I spend a lot of time in this column reflecting on the mistakes of other people, always focusing on what everyone else does wrong. This week, I wanted to flip the lens and self-reflect — something equally important but not nearly as fun. I have to practice what I preach, because otherwise this column would be 95 percent hypocrisy.
To my readers, I confess. Forgive me, for I have sinned. As shocking as it may be considering the self-righteous tone of this column, I am also not perfect. I’m stepping off of my soap box and placing myself under the critical eye. In truth, in someone else’s story, I’m the dick who hurt them, and in all honesty, it’s rightfully deserved.
I’ve slut shamed, I’ve ghosted, I’ve rejected and I’ve psychoanalyzed people to their face. I’ve been the girl they tell you not to worry about, but that you should really worry about. The girl who leads you on. The one that avoids and ignores. The gaslighter. Yes, I knew how you felt, but thought it was easier to ignore it. I’ve been mean and reckless with others’ feelings. I’ve been cowardly, and frankly a bitch. I’m sure I’ve been described that way at least one or two times. I’m not perfect, nor do I claim to be, but I could definitely continue to try to be better.
Hiding under my pseudonym and my near certainty that these people will never read this, I confess. I’m sorry. I was careless with your feelings and in many instances maybe even mean. I allowed my insecurities to guide my behavior, and am genuinely sorry. I repent and I reflect. I may look like I was a high school bully, but I don’t want to be one. Love, sex and life are hard, but there is always room for improvement.
To one of my best friends: we have moved past it now, but I’m sorry if you ever felt that I slut shamed you. The lesson I learned was that different strokes for different folks doesn’t just apply to ice cream flavors, but views on sex. For some, sex is like a friendly game of tennis, just a pleasurable activity on a Sunday afternoon. For others, it is the most divine act connecting you to the divine and your partner. I didn’t see that at the time, but now I do. Your view of sex and love is your choice. I put my own weird defense mechanisms and perspective about sex onto you and that’s not fair. You did absolutely nothing wrong and I should have never made you feel like you did.
To the many I’ve ghosted, I repent. I’m sorry I couldn’t grow a big enough vagina (balls are an understatement — vaginas push out 10 pound babies) to tell you that I wasn’t interested; rather than have the direct conversation I avoided you because it was easier. Most of you deserved better. One or two of you definitely did not. But, the truth is, rejection is a harder pill to swallow when it isn’t given with respect. You deserved to be respected.
To the one I psychoanalyzed to your face, you were being a dick, but I should have just walked away and given a polite “fuck you.” We have spoken and have apologized since, but I’m sorry. It wasn’t my job or my place to tell you what is wrong with you.
When we put ourselves in vulnerable positions and things go wrong, we tend to vilify other people. We forget that there are three sides to every story. Yours, mine and the truth. I realize that in most situations, no one is 100 percent the victim or 100 percent the perpetuator. Sex is complicated, and dealing with other people’s feelings and emotions requires a gentle touch. We must consider the feelings of others as much as we consider our own. We have to communicate and be honest while also being kind. So, readers of Sex of Thursday, please forgive me, for I have sinned. There are no Hail Mary’s in this confession, so I’ll stick to kegels of repentance.
Girl With No Game is a student at Cornell University. Comments can be sent to [email protected] The Sexless Sex Column runs during alternate Sex on Thursdays this semester.