like me

“What can I do so you you’ll like me forever?” I asked my spouse.  We were lying in bed, naked and cuddling post-lunch.

“Let me suck on your titty,” he said.

“Oh, ok,” I said.  “So you’ll suck on my titty and think about it?  What I can do so you’ll always like me?”

“Yeah,” he said.

I was laughing–he was happy too.


Later I asked, “Do you keep liking me because I keep changing, so you don’t get bored?”

He thought about it.  Reality is so uncertain, for him.  His answers to questions don’t seem to correspond with truth.  Not like he’s lying.  More like he really has no idea how to make the words fit with the experience, which is half-dream.

“I love you,” he said.

“Why do you still love me and want to do it with me?” I asked.

“Because your thoughts,” he said.

“My thoughts?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.  “And you’re so pretty.”

“Oh, good!  I’m pretty!” I said, smiling.

bad dream

I had a dream I was going to do it with this white guy.  He was younger than me and medium-fat, someone I don’t know in the waking world.

He came over at an appointed time.  “What snacks did you bring?” I asked.

He’d promised snacks–he said there were two snacks, and I criticized them.  “Those are terrible snacks!’ I said.  They were both things I couldn’t eat.

We were hugging, and he mentioned he wanted money.  It was not a clear, direct request–more of a wishywashy, “If you’d like to give me money for this, I would appreciate it.”

Suddenly I understood that he was a sex worker.  Wow, I felt so very sad, that this person didn’t want me.  He was going to do it with me only in hopes of cash.

“Oh, I don’t want to do it then,” I said.  I broke away from him.

The sadness was the grief of being unwanted, undesirable, unlovable.  A sadness of misunderstanding also.  I realized that to this young man, I was so unappealing that he really thought no one would want me, so of course I would pay for sex.

My ego was bruised.  Of course he didn’t like me.  To see myself how this man saw me, I realized deep shame.  I felt ashamed of my body I usually love, thank, care for attentively, smile at, enjoy, and honor with pleasure.


What’s truth?  Truth is–many people find me beautiful and attractive.  I’ve been desired by my spouse for eleven years, and many others.

I also desire myself.  I’m totally worth caring for, adoring, loving, touching, worshiping, coming on, coming for.  If some people think I’m unlovable, I’m sorry their view of worth is so narrow.  They are not my people, and I let them go.

I got up from bed–it was morning, and my spouse was already awake.  I asked him for comfort.  He took off his clothes, came to bed, and held me as I cried.

“Why are you sad?” he asked.

“Bad dream,” I said, getting tears all over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Can you tell me I’m safe?” I asked.

“You’re safe,” he said.

“Can you tell me I matter to you?” I asked.

“You matter to me,” he said.


It damaged me, that the man I loved who came here last fall used me.  One time in bed, he tried me out–he decided I was not good enough to love, be kind to, care for, show up for.  The pain of that rejection is still harming me, like a nuclear meltdown that continues and continues underground.

Then another friend I felt potential with.  I thought we had good chemistry, and I love him.  When he broke up with his girlfriend, I wanted to be something special to him.  Nope–he did not want a Nest far away, to treasure and adore.  He wants freedom, vast expanses of time, casual friendship, no expectations, and to stay connected to me whenever, on his terms.  Ok.

These white guys are not my people.  They might see something good about me and like me for what I give.  But who wants to do the whole enchilada of love?

Not the one who adored my writing, pursued me, had text sex with me, then confusingly rejected me.  Not the two brilliant women friends who never answered my questions about touch.  Tap tap–is this thing on?

Let them chase non-disabled people who are medium size and easy.  I will never be easy.  My disabilities are part of me, and I’m unconditionally fat.  My heart is full of love, and I can’t get derailed by people who don’t see my worth.


Healing takes a long time.  I hope my dream and this essay help me face the reality of my pain.  If I can face it, I have a chance to heal it and feel stronger.

Not everyone is going to like me.  That’s ok because I only have so much energy.

Who has time to feel?  Who wants to really be there for other people and do love beyond the depth of a puddle?  I do.

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

One reply on “like me”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *