Rather than blame your genitalia for everything that’s gone wrong, says Annalisa Barbieri, try to work out where the real problem lies
Back in my youth, my love life was a string of rejections, based on lack of confidence in my physical attributes (6ft 4in, reasonably attractive, bright, humorous, caring, but with dangly bits a hamster would be worried about). It was ego-bruising, getting laughed at. I’d avoid beach holidays, changing rooms and even ran away from uni to avoid the humiliation.
Moving back to the capital, a miracle happened: two women I’d become friends with decided to stay the night, on different days, the same weekend. Who was I to say no? They were lovely and I felt safe. And, amazingly, they wanted things to continue. It was the most wonderful time – but after four years of a heart-wrenching triangle, it was over. I’d lied, cheated, oscillated and hurt everyone, until my self-respect, friends, job and confidence had vanished. I wasn’t the same person I had been.
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