Interesting quote, that picks up some of the themes of this blog

The modern fairy tale ending is the reverse of the traditional one: A woman does not wait for Prince Charming to bring her happiness; she lives happily ever after only by refusing to wait for him -- or by actually rejecting him. It is those who persist in hoping for a Prince Charming who are setting themselves up for disillusionment and unhappiness. (Susan Faludi, Writer)

Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens....

This is sort of a post to to usher in the new year, but for me it feels more significant to commemorate some truly wonderful things that have been going on in my world lately, so these are a list of my favourite things over the 2007-2008 period...

The defeat of the Howard government

I approached the lead up to the Federal election with caution, trying not to be too optimistic, but hoping and burning offerings to the deities that this time, things would be different. I had approached the last two elections being sure that the Coalition would be defeated, only to be left feeling, more so than usual that I am so very out of touch with the views and opinions of 'average, working Australian families' who parrot along with the Liberal Party that social democratic principles, unions, diversity and peace and non-violence movements are indeed the root of all evil...

I'm not celebrating the ALP's win, as much as I am the Coalition's loss.... I am made uneasy by how much more of a formidable political force that the Religious Right have become in Australia over the last 11 years and that the ALP will still try to bow to this extremist lobby group tht simply have more money and organisation than the left, and certainly don't reflect the viws of the majority of Australians. However, I will maintain my optimism that this electoral shift might mean a bigger shift to the left that hopefully will last at least a decade, in order to reestablish services and infrastructure, and repair some other casualties of Howard's messianic backlash against the social reforms of the 1960s onwards.

Domestic Bliss

About a year ago now, I found myself thinking about some of my adolescent decision making and came to the conclusion that a lot of my significant life directions, including sex work activism and extreme outness was much to do with avoiding becoming my mother, at all costs, and that it hadn't worked. I often find myself speaking in her voice, and expressing a similar set of values, particularly in relation to etiquette, in which I clearly haven' t moved far from middle class Adelaide. Since this realisation, I've been increasingly able to enjoy my home environment, cooking more, including recently, amazing chilli, corn bred and guacamole and maintaining a cleaner environment. It has been amazing to be able to pick and choose which aspects I take on and which I don't. I can take on the living comfortably and cleanly in a home I enjoy doing fabby dinner parties in and playing at being the gracious hostess, without that having to be part and parcel of th fundamentalist judgmental fire n brimstone type my mother was. Hooray! I can play at being the Whore of Babylon and June Cleaver, without either being all that I am, or excluding the other aspects.

Growing Older

Some years seem more like baptism by fire than others. I have being working 3 part time jobs in the last 6 months. It has been almighty stressful, and sometimes, some of the balls I've been juggling crash to the ground. However,my coping skills, work ethic and ability to function have never been so obvious. So while sometimes, everything is just too much, there has been other times,I've impressed the pants, erm, frock, off myself. Growing older does seem to mellow and provide increased skill, knowledge and capacity to get stuff done. I'm at a stage where this far outweighs the gray hairs.

Reminder to treat yourself well

I don’t know if it’s a winter thing, and thus Seasonal Affective Disorder related, or specific stresses in people’s lives that by pure coincidence have happened all at the same time, or if crappy mental health is contagious (I suspect a combination of the above) but many people I know have been struggling with mental health issues, and either sinking below the surface or valiantly treading water.


I thought I’d take some time to remind everyone about some good mental health practice tools. Good mental and physical health goes together, so if things are falling off the top of your overloaded bundle, focus on the basics. Drink water and camomile tea, get plenty of sleep, eat some fruit and vegetables, breathe deeply, get some exercise. Treating yourself well is good for your self esteem, and it provides you with a basic foundation for managing stress. Basic self care is also one of the least mortifying mental health initiatives I have ever undergone.

Breathing slowly and deeply remembering to fully exhale is good for stress-related asthma and panic attacks. When you are experiencing racing thoughts, slow down and talk to yourself – is the most catastrophic and dire answer the most likely? Cognitive Behavioural Therapy is handy for the racing-panic-attack-thought-patterns and also the helpless-hopeless-depressive-thoughts, and when you learn how to do it well, it is incredibly empowering to be able to pull yourself out of the blue funk or the anxiety horrors. For clinical depression, the two most statistically useful things to do are to get exercise and to increase social contact. Grab a friend for a brisk walk. Borrow a dog and walk him/ her regularly - walking a dog is a great way to become instantly popular.

Some books that may be useful: You Can Beat Depression: A Guide to Prevention & Recovery by Dr John Preston, and for those of you going through yucky break ups, its Sex And The City style chick focused and assumes heterosexuality, however, take from it what you can: It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken by Greg Behrendt and Amiira Ruotola-Behrendt. Oh, and I keep hearing good things about MoodGym.

Oh, and if you need to, get on meds (anti-depressants, or others), if you are still high and mighty about using anti-depressants, consider that myself and many others I know wouldn’t be here to preach to you if it weren’t for our meds….. and if you are using anti-depressant medication (or are just struggling with depression in general) please cut down on the amount of alcohol or other depressants you are using to give yourself the best possible chance of recovery.

Getting queers, whores and other outsiders to love ourselves, do self care, treat each other well and build community are all important political acts. Imagine that we all had more energy to fight for equality and a more just world? Imagine if we, instead of self destructing had more time for critiquing the dominant paradigm? The work of previous generations of activists have meant powerful changes for the social standing of queers – the fact that young queers now can regularly come out to their families without rejection would have been almost unimaginable, not so long ago. I look forward to a time when baby (newly out) queers have the opportunity to slot into a queer community that is thriving, to look forward to a range and choice of social spaces that aren’t solely focused around alcohol and late nights, where diversity is genuinely celebrated. Where queerness is so valued that self care practices are common. Sex workers aren’t even in a place yet where very many of us at all feel as if we could come out, and the whore stigma is still huge and crippling.

Oh, and everyone needs to go and get a copy of Hello Cruel World: 101 Alternatives to Suicide for Teens, Freaks and Other Outlaws by Kate Bornstein. Because Kate is completely fucking fabulous, that’s why. What, you need another reason? Well here:

I’ve written this book to help you stay alive because I think the world needs more kind people in it, no matter who or what they are, or do. We’re healthier because of our outsiders and outlaws and freaks and queers and sinners. I fall neatly into all of those categories, so it’s no big deal to me if you do, or don’t. I’ve had a lot of reasons to kill myself, and a lot of time to do it in, and I stayed alive by doing things that many consider to be immoral or illegal. I’m glad I did it, because I’ve really enjoyed writing this book. This may be a scary time for you, and if that’s so, I hope I can help you find your courage again. If we meet some day, let me know what worked. —from Hello, Cruel World by Kate Bornstein

It's no use getting into heavy petting. It only leads to trouble and seat wetting

Someone told me this week that I am a huge flirt. I wasn't exactly surprised, However, sometimes when I am bouncing around, crawling all over random people, I am not even seeing it in those kind of terms. I am often crawling over one or more people with definite intent, but sometimes - and this is why I usually give bioguys a wide berth - my exuberant behaviour is directed at the universe in general, and no one in particular - and is open to misinterpretation.

The last time I was living in a huge share house, comprising 5 boys and 2 grrls, the sexual energy in the house was intense. Every person in the house was fucking at least one other person in the house, except one of the guys. The other grrl and I were fucking 3 housemates each (including each other) [hey, I was all of 19 - I have much less energy now]. The guy who wasn't getting any was a good friend of my primary partner, and was on really good terms with me - we'd sit around the kitchen table over coffee for hours and talk about religion and politics.

Then one night, when two of my partners were out on other dates, and the other one was shagging another partner, I was bouncing around the kitchen, a whirlwind of kittenish sexual energy and playfulness, when I realised that my energy was affecting this guy dramatically.... "Look at what you're doing to me!!"He pursued me down the hall. I ran out of the house before things got ugly. This wasn't the first time I was aware of that idea that a woman expressing sexuality is perceived as asking for it, or causing uncontrollable desire in men, but it was certainly one of the most scary incidents of recognition.

The fallout from this - in which most of my housemates agreed that I had callously lead the guy on was almost as scary - this is from a crew of queer or queer friendly punker kids who would be familiar with basic feminist thought. I felt punished by a small, judgemental community. The fact that I was polyamorous and a sex worker seemed to add fuel to the judgements. This, and various other incidents have probably added to my seclusion from the world of str8 non-trans men.

I sometimes wonder if people may think that my lack of contact with men extends from my sex work experience. In fact, my sex work is one of the few places that I feel is safe for me to have contact with guys. My sex work is so heavily negotiated, and so choreographed, that it is probably the most consensual contact I have with anyone, ever. My clients know that anything other than massage, oral sex with a condom and vaginal sex with a condom is all the activities on the menu that is actually a given. Anything else, kissing, cunnilingus, fantasies of any kind, have to be negotiated before we even go in to the bedroom. Some clients will ask me if I would be okay with them choosing me before they make their finally choice. I am not suggesting that all men are rapists, or can't be trusted to respect physical boundaries, or comply with basic standards of negotiated consent, however when I walk down the street to cars full of hooting and hollering men - a regular occurrence for the last 20 years - and when I don't respond, they start yelling abuse instead, I am reminded of popular culture constructions of clients as crazed psychos - who will emulate Jack the Ripper at any chance - and feel like we do clients a real disservice.

I feel like decisions around safety shift all the time for me, and my sense of appropriate behaviour and personal space boundaries are affected by mood, exhaustion and mental health. I certainly don't get it right all the time, and sometimes I'm still the bouncy, oblivious 19 year old who is oblivious to the impact of my behaviour on others, and struggles with self control and propriety. When I am sharp and clear, my sense of these things is really honed, when I'm not, I need a straight jacket, chastity belt and an isolation cell.

Moving and down time

Well, I've finally moved in to the queer grrrl frat house. The move was making me crazy and I was acting like a total cranky frock with working days at my various jobs, then heading over to the old place to pack more boxes, then on to the frat house to sleep for about 5 hours before starting all over again. There was a couple of weeks when I was trudging about in jeans with my hair scraped into a bun.... I saw a few friends who hadn't seen me in anything but skirts and frocks... after a while of this, I started to feel so disorientated.

One of my favourite books Jitterbug Perfume speaks about a time when Pan has become so weak from the prevailence of Christianity that he has become completely invisible, leaving only his voice and his musky, goaty odour. When two of his companions want to smuggle him to the new world (America) they work at devising a perfume to mask his scent in order to take him on a boat. Half way along the journey, he starts going mad, not knowing who he is anymore without his scent. I was starting to feel similar, wearing jeans day after day, until I decided against practicality and put a skirt and cleavage maximising top on to go and do packing (of clothes), one night. Much better.

Then last weekend, which was to be the last of packing, I had a melt down and instead of going to work at my parlour on Sunday, I ended up going to a photoshoot with Zoo and other lurvely queer grrrls. I had previously pulled out of this, being too busy. With most of my frou frou still in boxes, I made do with what was immediately available, which was the contents of my workbag. Even though all of us there were tired, stressed, floppy, or menstrually affected, we still looked damn cute, and with some forced feminisation and some cock sucking Zoo, I was made quite happy. I did get a mite carried away and stomped on Zoo's poor head with a stiletto. . . It was a fun way to spend the afternoon, and a much welcome respite from the move that seemed to never end.

I've been attempting to pull back from activities a bit, to better manage my stress levels. Sydney is such a busy place, and it is so damned easy to get sucked into the void of always going out because there is always something going on. I have been spending down time on You Tube way too much, reigniting my lifelong love of Boy George. I was even considering going to the MG party this year, as he was DJing. I had to remind myself how much I hate big parties, and that it was highly unlikely that he was going to ask me to marry him (one of my childhood dreams). Instead, I get to watch much old videos on You Tube, and even found this gem, of a live performance of Culture Club with Dolly Parton, doing Your Kisses are Charity. Dolly Parton and Boy George - together! Does life get any finer?

The next thing I'm focusing on - having just started to sleep better, is to have some hassle free fun in order to decrease stress. The Easter Show, Gurlesque (attending -not performing) and watching the Bettie Page film over the next week or so.... before things start in earnest with organising International Whores Day, and saving more money and reducing debt - which is a big aim for this year. I have yet to reduce my activist involvement to managable levels. Partly because I don't want to. As much as I need more time to relax and unwind, there is still much to be done, and my community isn't big enough to pull back entirely and leave it to others, yet. Balance always seems to be the biggest challenge of all.

Assertiveness

I've been posting a few self care related posts at the moment - I apologise if they seem self indulgent or just dull. I think some of these issues may resonate for some other people, and if they do, I hope it feels helpful. I don't necessarily have all the answers about good mental health - it's something I am always learning about.

When I am exhausted, stressed or unwell, I really struggle with basic assertiveness skills, or being able to articulate what my needs are. I can make broad general statements such as “I’m really stressed out! I need space!” But breaking that down into chunks that make explicitly clear how much space I need, and how that needs to look can be extremely hard. Also, my good Catholic ‘lady’ training can be hardest to resist when I am low on energy. My training tells me to be nice, to be accommodating, to not have needs, to smooth over any tricky social situation – i.e. to not be honest, assertive, empowered or to do self care. I can be feeling like a chaotic zombie on the inside, but on the outside, be putting out heaps of energy, chatting calmly and being charming. I hate that I ‘revert to type’ under stress, but it’s not exactly surprising.

At different times friends, lovers, dates and activist buddies can find it confusing when I am not clear enough or explicit enough. It’s not really anyone’s fault. It’s not really my fault that I go into unthinking people-pleaser mode – that asserting myself feels so overwhelming in the face of tiredness – that getting distant rather than tackling the issue feels more achievable when parts of my life that I’m juggling at the time start spilling over the edges. It’s not the fault of others who want my time and attention – who are better able to articulate what they want at that point in time – that I am feeling drained and don’t have the capacity to be assertive.

At times my people-pleasing has been so over the top; it has been terrifying to the part of me that is a committed feminist. In the past, when my depression has been particularly raging, I have ended up in long, completely incompatible relationships that I did want to be in, or have committed time and energy to activist campaigns when I have needed to be working to take care of the pile of mounting bills.

Tiredness can mean I get frightened of those who have a clearer agenda, or just have quite set ways of being in the world and achieving things. With exhaustion comes a reduction in organisation and daily rituals – things I’ve always been challenged by, anyway – so anyone with a clearer sense of how to do things, how to tackle an issue, or are just used to doing things this way rather than that way – are always going to be able to get their needs met (or go about it in a way that works for them), as I feel unable to articulate opposition. It’s not that these people are anything other than nice, friendly, pleasant individuals, and often they may try hard to be supportive about how I am feeling, however anyone who is very set in their ways just feels too much to cope with when my assertiveness skills have gone on holiday.

I often end up feeling like an arsehole when I have to say to people ‘I can’t organise this community meeting’ or ‘I can’t perform for at least the next month’ or ‘please don’t call me or invite me to go out for the next few weeks’. It can sound like I am uncommitted to causes, friendships (or in the case of dating or relationships – just commitment phobic) and sometimes it just hurts people’s feelings. But the boundary setting has to happen, and if people are hurt by my attempts to protect my mental health, there isn’t much I can do. It not like I can be a successful community activist, friend or human being without taking care of myself and my needs. It’s a lesson I have to learn all over again each time I’m not doing so well. Hopefully each time, I’ll learn self care and boundary setting a little better each time, and unlearn that masochistic Catholic lady bullshit a little more each time.

I finally got it

It kicked in about a month ago. I had spent the last year and a bit single - except for mostly easy going dating - in order to break out of old yucky patterns. The biggest part of the year was spent examining my own unhealthy, unhelpful relationship beliefs, that kept me in places I didn't want to be. I felt like I had to keep going further and further with this stuff, until I could trust myself to function in a relationship. Then it happened unexpectedly. I was walking down the street, mulling over random relationship issues, when I started thinking, "I am so bored with relationships. Thinking about them, being in them, talking about them. Bored, bored, bored."

It felt like a revelation. I might just be over all of this. Because if I can feel nothing but annoyance and boredom at the thought of significant others, then I might have just overwritten my girlie programming, which is supposed to push relationships and lurve as the answer - when stress, loneliness, dissatisfaction or simply a lack of plans for the immediate or long term future is bothering me. In many ways my female training has been very traditional, with my mother training me in cooking, cleaning and running a household budget (okay, so at least the cooking aspect sunk in), however job skills outside of wife and mothering just wasn't transferred. So no wonder the relationship as saviour was part of my thinking for so long.

Right now, all that relationships mean to me is more pressure from external sources, more expectations on me to focus on anything aside from my own life. Over the last decade, I think that my significant (and significantly awful) relationships have been the biggest threat to mental health, stability, self esteem and pursuing my own goals. I don't want my epitaph to read: She was a great wife. I want it to read: She was good at self care, was self sufficient, and balanced putting out energy into her friendships, community and world with putting it into herself and nurtured a whole life, without draining herself of all her life's juices, just because others asked her to, demanded it of her, or manipulated the situation.

It's not even that most of my ex's have been purposely horrible, just needing more parenting, care and support than is reasonable to expect a partner to provide, or struggling through huge issues of their own, which probably means that they need to be anywhere but in a relationship. And when I have voiced my own needs, they have gone unheard. At that point, in hindsight, I should have walked away, rather than endeavouring not to have needs so I can better support my partner around transition, or get my alcoholic partner out of the bar before she starts a fight, then take her home and put her to bed. Too much hard stuff to deal with, particularly when you are in your twenties. Too much responsibility, too much work on other people's issues.

I might have more room for the whole lurve thing at some point, however, right now, I'm thinking of self-nurturing as feminism 101. Take care of yourself, before you take care of partners, or indeed, the world. My therapist reminds me that some of my self-denial history as it emerges in relationships is also often a huge part of activism. And as my body is telling me in explicit and loud ways right now, I need peace and rest and wellness.

I can't even feel proud to have finally gotten to the end of this long journey of discovery, where I am not just saying this stuff from intellectual knowledge, but actually feeling it deep in my bones. I can't even feel excited about it - it just comes as a huge sense of relief. Like this particular piece of screwed up programming is dealt with. Now to work on all the other bits of screwed up programming.

Disaster Strikes

I've been pretty stressed since about September last year. Having to do lots of organising work, which is so far from being my forte, it may as well be the work of a diesel mechanic, along with a death, and ongoing financial issues (thanks to the Howard government economic and welfare reforms the sex industry is ridiculously oversupplied and is now a very unpleasant buyers market), my coping mechanisms, such as they are, no longer exist.

I have been experiencing such reduced social skills, that my tiny bit of MG swanning about has meant strange, awkward conversations - which is a bit sad, as those conversations have been with people I like a lot, and would like to know better. Waking up tired, and going to sleep with a list of things I couldn't fit into my day rattling around in my head. Last years plan of socialising madly to counteract isolation as both the symptom and cause of depression - which seemed like such a nice idea to start with - has spiralled out of control. I need to step off the rollercoaster, and I need to do it now.

Over the last week - my body has let me know in the most unpleasant way possible that I need to take action, in terms of self care, and to take ruthless measures around reducing this ongoing stress. For a femme who would rather lose a limb than cut my hair, this is the biggest red flag ever. A circle of hair close to my hair line is missing. I have a bald patch! It's only about a centimetre in diameter, but this has terrified me. If I don't stop being so damned stressed, I may lose the lot! Okay, so it's vain and superficial to be worried about hair, but my hair - big, messy and careening, all uncontrolled, untamed and just-been-fucked has been the ultimate symbol of all the things about my personality that I like and want to preserve. I also have a sneaking suspicion that without big hair, I'd look like a girlier version of Bert Newton. Even if this is unlikely, I have no intention of finding out for sure.

Damn my body for using such drastic persuasion. Couldn't I just start developing migraines, nervous tics and sleep walking? Must pull back, must destress, must eat better, must listen to dolphin CDs, must pay attention to my needs, must get some damn sleep.

Shrinking

Carrie: First they want you to come there two times a week, then three times a week, and eventually you're starting every sentence with 'my therapist says... '

Miranda: My therapist says that's a very common fear.

Sex In The City

It seems like a dodgy mental health time for many people I know. So I was thinking about how hard it is to find a decent therapist/ psychologist/ psychiatrist / counsellor. Particulalry if you are queer, or kinky, or a whore, or have some combination of these qualities. A lot of sex workers and a lot of BDSMers have identified having therapists see their sex work/ kink as either a symptom of poor mental health (you don't like yourself very much, hense this destructive behaviour) or creating the conditions for the poor mental health (you do these destructive behaviours, and screw yourself up in the process). Of course, having your choices and identity seen as pathology is incredibly patronising, and doesn't bode well for the therapy relationship. Ideally, a therapist should treat you with 'unconditional positive regard' or absolute respect for who and what you are - from that point, and continued respectful behaviour, such as not giving advice, or trying to get you to stop doing anything in particular - means that you can get the most out of the therapy (ei.e. greater self awareness and hopefully emerging from that a greater capacity for control over your own life and better self regard).

The really hard thing for most of us, even if we are used to and good at educating outsiders about our lives and communities, is to do sex work 101, kink 101 or queer 101 when we are in distress and just want to get our support needs met.

Bigotted therapists need to challenge their own judgements - and either proactively educate themselves about diversity, or acknowledge that their prejudices stand in the way of them being effective, and change careers. I wouldn't suggest sex work though, you need to be pretty comfortable with diversity. Maybe stocking supermarket shelves at midnight - not much in the way of people skills required.

Other things can get in the way of therapy feeling useful, can include fear of psychodynamic therapy - that whole lying on the couch, reliving every single painful episode in your life to date approach - which is sedom used these days, with CBT and other more in-the-moment approaches far more common. Also, fear of the often truly scary experience of dealing with your own issues - and the really hard work involved in changing unhelpful patterns, of having to examine your own stuff. I can also identify with a fear of lose of control, of letting a stranger into your internal landscape.

However, I've found taking charge of the therapy process - really taking a good hard look at my own issues within that context - and leading it, with much honesty, rigour and being able to articulate what changes I want for myself has been ultimately empowering. It has been helpful that I am really analytical to begin with, and like a dog with a bone when there is something I don't quite understand. And there is still enough middle class attachment to notions of dignity, which means I'd prefer to tackle all the demons of my psyche within the therapy space than metaphorically be bleeding all over the shop in other areas of my life. I have an absolute fear that I'm the only person in my life that isn't aware that I'm acting out my mental health issues all the time in public.

When first seeing a therapist, I've found it useful to articulate what I want to happen - that my decisions about sex work are off limits, and about what I wanted to get out of the process. I've found doing my homework in between sessions - going after extra information on particular issues, and examining my value system in relation to things that have emerged in sessions - increases my sense of control over the process, and generally makes me feel empowered. Also, most therapists would tell you that your independence is an important part of the process.

Constant Craving

Hmmm... there has been times over the last month when I've considered that trying to do celebacy and quitting smoking at the same time is a bit much of an ask of my poor little old will power. Maybe I'll take up biting my nails (celebacy has meant that I'm allowing them to grow past fisting length).

I have a feeling that I have some unexplored stuff that needs to be finished from my last Saturn return (which is supposed to occur between 28 and 30 - so not too far out) so until those issues appear to be adequately dealt with, I'm happy to go for the safe option of having a shag-free time. In the mean time, I continue to have strange run-ins with exs (ex bonks and ex partners) which at least demonstrates that I've moved on, somewhat. I don't know why all this feels so significant, I just seem to be convinced that all the ghosts haunting me are echos of a past I will be soon closing the door on, and moving into the next phase of my life. It's an exciting thought, and it will be even nicer to be moving into that phase without smoking.

During this time (probably as a distraction from cravings) I've been thinking a lot about withdrawl from sex, nicotine, and lurve. They are very similar feelings. The low dopamine levels experienced when removing either of these elements can leave one feeling empty and needy and looking for an encounter with the appropriate substance in order to take the edge off and to feel all contented and at peace. Breaking that cycle can take quite a while - and much self disapline (something I never enjoy exerting). However, I'd rather spend the time learning to do without the substance than be fucking, in a relationship or smoking to prop up my dopamine levels. Dopamine levels can also be enhanced by long walks, bouncing, laughing, watching great performance, costumes, spending time with those who add to my thinking, hanging out with animals of the non human variety and watching Sesame Street. It can be easier to avoid unwise sex, unwise relationships (and always unwise) smoking if I remeber that what I am experiencing is simply my neurochemistry being out of whack, knowing I can do other things to stimulate a healthier high.

I don't want to be the filler if the void is solely yours

I don't want to be your glass of single malt whiskey

Hidden in the bottom drawer

I don't want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine

Lend me some fresh air

I don't want to be adored for what I merely represent to you

I don't want to be your babysitter

You're a very big boy now

I don't want to be your mother

I didn't carry you in my womb for nine months

Show me the back door
- Alanis Morissette ‘Not the Doctor’

I’ve finally succumbed to blogging song lyrics. It had to happen – and Alanis, too! I must confess a fondness for her self-help lyrical journeys and passion for squeezing big words and concepts uncomfortably into the song lyric formula. All I can say is that I hope always to remember that I never want to be a care-taker ever, ever again (unless I do actually push out a baby).

Here are two other things I never want to forget again:
The subtle joys of listening to the small internal voice of sanity.
That big, dramatic production number that is chaotic girlie emotions is such an overwhelming thing to deal with. It’s so easy to let that take over. The small voice of sanity speaks the whole time, and you hear what it’s saying, but it gets drowned out but these loud, messy emotions. You know the voice is only speaking truth, and healthiness, and dignity. But the emotions promise Wagnerian spectacles – and somehow at the time that’s more compelling.
At a certain point, necessity meant paying closer attention to the voice of reason. And I actually did what it said to. And I felt better. And slowly, it got louder, and started to drown out the dramatics. And my life got less tempestuous, and I felt a lot better for it. Does this mean I’m finally growing up?

That good people who like you for who (and what) you are, care about your wellbeing and treat you well are the only people worth sharing time with.
No matter how seductive, exciting, delicious and breathtaking (sometimes that’s fear and not swoony chemistry) someone is, if they don’t act like they give a shit about what is actually good and healthy for you, run like the wind.

Requests and Resolutions

I don't really do New Years resolutions - I ask the Goddess for things I need - then instead of getting them, I am presented with challenges in those area that ultimately force me to develp greater skills and strength to tackle the identified challenges. I've always attributed an impish sense of humour to the deities, so in place of wish fulfillment, I get 'choose your area of difficulty to focus on this year'. I'm actually glad I don't get the rub the genie bottle and get three wishes. There is much more satisfaction in the opportunites for self development.

About 4 years ago I attended a Winter Solstice (Yule) event in Adelaide. Yule marks the end of the old year and onset of the new for Pagans (although we celebrate it in the middle of the calendar year in the Southern hemesphere). We wrote down wishes for the new year on paper, rolled them up and inserted them into holes pre-drilled into the Yule log, which was then put into the fire. I asked for the most relevent thing for my life at the time: an end to my clinical depression. Instead of that occuring without any work from me, pretty soon after that time I embarked on the fateful relationship; the ending of this sparked my recovery (I've posted about this ad nauseum in this blog to date).

At the beginning of 2006 I asked for two things. The first was no more needy people who were unable to demonstrate respect and support for me. So at times I had various hot prospects entering my life who were delightful and attractive, but so messy and unreliable that I had to regretfully put the breaks on. The second thing I asked for was greater assertiveness. So I was presented with a two nasty situations involving sexual harassment this year that I had to manage. Both times were so bizarre and creepy that they forced me to speak up and challenge the dynamic almost immediately.

What I really need to ask for this year is for better money management skills, and better organisational skills. The problem is that I could easily be asking for mounting debt and even more commitments as challenges for me to experiment on. So if I end the year having a nervous breakdown and facing bankrupcy, I'll only have myself to blame.

The joys of Quitting

I've been on patches since Saturday. As usual, when trying to quit smoking, my dream-life becomes vivid, and remarkably filled out. A cast of characters that rather resemble the sexual role call that my life has become over the last 6 weeks or so. On Saturday night I was wearing Mayhem's vulva mask (see her user pic) for at least half of an epic dream that seemed to take hours. My dream imagery is often very unsubtle and unimaginative. It became clear upon waking that this is a comment on my lack of shagging action over the last month, and my feelings in relation to this. Arrggghhhh! You'd think that my subconcious could come up with another metaphor for sexual frustration that walking around with a giant cunt on my head...

Sunday night I was living in a trailer park (is this a statement about my anxiety over the high costs of living in Sydney? Or a reflection of class conflict?) Within the first day of not smoking, my hideous flu returned. Flu-like symptoms are usually associated with detoxing from herion, leaving no illusions about how damned addictive cigarettes are. The good thing about this flu is I'm too busy being sick to notice withdrawl symptoms.

I had a client the other day who seemed to be wishing to help me out with any oral-fixation issues I might have as a result of not smoking- with a 45 minute blow job! Anyway, I clearly don't have any oral fixation issues - thanks Mr Freud (sometimes a cigar is just a cigar). This is a guy who has clearly watched way too much porn.... he seemed to really think that cock sucking would be such a treat for me. It's kinda funny that he picked the dyke top out of the line up. It would've been more fun for me if he wanted to suck my cock.

I'm actually enjoying the detox time. It feels good to release all this stored crap. The timing may seem a little strange, but being away from my non-sex work job for a couple of weeks means that I can be so brain-dead from withdrawl, without it impacting much on me.The thing that concerns me is not drinking, and having such a minimal illicit drug intake, I'll be left with no vices. there is something so smug and puritanical about str8-edge types, I'd hate to resemble them. Quitting feels like another valuable way of demonstrating my commitment to myself.

The Big Reveal

I’ve been out to Hellfire last Friday and to Sly Fox on Wednesday. Hellfire was fun. The last time I went, there was so many sleazy str8 guys wearing street clothes perving on the freaks and scantily clad women that I was a little put off. This time it was much better. Zoo was a beautiful human Christmas tree!

As I’ve been out and about I’ve run into people who I haven’t chatted to much lately, who let me know they’ve been reading this blog, and liking it. It was very nice to get positive feedback, but made me feel oddly vulnerable for a few moments. I’m not under any illusions that what is published in cyberspace is private, and with my activism, outness and performance, I’ve never been someone who exists solely in the private sphere. This blog was never going to be a series of random secrets and bitching. However, I did start thinking about what drives me to be so open and revealing of myself….

An intersex activist in Adelaide was speaking at a Feast forum on sex and gender a few years ago, and talked about how intersex people use their bodies as educational tools when giving others an insight into intersex issues. I thought about that at the time, and I feel that I use my lived experience a lot in making connections with others, increasing awareness about marginalised communities I identify with, and also as a way of offering support and shared experience for those people who have connected/similar happenings in their lives.

How public I am about my sex work/ queerness/ mental health issues is also a way of refusing stigma. I understand why many people can’t be open about these issues. They risk family and friends disowning them, possibly losing jobs or children. However, I can’t help feeling as if silence around this stuff contributes to stigma. Instead of arranging my points of marginalisation so that they fit into a closet and don’t impact on my life, I’ve arranged my life so I don’t have to be closeted. I chose to walk away from my biological family; I’ve chosen to only go for non-sex work jobs that allow me to be out about my work. I’ve tried really hard to keep my life free of bigots.

I’ve spent a lot of time challenging bigots in the public realm, like talk radio debates as an out sex worker with representatives from the Catholic Education Office in SA on sex work law reform. I don’t feel like I can do those things and be fighting the same battles with loved ones. It would just be exhausting. I need to be accepted, nurtured and celebrated in my private world in order to go into battle. I can’t be apologising for who I am, or never debriefing about a hard day, lest it reinforce a negative stereotype. I can’t be managing the embarrassment and discomfort of partners or family while I’m having things shoved up me on stage, or doing some sex positive education session at an event.

I refuse to take on the idea that depression, sex work or queerness are shameful, or need to be hidden. I feel like by my openness and normalising of these qualities must help in normalising them for others. After all, unlike heterosexuality, depression seems both normal and common…. and unlike homosexuality, depression can be cured if you seek support.

I think my approach to changing the world seems to be to imagine a world which feels safe for me and my kin, and live as if it’s already here. Sometimes this technique can hypnotise entire crowds into believing that queer dyke whores with mental health issues are the coolest people in the world. ;)

Spending your life trying desperately for safety and shying away from revealing anything sounds incredibly isolating to me. And far from avoiding stigma, for me it would be a daily reinforcement. However, I try to remember a statistic I heard many years ago – only about 4% of any community are activists. So it makes sense that not everyone has the kind of personality that embraces crusading for liberation at the expense of a truely private life.

If you stumble about Her Royal Whoreness, add a comment please. Tell me what you agree or disagree with. Interactivity is one of the joys of blogging.

You've come a long way baby

I love contradictions. I truly enjoy life’s paradoxes. They keep my mind nimble and open doors to the wonders of the universe and the self. I’ve worked harder and had more responsibility over the last 6 months than ever before.

Since September, I’ve organised a training session involving people from around the country, then a national conference, then promoted and performed in a Debby Doesn’t Do It For Free show, as well as sex working and getting out and about, socialising and participating in community like never before.

In the past if I’d attempted half of this workload, I’d have had to pull out, probably had a nervous breakdown and retired to a darkened room for 6 months.

Right now I’m utterly exhausted, pretty damn broke as even though I’ve been sex working regularly, it’s been hard to focus and have the right energy to get much work, and have had a persistent flu for three weeks. The effects of Kenn’s passing are still quite present for me. Almost every day I’ll get a little teary without even knowing why at the time. The pressure build up from a huge workload has left me a wee bit wobbly and effected my decision making in some areas. I’ve gotten myself involved in weird random flirtations, when I don’t really have the time, energy or inclination for sex. I haven’t always been considerate of or communicated well with women around this stuff.

But this is where the paradox lies – I’m feeling both really drained, but also giddy with joy. I’m so fucking proud of myself for what I have achieved in this time. I’m so pleased that even with my wobbliness and occasional lack of strictly ethical treatment of flirtations and sexual partners; I’ve behaved more ethically towards myself than in recent history. I’ve maintained my single status – I’ve avoided getting involved in doomed relationships with women who are needy but unable to reciprocate my love and support. I’ve proven to myself I’m able to meet huge personal goals. I think this increased strength and independence – along with the ever-present femme nurturing energy (hello June Cleaver) has been part of my increased appeal. My busyness has meant through-the-roof stress levels, skipping meals, sleep deprivation and smoking like a steam train yet in some ways I’m taking better care of myself than ever. My self-valuing continues to skyrocket – so I’m nobody’s doormat.

Losing a friend, colleague and community member has left and aching sadness, coming closely after another personal disappointment – yet I also feel outrageously happy – with myself and my life. Broke, in debt and unable to indulge my shoe habit, yet so very wealthy with my years harvest.

I guess that I’ve always know that life is really hard stuff, and that most of the really worthwhile things are really hard fought for. My self awareness and mental health have been things I’ve pursued with utter single-mindedness and discipline. It really has been like stripping skin away from bones, then regrowing new layers to get here. If I was less prepared for ruthless honesty, really taking a harsh look at bad patterns and sitting with my own shame at some of my behaviour, I never would have come through to this place.

I’ve been accused of thinking too much, pursuing complexity for the sake of it, of being too much of a busy brained analytical nerd. But let me state categorically that the self awareness and resulting psychological/ behavioural shifts have been worth it. Of course, the alternative could be continuing to beat my head against the same brick wall, and then turning around to blame the wall.

I’m feeling like I’m entering the next phase of my life and I’m tingling with excitement at the prospect of brand new adventures. I can guarantee that there will be new battles and stresses and hangovers from old challenges. But there is also so much confidence in my skills and strength to tackle whatever comes my way.

Emerging

I originally started this blog as a way of forcing myself into regular writing practice and a place for some public ranting to ease some of the frustration I feel about the ways of the world – particularly in relation to sex workers. I sometimes feel like it’s ended up being more of a self-help guru than anything else. It feels a bit strange to have ended up in so much ‘I’m okay, you’re okay’ territory, however I guess it makes a lot of sense, the last year has been very much about internal journeying for me…and I feel like I’ve done some really worthwhile inner work. So here I go again.

Some people have asked me how I came out from under the weight of clinical depression. It’s a good question; but I don’t feel like I’ve always been able to answer it with sufficient depth. I have suffered from lifelong minor depression, with major episodes taking up much of the last decade. It’s been huge. I once spent a year in bed. I worked at an escort agency one night a week, which was enough to pay rent, bills and basic food costs. I piled up my cats food and water bowls, and opened the windows for them to wonder in and out at their will, and they could get into bed with me for cuddles when they wanted. I was too exhausted to stand up for longer than a few minutes, and my vision was so badly affected by the depression, I couldn’t even read very much. It was a truly awful time, this was before I was diagnosed and on meds. Things got better after I was on Zoloft, but I spent the last couple of years on the maximum recommended dose, and while I was stable, I was a long way from well. I’ve been off meds entirely since December 2005 and hope I’ll never need them again.

The break up was a bit of a crisis point for me last year, things had got so terrible, I had to ask myself how I had got myself into a position where I was in love with someone who could treat me without respect. It was a big question that took months to really answer. I was also remembering the other really devastating break up I’d been through, when I was about 21, I spent a year breaking up with a partner of four years. From that point my major depression emerged. My last psychiatrist in Adelaide had mentioned that it’s possible to actually die from very severe depression. Aside from obvious suicide risks, when your serotonin is so depleted (serotonin is a neurotransmitter [responsible for passing messages between different parts of the brain] however it also regulates the gastro intestinal tract and other organs with within the body) your organs can simply shut down and you can die. So I was stuck in a new town without many friends, a relationship breaking up, I had to move, and I really needed to continue to work hard as Sydney is so fucking expensive. I was terrified, but I also had to fight for my own life.

We were continuing to cohabit for a miserable month after breaking up. Hideous politeness with moments of pure cruelty as the dam would burst. I was trying to keep it together as much as possible as I still hoped we could be friends at some point, so I didn’t want to break down entirely. I started obsessively doing housework (something I’ve never been good at) as a way of keeping moving and minimising interacting time. Something shifted. Exercise is a key self-help strategy and keeping in constant motion by washing, ironing, etc started to make me feel more in control. She went back to Adelaide for a family event for a weekend, which gave me some respite, and my brain started working again. I was walking home from the brothel I was working at about 6am. I started to feel like I knew how to emerge from this. I consulted some of my depression self help books and started to work out an action plan. It finally clicked into place that many symptoms of depression also prolong the illness.

Depression often means that you have no motivation to leave your house, engaging with the outside world, or interacting with people in a social context. Social contact and feeling a part of a community is a huge part of mental health. Depression tends to slow your whole body down, and motivation around moving at all just isn’t there. Exercise is hugely beneficial around depression – using your body makes a massive difference to your sense of well being and being capable. Statistically these two things make the most difference in terms of wellness and recovery, so these were the major focuses of my action plan. I regularly invited everyone I knew to coffee, dinner, movies. Anyone I met that seemed lovely, I exchanged contact details with, and actually contacted them and continued to build a network. I walked my arse off – sometimes 5 hours, sometimes 7, sometimes 10 hours. Constant walking. After such a convoluted explanation, it’s actually simple. Focus on the symptoms. The fact that it took me about a decade is indicative of what an analytical sausage I am - always trying to dig up the roots of the issue - wanting to lie about on couches and explore family history and dysfunction. Damn it - walking and going out more seemed too simple. Shift the symptoms and you shift the depression. And do all of this as if your life depended on it… because with chronic depression it does.

Mess, Ghosts and Gurlesque

For someone who doesn't drink, I managed to get mighty messy last night. Red food colour stains on my new white Debby Doesn't Do It For Free pencil skirt (note to self: do not sit near stage when wearing white). Glittering pink and luscious red lipstick smears from hello kisses with fabby femmes. Gorgeous white fluffy boudoir slippers with stiletto heels now somewhat the worse for wear after someone dropped a glass of beer near pool table. I'm thinking of only wearing PVC from now on: if the worst happens, someone can turn a garden hose on me.

Worse than my sartorial woes was the feeling all through the night, wherever I turned, of being haunted by the ghosts of relationships past. Even more unsettling than my recent Adelaide adventures, all bar two of the women I've fucked or dated since moving to Sydney were out at the Impy - including the Evil Ex and the Crazy Ex. Clearly it's not necessary to have a near death experience to have your life flash before your eyes - a night out on the Sydney dyke scene ought to do it.

Those women I know who play and date within fairly restricted circles/ communities have my respect for their coping skills in navigating this crazy dance. I certainly wasn't managing well last night - but at the same time, couldn't escape as Disintigrated Debby was performing a piece in the last set of the night. My coping skills have been effected anyway this week, I've been working six days a week at my various jobs since Adelaide, and have had a flu thingie that seems to be going around - so mentally drained and not much immunity at the moment. It's the third time this month I've seen the Evil Ex - who just won't shrivel up and die, damn her. The cheshire cat (I've borrowed this metaphor from Zoo) is someone I've yet to build up immunity to. She still leaves me weak at the knees.

One by one they emerged and had their effect, not all of those I've bonked or dated had an unpleasant sensation attached - it's more the combination of all of them in the one space that was doing my head in. I was so distracted all night, I did little more than perfunctionarily greet several nice people, including a very nice woman I fucked during the last week. I feel ill-mannered and emotionally exhausted. After this Adelaide to Sydney ex-extravaganza - I've been forced to do some journeying into my past choices. Did I really spend five years in a relationship when we had no sexual contact after the first 18 months? Did I really fall madly in love with a woman who wasn't sober during sex for the first 3 months of our relationship, and was a mean and embarrasing drunk? Did I really allow myself to date several people who were ashamed of my dress sense, my sex work and my weirdness? Have I really been desparate enough to put everything into a relationship with a selfish creature who demanded more and more, til I drained myself of everything, only to have her dump me? Ouch!

Most of my risk-taking around my performance, activism, creativity and other choices have paid off. I've grown in strength and wisdom, and have become a more fully realised person. However, my partner choices at times have been truly awful.While my discernment over the last year has gotten better and better, I'm feeling like I should extend my current relationship ban to cover all partner sex for at least a while. I need to feel like my energy is put to best use right now, and my various work and Debbys commitments are overwhelming enough, without adding the sleep deprivation as well as mine and other people's at times unmanageable expectations to the mix. Any free time right now is best spent in self care, sleep and down time at home. At some stage I hope I'll be abe to reconcile some of my past choices - or maybe just know that I've really and truly moved to a healthier place, where I expect more from partners and demonstrate greater self respect in who I let in to my life, my bed, or toilet cubicle.

Disintigrated Debby was absoluely great. I'm so proud of her piece. I love her skill in making a relatively short piece about sex work, while also including other social justice issues. I have yet to achieve this feat in my Debby work. Still just raging away at sex negativity........

My learnings from the night:

• This is not new, but I love, love, love Gurlesque - Sex and Glita do fantastic pieces - witty, intellegent, political, and just silly - it's an amazing sex positive, woman positive forum for emerging performance art you just don't see other places.
• The Debbys are the most sucessful activism I've ever been involved with - creating spaces to celebrate whore culture and community, while inviting non-whores in to be tricked and treated into celebrating whores along with us.
• If you are dating asshole after asshole, there maybe something you need to examine within yourself - it can't all be coincidence.
• There are lots and lots of smart, sexy queer femmes in Sydney who have social consciences - I'm glad I'm getting to know a few of them.
• Never wear white in boozy crowded spaces.
  
  

At Last: a Jane Austen Reference

I started reading Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen, just after the break up with the Evil Ex, while we continued to share a domicile for an excrutiating month before moving out from the house of hideous history. It may seem a little bizarre, but Jane Austen was of immeasurable comfort at a particularly nasty time.

All I had to preserve at that stage was whatever shreds of dignity I could imagine were still about me. I didn't want to collapse in front of the Evil Ex - it took me a few more encounters to truly understand the extent of the evil, so at that stage I was truly concerned about maintaining her respect for me (which wasn't at all evident in her behaviour) and not troubling her overly with guilt as a result of my grieving. Crappy reasons, as they were all about her and not at all about me. Eventually, however, my reasons for my dignity became more about my own self-respect and well being.

I needed to read heaps - even more than usual - at that time as I certainly wasn't sleeping well. So the classics it was. What emerged from Sense and Sensibility was a value system that said emotionally bleeding all over the shop and wallowing in self-pity would make you very ill, would set tongues wagging, ruin your reputation and your chances of catching yourself a husband; whereas maintaining self-composure, valuing other aspects of your life, such as friends and family and trying as much as possible to go about your daily activities was the path to contentment, inner peace and would create less regret in the long run.

I really connected with this stuff. Obviously, you have to put it all in the context of the era it was written. Unmarried women couldn't spend very much time with any man they weren't related to without causing comment, and couldn't express any interest in any man unless he had already proposed, without endangering their reputation. A lot of this seems like lunacy and is certainly wildly restrictive, and doesn't bode well for happy marriages, as it totally rests on male relatives being able to find out as much as they can about a guy's reputation and wealth, and basing the decision to marry on whether he has seemed to be respectable and has the means to support you. As Charlotte Lucas, from Pride and Prejudice thought, "Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was the only honorable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantness preservative from want."

The idea of the lady has always revolted me. However much fun for dress ups and role play crinolines and corsetry are, the emotional equivalent - restricted range of movement, not having a voice, all helplessness and breathiness and no self-direction, no strength and no capacity for assertiveness - is just stifling and without the potential for erotisisation (for me anyway). However, the Austen-approved virtues of self control and not letting your stuff hang out in public makes a lot of sense to me. It may seem like a weird comment to post in a blog of all places, but the reality TV/ talk show culture of public confession is freaking me out just a little. I am increasingly disturbed by the celebration of messiness and careening out of control in public. I think women in particular lose respect and credibility by these displays.

By all means, I think life throws up extraordinarily painful episodes that really tax our ability to keep it all together. I think working through issues can take time and effort and sometimes going back over the same ground. the universe has a habit of repeating a lesson over and over until you finally get it. Crying on the shoulders of close and trusted friends is to be recommended, as is going into therapy, journaling and anything else that will get you through. I just don't think self-destructing in public is a great idea or doing it around the-one-that-broke-your-heart or others who clearly don't have your best interests at heart. I think doing all you can to examine where your own patterns have contributed is immensely dignified and rewarding. I also believe strongly in moving forward with your own day to day life and trusting that if you keep putting one foot in front of the other that it will get easier with time. Trying your absolute hardest to not continuously obsess about whatever is making you miserable - as impossible as it sounds - is worth persevering with. I have found saying affirmations such as, 'and this too will pass' and 'I am a strong, gorgeous, dynamic goddess who will live and breathe success and will continue making the world a better place by my awesome presence' while wearing particularly high stilettos and very red lipstick to be very helpful.

More tools for the toolkit - or in my case handbag

I've continued to have various conversations with queer women about relationship dramas; about why we do what we do - over-commit, under-value ourselves and set ourselves up as the president of our partner's fanclub - regardless of the fact that they may not be nearly fabulous enough to keep company with our amazing queer girl selves...I thought I'd share some more thoughts - some gained through therapy, some just through my own digging about.

1. If they tell you they can't do relationships right now, or that they aren't emotionally available - they mean it! They are giving you all the information right then and there! Thank them and LISTEN! If you are up for casual play with an uncertain expiry date, then by all means, have fun - but if not, or if you change your mind at a certain point, run like the wind in another direction. If someone has told you they aren't looking for a relationship right now, and you get involved and expect them to change their mind, you have no right to get angry if they don't. You can be disappointed, sad and wallow all you like, but it's not fair to get angry coz someone doesn't want the same things you do.

2. I've learn recently that I have put past partners on pedestals, looking through rose coloured glasses, and then, I put so much love and care into that person, supporting them in everything they do in the hopes of them putting me on a pedestal in their lives. How deeply manipulative are the arts of default femininity.We are trained to do this as women, of course, but really, isn't it creepy and passive-aggressive? Instead of admitting vulnerability and need, and just asking to be loved and nurtured in the way I want to be; becoming indispensable, being so much more unselfish and supportive than any previous partner in order to win love, adoration and gratitude from a partner, in order to addict them as much as I am addicted to the warm-and-fuzzy relationship rush..... Eeewwww.I kinda knew about this dynamic for a long time, but making a connection with how manipulative and unethical it is spurs on my efforts to unlearn this toxic sludge.Which harks back to my earlier words... love yourself as you would a partner. Work out what kind of supports and caring you get from relationships and start practicing them on yourself. Invest all that love energy on yourself and your own life. Buy your own damn flowers.... take yourself to dinner and a movie..... become president of your own fan club.... write lists of all your best qualities (see if you can come up with at least 100)....... masturbate every day at least twice....... congratulate yourself whenever you demonstrate self-valuing behaviour or assertiveness...... ask for what you want. It is only the under-resourced, the trapped and the needy that need to manipulate others. If you fill yourself full to the brim with self-value, and resource yourself by practicing assertiveness you won't need to manipulate. If you treat yourself well enough, you won't be so needy as to fall into an incompatible relationship and have to twist it around until it fits.

3. Ultimately, you have very little control over the actions of another person. You can't trick, force or convince someone to love you, to treat you better or to meet your needs. Save gifts, letters explaining your point of view and why change needs to happen, flattery, post-break up sex designed to erase all memory of the break up. Invest that energy instead into walking away with as much grace and dignity as possible (not for them, who cares what they think - but for you so you'll have less to cringe over later), and putting into self care.

4. Remember that romantic relationships are one aspect of your life.... being single is not a death sentence. There is so much else going on in your life, or should be. Relying on a partner to fill up an otherwise empty life is also a bit creepy, and applies way too much pressure on them.

A Fine Romance...

I've been single for a whole year now. And I intend to be single for a good period of time still. I have a pattern when a significant relationship ends... I crawl into a hole and die for a while... spend some time grieving.... spend a short period of time shagging madly.... then fall madly in love and build (my version of) a white picket fence all over again and start playing wifey. My version of wifey is a very queer version - negotiated non-monogamy, sex work and kink - but I'll still bake cookies.

I'm currently wanting to extend my madly shagging period for as long as is possible, in order to spend as much time unlearning ingrained relationship behaviours that I can. I've spoken to several friends about these issues, and (I don't know whether to be glad about this or not) it's not just me. No matter how queer we all are, how feminist, how into alternative relationship models - the Hallmark sentiments still resonate with many, many queer women.

Still over-looking obvious issues with a partner or prospective partner's character. Still valuing a partner or prospective partner's interests, goals and needs over our own. Still putting the 'relationship' in a central place in our lives, and putting more energy into it than our careers, hobbies or passions. Still changing or downplaying our uniqueness or things that are ordinarily of huge importance to us in order to not freak out a partner or prospective partner. Still feeling completely wrecked when relationships end.

How many women (regardless of their sexuality) put the same amount of passion and energy into their jobs as they do their relationships? If more of us did - we could well be running the world by now - rather than just shouldering the world (Atlas was a Titan in Greek mythology, who as a punishment held the world on his shoulders - I never really bought the idea that a male was really in that position - it's usually a woman holding up more than her fair share of the world). Queer women may have particular issues that cause us to over-devote to relationships. Mental health issues are rife within the queer community (an affect of stigma), and our partners may be particularly needy as a result. Some of us have genderqueer , transgender or intersex partners, who may need special support. Often isolation and stigma that we are experiencing may mean relationships and the intimacy experienced in them may be especially important to us.

And let's face it - regardless of who you are - how many healthy relationship models are you presented with? Popular culture is full of knight-on-a-white-horse riding in to save you from the mundane images. "I'm nothing without you"; "I'd die if you left me".

I'm really interested at the moment in the idea that you can focus on changing behaviour and the attitude shift will follow. So one of the things I'm finding helpful right now is paying attention to other areas of my life - my work, projects, friendships and spirituality. This means that I'm not allowing any room for romance to rear it's head, and if anyone appears who has enough amazing qualities to tempt me in that area, hopefully, I'll only have so much time to squeeze them in. Spending time living alone and pursuing my interests and goals has made me a happier, more fulfilled person with better self-esteem. I'm less needy because I know how to meet my own needs. I'm laughing more, I'm more playful and more relaxed than I ever was in those unsatisfying, unbalanced and controlling relationships. I'm so proud of myself for tackling depression head-on and making amazing in-roads - all because I could devote all my time, energy and motivation to my own wellness.

I guess what I'm saying is that a happy, busy person is less likely to put her whole self in to a relationship - particularly a unsatisfactory one. Someone who demonstrates tremendous self-care and self-valuing is less likely to lose her sense of self by being too much of a care-taker in an unequal relationship. And instead of rescuing our partners - how exciting would it be if we could rescue ourselves?