Becoming myself – thanks to you

This is going to be a short one because I don’t have a lot of time and I wanted to put some thoughts down for Wicked Wednesday. I am because we are is the theme for this week and, as you may have guessed, I have a few things to say about this.

I’m sure a lot of people will take this theme and extol the amazing virtues of their loved ones. And there is nothing wrong with that. We often are shaped by the ones closest to us: our parents, our partners. And it’s not that my partner hasn’t shaped me in some way but in others, not so much. When we first got married, I had this idea that I had to agree with my husband on everything. Whatever he liked, I endeavoured to like as well. And if I had a hobby he wasn’t really into, I quickly stopped having that hobby.

I want to point out here that this was in no way my partner’s doing. He had no idea I was aligning myself with him to the point of erasing who I really was. Especially in the busy years of raising kids and going through post-graduate education, there wasn’t much time for hobbies anyway. I dabbled in writing, but never really took the time to be serious about it.

When I joined the sex blogging community about three years ago, it was as if I was finally home. I felt like I had finally found the place where I belonged. Over the years, I was becoming myself again – relearning what it was that made me tick all those years ago. Learning what my interests – no, passions – were. My partner was delighted with these new developments. He loved seeing me blossom and getting more serious about my dreams. He has been nothing but supportive about everything, even if it meant me going away on weekend conferences.

I am because we are. We, the sex blogging community. You all welcomed me with open arms when I was just a baby blogger. I was just talking about my rocky start in last week’s Wicked Wednesday post. But it hasn’t just been rocky. Thanks to the sex blogging community I have come to see my own privilege, my own subconscious bias. I have developed to become a more inclusive and sensitive person, and although I still have a long way to go on that road, I am so thankful that my eyes have been opened.

I am a kinder person than I was before I started blogging about sex. Kinder and more patient. I am much more tolerant and I make more of an effort to understand others. Especially when those others are very different than me. I am also a better mom to my sons, raising them in a non-toxic way and ensuring that they respect women. I know more about consent and am able to teach my kids effectively how to be a caring person in their own right. They are still (pre-)teens, but that kind of learning can’t start soon enough.

I am becoming myself thanks to all of you. I may sometimes feel frustrated at the lack of traffic to my blog (although that is increasing) or the lack of interest in my book, but when I think about how far I have come since I started blogging, I’m amazed. I am so grateful to all of you for helping me become myself.

I realise I haven’t written a lot of sexy blog posts recently, but I promise I will fling some erotica up on the blog again soon. Just bear with me.

The Insatiable Jane Travers

Would you choose a stable marriage over a lifetime of excitement? What if you could have it both?

It’s the roaring twenties.

Naive virgin Jane Travers arrives at her friend’s country home hoping to spend a summer away from her strict aunt and uncle in New York. She’s been promised wild parties and endless excitement, but she soon finds herself in over her head. With the help of the sexy singer Lillian Smith, and her old flame Sidney Fitzroy, Jane starts to explore her sexuality, blossoming from an innocent virgin to an insatiable vixen.

With Sidney and Lillian both satisfying her deepest desires, Jane cannot imagine ever going back to her aunt and uncle’s restrictive household. But without an income of her own, her only escape is marriage. Sidney can offer her a stable life as a married woman, but with Lillian, she’d have a lifetime of excitement.

How can she choose when her heart—and body—belongs to both of them?