Welcome to the 25th edition of Into the A+ Advice Box, in which we answer all the queer and lesbian advice questions from A+ members who submitted their queries into our A+ ask box because they wanted their questions answered in a space that is not accessible by Google, their mom, their ex, etc. (No guarantees regarding your ex, however.) Previously, we have included such questions in our epic Some Answers to Some Questions You Have Been Asking Us, and in most cases that is still the plan. But some questions were a lot longer or more in-depth and deserved their own place in the sun. We’re doing this column TWICE a month, now.

We solicited answers from the whole team, so let’s dive in!

Q1:

I feel really weird after a transabdominal ultrasound? Everything I see on the internet is about pain, but it didn’t hurt, it was just neutral, somewhere between a pap smear and my gf putting her fingers in me (which is also…neutral–it doesn’t make me feel bad or anything when she does, but it also doesn’t actively do anything for me, any more than like…putting a finger in the curve of my elbow does. I’ve never had anything else inside but my menstrual cup). I just feel uncomfortable and a little bad in a way that I can’t name, and honestly that’s freaking me out more than anything. I don’t have any conscious bad thoughts about it, and I didn’t even have enough warning to get myself worried, anyway–they told me in the exam room. I don’t know what I’m asking, I’m sorry! It’s just that Scarleteen and Autostraddle are the places I feel safest on the internet and I figure if anyone has some insight, it would be you guys, and I’m a fair bit older than Scarleteen’s target audience.

A:

Malic: It sounds like you’re talking about a transvaginal ultrasound (the kind where the transducer is inserted inside you) rather than a transabdominal ultrasound (the kind where the technicians runs the transducer across your belly), so I’m going to answer this question as if that’s the case.

Feeling weird after a transvaginal ultrasound completely makes sense! Sure, it’s a medical professional performing a diagnostic procedure, but that’s still a stranger putting something in your vagina. That’s weird! That’s not what anyone is used to! Most of us get pap smears, but those are relatively quick. A transvaginal ultrasound, at least in my experience, takes a lot longer and feels a lot more invasive. It also sounds like your doctor didn’t adequately prepare you for what was going to happen, which I’m sure only made matters worse for you.

Our bodies react to trauma and we store trauma in our bodies (there’s a very long book about this called The Body Keeps the Score if you’re interested). If you’ve experienced any sexual trauma in the past, it makes sense that you would emotionally react to this physical experience, even if you’re not having any conscious thoughts about feeling violated. If you’re not a sexual trauma survivor, your reaction is still 100% valid. Most of us operate under the assumption that vaginal penetration only happens in very specific, safe situations, like when we’re masturbating, when we’re inserting or removing a menstrual cup, or when we’re having sex. This experience probably violated your known boundaries around penetration. Feeling weird about it is your body’s way of trying to keep you safe.

Q2:

Hello O Wise and Wonderful Autostraddle team, I need advice or tbh I probably need to vent and be gently yet firmly reminded of a few things that I already know (like it’s okay to live with missing people). My question is: how do you know when it’s “right” to be friends with an ex? I am two weeks fresh into a break up, (so I am definitely not going to make any friendship overtures right now). We’d been dating less than four months and it was mutual (she needed space, I needed her to be more present). I keep wondering if in a few months whether it would be a good idea to reach out to her and see if she would be down to be friends. I always knew that I would enjoy being friends with her even if I didn’t fancy her. But I worry that this is my Desperate Break Up how-can-we-keep-her-around brain plotting. Also, some of the urge comes from feeling like I’m doing something wrong by not living up to the lesbian stereotype of being friends with my exes. (This would be my third we ex-something that I lose all contact with). Tbh I’m probably looking for a reassurance that yes, some people can genuinely make being friends with an ex work even if that hasn’t been my experience so far and also it’s okay if I’m never friends with an ex.

A:

Malic: First, congrats on ending a relationship that wasn’t working for you! Second, congrats on cultivating so much self-awareness! Here’s my take: the ability to maintain friendships with exes isn’t some inherent quality that you (or any lesbians) have. Also, the ability to maintain friendships with exes doesn’t mean anything about the kind of person you are. Friendship with exes should be determined on a case-by-case basis, and if you always decide against it, that’s fine! Choosing to not be friends with a specific ex doesn’t mean you’re a social failure — it means that you care enough about yourself to prioritize your boundaries and choose friendships that actually enhance your life. ALSO choosing not to be friends with a specific ex doesn’t necessarily mean that that specific ex is a terrible person. Sometimes interacting with exes brings back the icky feelings of your former relationship (even when those exes are cool people!), and you don’t have to do that to yourself.

If this particular ex respects your post-breakup boundaries and you want to start a friendship a few months (or even a few years) down the line, go for it, but don’t push yourself to do it and know that it’s ok to back out if the friendship isn’t working for you. And remember that there’s a difference between being friendly and being friends. Saying hello to your ex if you bump into them at a social event is easy, but rebuilding trust together as friends takes a whole lot of work on both ends.

Carolyn: Yes to what Malic said! Also, it’s always worth looking at a breakup and thinking about whether some of the issues in the relationship were romantic-relationship specific, or whether they’d translate to friendship, too. Since you write “she needed space, I needed her to be more present,” I’d examine whether that might also be the case with a friendship before thinking about reaching out.

Q3:

Hello Autostraddle, I love you all very dearly and I hope each of you has seen the sun today. Thank you for your existence and content and wonderful generous brains.

I am writing in re: my current relationship. It is the happiest and healthiest relationship I’ve ever been, and I feel for the first time like I am in an actual partnership. We live together and I can really, again for the first time, see myself sustainably being with this person for the rest of my life. That being said: we are both fairly young. There are so many things I want to do with my life — so many experiences and places of growth I want for myself, separate from my partner. Of course I also want us to experience things and grow together, but there are some things I want to just be mine. In previous relationships, I have been a bit ruthless in this desire (read: ending things because I don’t feel like there’s enough space for me to pursue my own interests with the vigor and individualism I want) (which sometimes was good, and sometimes was self-sabotage). I do not want to repeat this pattern, especially since it’s a complete hypothetical right now; there’s not some opportunity or experience on the horizon I feel unable to take because of my relationship.

This is something I talk about with my partner and my therapist and my friends, but I’m wondering if anyone has advice or experience on how to hold both a partnership I want to nurture, and an immense desire for my own world? Or how to more comfortably live with the fear of not self-actualizing because I’ll prioritize jointly-actualizing? Or how to unlearn the belief that individual growth can come only when single? Is this just a weird displacement of gay longing?

xoxo, gossip girl

A:

Carolyn: For me, what this might come down to is a question of value and what’s worth it. If you value being in a relationship, then the time, bandwidth, energy, and space that it takes away from your other pursuits is an important part of the collage of your life. If you value other things more, then it can feel like you’re cheating on your life by being in your relationship – in which case it’s probably a good idea to examine whether or not you actually want to be in a relationship. It is entirely possible to do both – but only if you want to (and also if you have good boundaries, both with your partner when it’s not time to focus on them and with your other pursuits when it is).

Malic: I agree with Carolyn! Here’s a little exercise I want to add:

Ask yourself, “If my relationship ended today, what would I do?” If you find yourself excitedly scheming plans for your solo future, that’s a sign that your relationship is holding you back. Of course, that might not be your partner’s fault — you could be holding yourself back by making assumptions about your partner’s needs and feelings. In solid relationships, partners simultaneously grow together and support each other’s individual growth. You might be in one of those super solid relationships! You just have to give your partner the chance to affirm and support all of your needs and desires. Talk to them about some of your big dreams. Ask them about some of theirs. Do you feel supported? Are you excited about the prospect of supporting your partner? Then you can probably have it all (or at least have most of it all).

Q4:

Hello Autostraddle Team,

I’m a trans woman. I came out to close friends and family a little over three years ago, and began social and medical transition later that year. While I do still have days/moments of self doubt, I consider myself mostly secure in my gender these days.

My sexuality is another story. I am a lesbian, but even typing that phrase anonymously is difficult. I’ve had several distinct periods of time (including right now) where I’ve felt uncomfortable with my own sexuality. I assume some of this is internalized transphobia, but there seems to be something else. I assumed that my sexuality would just come along for the ride during my gender journey, but it has not. I find myself alternatively claiming that everything is fine when I’m focusing on something else or feeling like a teenager who keeps taking ‘am I gay?’ quizzes online.

Now for the actual advice portion. I don’t know why this is such a struggle for me?! Most everyone in my life, from close friends to my family to people I haven’t talked to in years, have been wonderfully supportive of both my gender and sexuality. One of the first things my parents asked me after I came out was basically ‘does this mean you’re a lesbian?’, so it’s not like I had to come out again. Almost everyone that knows I’m trans also knows I’m a lesbian, and seems to accept my sexuality as just another fact about me. I’ve literally had the ‘best case scenario’ coming out process, and yet I can’t seem to accept myself. I do feel like the term ‘lesbian’ fits me, but I’m terrified of the thought of dating, let alone anything that comes after. I feel like I keep setting up these ‘reasons’ I can’t date, such as being in graduate school or waiting until I had bottom surgery (which I have, thankfully). The reality is that I’m more scared of finding someone than of being alone.

Why is this so hard? How do I begin the work of accepting myself? I feel like I need to love me before I love anyone else, and that kinda sucks.

A:

Himani: I read your question, and I found your discomfort with identifying as a lesbian something I could really relate to, even though we’re coming from different experiences (me being cis and you being trans). Pretty early on when I came to realize my sexuality I relied on the word “queer” because it just felt safer to me for some reason; it still does. Which often leads me to wonder what exactly it is that I associate with the word “lesbian” that I find such discomfort with when I apply it to myself? And what does that mean for how I think of my sexuality and my place in relationships? I don’t have answers to those questions, but I continue to examine them, and that might be a helpful exercise for you as well. But to your last sentence: “I feel like I need to love me before I love anyone else” — I’ve always balked when people make this claim. I simply don’t think it’s true. It leaves people who have struggled with self-acceptance (which is actually, I think, a lot of people) hanging in isolation because we’re always hearing “but you must love yourself first,” as if self-love isn’t something that’s gained in part through finding our place and value in the world. Obviously, the entirety of someone’s self-love can’t hinge on another person, but there is a wide space between those two extremes that I think gets overlooked in the “love yourself first” framing.

One thing that has and continues to really help me with this struggle around accepting all facets of my sexuality is just spending a lot more time with lesbians and bi women, being welcomed into their circles and spaces with the understanding that I am also part of that community. Obviously, this is where my cis privilege comes in becuase there’s plenty of transphobia within the lesbian community, but, at least where I live, the groups I’ve joined are trans-inclusive. That may not be useful advice to you as you may have a really rich and robust community of queer people across all sexual orientations and gender identities. But, I will say, that once I was able to find some sense of comfort and connection in those spaces, it made it a little easier for me to venture out into the world of dating (which I, too, would describe as terrifying).

In the context of this particular struggle, I think the framing of “love yourself first” could possibly even be holding you back. It’s hard to imagine ourselves in experiences we’ve never had, and so it’s hard to accept those sides of ourselves. Putting yourself out there will probably be extremely uncomfortable at first, but this is where the pandemic may help. For me, I am much more at ease communicating from a distance (text, phone, etc.) and so that’s helped me ease myself into the picture of women who date women. I don’t have to deal with in-person interactions that can feel scary or overwhelming, but it’s all still in the frame of “people who are trying to date.” For you, that may be different, but I do think putting yourself out there (in whatever way is both comfortable for you and safe given COVID) may be a helpful step towards accepting your sexuality.

Q5:

My ex of about a year and I broke up at the beginning of quarantine. The relationship was chaotic, and we didn’t know one another well before dating. At the time, we were long distance, but I was planning to move back to where they live, which I’ve now done. When we broke up, we agreed that maybe we’d give it another shot once I moved back. Having six months of silence and finishing a grad program/having a moment to think solidified for me that I have no interest in getting back together.

They are incredibly controlling of others, particularly of things like casual language other people use toward them (for example, me saying good morning in the same way two days in a row becoming a huge fight because it’s “become a stock response” rather than an “actual sentiment”). They have some trauma and it manifests as anxiety, mistrust of others, and low self-esteem, which they ‘know’ but don’t seem to be able to regulate right now. I’ve talked to several other people who’ve dated my ex and had near-identical experiences. I didn’t like the person being under that kind of stress constantly turned me into, and they devalued and judged every part of my life that was important to me, likely out of insecurity from not having similar structures in their own life. I spent months lying to people in my life to avoid them finding out how volatile the relationship was, and I’m continuing to work through frustration with myself over not having ended it sooner.

They sent me an email recently about how they were hurt that I’d never contacted them or told them why we broke up, and that they still hoped we’d get back together someday. I haven’t responded. They are extremely rich and have kept themself at a distance from community and any meaningful friendships that could hold them accountable for their behavior, and there’s a pattern of people withdrawing from them without communicating why, which I can understand at this point. However, I’d like to avoid as much ambiguity as possible in terms of communicating that it’s OVER over, and I also think they deserve some explicit feedback about how being on the receiving end of their behavior feels. I also feel goaded into responding and like this is probably just going to start another spiral of communication that won’t end well. Should I email them and filter their emails so I don’t have to see the response, or just leave it alone at this point? I’m not going to meet them in person right now because of the pandemic in any case.

A:

Malic: You both agreed that the relationship is over and agreed that you would maybe be open to giving it another shot down the line. After having some time to think, your “maybe” has shifted to a “no,” and you don’t owe your ex an explanation for that. If that’s all you want to tell them, that’s fine.

If you think it would feel good for you to give them some feedback on their behavior, go for it, but since you have concerns about entering into a toxic communication spiral, it might make sense to establish a “no contact” boundary in that same email. By that, I mean email your ex the feedback you want to share and tell them that you don’t want them to respond or contact you again. Once you establish that boundary, stick to it. If they try to contact you, delete their emails. Don’t answer their texts or calls. Block their number if you have to. It’s hard to do, but it will save you from engaging with someone whose behavior causes you harm.

Q6:

My gender is upsetting me. I can’t deal with it the way I normally would because I have less time, privacy and space…. Help?

I’ve been dealing with what I call gender anxiety again (I think maybe this is gender dysphoria? But it goes away for periods of time and I understood dysphoria a always all the time feeling?). Basically I am feeling anxious and depressed about being …. gender and fantasying a lot about being and living as…. gender. I think part of it comes from being a “essential worker” and subsequently feeling so much more unsafe. In the past when I would through this gender anxiety I would wait until my partner was gone. So could be home alone for at least several hours. Then I could dress up and pretend to be the gender I identify with more in my head for awhile. Sometimes I would even go out dressed more androgynous than normal. But now that’s no longer option. My partner works from home and stays inside (I’m very happy for this). But this means I have no home alone time ever. My best idea has been staying up really really late and waiting until my partner falls asleep. But this hasn’t really worked because I need my sleep and my partner stays up really late. So what do I do? Do I have to tell my partner? I don’t feel ready to even say that I feel uncomfortable with this current gender. I’m not really sure what to do. And I’m frustrated because so much of the advice I see for gender feel bad burning COVID pandemic. Is like ~you have all this new free time and new privacy to explore gender so use it~. But I have the opposite of this!! I have less time, less privacy and I feel less safe. Plus I’m mad now because this advice assumes I’m lucky enough to be staying home right now. So I just don’t know what to do and would love some advice…. Xoxoxox thank you

A:

Archie: Let me just say, I think you’re right that a lot of advice out there right now is making assumptions (often incorrectly) about the privacy and amount of free time folks are having during this pandemic. I don’t think you have to tell your partner if you’re not ready. What I hear you asking for is privacy. Privacy for you to explore, to be in your skin, to dress in a way that feels good for you, even for a moment. If you’re living someplace warm, is it possible to ask that your partner leave for a few hours, for privacy and alone time? Your partner could read in a park or take a long drive while listening to a podcast. Being in a shared space all the time is hard! Your partner gets alone time in the house while you’re out working, it would make sense that you could ask the same in a way that isn’t putting anyone at risk. This, of course, might not be an option. Could you start taking “long baths/showers” (as in explore your gender solo in the bathroom in or out of the bath)? If you two aren’t in a studio apartment, could you ask for solo time in your room and lock the door, play loud music, and let yourself explore that way? I urge you to talk to your partner about needing some solo time and figuring out a way to make it happen that feels good for the both of you.

Q7:

Dear Autostraddle, I would love your advice. I was in a loving, long term relationship with a trans guy for 7+ years. (I’m a cis bi lady.) This guy and I both identified as bisexual the whole time we were together, though as time went on he became more and more interested in sleeping with and dating men rather than women. There could be lots of reasons for this (sexuality evolves over time for a lot of people, his body changed a lot with hormones and surgeries and he became a lot more comfortable with himself, a lot of trans people having shifting sexualities through their transitions and lifetimes, etc). We broke up about a year ago when he told me it was important for him to be in an open relationship and/or to explore his sexuality by dating men. It’s been a devastating year to lose my person but I understood that we grew to have different wants and needs. He recently told me he is much more comfortable with himself now, mostly idenitifies as gay, and that I was sort of an “exception” for him. While I’m genuinely happy that he’s been able to grow and learn about himself, it makes me so insecure and sad. I still feel like I wasn’t enough for him, I must not have been a good sex partner, or if I was a man he wouldn’t have left. I want to believe that his own journey with his sexuality has nothing to do with me, but it’s hard when we were each others’ only sex partner for years and years. Meanwhile he’s been dating actively and I have no interest in that at all because I still love and miss him. Thoughts on how I could let this go and move on?

A:

Rene: I’m sure you know this already, but there’s no harm in hearing it again: there’s no shortcut to moving on, and there’s unfortunately no easy path to closure. However, that DOESN’T mean you don’t have any control over your feelings. Truly moving on can be very difficult at times because it does require complete honesty with yourself and an active commitment to letting go. At some point, you’ll have to make peace with the fact that he won’t play the same role in your life that he once did. And in order to get that peace, you might have to set difficult boundaries — like limiting contact with him, or taking a break from being his friend. I also think it might be necessary to interrogate those personal insecurities related to his sexuality. I was in sort of a similar position once — my past partner and I both identified as bisexual when we started dating. He came out as a gay trans man as soon as he broke up with me. While the break-up definitely hurt, I did my best to empathize with him and I understood that his journey was not about me at all.

Accepting that your past partner may not be sexually and romantically attracted to you anymore doesn’t erase the fact that the two of you had a loving and intimate relationship that was very meaningful. Now, I’m thankful for the fact that my ex and I are friends and I recognize that he needed to go on that journey to find himself, and I feel lucky to have been a part of it.

When you do make that peace (and I promise you will), it becomes so much easier to appreciate the presence of that person in your life and stay present with them and yourself. I know personally how healing it can be to simply sit with the gratitude of having known this person so intimately for so long, to honor the mark they have left on you, and—when you’re ready—try to be as present with them as possible so you can enjoy them in your life as a friend.

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