Maybe I Wanna Be a Whore Today and a Dom on Friday

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We've been handed labels our entire lives. Roles we're supposed to play. Scripts we're supposed to memorize. And somewhere along the way, we forgot we could improvise. Maybe I wanna be a whore today and a dom on Friday. Maybe I've earned that right. I have four children. Three grandbabies. I've lived my life. Did what I was supposed to. Clocked the clock. Have my annual 29th birthday every year. And you know what? I didn't have my first real, earth-shattering orgasm until after I was 35. Yeah. Get over it, gentlemen. Those were fake. Fluffed your ego a little bit.— Some of you should have just known, fr.

The Roles We Learn to Play

There are names for what we do. Clinical terms. Relationship taxonomies. Power dynamics. Someone somewhere decided to catalog every way we twist ourselves into shapes that don't fit

The Chaser. The one who over-invests. Mistakes anxiety for chemistry. That was me. Starved for love. Jumping from relationship to relationship because I didn't know how to be alone.

The Performer. The one who fakes it. Literally. I didn't have anyone telling me it was okay to express myself. What was safe, what wasn't. Just an every-now-and-then adult making cracks here and there. So I learned to perform. And I was good at it. At the time, I didn't even know I was performing. But looking back at the pictures, telling the stories, figuring out my shit now that I'm due for a grand midlife crisis? Yeah. I was most definitely performing

The Codependent. They defined me. My relationships were my identity. Being alone created a depression, an anxiety in my system. I would binge. Self-sabotage. Jesus, that Jenni. I thought she was cute. But looking back? WTF.

WDon't get me wrong—I liked it. It felt good. But where were the damn fireworks?.

The Shame That Kept Me There

You don't need a person to define you. You don't need a relationship to validate your existence.

My childhood? I looked for love wherever I could get it. I was starved for it.

My relationships? I didn't know how to exist outside of them.

I've cheated. I've been cheated on. I performed in every single one. Mostly because I wasn't satisfied, or I was bored. Something was missing ... my voice.

And no one—not one person—told me that was optional.p>

No one told me I could ask for what I actually wanted. No one told me my body knew things my brain hadn't caught up to yet. No one told me that desire without shame was even possible.

So I kept playing the roles. The good girl. The wild one. The caretaker. The cool girl who didn't need anything. The one who was "low maintenance" because asking for more felt dangerous.

Here's the Thing

I can't just "be" with someone. I have to have something click.

You're hot? Good start. Too bad for you, you have a shitty personality. She just won't work. And she'll let you know. Not my fault—she's got a mind of her own.

You got some hot-ass arms? Brownie points.

Can make me laugh? Remember what I said yesterday? Actually "hear" me? We could probably find a deserted gravel road to get into trouble.

But if there's no click? If my body doesn't say yes before my brain even finishes the thought? Then it doesn't matter how good you look on paper. It doesn't matter if you check every box. She knows. And she's not interested.

The Blue Waffle Incident

Raising my daughter, I told her her hooha would fall out if she put it out there all over the place.

After plenty of eye rolls and a few years, she very dryly told me that it was scientifically impossible for your vagina to fall out.

My response? "Girl, you better go talk to that lil Blue Waffle over there—she be walkin' hers around on a leash."

I ruined her.

A. I'm not allowed to call people Blue Waffle anymore.

(But I also wasn't allowed to stand on paint cans on the staircase either, and I still did.).

Fuck the Labels

Here's what I know now:

Those roles? The Chaser, the Performer, the Codependent, the Over-Giver, the Withholder, the Regulator? They're not personalities. They're positions. And positions can change the moment you stop playing.

I'm not broken because I want intensity one day and softness the next. I'm not confused because I can be a caretaker in the morning and want to be taken care of at night. I'm not "too much" because I know what I want and I'm not afraid to say it anymore.

Maybe I wanna be a whore today and a dom on Friday. Maybe I want to be soft on Sunday morning and feral by Tuesday night. Maybe I've lived long enough to know that I contain multitudes, and none of them need your permission.

You don't get to define me anymore.

I do.

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The Invitation

If you've been performing, you already know it. Your body knows it. That tightness in your chest when you say yes but mean no. That flatness during intimacy when you're doing what you think you're supposed to instead of what you actually want.

You're allowed to stop.

You're allowed to be messy and specific and contradictory. You're allowed to want things that don't fit the script. You're allowed to change your mind. You're allowed to say, "I was that role, and now I'm not."

The labels don't own you. The shame doesn't own you.

You do.

Want the worksheets? The checklists? The tools to figure out which roles you've been playing and which ones you're ready to burn?

Leave a comment below with your email and I'll send the links.

Or just sit with this. Let it land. Let yourself feel whatever comes up.

Because the first step to owning your desires is admitting you have them.

And you do.p>