#and how revered consent is (or at least should be; it is with J)

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Being a 'Bitch'

I wrote this a long time ago, but it came back up again today. <3

My mom likes to tell stories about me when I was a little girl. I have an above average memory, and I remember the actual events for every recap she routinely gives. Her favorite topic is me ‘using my voice.’

See, I’m small. I’ve always been small. When I was in the second grade, and we began a measurement unit in math, I was the only kid who only needed a yardstick and a ruler. Everyone else needed 2 rulers with their yardstick. I’m only 5′1 NOW. And I’m quiet. I’ve always been quiet. I don’t say much out loud, to avoid judgment and confrontation. So before I could write semi-legibly, and certainly before I could type 60+ wpm, there weren’t many words put forth. This made people around me expect a meek, squeaky voice, and they surely never expected me to use it to assert myself in any way (because, like many submissives I’ve read about, while I didn’t have a label for a while, I’ve *always* been submissive). But my voice is actually quite loud and clear, and I have expectations about how I should be treated, and boundaries that I’ve ‘never been shy about enforcing.’ (Mom’s words there.) That’s true. I wish Mom’s tone wasn’t so snide when she said it though…that she didn’t find it so obviously distasteful that I enforce my boundaries.

When I was in preschool, I stayed with my grandparents while my parents worked. My tricycle lived there, because that’s where most of my daytime hours were. I used to ride it up and down the sidewalk on their side of the street. They lived on an aging, urban street, and most of their neighbors were also elderly retirees. One of these neighbors was Mr. W. His house was 5 houses up from my grandparents’, and he liked to tease me for being small and quiet. It wasn’t really *malicious* teasing (I’m certain HE thought it was cute), but it bothered me. He called me ‘Pixie.’ ‘Here comes Pixie on her big bike!’ he’d boom as I pedaled down the sidewalk. I hated it. So finally, I corrected him with my voice-too-big-for-my-body-and-demeanor. ‘My name is NOT Pixie. It’s <my name.>’ He tried a shortened version of my first name next. ‘Ok, —-y….’ Ugh. ‘No. Not ‘—-y.’ My name is <my FULL, un-cutesified name>.’ My mom thought this was incredibly rude of me. She told me so. She continues to tell me so occasionally now that I’m over 40. ‘He was just an old man trying to be nice and funny with a cute little girl.’ Tell me THAT sentence isn’t creepy. But anyway, Mr. W never called me ‘Pixie’ again. When I started kindergarten, this kid in my class used to chase me around the playground at recess trying to kiss me. I didn’t find it ���cute.’ I didn’t want to be kissed. I’ve never liked being touched in any social setting, and I thought school definitely counted. I am certain I never gave this kid what could be interpreted as a hint in any universe that I wanted his affectionate attention. I’m ‘standoffish.’ After weeks of him taking all of my precious jump rope time away at recess, instead of running from him, which only seemed to be encouraging him (doesn’t it *always* encourage those guys…at any age?), I confronted him. ‘I’m trying to *jump rope,* ok? Back. Off!’ Of course, this came up on parent-teacher night. I got a mild kindergarten lecture about how ‘he just LIKES you…’ Again…I didn’t have to be so mean. Maybe not. But he quit chasing me around threatening to kiss me. Into high school, I didn’t care what the popular kids were doing or wanted or thought of me. I didn’t care much for peer pressure about drinking or drugs or sex. I saw it for what it was. I’ve never liked feeling pressured in any way. It makes me anxious and uncomfortable, and I’ve never felt like just giving in to someone making me anxious with their demands would lessen that anxiety. Nobody saw the anxiety, though. They just saw ‘goody-two-shoes.’ Clearly, I wasn’t popular. Haha! I didn’t get invited to much. Parties. Dances. Dates…nope. Because I had a reputation. Not *that* reputation. The other ‘bad’ one: ‘Don’t even bother with her. She’s a *bitch.*’ I didn’t like being known as a bitch, but anxiety wouldn’t let me be anything else. Frankly, I wish I had that other ‘bad’ reputation. But you know…the ‘no touching in social settings?’ Yeah, that kinda prevented that one.

So ‘bitch’ stuck  My own mother has called me a bitch on multiple occasions. For arguing with her, for not doing what she wanted me to do, for not behaving like she would behave or thought I should behave…*in adulthood.* I was a bitch at work for standing up for my own unfair treatment, and that of the other 11 total women in the national company who did my job. I was a bitch on a lot of dates for having a differing opinion about sports or politics…or especially for ‘moving too slow.’

Eventually, I began to believe it. Those memes that say what you hear about yourself becomes your inner voice…your inner critic…that’s true. I’d meet new people and they’d see some boundary of mine casually crossed at a social gathering of some kind, and watch me…react. They’d give me that same surprised look I got when I was little for ‘using my voice.’ So then I’d explain in self-description, with a friendly, disarming laugh, ‘Oh yeah, by the way…I’m a *bitch.*’

Then I met J. ’A *bitch!?* Hahahahahaha! No. Just…no.’

So now that I’ve been J’s for a long time, I hear things like this from other people in my life… ‘How come you did that for J? You wouldn’t do that for ME (this was about *wearing the color pink*)…Why is it ok for J to call you <nickname I love>? No one else can even call you ‘—-y’…You’re so NICE to J.’ Well, yeah. Of course I’m nice to J. I want to do things that I know please him, and the other folks who like to think they know me assume I’ve succumbed to HIS demands and disrespect when theirs never went over. They’re clearly jealous. Not in a ‘they want me’ kind of a way. None of them are like that. Hell, the most repeat offender of She Does That For J Jealousy is my mom. They don’t want me. They just want to know what J’s secret is. Wanna know what it is? I’ll let it out on the tumblr blog…

You know who’s never called me a bitch? Not ONCE? J. You know who’s also never treated me with disrespect? Intentionally tried to short me out of something I needed to do my best? Crossed a line he knew was an anxiety triggering boundary? Pressured me to do anything that made me feel anxious? Seriously…NEVER? You know who can actually TELL when I’m feeling anxious, and CARES to alleviate it? Sir. You know who’s never told me I was rude for expressing an emotional limit? Who LIKES and APPRECIATES the honesty and clarity? Sir. That’s His secret. Now all of tumblr knows.

J might be the only person alive who doesn’t think I’m a bitch. But his is the only opinion of me that counts in my book, anyway. Maybe that makes me a bitch.