Ariel Sobel

My generation has grown to fear the thank you. It rests between our lips, wrestling with our tongue, falling into the cavity self doubt that can never be filled.

My experience — just like all the girls whose fathers were the first men to leave them — is complex. It has ridges and laughs and fires, but too many men reduce it into a simple phrase. My autobiography in his mouth was two words: daddy issues. If I wanted a guy to stay, I had to be ashamed of them.

We make snap judgments on people and throw them into demographics. Being labelled straight protected me from prejudice, encouraging me to conform to it. I locked myself in a closet full of dresses.