Phew. So March was a doozy of a month, usually one I’m not particularly fond of for many reasons anyway, but mother nature made it her business to really dig around for the rest of my spoons and leave me flailing on autopilot. March is the time of the year I lost all of my grandmothers, the time of the year my poly triad began falling apart, the time of the year I asked Mike to move out, and also my birthday, which contrary to what you might think, is not the happiest of days. March also decided to pack in Easter at its tail end, which was a nice punctuation to begin April anew with cherished friends, family, and happier traditions (like our yonic/phallic bunny ear candle centerpiece).
This particular March also displaced me from my home four separate times after power outages lasting sometimes up to a week. It put my job in jeopardy and reminded me of how desperately I need to move out of my once beloved apartment in Long Valley. I can’t hide in the woods forever, and I’ve avoided much of social media (at least more than usual). Mike and I are seeing less of each other due to our busy work schedules, and I am constantly having the existential crisis of “what the fuck am I doing with my life?”
Running group psychoeducational sessions twice a week, I often hear clients ask me why I don’t do more with my Masters’ Degrees and seasoned experiences in the field of sexuality. I don’t know what to tell them. I’m stuck? I’m not reaching out? I’m not pushing myself hard enough and getting my name out there, showing the world what I do and the wonderful things I’m capable of? I remember when I first created my Trans and Gender Non-Conforming group sessions at the NJ Center for Sex Therapy and my mentor, Dr. Christine Hyde, told me that by not charging enough, it comes off as though I don’t value my work. Even now, one of the biggest struggles we have at Masakhane is how much to charge for our workshops when we’ve spent 10 years offering them for free. And like I tell Stephanie, it’s time to monetize.
This blog started on the basic principle that I wouldn’t affiliate or ask for sponsors. Not because I was better or different than paid bloggers, but because I honestly didn’t want to make the effort. I’ve all but alienated a lot of my sex blogging community and although I promote my blog, it’s often as an afterthought to the other things I do in sex education. I just downloaded JoEllen Notte’s “Will Work For Sponsorship” class and holy fuck am I overwhelmed. I remember when I took her and Epiphora’s Business of Blogging class I felt electrified, motivated to write with a new force and intention, soaking up the material like a sponge. It’s what I do: I learn and retain, I teach and interact.
But I am incredibly shitty at promoting. Seeing how complicated sponsorship can be (at least for my brain-thinking), I’m left struggling, wanting someone in the community to hold my hand, tell me this is still worth doing and that it is absolutely worth getting paid for. I used to be elated to get free toys, telling myself that a free toy in exchange for a review was compensation enough. But it’s not. It’s not feeding my cat. It’s not paying my rent. An orgasm is great and toys are transformative, but they are not going to cover my health insurance. Some days I look up the ladder and see how far I need to climb before I feel established in my various fields of work. Some days I look down and see how far I’ve come, how many years I’ve put into this evolving field and how many amazing people I’ve met along the way.
I’ve delayed writing reviews lately. Different companies provided me with free toys of my choosing and have been checking in to ask when my reviews will be up. Combining my paid job of teaching wellness with the volunteering hours I put in at Masakhane, PLUS the demon month March has been, reviewing toys has been hanging over my head as an unchecked obligation. It’s beginning to seem unrealistic to continue reviewing toys for free. I cherish my collection and out of ethics, there are definitely companies I would happily endorse in activist solidarity…but I know someone out there must want to buy my reviews.
How is it I just discovered @ThePalimpsex blog? Great #sextoy content and fine writing quality. https://t.co/2kjolwbzAm.
— Joan Price (@JoanPrice) December 17, 2016
I still remember the day Joan Price tweeted about the quality of my writing. How two sentences validated so much. One, that yes, my writing IS fucking good and it had better be because I’ve gone through two Masters’ degrees, various honor societies, AND been published, but two, that she’d only just heard of my blog. I know I’m no social media maven; most of my Instagram posts are of cats and food. Twitter gives me straight up anxiety, and with the shadowbanning and increasingly shitty state the country is enduring, I find more self-care in avoiding Twitter altogether. It’s a dilemma for sure. I know I need to put in the effort for the sake of my own visibility and support others in the process, but I also fear for my own mental status.
I can’t seem to find a balance, even if my personal life is just now beginning to find its own equlibrium. I know none of it is separable, and I wonder how much energy I’ve actually spent trying to parse it all out. I know I need some form of organization to manage my goals, but I haven’t figured out exactly what that looks like for me. So now, with all that being said, the post below is a review which I’ve been meaning to get to for months, and in a way, it has inspired me to get my ass in gear. Maybe this year I go back to Woodhull. I think it’s time.
