Memoir of a Heaux

How We Got Here

Have you ever lived a completely different life than you presented? Have you ever sat back and listened while people sang your praises and thought to yourself, ‘If they only knew?’ That’s been my reality as long as I can remember.

Imagine being someone so well respected and so prominent in the community, but when the cameras turned off and the lights faded, you were harboring a secret that threatened to change the way people viewed you.

That is why this journal exists. I’m writing these to document my truth. All my life, I’ve been hiding who I really am at my core. The things that will be written on these pages are things that I’ve spoken about to no one. Not even my closest friends know about some of these entries.

More times than I can count, I’ve been asked the question of the century. When are you getting married and starting a family? My answer is always the same: “Whenever I’m ready.” But there’s a deeper meaning for that answer. The truth is, I’m not ready, and I don’t think I will ever be.

Most women dream of being the blushing bride. They fantasize about every moment of the day: hair, colors, music selection, and especially walking down the aisle in their wedding dresses. But not me.

The thought of knowing one kiss, one touch, one man for the rest of my life felt like prison.

In my mind, I don’t believe that one man can make me feel complete.

I don’t believe that one man will give me everything I need emotionally, and especially not sexually.

Don’t get me wrong, my parents, my family, and a few of my friends have given me every reason to believe otherwise.

I’m surrounded by healthy married couples, no scandals, no drama, no cheating.

Real authentic black love. And I love that; I celebrate it, but it’s not for me.

That’s not to be confused with the fact that I believe I would be an amazing wife yet still have no desire to become one.

The thought of that made me a little ashamed. For years, I questioned if something was wrong with me. I questioned why I needed variety to feel alive. It ate away at me so badly that I went to therapy.

It was the first time I said out loud that I didn’t believe that I could spend the rest of my life with one person.

It sent her into a tailspin. She asked me all the right questions.

Who hurt you? Have you ever been abused?

Who abandoned you? Do you have a present father? What is your relationship like?

At the root of it, I have no trauma. My parents have been married longer than I’ve been alive, and he’s the best father in the world. I bore my soul to her. I was as open and as honest with her as possible, but still, she couldn’t give me an answer as to why I felt that way.

By the time I left that session, I had come to terms with the fact that I’m just—a hoe. I laugh at the realization, but if a woman with almost twenty years of schooling can’t diagnose it, then the answer might be just that simple. So, I turned to writing to purge myself of my secrets.

Instead of trying to figure out why I’m like this, I’ll just document it. There will be many men, there will be raw and unfiltered accounts of fucking.

But this is who I am, the uninhibited woman who feels no emotional attachment to sex.

Though these stories are real accounts of the nights I won’t forget, and the men I won’t remember.

They belong to the men who helped me create them and me.

But like everything else that has been on paper, I know there’s a possibility of someone finding these journals.

Reading my every thought and sexual experiences.

I’ve decided to change the names of these men to protect their identities. Some of them are married, some of them are famous, elite, powerful figures, and some of them still call. None of them would want this information made public.

To protect their identities, I gave them nicknames that I think fit their personalities.

The same will apply to me.

For now, all that needs to be stated about me is that this journal has the potential to end my career and my current and long-term personal relationships.

Maybe one day, I can look back and better understand why I am the way I am.

Maybe one day I’ll look back and cringe.

Hell, I might even give these to my therapist for research purposes.

But today isn’t that day. Today, these pages belong to a woman that nobody knows.

The woman who chose to collect men in the same way women collect wedding magazines.

The woman who has spent years hiding in plain sight.

This is my truth.

And this… is the Memoir of a Heaux.

Xo, The Heaux