On Dying for Sex, living for female horniness and the impossibility of healing a man's pain with a woman's hope

because paradigms aren't going to shift themselves

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I had just finished Love on the Spectrum with my daughters when I started Dying for Sex with myself and I had not anticipated the one two punch of insatiable women but alas, boom and boom.

This matters because women who choose the love they have for themselves over the love they get from men are seldom acknowledged, let alone embraced for these choices by friends, family and the culture at large. But in both shows, two horny women left ‘good’ men who adored them but were unwilling to… sexualize them. And while their reasons and obligations were different, the same message was sent to audiences. It’s okay to leave a ‘good’ man who ‘loves you’ if he doesn’t make you feel the way you want to feel.

This is not the happy ending most little girls are modeled — specifically women of my generation who came of age at the intersection of Disney Princess Blvd and 90s-slut-shame Ave — but it is the most potent one to witness at an age when you fucking get it.

Every woman my age and before me was culturally conditioned to believe that a girl should do whatever it takes for a boy to love her, even if that means never getting what she wants from that love. Or worse, never knowing what she wants because the kind of love she was advertised was purchased with the performance she was rehearsing since early childhood.

So many women, with or without children, think it’s our job to mother the world without reciprocation. Hoping for it, sure. Straining toward it, yes. But nonetheless tolerating a world where a woman’s care will be thankless and a man’s care will be… ego driven.

We are a generation of Chelseas — trying to fix broken men before dying in their crossfire. And as a recovering Chelsea, I see you fellow Chelseas! I SEE YOU AND AM WAVING TO YOU FROM SHORE BECAUSE YOU WERE NEVER GOING TO WIN THIS BATTLE I’M SO SORRY TO SAY!

So whenever a woman represents a very different archetype, I celebrate by crying, followed by public celebration.

EVERY TIME A WOMAN GASSES UP ANOTHER WOMAN FOR DOING SOMETHING SHE EXPECTS TO BE SHAMED FOR, THE CONVERSATION EXPANDS AND WOMEN GET FREE. One woman, two women… a thousand... It doesn’t matter how many but I swear to fucking god, it’s true.

THERE IS SO MUCH POWER IN TELLING A LOVE STORY THAT CENTERS A WOMAN’S DESIRE as opposed to her willingness to compromise her needs in order to sustain a relationship. EVEN when that relationship is with a good man.

Better to be horny and alone than horny with someone who does not take your horniness seriously. More than that though, women are conditioned to compromise for men, and when they don’t, knowing they will be met with criticism for being selfish — I feel like my sports team won.

Because I know how powerful it is for other women to be modeled ‘selfishness.’ I have watched these stories heal, help and give women permission to do and be the same.

What I loved about Dani’s storyline in Love On the Spectrum is that it told the kind of love story that gets too easily overlooked — the type where instead of compromising, two people advocate for their VERY DIFFERENT NEEDS and break each other’s hearts in the process.

One day I hope we can feel as moved by that moment as we do when Abby serenades David. Because BOTH are equally worthy, paradigm-shifting love stories.

I had high expectations for Dying for Sex because I knew the story and felt very connected to it for obvious reasons. Spiritually I have the words DEATH and SEX tattooed to my knuckles — their relationship to one another, undeniable, inseparable.

If you are new to the braid and haven’t read my book, All of This, I wrote about the intersection of death and sex as a former wife and complicated widow. I also wrote about how, if the roles were reversed and I was the one diagnosed with stage four terminal cancer, I would have pulled a Molly and left.

I would have chosen friends and family to take care of me which made me realize how heartbreakingly telling that was of my marriage. But also, I was always a caretaker and he was not. He knew I would give him a good death and I did. Because death was never something I was afraid of and I realized as he was dying that that was our most fundamental difference.

We saw the world from two completely different angles. Reacted to life and all of its stresses in diametrically opposed ways. We experienced relationships differently, emoted differently, communicated like two people who never learned the other’s language.

Hope is a great caretaker for Pain, as we all know. Pain, though, is not so great at taking care of Hope.