I had a kinda heart-stabbing realization today.

Ok, this is actually lame. . .probably.

After leaving my ex husband a year ago, I've been on a great rollercoaster of casual dating. Both men and women. And through that I uncovered my insane attraction to women and compulsory attraction to men.

But. . .the thought of sharing my space--one that I've so carefully curated to be as stress free as possible--fills me with abject horror. And that's not really healthy.

I'm peeling back the layers of myself and finding a lot of rotten onion, my dudes.

Im so much more vulnerable to the opinions and judgement of women. I don't know why my brain is sexist in this way. It's on the list of things to sort out. But, when I picture a woman sharing my space I feel a sense of panic. Like, what if she looks at my depression mess with disgust? What if she hates the way my drawers are organized? What if what if what if?? It's. . .icky. And I don't know what to do about it.