woman and her sexuality. 

At 30 years old, I’ve finally decided to dive head first (yep, innuendo) into a sexuality journey. And I hate it. Legitimately, it makes me uncomfortable and anxious and sometimes a little nauseous. I have half-heartedly embraced and avoided my own sexuality my entire life. I’m not talking about being gay-gay. I’ve been out in some fashion for over a decade and coming out-out in November was about the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I’m talking about sex-sex. Having sexuality at all. Actually, no. I’m talking about sexuality and not sex or sexual orientation. Though the three are related, there’s a difference. I have always wavered between my need to be taken seriously as a straight-laced, conventional human and the fact I’m a human who really loves sex and leveraging the sexuality that comes very naturally to me. 

Without further ado… Here are eleven moments that would define my sexuality and inevitably lead to my need to embrace the fact I am a sexual human being. 

And women’s sexuality should no longer be stigmatized or punished or hidden.
  1. Rape Though this should be plural, I can’t count how many times it’s happened. But every time I was raped, it pushed me further and further away from my sexuality. It’s hard to have a healthy relationship with sex and sexuality when literal years of my life sex equalled violence and sexuality equalled asking for it. 
  2. Losing My Virginity It’s not even a good story. I just got rid of it with someone I trusted so I could finally say “yes.” But it was a pivotal moment. Terrible sex, but I got to say ‘yes.’ I learned I could consent to sex. I would continue to get raped by other men for a handful of years to come, but it’s the life I’ve had. 
  3. Dating Men It’s hard to claim sexuality when I only dated a gender I have no attraction to. Then again, dating men allowed me to not have to confront my sexual dychotomy because I made the excuse of “I’m just not that sexual.” or “Sex is hard because of my history with sexual abuse.” Valid, but also a fucking cop out (for me personally), if I’m being honest.
  4. Stripping Gasp. I was a stripper to pay for my very expensive piece of paper. Really. It’s how I paid for college. I became obsessed with human sexuality and the science behind attraction while I was stripping. In my typical logical fashion, I scienced my way into making a lot of money. I had truly lived in a thought bubble where anything outside of basic sex was fringe. Hahahahahaha! Ha. I was so cute and naïve once upon a time. Sexuality is fucking weird. It’s a grayscale. There is no normal. Everyone has a kink or a thing, and it’s about embracing your sexuality and finding a partner[s] who makes you feel safe enough to explore that. As a stripper, I was quite literally paid to be that safe place for people to embrace and explore their kink and pleasure. Sometimes it was creepy, triggering, strange, cringey, awkward, but sometimes it was erotic, fun, lovely, and humorous. I walked in clueless; I walked out with my eyes wide open.
  5. Rape Really it’s a two parter. If I didn’t give sex, it would be taken. So I made sure I was never in a situation where it could happen because whether I said “no” or not, sex was happening. (I am very aware this is not at all true. So many men, women, and theys are polite, lovely humans who have no problem understanding consent. As a woman in my early twenties, that was not my reality or experience. So it was easier to pretend like sex was never on the table ever so I would never have to face the potential of being raped… again.)
  6. First Time Touching A Woman Ohhhh my god. I realized I was riding the gay train on a strip club stage a few weeks after I turned twenty, which was about three days into being a stripper. In Iowa, the laws are lax, and a great deal of touching is allowed. I touched boobs for the first time… Yeah, it was great. The fact I was getting paid to do it took some of the joy away, but hey, it was my gay awakening. Though it would take me ten and a half years to go full gay.
  7. First Time I Kissed A Woman I was a little drunk one night at the bar the last week of my Junior year in college. A very tiny, beautiful woman kissed me. It was the first time I kissed someone and thought, I’d like to have sex now. 
  8. Masturbating I’m going to tell you something that I have only ever told one person. But first, back story. Masturbation has held an immense amount of guilt and shame for me. It was something I was forced to do by my high school rapist, and it just has been something I have avoided for almost half of my life. That being said… I did it when I was younger… to women. I never masturbated to men or straight sex. The fact I don’t touch myself has become the punchline to many jokes in my friend group. It’s also a great way to win Never Have I Ever. My closest friends know it’s hard for me, maybe not the why because I’ve never put words to it until right here. I’m exploring that now at almost 31. It’s an adventure akin to a battle. But it’s also an important step, that I’m hesitantly taking.
  9. Rape Last time, I promise. What I didn’t learn in the history books, I learned from this. Sex is powerful. Learn how to leverage it in any and every way, and it could get me in and out of situations I didn’t want to be in or situations I did want to be in. I learned where I was willing to compromise my dignity and self worth for my safety. I learned how to nuance conversations and body language in covertly and overtly sexual ways to get what I wanted no matter what. I truly believe every woman knows how to do this on some level whether they realize it or not. Some of us have just been forced to master it… Mine was for self-preservation. It worked; I’m not dead.
  10. Sleeping Naked Ignore the fact I was a stripper. I hate being naked. It makes me so uncomfortable and vulnerable. I don’t care if people see me naked, but the act of existing without clothes is deeply unsettling. Because I was a stripper, I am very, very good at hiding my discomfort, but to this day, I am not comfortable with my body because it is the thing that someone took away from me. So I started sleeping naked sometimes. I hate it, but it’s also kind of helping, a little, maybe, hopefully. I won’t keep you updated.
  11. Naughty Photos I very recently started taking spicy pictures of myself. And I’ve decided it’s important for women to have them, even if it’s just for ourselves. Actually more so just for ourselves. It’s empowering. For me, it’s a reclamation of my own body. Also, I may never look as good, as young, as strong as I do right this moment. I want to look back and think, good for me! I’m not sharing the vast majority of the pictures I have, but it makes me love my body just a little bit, which is a weird and new feeling. Looking at them makes me feel sexy and beautiful and desirable, and those are not feelings I have ever felt I am worth or deserving of. 
11..., Lifestyle

11… Ways I’m Combatting My Executive Dysfunction Problem

RaeAnna

Historically, I have not struggled with executive dysfunction. Actually, I have always been incredibly good at all of those things. Which is the only reason I have managed to override the PTSD, anxiety, and depression that try very hard to keep me… doing absolutely nothing and being, arguably, on the verge of successful human. The last two years, though. Dude. Fucked up all my shit. I’m in a super not great place. And nowhere near where I want to be. In a lot of ways, I feel like I’m drowning under the pressures of trying to be the successful human I think I could potentially be someday. Also under the pressures of trying to live my life. I’ve never really had the luxury of saying: “This is what I want. This is who I am. I’m going for it.” I’m not going to bend to other people. 

I am a writer. It’s who I am, and who I’ve always been. It is an integral part of my identity. I’ve lost sight of that. Around six years ago, I stopped writing about the things that matter to me. And two years ago, I pretty much stopped writing entirely. Outside of the things I had to write to pay the bills… I wasn’t writing anything of note at all. 

These things make me happy and help keep me on task.

My life is completely different than it was two years ago. In so many ways, it looks the same from the outside. But I’m more me than I have been in probably ever. The first thing I have to get back is my ability to be productive. And not in the “The dogs aren’t dead, so it’s been a good day” way. I mean in the “I’m getting shit done, clean house, exercising, working thirteen hour days because I want to, going to sleep happy (that’s not been a consistent thing in my life ever)” way. The only way I can get to being that person again is by figuring out how to re-engage my executive functioning. So I’m trying, key word there, to do little things every day to get to where I need to be. Because I need to not be here anymore.

  1. Journaling I’m really bad at this. I have never kept a journal regularly. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at writing my inner dialogues down in fear that they will be read and used against me. This has happened the few times I did journal. I also think it’s important as a writer and memoirist to keep track of where I am and the journey I’m on. If I have kids one day, maybe they’ll get a kick out of how much of a mess their mom is/was, but I’m sure they’ll already be aware. 
  2. Eating Breakfast I’ve never been a breakfast eater. Actually, I have a hard time remembering to eat when I’m not feeding other people. Food is important to survival and brain function, apparently. 
  3. Lighting A Candle I grew up visiting St. Louis Cathedral in NOLA. I’m not Catholic, never have been, but we would always light a candle and say a prayer. I’ve continued that tradition every time I visit a cathedral. I am not religious in any way, but there’s something calming about lighting a candle and thinking on a thing before thinking on lots of things for work.
  4. Letting the Christmas Tree Be This is kind of a funny one. I’m KNOWN for letting my Christmas tree stay up far too long. Like. It’s become an Easter tree too long. This year, my big tree was out the door by January 15. The fake one in my office is still up. Partially because executive dysfunction. Partially because I really like it. So it’s staying until it bothers me. This also goes for the stacks of books I have around my office. They make me happy. A little nuts but happy.
  5. Flowers I love flowers and always have. I’ve always been the person that will happily buy myself flowers just because. I don’t have people who buy me flowers, so a woman’s gotta do it herself. I managed to snag myself a florist for a best friend who has convinced me to help her in her shop sometimes, so I keep myself well supplied in flowers. 
  6. Keeping A Book Close That Makes Me Smile Obviously I love being surrounded by books. An entire wall of my office is bookshelves. I’m a book critic. But some books just make me happy when they’re around. So I’ve started keeping a book on my desk that makes me smile every time I look at it. 
  7. Tea I call it inspiration water. I only drink tea in my office. Caffeine only affects my anxiety, but the way caffeine works in coffee is different from tea, so my anxiety lives a better life when I drink a gallon of tea at my desk instead. 
  8. Pride Things I’m really super gay. It’s something I haven’t talked about a whole lot over the course of my being out. It would pop up every pride as a reminder that straight passing relationships can still be queer, but the fact is… I’m just a lesbian. For as much as it is a part of my identity, it’s not a big part of my storytelling, so I’m popping the pride things around my office to remind myself I need to tell those stories too. Problem being: I write about my trauma, and I don’t have gay trauma. 
  9. Music I’ve always shied away from music outside of classical and instrumental jams while I work because I have a tendency to get distracted and want to dance and sing along. Not usually great for productivity… Except it might be. I’ve slowly started incorporating music I want to dance to as a way to give my brain a break and my body a chance to move. It’s way too soon to tell if this is helpful or counter productive.  
  10. Exercising I hate exercise. I don’t. But I do. It’s my least favorite activity I do willingly and regularly. It’s good for my brain. The more I move, the better my brain works. I’m still working on getting into that rhythm. 
  11. Spending Time With People and Not Working Workaholic has very much been my operating status for ever. Twelve hour days are a regular occurrence. Eighteen hour days aren’t unheard of. I have not been doing any of that since the pandemic began. I miss it, but I also know how wildly unhealthy that is. I’m trying to be more engaged with friends and surround myself with people who inspire me rather than need me to take care of them. 

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

11..., Lifestyle

11… Phrases People Have Responded With to My Writing

RaeAnna

Last night, I pressed publish on a post about the fact being reminded I was raped seven years ago. This morning, I woke up to a notification from Instagram saying someone was concerned about my current well being and a list of resources. I couldn’t help but giggle a little bit. I greatly admire the existence of that feature, and also find it incredibly misdirected at me. 

Last night, I was sad. This morning, I was fine. I am a rape survivor. I am a rape survivor who talks about being a rape survivor. I do so publicly because doing it in private does not create change on a systemic level. Oh, and I quite literally made it my job. 

This is another example of my life looking better in pictures than in reality.

The fact that people are concerned about me is sweet. I do appreciate it. I receive at least one message from a follower, acquaintance, or random stranger telling me to seek help before it’s too late or letting me know about the redeeming qualities of Christ every time I write a post on my past or mental health. These are actually a bit comical because it comes from someone who does not at all know me and makes sweeping judgements based on very little information. Instead of looking at what my story represents on a cultural or global scale, they take it as a cry for help. What I do appreciate is when followers and friends reach out to let me know that my writing resonated with them or taught them something. That’s why I do what I do. I’m not here to be a martyr. My writing is not a cry for help. Pity is not welcome.

To write the pieces I put into the world, I have spent years processing, soul searching, and articulating how I feel. Then revisiting all of those feelings to see if they still ring true. The last time I was raped was seven years ago; there’s been some time for healing. I am at a very stable place. Stability is relative, just like mental health is relative. We all have our struggles. Mine are on display so others know they’re not alone and the world cannot claim to have a lack of stories and information. I’m here. I’m speaking. The knowledge is out there to be had, and a person’s own ignorance lies in their unwillingness to look for realities of the world. 

When people read my work, they are taking in a culmination of years of introspection and self-awareness. The fact that I am so forthcoming about my struggles and feelings is really quite a good sign. I wasn’t able to talk about any of this without dissolving into a puddle of tears at the outset, let alone write piece after piece for the world to consume and tear apart. I’m stable enough to know that I’m opening myself up to criticism and even threats. When my writing and experiences are criticized and torn apart, it’s more than the words and my ability to formulate them; people are going after me, the human, because in memoir pieces the words and the human are one and the same. Had I chosen to slam all the raw feelings I was experiencing onto the page as they first bubbled to the surface of my psyche in the beginning phases of my recovery, well that would have been an absolute rambling disaster. There would have been no cohesion or really anything for anyone to gain from reading it other than… confusion. I was confused myself. I still do not attempt writing on topics that I am not acutely aware of my feelings, experiences, mental state, and a preparedness to lay it all out there in written format.  

I’m not at all sure why anyone looking for positive affirmations or a rosy outlook on being a survivor is following me. I’m not here for that. I’m not here to tell you this shit gets better. I’m not here to be an inspiration of “look how far I’ve come, you can too.” My goal is and always has been to make people uncomfortable by forcing them to look beyond the pretty pictures that cover my Instagram feed to see the reality of what living a life fraught with violence and trauma looks like. At best I’m an existentialist, but most days, I’m a nihilist. I don’t approach life with an “all will be fine attitude;” I approach life with an attitude of “if I don’t die and the dogs are healthy, it’s a successful day.” I don’t subscribe to the ideologies that everything in life happens for a reason or what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. I was a fucking badass before I was raped, gaslit, and abused for years. I’m pretty cool now, but I’m not better because someone raped me. I use my past as a way to connect with people and open eyes to the harsh realities of what surviving looks like. I’m also not telling anyone else’s story. This is strictly my own, but the fact it resonates with so many from all walks of life and genders means this is a huge problem, and I am not unique. Because my story may seem extreme, but it isn’t unique. There are so many humans who can identify with my struggles in one way or another. You may not see them in the comments, but I see them in my inbox and when I’m approached in public and when I hear through the grapevine that my story helped someone’s someone. I’m here to rock the boat, make noise, create a space for people to feel safe, and most importantly impact change. 

This space is where I write on whatever I want to write on without getting paid; I wish I were getting paid. From the books I read to the pieces I write to the causes I support, this space has always been about equity and inclusion. The thing is: I’m a writer. Like actually for realsies. Writing pays my bills, puts food in my dogs’ bowls, and buys plane tickets to cool places. I’ll write on just about anything that pays the bills, but I specialize in social justice with a focus on gender and racial equity. I’m also a memoirist tackling violence against women, abuse, sex work, sexual identity, and all the things that have touched my life. 

My pictures look good. My words tell another story. My daily life is somewhere in between.

If you read my work, you know I’m not going to write about rape or abuse and pretend everything’s fine, it’s all in the past because it’s not. All of those events have a ripple effect that will forever impact the way I live, think, and interact with people. I go to sleep and memories play on my eyelids like I’m at the IMAX. I have an innate distrust of men. I avoid attachment. I’m careful when entering relationships of any kind. I’m overly cautious in everything I do. I have depression episodes and anxiety attacks and PTSD triggers. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! I am honest about all of these things because I am okay. If I were not okay, I would not be writing. If I were not okay, I would be institutionalized. If I were not okay, I would actually probably be dust because I don’t want to be buried. I’m honest about everything I live with and go through because it is quite literally my job, but I only make it public when I am in a good place. Just because I’m in a good place does not mean there is a lack of pain. That pain will always exist in tandem with every other feeling. If I hid from these feelings or pretended I am thirty, flirty, and thriving or told people it gets better, I would be an awful writer and a liar. It would play into the zeitgeist of all that Power of Positivity, manifesting bullshit. That may work for you, but I hate that crap. You will not find it here. You will not find it from me. You will not find it in my story. I’m here to be obnoxious. If you don’t like it, unfollow. I’m not phased. I won’t be offended. I’m not for the faint of heart. I’m not someone who half-asses anything. I’m not going to make my pain smaller to make it more palatable for the world. If it’s hard for you to know what I’m going through, imagine what it was like to live through it and keep going day after day after day. 

Today’s listicle day… So let’s add a listicle that is somehow related to this post… Umm… Lot of ellipses here because I’m thinking. Ta da, eleven phrases people have said to me after posting an article. 

  1. “I know you like books, so you should definitely add the Bible to the top of your list.”
  2. “I’m so sorry you went through that. I promise, one day you’ll wake up and it just won’t matter anymore.”
  3. “Have you considered meditating?”
  4. “If you’d gotten pregnant, then your rape could be something to complain about.”
  5. “You’re gay, we get it. God still loves you. Less but there’s always redemption.”
  6. “What were you wearing?”
  7. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’ll show you what it’s really like to be raped.”
  8. “You’re really flirty, so I don’t know what you expected.”
  9. “Rape happens. I’m tired of hearing women talk about it like it’s the end of their life.”
  10. “You can’t write about being raped if you’re dead.”
  11. “Women don’t call it rape when it’s a real man.”

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

11..., In My Own Words, Lifestyle

11… Tidbits of Life I Avoid At All Costs

RaeAnna

Writing is about cracking into one’s soul and extracting truth. It’s a raw and often painful process. Especially when one’s chosen genre is memoir or creative nonfiction, like mine. Fiction has never called to me; not that I don’t or can’t. Creativity is not my talent, and I’ve lived an interesting enough life to provide a good amount of therapy, I mean, content to write on for a good long time to come. 

Sometimes I feel like I should just be a hermit in the wilderness I avoid so many essentially human things.

The genre is an interesting choice because I’m an intensely private person. What a conundrum. From a very young age, I realized if I shared enough seemingly personal things, I wouldn’t have to share anything of actual importance. As a writer who puts words into the world about my life and story for the purpose of starting conversations to change the world for the better, I have been able to find an incredibly delicate balance. My writing is far more honest than I am in person. Face-to-face, I have a tendency to undershare through rose colored glasses. 

During the four years I was a stripper, coworkers, who I had spent thousands of hours with naked, never knew I had been raped until one my rapist walked up to my stage on my second to last night. Suffice to say, I lost my shit. I’d been hit and abused in front of these men and women for years, and they’d never seen me cry or even lose a smile. I am a well curated façade allowing people to see only what I choose, except under the most remarkable circumstances. 

My ability to share an overview of my abused past or even the gory details of certain events without allowing people to know me is, honestly, exceptional. People feel like I’m letting them in, but, in reality, all they would have to do is google me to find out far more. It’s my way of testing the waters; seeing if they can and want to handle it; but I’ve done it so many times over the years, it’s just one of many stories to tell in the “This is who I am, who are you?” dance we do with new people. 

As a coping mechanism to keep people at a distance there are so many things I don’t do or won’t talk about or avoid in general. Never were these choices I made consciously. Habits developed over time from experience, callousness, pain, or goodness knows. I have always held people at arms distance, only letting them get so close, only showing so much, sidestepping vulnerability in favor of mock intimacy. As you can imagine, this is detrimental to relationships of all kinds. More often than not, it has helped me survive. But I am consciously trying to move forward differently because I’m not trying to just survive anymore. 

Sometimes I feel like I live in isolation surrounded by humans.
  1. Feelings Having them. Talking about them. Other people’s feelings are welcome, valid, heard, honored. Mine… I’m sorry. What feelings? I’m just happy, rainbow, sprinkles, sunshine lady all the time, forever. I spent a very good chunk of my life ignoring the fact that feelings outside of happiness existed. When I went to college and met someone who made me confront those feelings, it wasn’t pretty. There’s a strong history of disassociating from all feelings outside of a very compact zone of happy because the moment too much joy, an inkling of sadness, a smidgen of discontent crept into that zone, I did not know how to handle it and would absolutely crumble. I’m better. I’m not great. Feelings are still hard because they’re a gnarly, interconnected yarn ball with a potential to unravel if a random string is pulled a little too much.    
  2. Being Held Touch is integral to my relationships, platonic and romantic. I’m a very touchy human. I love cuddling. I’m realizing by cuddling, I mean holding someone because I can hold people without a problem. Turn that around, not so much. Being held is hard for me. Really, really difficult. I don’t let people hold me much. If ever. Or very long. Hugs. Being the one cocooned in a cuddle. Little spoon. There’s a time limit that my body reaches where I have to let go, become the one doing the holding. I would rather stand sobbing in my kitchen with someone watching me at arms distance than be held. For me, it feels so vulnerable and intimate. There’s a sense of depending on someone, letting them take the weight of me and my pain, a transference or sharing of emotion. If I’m crying and someone holds me, I may not stop. I have this innate need to suck it up. Do it alone. Being held feels like my independence is being taken away because I’m letting someone in. Just a calm night on the couch with no drama or anything other contentedness, if I’m the one being held, I could tear up because I get overwhelmed feeling connected to someone. Even typing this, the thought of someone holding me for too long makes me antsy. I get this is problematic and that I likely need more human touch than I’m getting. Also I should learn to be vulnerable with people, but I had a really bad habit of choosing all the wrong humans to be vulnerable around, so I compensated by never leaning into people. I guess quite literally.
  3. Attachment Getting attached to people sucks because there’s feelings, and I think I’ve been very clear on how I feel about feelings. Many people in my life have turned out to be… abusive. To put it bluntly and a bit lightly. When parents, close friends, and romantic partners are highly abusive, it makes forming attachments with new people even just as friends incredibly hard. There are some trust issues here. Staying detached makes it hurt less when I get treated like shit or they leave or they leave after treating me like shit.  
  4. Sex with Lights Off I can’t. I don’t like. In the dark, I can’t see my partner. With my past of rapeyness, I have some lingering issues. Sex with the lights on allows me to feel safe and comfortable. The likelihood I lose my shit is much lower. Fluorescent, stage lighting, super bright isn’t necessary, but I do need some light.  
  5. Crying I hate crying. This feels self-explanatory. I don’t like crying in general. But crying in front of people. Whew. No. Way too vulnerable. We’re very far outside my compact zone of happy, and I am not happy about it. If you see me cry: a) I’m really in my feelings. b) I trust you. b alternative) I might be really angry, so this is not a trust you moment. c) I am hating it while it is happening and will do everything in my emotional wheelhouse to stop immediately.
  6. Hope This is a depressing one. I am an optimistic person for other people. When it comes to myself, I take realism to an extreme. I expect the worst, prepare for the worst, and don’t dare to hope for anything except the worst. The few times I have allowed myself to even contemplate things might be turning around… the things I was optimistic about turn out to be pretty insurmountable obstacles. I have surmounted them but always at great cost. Hope has led me to dark and even dangerous places. I just don’t. I tend to take each day, each moment as it comes, as it is. I keep going not out of hope but out of obligation, necessity, the fact others need me to. 
  7. Mixing Public and Private There are clear divisions in my life. A whole lot of compartmentalization. My home and what goes on inside it is very much a private place. Very few people know what is going on in my family. Maybe one day, I will feel like opening up more about the relationships in my life, but I keep them private. For as much as I share on social media, I keep it very much in its own lane. Whether people realize it or not, there are very clear boundaries maintained at all times. Part of this is because it’s nice having things just for me. Partially out of respect for my family and friends’ privacy. Honestly, mostly, it’s for self-preservation. Until things are cemented, I don’t write or talk about them. I DO NOT LIKE CHANGE OR EXPLAINING THINGS THAT ARE NOT AS CERTAIN AS LIFE CAN BE CERTAIN. There are three relationships I will write about with a degree of freedom, and those are my three people. One of which I spent many years romantically entwined with; the other two have always been strictly my closest friends. These relationships are going nowhere, probably. I can write about them honestly and openly because I know they love me, support me, and are stuck with me because I know too damn much. 
  8. Silence I love silence, but I have to be incredibly comfortable with someone to be in silence with them. Normally, if there is silence, I will fill it by asking lots of questions. Get the conversation moving… as far away from me as possible. Or I’ll start dancing like the uninhibited human I am for a laugh. The only time I’m really comfortable with silence is when I’m letting questions or statements sink in, allowing my conversation partner time to think and open up more than they would otherwise. I like hearing people’s stories, and silence makes other people just as uncomfortable so they fill it with all sorts of interesting tidbits. I don’t like silence because it gives people time to read me or come up with prying questions. I have a great poker face, but I don’t like to bank on it. 
  9. Prolonged Eye Contact I think most people avoid this. Eyes are telling. It’s cliché but true. This is a double edged sword. Like silence, I love good eye contact because it allows me to really see people, but it also allows them to see me. Abuse and stripping taught me to veil my eyes, but some people are good at seeing through it, calling bullshit. I rarely look at someone with unguarded eyes. One of the most interesting compliments was from a gay man in the strip club. I was 21 and tired after ten hours on my feet with four more to go. We sat and chatted for a while when he said, “You have Marilyn Monroe eyes.” Obviously I said thank you, but he continued, “You’re both beautiful. Her eyes were sad in the way your eyes are sad. It’s not a fleeting sorrow. The kind that killed her. You both guard your souls because all you’ve known is pain. It’s hard to see, but it’s there.” I felt so seen. I hated it. A stranger called me out, on the job. No thank you. It hasn’t happened since. 
  10. Confrontation This isn’t even the angry kind of confrontation; I can handle that, even if I don’t love it. I avoid confrontation in the being confronted kind of way. I find people fairly predictable. They ask the same questions in different but similar fashions. My life story and what I do isn’t exactly run of the mill, so when people find some things out, they tend to ask questions. I have no problems with questions. I love them. It allows me to share my passion with people and learn from them at the same time. Due to severe anxiety, I have tons of canned responses to an array of common questions. This makes me sound smarter than I am and doesn’t require thinking on my feet. I hate being flustered and having to come up with cohesive and interesting answers representing my truest feelings, opinions, or facts on the matter is very stressful and not something I’m naturally gifted at. It’s rare that I find someone who asks new, interesting, and nuanced questions. I have unfortunately found one of those humans recently, and she’s full of smart people questions. It’s throwing me off my game, and I’m realizing just how much I rely on these go-to answers. I say unfortunately but actually it’s fascinating the questions she asks because it makes me think and forces me to articulate things I do not usually disclose or even formulate into cohesive ideas outside of the thought clouds in my brain. I end up sounding like a bumbling stream of consciousness rather than the tenacious writer I pretend to be. I am a writer not a speaker. I can edit words on a page. I cannot go back three days later and say, “Hey, remember that miniscule conversation we had twelve days ago in passing? No? Well, I can’t stop thinking about it, so here is my dissertation on it anyway.” I HATE, HATE, HATE not being clear or concise. Being misunderstood is one of my great fears in life, and being confronted ups the chances I will be misunderstood.  
  11. Women Weird since I’m very gay, but also why it’s taken me so long to just be very gay. This is kind of a culmination of this entire list. Men and women are different. (The feminist in me feels the need to state that does not imply women are undeserving of equality/equity.) Men trend towards surface level interactions for much longer than women. Even after years with men, the conversations, questions, interactions are more surface level and less intrusive than with women. I’ve covered more on a first hangout with a woman than I have after a year with a man. This is terrifying when you’re a very private person with a shit ton of baggage and trauma who also has a chronic problem glossing over all of these things. Opening up about all of these things ever let alone quickly is intimate, intimidating, and rough for me and, oftentimes, for them. Women are excellent at all of the things on this list that I avoid, whether that’s biological or environmental—I’ll let scientists fight over that. Women, on average, are exceptional at creating deep bonds quickly, which I avoid… always. Making it difficult to have and keep women in my life as friends or whatever. I’ve been doing a lot of work on this since moving to Houston. I’m getting better. I’m intimidated. It’s great. I’m fine. 

I’m done now. This list caused a lot more emotions than I thought it would. I only cried twice. A few more things I need to work on have been identified. Shocking I have friends or people in my life. I’m a dumpster fire. God help me. 

bisous un обьятий,
RaeAnna

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11..., Lifestyle

11… Things I Learned From Heart Break

RaeAnna
Life is better with love.

Cuffing season is upon us. If you don’t know what that is: the season people search out a partner for the long or short term to cuddle up with through the cold months and/or celebrate the holidays with; beginning in October and lasting until after Valentine’s Day. 

As all the beautiful people in the world are coupling up, I’m reminded of one of the possible and inevitable endings every couple faces: the end. Every. Relationship. Ends. Some with a breakup. Others with death… We call these the lucky ones because they lasted. Either way, every relationship ends and is often partnered with heartbreak. Happy holidays! Let’s talk about pain.

Heartbreak comes in all shapes and no two feel the same. So often heartbreak is equated with romantic relationships, but it doesn’t have to be. I’ve had friendships hurt far more than romantic relationships. Whether romantic, platonic, familial, or other, to love is to open ourselves up to pain. So much so that, for me, love and pain are all but synonyms. Not to detract or overwrite the joy and warmth of love, but those feelings cannot exist in the absence of pain. The two breathe in tandem making one all the more poignant because of the other.

My heart may break, but I won’t stop loving.

Autumn and winter are the seasons where couples, families, and friends come together. In Texas, it’s wedding season. The holidays are looming; families and friends are planning gatherings. It’s a time to be with loved ones. Social media becomes even more inundated with people declaring their affections for one another. These occasions also have a tendency to bring up unresolved issues, hurt feelings, drama, and all things heart aching. There’s love and happiness in there too, I suppose. For me, it has been no different. Well, the declaring my love on social media for a romantic someone is far from likely. I’m speaking to the holiday heart aches. Historically, October has been a consistently traumatic month for me. Some of the worst events of my life happened in October. Some of the biggest heartbreaks too. October wrote scars across my heart, so I’m always happy to say ‘Au revoir, October’ and ‘Привет, Christmas!’ 

In no uncertain terms, heartbreak is the fucking worst. I’m not talking about breakups, friendship endings, or endings specifically. Breakups are not always painful; some pain does not accompany an ending; and heartbreak can happen when no relationship ever occurred at all. It’s the pain that sits unrelentingly inside my chest. Whatever the reason. Whoever the person. No matter the relationship. Pain is still pain, and it has been my greatest, most consistent teacher. 

Over the course of thirty years, I’ve learned a thing or two from my heart breaking, and I expect I’ll learn many more. Some opinions may change, and hopefully I get better and less bitter with time. I remain hopeful.

I don’t know if I’ll ever walk down an aisle in a white dress, but I’ll wear them with flower crowns any day.
  1. Love Hard; Love Ferociously; Love Resolutely I truly believe in loving with everything I have. Friends, lovers, family. I will give everything I have and everything I am. I have never regretted loving someone fiercely; though it has been painful, I don’t look back with regrets or what ifs. Even as endings loomed, I loved hard even when quitting would be the easier thing to do.  
  2. Love Has Boundaries Boundaries are hard for me, but I’m learning love, healthy love, has boundaries. Just because I love ferociously and without limits does not mean it’s a free for all. It took me a long time to know what I would endure and what I will not. I was a doormat for a very, very long time, but I’m finally learning how to stand up for myself. That comes with setting boundaries for myself and for my relationships. I’m still not great at this, but I’m trying, damnit.
  3. Timing Matters I wish this weren’t true. Sometimes you meet the right person at the wrong time. It’s so cliché, and yet it’s true. Timing matters, and sometimes that’s the only reason a relationship needs to crumble.
  4. Set Expectations Take this in any and all ways. Friendship, workships, family, sexual partners, romance, whatever. Expectations are so important. If they’re not established, how the hell is the other person to know what I want and need and expect from them and us. Expectations change with time and growth, so continue to talk about them. Have check-ins. Regular check-ins! 
  5. A Breakup Isn’t Failure This one took me a long time to come to terms with. I have a deeply rooted fear of failure. Anything not working out was a failure, a personal failure, all my fault, and no one else’s. I know in my brain this isn’t true; my irrational brain has not caught up. Breakups—romantic, familial, platonic—are not failures. Sometimes things just don’t work, and that’s okay. People are not always compatible, and that does not mean either one is wrong or problematic or “crazy.” It just means people are different. The failure is in not trying at all. 
  6. Radical Honesty I’m not a relationship expert, obviously. I’m sitting here in my office absolutely single at thirty, but I have had incredibly successful relationships and breakups. People ask me for relationship advice—I don’t know why either. I always say: Communicate all the time about everything. There is no such thing as too much honesty. In my relationships, I practice radical honesty, which is why I’m so close with all my exes. We never had secrets. There was nothing to hide, so when an ending came, there wasn’t anything to be angry about. No dark secret that tore us apart. The problems were on the surface. They’d been talked about for a long time. We tried working through them because we were honest about what we needed and wanted from one another. We gave it our all, but things didn’t work for whatever reason. Lack of love has never been at fault. Radical honesty doesn’t prevent pain or arguments. It may not even prevent a breakup. It does make everything healthier, happier, and so much easier. My life is so much better because I have been honest in my relationships. Even when honesty stings, it saves much bigger pain.   
  7. You Will Not Be the Same Person People change us. Every single person in my life has influenced who I am today. Those I have let into the deepest corners of my heart and soul have a larger influence over how I move through the world, which is why I’m choosy! I don’t want to be influenced by crap people. Ideally these very important people make me a better person. Even in heartbreak, I have take aways on how I can do better in the future for myself and in relationship with others. I am not perfect. I never will be, but I am a better person because of all the incredible humans I have loved. 
  8. Always Say ‘I Love You’ I have never regretted saying these three words. Sometimes they’re not said back, and that’s okay. I don’t say them with the expectation of hearing it. Love is amazing when it’s reciprocated. It can fucking wound when it’s not, but I will always say I love you to the people I do love because I don’t want them to wonder or not know where they fit in my heart. I say it a lot, but I also show it, but I’m also going to say it. I want the people I love to know without a shadow of a doubt that they are loved.  
  9. Fight For Love, But Know When To Leave I have fought so hard for love. Not a regret in sight. I will always fight for love as long as there is a love to be fought for. Sometimes, I’ve fought a lot longer than I maybe should have. There has always been that moment when I knew in my heart it’s time to be done. I can’t tell you when that moment is because it’s different for every person and every relationship. When that feeling settled in, I let go. The pain didn’t necessarily stop, but I learned to stop fighting for something that wasn’t meant to be.
  10. Love Is Not Enough I said this at nineteen. I’ll say it at thirty. Love does not conquer all. Love is not always enough. This is probably an unpopular opinion. Love is enough of a reason to sure try. Many obstacles can be conquered with love, dedication, and hard work from both partners. But there are obstacles that even love cannot surmount. That does not mean the love is any less real or pure. It just means life is ridiculously hard.
  11. Life Goes On I’ve had a breakup where I really wish this weren’t true. I’ve had my heart broken with grief over someone passing or friends leaving my life. The pain doesn’t always get easier. I hate to say it, but sometimes the pain doesn’t go away. I’ve learned to live with those aches like the knee pain I have from my ballet days. Life does go on.

bisous un обьятий,
RaeAnna

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11..., Lifestyle

11… Things I Learned Camping the Grand Canyon

RaeAnna

Two and a half months ago, I road tripped to the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, Grand Canyon (again), and Santa Fe. It was a pretty spectacular trip if I do say so myself. I had to curb my chit chat because I’m sure everyone was tiring of my Canyon anecdotes. It was a trip I had been wanting to take for a long while. I went with one expectation: a view. Everything else, I would figure out on my own in the midst of it. 

I haven’t been camping since my 15th birthday party. And that was a camping in Iowa twenty minutes from my bed for a night with friends kind of a camping “trip”. I had never been camping camping. The good luck kind of camping trip. Not only was I camping for the first time in half my life, I was camping the Grand Canyon, where the nearest Walmart was 75 miles away. Oh, and I did it alone. 

Hopping in the car and driving away from my very cushy bed, I knew there were only two options for this trip: 

  1. I would LOVE it.
  2. I would HATE it. 

Luckily, I loved it. Truly, deeply loved it. In a subtle yet distinctive soul shifting fashion. 

Driving West into Arizona, the sun rose revealing mountains, plains, cliffs, plants, and life glowing gold in the early morning light. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I drove on. So much of what I do revolves around social justice with a focus on gender and racial equity. I’m not ignorant of this country’s history. Living in a city that has washed away every trace of the Native People makes it easy to forget I live on stolen land. But something about that particular drive, taking in the landscape, I was overwhelmed with the weight of my own privilege and the suffering that has occurred across the country in the past and in our present. 

Four hours away from the Grand Canyon, I knew I wanted to use this trip as more than an excuse to center myself, connect with nature, and take a break from the hustle of life. I was going to learn. As much as the Canyon itself has so much information to offer, I have always been more interested in the stories of people. I wanted to learn about the people who lived and died by the Canyon long before colonizers arrived. I needed to make it a point to honor the Indigenous People who continue to live and fight for their land. 

I drove straight to the canyon rim and looked on with awe. Then I turned around and walked straight to the book shop. Duh. I bought a bunch of books and asked rangers and employees about which ones they suggest or were written by Native authors. Along my walks and hikes, I read every single plaque I came across. Stopping in Flagstaff on my way to Las Vegas, I found a bookstore that had an entire section dedicated to Native History and another bigger section dedicated to local Native history and authors. I ended up accumulating a lot of knowledge on my trip, and I’m still working my way through the books I bought. So I’m going to share some Grand Canyon knowledge. 

  1. Havasupai people lived and farmed inside the canyon at Indian Garden along what is now Bright Angel Trail until 1928. 1928! Less than 100 years ago. They were forced to leave by the National Park Service. 
  2. Uranium was discovered in the Orphan Mine in 1951. From 1956 to 1969, Uranium was extracted from a mine near the South Rim of the Canyon. I could see where it was while walking the Rim Trail. There are fences and signs all over essentially saying keep out with a fun twist saying “ecologically fragile,” but the meaning is actually along the lines of, ‘Stay out because this area is inundated with toxic and radioactive waste that hasn’t been cleared.’ So really, don’t sneak past those fences.
  3. The six major tribes living around the Grand Canyon are the Hualapai, Havasupai, Navajo, Hopi, Paiute, and Zuni people. They have inhabited the Grand Canyon plateau for a very long time. 
  4. Mary Colter, a prominent architect, designed some of the most famous buildings in Grand Canyon National Park, including Desert View Watchtower. In the male dominated field, she managed to create an architectural aesthetic that would last and influence the American West for generations. 
  5. Humans have been living in and around the Grand Canyon for 12,000 years, at least, that’s how old the oldest documented human artifacts are. White people arrived via Norse settlements on the continent as early as the tenth century… So the Grand Canyon was inhabited a casual 11,000 years—give or take—before white people started fucking shit up.
  6. What looks like mountain goats are actually bighorn sheep. They’re cool. I saw a family of them, hiking the South Kaibab Trail.
  7. The Hualapai Tribe built the famous Skywalk that projects 70 miles over the canyon with a glass floor. It’s one of the most visited attractions in Grand Canyon West, and when you’re visiting it, you’re supporting the tribe instead of the federal government. So much of the Grand Canyon belongs to tribes, who benefit from that tourism. Make sure to be respectful, take the time to learn about their history, culture, traditions, and obstacles they face in today’s era. Oh, you should check because many require reservations in advance.
  8. There is a North Rim and South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park. South Rim has more amenities and is the more visited of the two rims. It’s where I went, solely because there were no campsites available on the North Rim, which is known as being quieter and more remote. Though the two lodges are only ten miles apart if you hike through the Canyon, the drive takes five hours and 215 miles to go from one to the other. 
  9. The Canyon can be a luxury getaway or a wilderness exercise. I chose to lean more toward the latter. I camped on the South Rim, which has hotels, restaurants, coffee shops, rentals, campsites, a post office, general store, and so many amenities. I didn’t have any cell reception or internet access, but I definitely did not feel like I was in the wilderness… until I went below the rim. As the signs make sure to drive home the information: Once you go below the rim, you’re on your own. Rescue is not guaranteed, and even if help comes, it could be a good long wait. On all but Bright Angel Trail, the water you have is the water you have. There’s a sense of good luck and don’t be stupid every time I hit the trail. The further you go, the less people there are. On the South Kaibab Trail, I went well past Skeleton Point for a total of nine miles round trip. I didn’t see a single person from mile two to mile eight and a half. There was also a big storm, so the experience was a tad frightening at certain points.
  10. The Grand Canyon Pink Rattlesnake, or crotalus oreganus abyssus, is only found in the Grand Canyon, especially prevalent along the North Rim. It is venomous, so if you see one, do not approach. 
  11. There is one hotel inside the Canyon. When I say inside the Canyon, I mean it’s on the floor of the Canyon. Half a mile from the confluence of Bright Angel Creek and Colorado River, it was designed by Mary Colter. There’s a lottery for reservations that is pulled thirteen months in advance. There are three ways to get there. Raft the Colorado River. Take a mule. Or a ten mile hike via Bright Angel Trail or a seven and a half mile hike via South Kaibab Trail.

You could spend a lifetime exploring and researching the Grand Canyon, which many people have done and continue to do, so this is really just a highlight reel of interesting things I learned. The moment I left, I couldn’t wait to go back. I’m ready for my next adventure. 

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

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