Being Noticed as a Sexuality Educator…

Sometimes, that’s the biggest fear of being in this role. I’ve heard so many times from friends that I need to show up more, share my journey, and simply wear my crown. But what is this crown? It’s easy to believe that the crown is my ego—something about my abilities and capabilities. But truly, this crown is all that I dreamed of becoming as a fearless child.

I’ve felt anxious and embarrassed, wondering: What if I start doing work that’s publicly visible and people from my past snort and say, “Huh, look at her—she thinks she can deal with sexuality. She’s trying to be too cool for her shoes”? Or what about those who have worked with me, who’ve seen my flaws, who’ve seen me fail—would they question if I’m even capable of carrying my big ideas and plans forward?

Then a friend told me something beautiful: Maybe all those people you’ve crossed paths with might actually take a breath of relief—finally, she’s wearing her crown.

This isn’t the crown they’re anointing me with, but the one I always promised I’d wear one day.

My inner voice says I am capable. I can host spaces for people’s sexualities. My mind is constantly mapping ideas, planning workshops I want to do a year from now. I even love making five-year plans (thanks to my background in Eco, Pol. Sci., and History).

The scary part? When these self-made plans start to overwhelm me. I feel weighed down by my own minarets. And if I become visible in my social networks—truly seen—and then fail, how will I look at myself in the mirror?

No matter how hard I’ve tried to outrun failure, I’ve already faced plenty. By now, I can’t hide anymore. Whoever I am, whatever I’ve done—personally or professionally—it’s already out there, up for review. I haven’t even hidden my teenage vane Facebook albums from 14 years ago!

When I was in 8th grade, I fell in love with a senior boy. I wrote him a poem and sent it on Facebook Messenger. The next day, his girlfriend walked into my classroom with her friends and said, “You sent him a poem? Haha, he’s already taken!”

I was embarrassed, yes. But I was also a die-hard believer in expressing love at the onset. I had seen too many movies, read too much Nicholas Sparks, to let any opportunity at love pass.

I still end up doing that—sometimes expressing love to people I’ve met only once. And they wonder how they could trust that I truly mean it. For me, love has become such a fluid concept. I can love fully, and I can love more than one person. And for me love does not equal loyalty. Now, I call myself polyamorous.

So, being noticed in my professional life—especially in the field of sexuality—is also about outing my sexual self. Showing up as who I am, allowing myself to be judged, and sometimes letting the fire of that judgment burn me—only to rise again, like a phoenix.

There’s also a very practical side to showing up as a sexuality educator. Around 50% of the people who reach out to me aren’t willing to reveal themselves or own their sexuality. What they’re really looking for is someone bold and open—someone who can accept whoever they are.

Sometimes, they only trust me if they believe they can form an intimate relationship with me. And yes, some approaches are crass—I won’t deny it.

Like: “Hey, I find your smile in our Zoom meetings so endearing—that’s the only reason I attend your sessions.”

I get alarmed by remarks like that. And then I pause. Is there any truth in this? And what about this truth scares me?

So what if someone is attracted to my smile—does that inherently make the space unsafe? Does that instantly mean I’ll be sexually harassed by this person? Isn’t it possible to draw a boundary when needed—and to trust that the other person can understand and respect it?

We all struggle with expressing attraction—just as we struggle with expressing anger. Being angry or attracted isn’t the problem. The problem begins when my emotions spill over and are imposed on the other—when they suffer because of how I express what I feel.

So yes, gently stating my boundaries has been far more helpful than recoiling in disgust at those who show up in the circles just for my smile.

And if you’ve read this far—what’s your reason?

What would be your reasons for keeping your sexuality “unnoticed”—perhaps even by yourself?