By Anna Kochetkova
Almost three years ago, I sat in my therapist’s office asking her: “What do you think my relationship is with relationships?” She smiled. She reminded me that sometimes, when a wounded part within is addressed (and maybe even healed), other parts may sort themselves out. She said that sometimes when we are focusing on something else, many other areas of our life shift as well. She also hinted that I was, arguably, in one of the most important relationships already—a loving relationship with myself for the first time. And I was still learning how to navigate this.
As a child, I parented my parents. I carved and shaped and forced my body and mind to fit into a community I wasn’t a part of. And as an adult, I desperately wanted to assimilate and integrate myself into the foreign country I now call home. In other words, I have been pretty cruel to myself, like a toxic and immature girlfriend. I needed a break from all the unhealthy relationships I was holding on to, from work to friendships and one-night stands, starving, over-exercising, and over-explaining myself. I didn’t know at the time that my relationships with others and most importantly, myself, had been unhealthy, immature, surface-level, and devoid of nurturance. I never knew any other type.
I know better now.
Turns out, my relationship with myself is my most treasured one.
Surviving a traumatic childhood and migrating overseas as a young adult were big events in my life. They created a container for me, in which I could fall apart and germinate. I spent years in the darkness of my own pain, trying to figure out who I was and whether I had any ownership of that person. People around me didn’t seem to understand my existential angst, so I assumed everyone (but me!) knew how this life worked. I felt like a dried leaf thrown around by the gusts of wind, dragged along the concrete floor and colliding into objects, without agency, aimless, and homeless in the sense of lacking a relationship with myself and the world—the two didn’t even seem to coexist.
In my early 30s, I came out to myself as bisexual and my world was a whirlpool. It contributed to my identity crisis but also offered a glimpse of clarity—I felt that I could really weave a relationship out of this one aspect of my humanity. I held onto it—marching in Sydney Mardi Gras, writing books and articles and hosting queer events. My sexuality offered me a relationship with myself and the world.
I created an online community called @biandprejudice on Instagram which helped me gather like-minded queer folk around myself, enabling peer support, kind human connections, and the exchange of shared experiences. I created Bi & Prejudice because I felt like the only bisexual on the planet. Very quickly, I discovered that not only am I not alone, but most of my queer community are also bi+.
Eventually, my bisexuality became boring, or deeply uninteresting, to me at least. It seemed nonchalant and a matter of fact—no longer the center of my life or the pinnacle of who I am. I started focusing on other aspects of my identity and personality, like my dream of building a tiny house, my slow move into the Australian wilderness, learning how to grow and make my own tea and tinctures and salves, and thinking about going back to school (at 40!). Somehow, my sexuality just stopped mattering as much. Of course, it matters! And I continue correcting everyone who calls me straight (which happens often!) but I don’t feel the butterflies of excitement and anxiety. I am bisexual, and it isn’t that interesting after all.
Turns out, many different parts create one whole—I am not my childhood trauma, I am not my sexuality, I am not my relationships. All these things shape who I am, but no single part tells the whole story.
So, what is my relationship with relationships? For the first time in my life (as I am inching into my fourth decade), I am starting to get a glimpse. I have a handful of beautiful friendships where I feel seen (and not stressed!). I love solitude and being alone, often thinking or talking out loud to myself (and not feeling that something is wrong with me). I don’t really care about romantic escapades and I focus on nurturing my body and mind with orgasms, good food, morning forest walks, and meaningful connections with friends. I reconnected with my family, cut off relationships that didn’t serve me anymore, and started to really love watching wrinkles decorate my face and chest. I look forward to living this life as Me, whoever she is. I want to spend every living moment learning Myself, and discovering everything there is about my human.
Turns out, my relationship with myself is it.
Anna Kochetkova is a Russian-born Australian author and poetess, and a passionate bi+ activist based in rural northern NSW, Australia. Anna is the author of Bi & Prejudice, one person’s story connecting the dots of identity and sexuality across years, continents, and cultures, and the creator of the @biandprejudice Instagram space, which helps celebrate multisexual attraction and human diversity as well as @sydbiclub Sydney community-led events and gathering for all multisexual and queer humans.