My Positionality: Revolving Orbs

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Introduction

My identity is a collection of revolving orbs, each orb representing a different part of me: my Blackness, my atheism, my non-monogamy, etc.: my positionality. It is important to note that these orbs are in constant motion, and their interactions shape everything from how I see myself to how I experience the world and how the external world experiences me. Sometimes, these orbs/identities grant me privilege; other times, they limit me. This essay will explore how these specific components of myself have shaped my understanding of sexuality and how I plan to use that perspective to guide my work in sexology.

My Lived Experiences and Identities

In more depth, my positionality includes being Black, non-monogamous, an atheist, heteroflexible, a dog dad, a former private school kid, and financially lower on the socioeconomic ladder. None of these qualities exist in isolation — they overlap and influence each other as I learn about sexuality. For example, because of the racist, White tropes that have historically hypersexualized Black men, I find that my identity as a Black man, combined with being non-monogamous, can easily lead to fetishization by people of other races in openly sexual spaces. It’s something I’m aware of.

Identifying as non-monogamous has given me a unique view on monogamy, the main expected relationship model in society. I long saw monogamy as unnecessarily painful, restrictive, and monotonous. However, a classmate in this program once mentioned that she hoped to use this program to strengthen her counseling skills and be of support to members of her church. My first assumption was that everyone in her church was strictly monogamous, so what do they need sexual counseling for? But I realized she and her community may not see their monogamous relationships as lifeless. They may find meaning in working through challenges and nurturing the sexual health of their relationship. This challenged my belief that monogamy itself was the problem and opened my mind to perspectives beyond my own.

A year ago, I was single, living in Los Angeles, earning six figures, and responsible only for myself. Basic needs such as running water, healthcare, STI testing, dental, and vision care were afterthoughts — always within reach. I had a thriving animation production career and a professional network that provided opportunity and security. When the studio I worked for lost a key investor and abruptly, yet silently, stopped paying its freelancers, I was forced to resign and leave everything behind. I relocated to a farm in Missouri, where my father and stepmother had a vacant cabin. For ten months, I lived without running water, a shower, a bathroom, or even windows. For the first time, I experienced the realities of poverty and the systemic barriers faced by people in rural, low-income positions. I occupied uninsured jobs at a coffee shop and later a sewing factory to make ends meet. Healthcare and STI testing became unaffordable, and even locating services was blocked by bureaucratic red tape. I also learned how isolating rural life can be, with basic resources like food or pet supplies requiring long drives. At this point, I barely even had a sex drive because my mind was in survival mode. This period revealed how deeply socioeconomic status impacts mental, physical, and sexual health.

Some of my identities intersect in significant ways. For example, being an atheist has likely afforded me the ease of being non-monogamous, as I haven’t had to contend with the strict systems and laws of much of organized religion. This has allowed me to avoid the pain of contradicting values and cognitive dissonance that others might face. However, it is important to note that I once dated a Christian who also happened to be non-monogamous. Their experience showed me how people of faith are still able to integrate spirituality into their lived experience of non-monogamy, challenging my assumption that religion is always a barrier to non-traditional relationships.

While I have experienced marginalization, I also recognize the privileges that I hold. My identity as a male and being cis-heterosexual presenting (heteroflexible) grants me professional and social advantages, particularly in professional settings where I often don’t face the same barriers as women or gender-nonconforming individuals. However, my non-monogamous identity presents a unique challenge, as it can be a source of marginalization in a society that predominantly values and understands monogamy. For example, while my masculinity may provide me with a wider dating pool, my non-monogamous status can limit my social circles and dating options, as many people are unwilling to consider relationships outside of a traditional, one-on-one model. This is just one example of how my different identities can grant me privilege in one context while simultaneously leading to marginalization in another. I believe understanding dualities like this is key to building empathy for humanity as a whole.

Becoming a dog dad has shaped how I understand non-sexual intimacy and closeness. I adopted my dog, Duke, after an existential crisis where I feared my non-monogamy would prevent me from ever being loved. It seemed like my non-monogamous relationships always failed, and I assumed most of the world only wanted monogamy — I felt lonely and unlovable. Before Duke, I thought the only cure for my loneliness was a romantic partnership. Duke changed that. His companionship gave me emotional support, affection, and a reason to prioritize another being’s needs. He taught me that romantic love is not the only love. And that romantic love is not the antidote to isolation — that platonic loyalty and non-sexual intimacy are equally meaningful. Duke taught me the value of nurturing and caring for something other than myself.

Positionality and My Future Work

Overall, my positionality — being black, LGBTQ+, and non-monogamous specifically — draws me to sexual education and research focused on non-monogamous populations. My personal journey of accepting my authentic sexual self fuels my passion to help others be aware of the options out there and to embrace and accept their true desires (within consent and legality), especially those considered “fringe.” At the same time, I recognize my biases. I have long assumed monogamy is inherently restrictive and unsustainable, and I know this belief could shape my work negatively, limiting my empathy for others who desire that structure. To address this, I intend to immerse myself in diverse perspectives, listen deeply to those whose experiences differ from mine, and practice understanding and reflexivity. On the other hand, my lived experience as a Black, non-monogamous person may provide me a shorthand in asking nuanced questions that aren’t normally asked in this research, like “how do racial stereotypes affect dating for Black and non-monogamous individuals on non-monogamous dating apps as opposed to White counterparts?”. Ultimately, my goal is to become a vessel for the truth in sex education — using my positionality not as a limitation, but as a guide. By staying self-aware and open to difference, I will help others discover what healthy sexuality looks like for them, on their own terms.

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