I Wasn’t Judging Her, I Was Just Surviving

Let’s not pretend we weren’t all raised in it.

The whispers. The looks. The churchy shade. The family function side-eyes.

We grew up in a world where sexual power was feared, judged, and weaponized—especially in women.
Especially in Black women.
And especially when that power looked free.

But the wild thing is—
I was never mad at the free girls.

🧼 I Was Never Mad at the Free Girls—Just Tired of the Pick-Me Performances

Let’s get one thing straight:
I’ve never judged a woman for being sexy, bold, or visible.
I’ve never policed someone’s body, clothes, or confidence.
That was never my lane.

But I have side-eyed the ones bending themselves into submission just to be acceptable to men.
Not because I thought they were “doing too much,”
but because I recognized the survival in it.
The exhaustion. The ache of wanting to be chosen so bad that you perform worth instead of knowing it.

And yeah—
I’ve been in rooms where men were disrespecting women.
I didn’t laugh.
But I didn’t speak up either.

Because part of me thought:
“They’re not talking about me.”

But now? I say something.
Because they are talking about me.
They’re talking about all of us.
And silence? Ain’t protection. It’s participation.

🧠 Slut-Shaming Is a Survival Tactic We Inherited

Let’s be real. Most of us weren’t out here being mean just to be mean.
Slut-shaming came from somewhere.
It came from being taught that "good girls" stay safe and "fast girls" get hurt.

Our mothers and aunties didn’t always know how to protect us,
so they gave us rules instead of healing.
Cover up. Cross your legs. Don’t tempt him.
Act like a lady. Don’t be out here looking grown.

But what they were really saying was:
“Please don’t get hurt like I did.”

They didn’t have the tools, so they handed us shame.
And sometimes we used it—on each other.
To survive. To distance ourselves. To feel safe.

💔 The Internalized Harm

Here’s what slut-shaming really does:

• It makes us afraid of our own desires

• It convinces us that attention = value

• It separates us from other women instead of connecting us

• It turns sensuality into sin, and then punishes us for being human

And it makes it damn near impossible to explore sexuality without guilt.
You either “too much” or “not enough.”
You either “a tease” or “ran through.”
You either “wifey” or “worthless.”

Nah. We done with that binary.
I’m a whole woman, not a label.

🧽 How I’m Cleaning It Out of My System

This unlearning thing? It’s daily. And it’s messy.

But here’s what I’m practicing:

• I check my thoughts. If I catch myself criticizing another woman’s sexual expression, I ask: Is this about her? Or is this about me still trying to feel safe in a system that doesn’t protect us?

• I affirm the ones I used to feel threatened by. Not performatively. With honesty. Especially when my ego flinches.

• I let go of coded language. I don’t say “she’s for everybody.” I don’t call women “pick-mes.” I name harm directly without slut-shaming as a shortcut.

• I speak up. Not just for other women, but for myself. Because when we defend the divine feminine in someone else, we reinforce it in ourselves.

🕯️ A Prayer for the Mouth That Used to Shame

To the women I side-eyed:
I see you now.
You were never too much—you were too free for a system that wanted you small.
And I’m sorry if my silence ever made you feel alone.

To the part of me I used to shrink:
You are not dirty.
You are not “asking for it.”
You are worthy of joy, desire, and full expression.

To every woman still trying to find herself under the weight of other people’s opinions:
You don’t owe anybody your purity.
You don’t owe anybody your shame.
You are allowed to explore.
You are allowed to reclaim.
You are allowed to start over.

🌹Final Word

Slut-shaming ain’t just what we say to others.
It’s how we silence ourselves.
It’s how we sabotage sisterhood.
It’s how we hold onto rules that never protected us—just punished us for breaking them.

So if I catch it in my mouth now? I spit it out.
No more survival pretending to be morality.
No more power dressed up as shame.
No more hierarchy among women.

We all divine. We all holy. We all healing.

And baby—we all free.