I am the most powerful demographic in the world, not the most privileged. Close though (cue the white male), but I am by far the most powerful. My white privilege and pussy power is a more dangerous combo than the #10 large value meal at the most popular fast food chain in the world.
My ability to manipulate and sway the decision of any male is not just present, it’s manifested into the culture I have been raised by and embedded into a society that’s attempted to mute my gender. Women may be physically weaker than men but we are survivors, mentally stronger tenfold and while we shouldn’t fear survivors, we always tend do. To be a man in this society is to be threatened by women.
I am 38 years old, which means I’m more full of wisdom than let’s say someone 10 years my junior, that is if I’ve turned my struggles into lessons learned. I am an educated white woman, which is never good for the white man or men in general. I live in Southern California, the land-ish of opportunity in our modern day time for any minority; racially or socially, which isn’t saying much. And I am awake-ish. I add the “ish” because I’m a work in progress and will always have the privilege of experiencing this life from the seat of my whiteness.
This combination of wisdom, education, confidence and awareness doesn’t bode well for anyone trying to control me. It will always feel like I expect too much of people because I know everyone (for the most part) is capable, especially myself. But I have power and I can use it for good or evil. All I have to do is decide.
I had a run in with an 80-something year old, billionaire white man last year who will remain nameless because another rich, white man does not need the spotlight. We met at a high end restaurant where he attempted to coax me into buying the dream he was selling. Not only did he want to throw me on his private jet in the coming weeks to take me across the world, he wanted to have me over to his multi-million dollar home the following evening to have his chef cook me dinner while my sons ran around his front yard, the shore of the Pacific Ocean. He also alluded to a life, debt free if I committed to a life of making him the happiest man in the world and becoming his toy. My sexual orientation and intact moral compass affected his plan. He dismissed my gayness by saying we could work on a “boy-girl” relationship and he was sure I’d come around eventually since I’ve obviously “liked” sex with a man before. He said, “the proof is in the children.”
Needless to say, I did not come around. I never spoke to him again. I could have manipulated and schemed this man into doing anything I wanted. I realize that power. I could have had a life full of physical, material things that were gained by manipulation and greed, not to mention a huge lack of self-worth on my part, but that’s not me by a long shot.
I did however fall into the arms of a biracial, fine ass black woman months later. If I wanted what most saw as an easy way out, I would have run off with grandpa, but I’m true to my word when I say, nothing worth having comes easy. I wanted to learn and grow and evolve. I wanted to lean into my desires more than I’ve allowed myself in the past.
At the time we met, I had recently become very aware of my privilege and power and wanted to use it in ways that were less selfish and less self-serving than what I’d been conditioned to do. I entered into the most difficult relationship of my life with a black woman, the most courageous survivor there ever was or will be.
We’ve officially been in a relationship for 7 months, to the day actually. We’ve technically known each other for 9 months and she’s had my heart in this life for 38 years, 4 months and 5 days. It just took me a while to find her. She’s my other half, the piece that completes me. She’s my conscience and my heart. She fully encompasses my heart in a way only someone you’ve been surviving this life to find can do. Sounds so beautiful but it’s been messy and a shit show and more messy and hard and exhausting and yes, also beautiful, too.
I’m the first one to point out the difficulty in anything because I don’t think we talk about it enough. We are a culture based on image and that makes my skin crawl. I can’t relate to perfect people with perfect families or perfect lives because that means I’m dealing with liars. No one and no thing is perfect. I like to be transparent and just tell it like it is. And it’s been fucking HARD to be in a relationship that teaches me so much about myself and our fucked up world each day. But I wouldn’t want any other woman or relationship to teach me these things.
We entered our relationship at the beginning of a worldwide pandemic, then dealt with a ton of judgment from people in her life because she popped up with a white woman on her arm, five years her senior. We then experienced and still are experiencing an awakening on racism and also a political shit-storm that could prevent us from legally having the same rights as heterosexual couples and a million other adversities that may affect us or may not. What a time to be alive and what a fucking time to enter into THIS relationship of all relationships.
It’s poetic in the most fucked up of ways. But we know this was meant for us to experience together.
My girlfriend Shyla, myself and her best friend, Breana have been house hunting for about a month now. It’s been one of the most eye opening experiences of my life. We have been discriminated against due to our sexual orientation and unsurprisingly, Shyla and Breana’s skin color.
When we venture out in public together, Shyla and Breana default to me to speak for all of us, walk in front of them and lead us into establishments and interactions with basically anyone. I always understood the why behind it but never experienced the why, until now. It’s safer for me to initiate any and all interaction. I’m the white representative or co-signer that steps forward and metaphorically says, we come in peace.
House hunting has been anything but easy. We have been looked at sideways as to why three women, two being of color, want to live in a home together along with two children that are half Asian. If I could put the looks into words, they’d read, “What the FUCK is going on here?!”
At a glance, one might sense that Shyla and Breana are both gay women; they are more masculinely dressed much of the time. One glance at me and one might think I’m the feminine barbie doll without a brain that is here to serve and pleasure the male specie.
We’ve been asked directly by one property owner what exactly is “going on.” When we looked back in confusion, we realized he wanted to know what sort of dynamic was happening amongst the three of us. I can only imagine the thoughts he was having about us. Meanwhile, we struggled to fathom the disrespect and blatant discrimination that was going down. This specific man told us we “had the house” since we were the first to apply and he actually handed us the lease to go over and take home. That is until he realized we were three gay women, two of whom were in a relationship together. We didn’t get the house and there wasn’t one goddamn good explanation as to why except that he chose a nuclear, traditional family over ours.
Thanks you fucking dick.
We had several of these scenarios play out in one fashion or another and it truly had me exhausted. Fucking exhausted. Did you hear me? I said I’M EXHAUSTED! HAHAHAHA! ME! The WHITE woman is exhausted!!!!!!! This entire little experience of looking for a home, something that came so easy to me normally was a fucking STRUGGLE. I’m the person who is used to walking into anywhere and getting the job right away, getting the house immediately and being ACCEPTED. I am getting the TINIEST taste of what my girlfriend and Breana go through every fucking day of their lives. From being seated at a restaurant to driving down the street to taking a jog in broad daylight to going to 20 job interviews to finding a home! Every time they leave the mother fucking house, they wonder if they’ll return.
THIS IS NOT OK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And yet I’m here screaming this because I am experiencing it for the first time. How sad that I am so enraged because I am experiencing it along side them and really in a second degree fashion. But because I consider us “one” and I’m affected, I’m enraged. I AM AWARE OF HOW CRAZY AND IGNORANT THIS SOUNDS! But I am going to be one hundred percent transparent with my growth and experiences. This shit is WILD and NOT OK.
I am angry.
If I could use crossing a busy road as a metaphor for life, I would say this. As a privileged, gay, white woman, there are a few bicyclist on my two lane road that are going a little faster than they should so I stop and wait for them to pass. Some aren’t staying in their lane and that’s frustrating but I’ll still get across easily and without pause. The crossing guards are here to help me. So respectful! There are no cars or trucks as far as I can see and I swiftly make it to the other side with ease and barely break a sweat. Ah, that was easy, what’s next?
A gay, black woman would be stupid to cross the street the way I just did, because she has semi trucks doing 90 on a five lane highway and drunk drivers swerving into every lane. There are no stop lights, surely no crossing guards and her life is at stake even while she waits on the curb because people are seeking to hurt her. No one is concerned about her safety and it shows. She is in NO WAY going to make it to the other side unscathed, untouched, or possibly even alive. She’s exhausted at the sight. She’s terrified. This is the scariest place in the world.
This is the reality of her LIFE.
She is EXHAUSTED.
She is a SURVIVOR.
I have taken a very short trip across the busy road with the beautiful and courageous black women in my life. It’s been sad and scary and angsty and anxiety provoking. And all we wanted to do was find a house to live in together. The problem is, the crossing guards are willing to walk me back to safety while leaving them in the middle of the goddamn highway.
It’s tragic. And yet it’s just another mother fucking Tuesday for them.