Redemption through Women’s Spaces: My Ending that Birthed a Beautiful Beginning
It's a Journey.
My ideal is actually to reach a point where healing, prioritization of women, and freedom is inherently embedded in my work, without the need to speak directly to or against, gender ideology. There is some part of me that would like to let go of centering the sickness in our world, and move into embodied spaces of freedom and higher pursuit.
The Ending
Last weekend, I closed down the Sapphic WOC Space online community.
The Sapphic WOC Space was an online affinity space for women of color who love women, and who do not subscribe to gender ideology. I formed this space in the beginning of Spring 2023, out of a desperate need to see a boundaried space designed for women like me, and out of a deep craving to build community with like-minded women.
In collaboration between Haus of Isis, my women’s wellness brand, and the LGB Alliance USA, I birthed the Sapphic WOC Space, a monthly online video discussion group.
At first, I intended for the Sapphic WOC Space to be a one-time thing.
“Let me host one meeting and just see how it goes”, I thought. I wasn’t even sure how many women I’d be able to find for this space. Given how controversial a true women’s space was, there were limited channels for me to safely promote it.
I had shared the meeting flyer with a “Queer Women of Color” group on Reddit, and it was deleted, with hate comments underneath, within 30 minutes. I was familiar with that group, so I’m pretty sure those comments were from other women. I was discouraged, but I kept trying.
Within days, applications were rolling in, and I was scheduling screening calls left and right. While it was an intimate group, there was no shortage of interest or engagement.
Our first online meeting was held on April 1st 2023, and it was beautiful. It lasted 2 hours, and everyone stayed until the very end, completely engaged. In hindsight, I can say that the group was a fruitful success from its inception, till the very end. I think many of us were relieved, excited, and grateful to have a space where it was truly safe to be who we were, and speak openly and honestly about topics that “LGBT-friendly” spaces repeatedly shunned, silenced, and cancelled us for.
I had received a word of encouragement from a volunteer at the LGB Alliance to keep the space going indefinitely, so I did. I picked a date for us to convene each month, and after the first meeting, I kept the ball rolling with incoming applications, and screening calls.
I also had received a request from one of our members to have an intermediary social media group, where members could engage with each other in between meetings. I thought this was a good idea too, so I followed suit, and created a Facebook group. When I got cancelled from Facebook, I did some in depth research, and found an email-based alternative that didn’t require us to be on Big Tech platforms.
While I received assistance from the LGB Alliance with promoting the space, and the tech involved with setting up the monthly zoom call, I willingly did all of the other administrative work involved with maintaining and growing the space, which was increasingly becoming more than I had ever anticipated doing—at least, in a volunteer capacity.
There was no other online group in the LGB Alliance that offered the extra spaces I did, such as exclusive intermediary social media groups, and in-person gatherings for members of the affinity space. These were offerings that made complete sense to me, so it felt natural to create them. To me, it was a labor of love.
But then, came the undue emotional labor.
Just a few weeks in, I began to experience conflict with some lesbian women who had previously joined the space, including one who had expressed interest in joining. In one case, a woman had repeatedly requested access to the Facebook group, without agreeing to the rules I had thoughtfully set in place—and she was angry with me for excluding her from the space.
When she accused me of lying about my reasons for excluding her, I sent screenshots of how she repeatedly never agreed to the group rules or answered all of the verification questions, as well as the message I sent to her about it. She finally decided not to attend any future meetings, when I politely asked her not to smoke a blunt on camera during our next meeting. I had made her feel ‘uncomfortable’.
A few weeks later, a couple of other women had personally (and quite randomly) confided in me about their resentments and deep-seated prejudices towards bisexual women. They had both made it very clear that they saw bi women as the primary bootlickers of patriarchy, and proponents of trans ideology.
When I set a boundary with those women by telling them that they could no longer join the space, one of them sent me an email, telling me that I am solely interested in protecting the interests of a privileged class of women, that my intention is to form an echo chamber of women who agree with me, and that I should change the name of the group, since the word “Sapphic” is only about lesbians, and has nothing to do with bisexual women.
I was hurt by these statements, but I stood ten toes down on everything I said, did, and believed; taking precious time out of my day to share in writing, why I made the decisions I made, including the name of my space, which was inspired by the definition of Sapphic as a unifying term for all women-loving-women. I wanted everything to be on record, in case any of these women would try to “call me out” in the future.
I find it interesting that the same women who wanted to be part of a space that was the very product of me being clear and rooted in my boundaries, had also scorned me for having additional boundaries that didn’t serve their personal interests.
I also did a lot of soul-searching through these experiences, which led me to write an in-depth blog post about my own sexuality and identity.
But these interactions did a number on me, and it seemed that they were increasing in frequency, the longer I held this group. I released a statement to current members, proposing that we talk about it at our next meeting. I made it clear that this space was meant to be a unifying space between lesbian and bisexual women, and I don’t want bisexuals to be merely “tolerated” in our group.
I also set a clear intention with the group to share my thoughts on how much pressure I’d been under as the creator of such a rare space, and how things may need to shift moving forward, so that I can feel more supported.
At our final meeting, I shared the recent interactions I’d had in more detail, and we spoke openly for more than an hour about the unnecessary division between lesbians and bisexuals in the community. The women in our group were overall very sensible and supportive of my standpoint on this issue, and we had a vibrant and fruitful discussion.
But towards the end of the meeting, when I took a few minutes to vulnerably open up about how these experiences had affected me on a personal level, how the amount of work I do is more than I can carry in a volunteer capacity, how I need to take a break, and how this may need to become a paid space—I felt the energy shift.
There suddenly seemed to be less engagement and presence around my share. A few women expressed that they would be willing to pay, and everyone nodded when I offered to host one more free meeting before I go on break, but the energetic deflation was apparent to me.
I was disappointed. For me, it wasn’t so much about the issue of money, but moreso, feeling holistically supported. Although I knew I was doing the right thing by advocating for myself, I actually felt a little embarrassed.
I ended the call, and just sat there, in the library meeting room, feeling drained, alone, and exposed. I reflected on why I created this space to begin with: To have community. To create a support network. To make friends! To create the space that so desperately needed to be created in this world. While I had definitely connected with, and been supported by, a couple of individual members…in the big picture, it was beginning to feel like I was doing a ton of work to hold space for a group that was not able to hold space for me, as a whole human being.
An aching feeling had also washed over me, when I fully processed the jabbing comment I received from one member during that meeting, that left me feeling hurt and humiliated. She probably thought that she was being funny with what she wrote into the group chat, mocking me while I was talking about something serious, but I wasn’t here for it. That was just the cherry on top of all that I was already feeling.
I knew that this was unsustainable for me, and I didn’t want to go on like this. That is when I decided to send a short email out to everyone, thanking them for their participation, and telling them that I will be taking an indefinite break from hosting the space. I expressed my need to create boundaries and structures to create a more sustainable space.
“I’m honestly just tired💔”, I wrote.
I then slogged myself out of the chair, and wandered off into the grey-skied afternoon, searching for nourishment.
Redemption
I was in a bad mood. I tried to find a snack at my favorite natural foods store, but I couldn’t think straight, so I walked out. I decided to treated myself to a delicious meal at a local restaurant that served New Orleans cuisine, and sat with my elbow on the table, face slumped into my hand, as I waited for my food.
I had previously rented out a dance studio in the local community arts center, just to have my own private movement practice for the remainder of the Saturday evening. After dinner, I decided to head over to the Center about an hour before my rental, because I had nothing else better to do. The building is closed on Saturdays, except to anyone who rents out one of the spaces. I figured, the building would probably be completely empty, so I could just sit on the couch and read or write before using the studio space. I headed over.
I arrived at the center to find the front door unlocked, and an event table set up near the front door. I looked up, and saw a young, dark-skinned woman with an Afro, dressed in a bodysuit, walking around in the upstairs loft-space. She looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen her before. As I moved closer to stand and look up at her, I noticed that the doorway to my right opened up to an auditorium filled with a vibrant, ethnically diverse group of young people, art all over the walls, and a long charcuterie table.
“Where did all of these beautiful black people come from?!,” I thought. It was unusual to see a scene like this in my quaint, very white, Western MA hometown.
Finally, the woman upstairs took notice of my presence, and gazed down upon me with a ready smile on her face.
“Hey, you look familiar to me!” I said.
“Ya, we met a few months ago here, in the lobby—we’re both scholars from the Circus Studio.”
Ohhhhh…
It clicked in my mind, that we had both been recipients of the “BIPOC scholarship” at our local circus studio, where we learned aerial arts. We were also both dancers.
“I’m going to be performing in like 15 minutes. You should check the space out, it’s nice!”
I took her suggestion, and walked into the space, where I immediately received a warm welcome from a tall, handsome gay black man. He too, was a professional dancer, with a rich artistic background. The moment he told me he had danced with the Chicago Ballet, I knew I was in the right place.
A lot of the artists who were in that space were from other places like New York or Boston, but had attended school in the area, or traveled out to support their friends.
I shimmied over to the snack table, and began loading up my plate with hummus, cheese, and fruit that I didn’t have much room for, joking with a couple other women at the table about how I regret the $25 I had just spent on dinner.
My spirits were lifting.
Within a couple of minutes, another familiar face walked my way-an androgynous asian woman who I had met and was newly acquainted with, through our local community center. We embraced, happy to see each other, and chatted for a few minutes. She motioned over to a young, vibrantly-dressed black woman with a blonde low-cut, and a young redheaded white woman wearing combat boots. “Have you met my friends?”
“No, I haven’t…I don’t know anyone here.”
“Really? You should meet my friend Clara. She’s amazing, and I think you would like her.”
I walked over to join them.
The black woman excitedly introduced herself to me with big energy, and a big smile:
“HI! I’m Clara. It’s so great to meet you. I follow you on social media!”
I smiled widely and leaned back in surprise. “Whaaat?”
Everyone laughed.
“Yeah, I followed you on Tumblr years ago!”
Oh! I settled down within myself. My old Tumblr was raw, but also uncontroversial within the context of this space. Yeah, I had written a post on my abortion, and shared artistic nudes of myself, including a photo of my pussy…that wasn’t a big deal. My initial surprise for her following me on social media, was specifically derived from the gender critical content that I began posting on Instagram within the last year.
I’ve said a lot of stuff over the years, on various platforms, and I wasn’t sure what she had seen. Despite the fact that my work is public, I still feel protective over it, since I know some people can be very militant against women like me. Given that I knew our Asian friend preferred they/them pronouns, and that both women in that group were friends with her, I assumed all of these women were closely allied with gender ideology.
That feeling was reinforced the more we conversed, and each of those women had, at some point, referred to other women in their social circle, and previous partners, using they/them pronouns, seemingly out of respect for their chosen identities.
But we were having a wonderful time, so I kept talking with them! And through my openness and curiosity, something else was revealed: