Charles Orgbon III

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The “wealthy gay myth”

What do characters like Will Truman, from the popular sitcom “Will & Grace,” Arizona Robbins, from “Grey’s Anatomy,” and Cameron and Mitchell from “Modern Family” all have in common? 

These LGBTQ characters from incredibly popular TV series have all in some sense helped to shape the general public’s understanding of gayness—and they’re all white and wealthy. And from my perspective, they’re not outliers: The overwhelming majority of LGBTQ characters on TV are some combination of rich, white, stylist, and privileged (other sources agree).  

“These representations are harmful,” said Jennifer Dazols, a financial advisor and fiduciary who works with LGBT professionals in the Bay Area through her company Modern Family Finance. “It’s part of this wealthy, gay myth. It makes queer people want to spend more money to be like the other gays they see on TV or who have elevated platforms and are representing our community.” 

We might want to spend more money to validate ourselves, especially when we as a community have historically been invalidated. So many in the queer community have been told we’re not enough–and so seemingly wearing the right fashion, driving the right car, and owning the right house or condo could be an antidote. 

“We want to show we are successful, well-adjusted queer people. And all of that comes at an expense…of so much debt,” said Dazols. 

Despite having an estimated purchasing power of $1.4 trillion, little research has been done to understand the financial health of the LGBTQ+ community. One thing, however, is for certain — we are financially stressed. 

Simply surviving as a Queer person can be unavoidably expensive in and of itself. If we’re ostracized by our families, or maintain strained relationships with our families because of our identities, we may lose financial safety nets or find ourselves establishing our lives without the support that many young adults depend on as they’re establishing careers or living paycheck to paycheck. In addition, LGBTQ+ people may face discrimination in job searches and as they advance their careers.  

As we may struggle with earning, we may also experience higher cost of living. So many of us retreated from rural, more conservative towns to urban centers, which allow us to live in affirming and welcoming communities with LGBTQ+ services–but we pay dearly for the high price tags that come with living in liberating cities such as San Francisco and L.A.  

A recent survey of 2,005 LGBTQ+ Americans found that two-thirds reported having “a high amount of financial stress.” LGBTQ+ folks were more likely to have student loan debt, credit card debt, and personal loan debt than other Americans overall, and also less likely to have a mortgage.

This financial insecurity can bring stress, anxiety, and negative impacts on our health. Financial stress can be so burdensome that it interferes with relationships and may create tension and conflict. 

I can relate to all of the reasons that Queer folks experience financial stress which have already been mentioned. I, too, had a parent who threatened to not support me because I was “choosing to live a gay lifestyle.” 

I, too, moved to the Bay Area with the hope that it’d be a more accepting place than the South. In the wake of these truths, I’ve lost sleep over how to pay bills at times with less support and in an expensive city. What brings me comfort is when I become present to the history of financial struggles Queer people have faced over the years. Yet, we still find resilience and strength. It’s my Queer community that I can call upon when most needed. 

For further resources, consider the articles on Modern Family Finance that I found helpful. You may also look to other Queer financial advisors such as Michael A. Gregg of Wealth Vision Advisors and Steve Branton of Wealthspire Advisors. But most importantly, let’s commit to checking in with each other and having brave conversations about financial health. Only through these conversations can we start to understand the truth of how so many Queer people are struggling, and also how we may be able to support one another. 

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Continuing the Fight for Equality: The Ongoing Struggle Against Anti-Drag Legislation

“There has been an onslaught of attacks against our innocent children,” Kentucky state representative Lindsey Tichenor said as she put forth a bill banning drag performances to her state assembly. 

She’s right about one thing. Our children are under attack, not from drag queens, though, but from hate and intolerance. 

Another bill in Idaho would allow parents to be sued up to $10,000 for watching certain shows featuring “sexual content,” and many argue that the language wields a strategic undertone targeting drag shows. Both the Kentucky and Idaho bills have advanced out of committee, and momentum will likely carry them to their respective governor’s desks. In fact, a wave of Republican lawmakers introduced at least 26 bills to restrict drag events in 14 US states early in the 2023 legislative session.

Tennessee’s state legislature, however, moved the fastest.

On Thursday, March, Tennessee became the first state among the pack to sharply restrict drag performances. The state’s governor, Bill Lee, signed a bill banning the shows on public property and in places where minors could watch them. The bill, reading almost like a zoning law, prohibits drag performances within 1,000 feet of schools, public parks, or places of worship. Violators face misdemeanor charges in the first instance, punishable by a fine up to $2,500 and/or up to a year in jail, with more severe consequences for repeat offenders.

Some suggest that maybe the law won’t be as far-reaching as the authors of these bills would hope, according to the A.C.L.U. of Tennessee. “The law bans obscene performances, and drag performances are not inherently obscene,” Stella Yarbrough, the legal director of the A.C.L.U. of Tennessee, said in a statement.

The Tennessee bill defines drag performers as “male or female impersonators.” It’s this imprecise language that has civil rights leaders also concerned. It’s part of a subtle and sinister way to criminalize further just being trans, some suggest. What defines drag? Who will define a male or female impersonator? Will people be arrested for just walking down the street for being trans next? These are important questions that the Tennessee bill leaves open for contemplation, leaving the safety of our LGBTQ+ community up for debate. 

“Perhaps it’s easier to make drag the bogeyman, because it’s seen as a profession,” San Francisco cabaret artist and performer Ryan Patrick Welsh (he/she/they) said. “It’s easier to attack a profession than it is to attack people, but actually nevermind we’re actually seeing both happen,” Ryan Patrick continued.

Making the anti-drag and anti-trans linkage even more apparent, Tennessee governor Bill Lee also recently signed separate legislation that bans transgender minors in Tennessee from receiving gender-affirming care like puberty blockers, hormones, and surgery. As Tennessee demonstrates the possible, there’s a dam of other restrictions to our civil rights ready to be unleashed, many fear. 

“Also, it has nothing to do with kids,” Ryan Patrick continued. As a key member of the Baloney crew, known for powerful vocal performances and gender-bending dance moves, Ryan Patrick says, “My shows aren’t for kids,” Ryan Patrick says. “But these parents who argue they’re protecting their kids are using their kids as a shield for their transphobic ideas. It’s they themselves that don’t want to see drag. That’s what’s really going on.” 

One hundred fifty years ago in San Francisco, Ryan Patrick’s performance would have been illegal. In 1863, as part of a broad anti-indecency campaign, San Francisco adopted a law that criminalized any person appearing in “dress not belonging to his or her sex.” In other words, anti-drag legislation isn’t new. The good news is that we’ve seen these sorts of attacks on our community before. These laws historically haven’t stood the test of time. We know how to mobilize and fight back just like the times before. 

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The infuriating experience of PrEP discrimination

Did you know that you could be discriminated against by insurance companies for taking PrEP? 

I didn’t. 

Recently, I have been searching for long-term disability insurance options while living in California. Long-term disability insurance could offer some peace of mind if some tragic, unforeseeable event left me unable to work. I chatted with an insurance broker, who scanned providers nationwide, and reported back to me that because I took PrEP daily, most insurers wouldn’t allow me to participate in their program. Drugs prescribed for PrEP such as Truvada, Descovy, and Apretude are on a list of “unaccepted” medications.

I received what she said matter of factly. I only heard the information at that moment. I didn’t really process it. It was only later that evening, that the news settled in and it truly struck me–what the actual fuck?!  

An insurance policy that excludes people taking PrEP is rooted in misinformation and stigma, and actually has counterproductive outcomes. 

We should be encouraging communities, especially those at high-risk, to take PrEP. PrEP reduces the risk of getting HIV from sex by about 99% when taken as prescribed, therein offering the promise of finally managing and ending the spread of this virus when combined with access to screening services. 

While only 3% of the 1.2 million people for whom PrEP is recommended were prescribed it in 2015, that number rose to 25% in 2020, demonstrating the notable gains achieved. But what’s stopping this number from reaching 100%? I believe it’s interactions like those between this insurance broker and myself that contribute to the hardship that people still face for trying to protect their health. 

California’s first openly gay Insurance Commissioner, Ricardo Lara, has decidedly taken on insurance companies to protect those seeking access to PrEP services. An investigation by the Department of Insurance examined life, disability income and long-term care insurance companies and discovered evidence that “some insurers had denied or limited coverage, restricted products available through accelerated underwriting, placed conditions on coverage, or charged higher rates to users of pre-exposure prophylaxis, or PrEP, medication.”

Accordingly, The Department of Insurance issued a notice reminding insurers a person’s history of PrEP use cannot be used as a justification to deny life, disability or long-term care insurance coverage or charge higher premiums for that coverage under California’s The Equal Insurance HIV Act, which becomes enforceable starting January 1, 2023. 

But insurers don’t have to wait until then to do away with discriminatory practices. That’s why I texted the insurance broker and asked her if she could be an ally for queer people and remind the underwriters she’s in communication with that this should not be allowed and, at least in California, won’t be allowed soon. She didn’t respond, but I hope she’s thoughtfully considering my message.

The impact of this law especially brings me comfort as a Black, gay man, because I’ve seen how HIV and AIDS have disproportionately impacted my community. Tools for combating this virus should not be made any more challenging to access than they already are. Some estimates show that 1 in 2 gay black men may contract HIV in their lifetimes. Anything we can do to provide relief to our already-hurting community is welcomed. 

Apart from institutional forces such as the archaic, discriminatory insurance policies that create stigma around PrEP use, there are also social ones. Some folks who take PrEP are called “Truvada whores.” There is a perception that because they’re taking the medication they must be very sexually active, and unfortunately both everyday folks and even the medical community themselves aren’t immune to this perception. 

In actuality people who take PrEP are a part of the solution for stopping the spread of HIV. But, they may feel like they’re doing something wrong or that they have to hide thanks to this stigma. No one should feel like they’re being punished because they’re trying to take control of their health. 

Terrance Wilder was diagnosed with HIV at the age of 20, and now works with San Francisco AIDS Foundation to help others gain access to PrEP. He’s deeply concerned about making sure access to PrEP is available to people who need it the most. 

“If a person doesn’t have a stable place to live or consider themselves homeless, PrEP most likely will not be as much of a priority for them although they may be putting themselves at risk daily,” Wilder said. He’s also seen how transportation can be a barrier as some folks may can’t make it to their appointments or to pick up their medications, and mental health disparities can be barriers for folks in many ways.

Laws are just one tool to affect change in our society. How we treat each other and support each other on the individual level creates an environment that moves our society towards addressing health access and equity as well. One of the most dangerous things we can do for society is to allow being uninformed to create additional harm onto communities needing our help the most. 

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Pleasure, consent and more: What I didn’t learn in sex ed, and why it matters (Part II)

Efforts to erase LGBTQ sex education topics from public school curriculum are growing in GOP-led state legislatures and sweeping moves are tightening in Arizona, Tennessee, Idaho, and Missouri. These policymakers would rather punish LGBTQ people for being who they are than provide them with information and educational resources to live healthy, successful lives. In what has become our nation’s latest culture war, it’s disheartening to know that LGBTQ youth stand to lose the most. 

Already, there’s no national mandate for sexual education, and for the few states that do offer it, LGBTQ topics are disregarded or degraded. Non-profit organization Sex Ed For Social Change, states, “nine states require educators to portray homosexuality in a negative manner or do not allow them to speak about LGBTQ individuals.” This points to the dismal state of LGBTQ sexual education as-is. Additional efforts to hide this information will only further disempower queer youth. 

One of the ways I can resist these recent efforts is by sharing my story of what I didn’t learn in sex ed. This article is a continuation of the first.

1. Pleasure can come in multiple forms. 

For many people, sexual education de-emphasizes pleasure and emphasizes risk. Youth lose sight of the benefits that a healthy sex life can provide, and are unable to visualize the many ways they are able to please themselves and meet their needs for intimacy, play, and self-expression. There are also many ways that people can receive pleasure–polyamory, phone sex, adult toys, and more. Ethical Slut offers new ways of being in relationship with individuals. It’s the bible for non-traditional relationships. COVID-19 and our fear of physical touching taught us the power of phone sex, and these are learned lessons we can continue to carry with us. And with adult toys, there is a laundry list of do’s and don’ts. Do not, for example, use silicone lube on silicone toys, because the silicone of the lube can break down the toy’s material. Always use  water-based lube on silicone toys.

2. How to give consent & How to say no

We may have at least been taught that consent is important, but we don’t learn the nuances of communication when we’re in the moment. As I’ve grown older, I realized that “I’m getting tired,” or “I have an early morning tomorrow” are indirect ways a potential sexual partner may revoke consent. It’s also important to understand that at any point, for any reason, a person can revoke consent. Even if we’ve begun ripping off each other’s clothes voraciously, any person can later decide that they no longer want to continue. It is vulnerable receive rejection, and it’s also extremely vulnerable to tell someone you’re no longer interested. It takes maturity to acknowledge that the best shared sexual experience comes from both partners being super, super, super excited about being together. Simply put, your experience won’t reach its full potential when your partner’s experience isn’t the most pleasurable. Sometimes it pays to wait for the right moment. And if just the thought of rejecting someone or hearing rejection scares you or angers you, please, please deeply consider choosing to not engage in sexual activity until you’re more comfortable navigating the level of communication needed to protect yourself and others. This video explains it succinctly: 

https://youtube.com/watch?v=oQbei5JGiT8%3Ffeature%3Doembed%26enablejsapi%3D1%26origin%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fwww.sfaf.org

3. Mental health is sexual health

The irony is that even if GOP politicians are unsuccessful in their attempts to further limit LGBTQ sexual health education, the mere discussion of the topic is enough to impact the sex lives of queer youth. Consider a 2020 Trevor report that found that “86% of LGBTQ youth said that recent politics have negatively impacted their well-being.” If we don’t feel safe, we’re not likely to fully realize our sexual potential. That’s because mental health is sexual health. No wonder so many drugs that impact our brain health also have sexual side effects. Mental health also determines if we believe we are worthy of sex and healthy sexual relationships.

4. You get to decide what sex means to you

I believe I lost my virginity the moment I had oral sex with my first partner. Because this person is still in my life as a friend, he once retorted, “We didn’t have sex.” To some people (e.g. Bill Clinton), I have realized that oral sex really isn’t sex, but to me it is. In fact, I don’t even think orgasming is necessary for sex to have happened. This happens to be my definition, and I believe it’s just as valid as the individuals who have more conservative interpretations of sex. Because I find sex to be such an intimate, personal experience I want to affirm young readers that they are allowed to determine what sex means to them–especially since as queer people the way we have sex is often explained within a heteronormative context which doesn’t work for everyone. 

Trying to give readers a sex education in two 1,000-word personal essays is impossible. These thoughts are just my own experience, and it’s likely there are many other things you could add to this list as well. We can’t go back and time and give ourselves the sex education we needed, but we can continue forward remaining curious and doing all that we can to empower ourselves now.  The topics in this two-part series only start the conversation. Continue following the links, questioning, and discovering your body. 

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PrEP, STIs, douching, and more: What I didn’t learn in sex ed, and why it matters (Part I)

In Georgia in the early 2010s, what was available to me as a LGBTQ person during my high school sex education class was… inadequate, to say the least. Now, my heart weighs heavy as GOP-led state governments are making LGBTQ* sex education even more inaccessible in public schools across the country. 

The latest wave of anti-LGBTQ legislation comes only two years after Arizona lawmakers retracted their efforts to ban HIV/AIDS curriculum that “promotes a homosexual lifestyle” after facing massive public outlash and a lawsuit. However, this state’s legislature has made a second attempt in the spring of 2021, now framing the issue as a parents’ rights issue–stating that parents must provide consent for their child to participate in discussions about gender identity, sexual orientation, or HIV/AIDS in sex education classes. Parents must even sign off on teaching historical material, including the 1969 Stonewall Riots and the gay rights movement.

Following Arizona’s lead, Tennessee and Missouri lawmakers are drafting similar measures which would require parents to be notified before instruction on sexual orientation or gender identity (but would exclude historical references). Idaho legislation, which has already passed the House and now awaits Senate action, also requires notifications and opt-ins, including for discussion of sexual orientation outside of sex education classes. 

Despite these efforts by state legislatures, public support for LGBTQ youth continues to grow, and as LGBTQ youth mature into adulthood, they’ll need to have a sex education that prepares them for a healthy life. Because of the failures of my own high school education system, I had to bumble through life learning how to protect myself from self-study on the internet and through podcasts, TV, and friends. Even today, I meet LGBTQ adults who are still largely unaware of important aspects of queer sexual health. So, whether you’re young, old, a thoughtful person, or just a GOP state lawmaker, these are important topics to know.

In this two-part series, I’ll lay out eight topics I didn’t learn in sexual education, starting first with four that represent the physical mechanics of sex, and the next four that represent more of the mental and emotional aspects of sex. 

1. PrEP, PEP, and Undetectable=Untransmittable. 

PrEP, a drug that has prevented the transmission of HIV with a 99% efficacy, has been out on the market ever since I’ve been in high school. I had been sexually active for five years before discovering this once-a-day medication, which ensures that I stay HIV-free. Most individuals experience no side effects, and despite rumors of it being “too expensive,” it can be free with most insurances and because there are numerous cost assistance programs for the uninsured. And for those who have already been exposed to the virus, but aren’t on PrEP (also known by its brand names Truvada or Descovy), there’s an alternative (sort of like the Plan B of HIV), called PEP. PEP, when taken up to 72 hours after exposure can significantly lower the chances of HIV transmission. Thanks to increasingly effective treatments, so many people living with HIV have what’s known as an Undetectable=Untransmittable status. Their viral loads are so low, the CDC says there is “effectively no risk” of transmission when engaging in oral, anal, or vaginal sex.

2. STIs don’t make you dirty. Most are curable.

Upon moving to San Francisco, I contracted my first STI–gonorrhea. It was asymptomatic, and identified quickly. Because I was on my daily prescription for PrEP, I was seeking sexual health care at San Francisco AIDS Foundation’s sexual health clinic Magnet, and was therefore receiving regular testing. The treatment was quick and easy and seven days later, I could get back to hanky panky. The reality of contraction and treatment was far less painful than I had imagined. My high school education in Georgia had me believe that if I so much as undressed in front of another person, Sebastian and every critter from The Little Mermaid’s deep blue sea would be knapping at my pubes. 

3. How to douche. 

If you’re queer, I seriously hope that Sex Education was a part of your early pandemic Netlfix binge. If not, Season 2, Episode 6 is where my beloved characters deal with numerous dramas, one of them concerning the topic of anal douching. Heartthrob Rahim teaches us the mechanics to ensure shit doesn’t happen. In short, the sigmoid colon, where our bodies are designed to hold our poop, is located well above the rectum, which means that it lies farther inside our bodies than a penis, dildo, or fingers can reach during penetrative anal sex. For those of us that eat high fiber diets and evacuate regularly, douching may not be necessary. And for those of that do require cleaning, San Francisco AIDS Foundation’s anal douching safety tips are extremely helpful. 

4. The HPV vaccine is for everyone. 

The HPV vaccine, which prevents the transmission of the strain of the virus that develops cancer and genital warts, was originally recommended only for people with vaginas by the CDC. As scientific evidence grew, the CDC amended it’s guidelines to include everyone in their preteens through 26 years old, too. Adding to the confusion, my primary care doctor explained to my dad that the vaccine was specifically for sex between a man and a woman. His narrowly defined definition didn’t consider that men could pass it between each other and that those men could then pass it to others if either of them engaged in vaginal sex. This lack of clarity led my father to decline me getting the vaccine, since he assumed it was not for gay men. It wasn’t until I began visiting my college’s LGBTQ Center that I realized that the HPV vaccine is for everyone, regardless of sexual orientation, and chose to take the necessary precautions.

In What I Didn’t Learn In Sex Ed (Part 2), I’ll expand on these topics, adding four more, including, pleasure can come in multiple forms, how to give consent & how to say no, mental health is sexual health, and you get to decide what sex means to you. 

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The pain of racial injustice lingers. Here’s how you can support your Black partner

It takes a strong Black person to date a white person.

For better or for worse, romantic relationships are a minefield of opportunities to explore Black/white dynamics in America. It works well when the white partner is able to reduce the harm they create and learn from their partner, but it can also be traumatizing for the Black partner to relive life-alienating societal patterns in one of their most intimate relationships. 

When a white man is fascinated with my last name, I don’t expect them to know that it reminds me of how my family history has been ill-kept. In fact, the average African American has a quarter of European ancestry, largely introduced through generations of systemic rape under chattel slavery for 400 years. 

When a white man may playfully call me a “boy,” I am certain they wouldn’t know that my mom taught me to never let a white person call me that. “Boy” is among the many words that white people have historically used to demonstrate their superiority over Blacks. 

When I arrive at a white man’s house or apartment for a date and they keep me waiting on their stoop, I also don’t expect them to know that I’m constantly wondering if their white neighbors think I’m trying to break in. When white people call the police on Black people for waiting outside their actual homes, I must consider these possibilities. 

Many white people aren’t maliciously trying to harm their Black partners, but as Robin Di’Angelo taught us in her New York Times bestselling book, White Fragility, white people have many racial blindspots. At the same time, not acknowledging the impact of a race-related conflict could feel excustory, leaving the white person to miss a valuable opportunity to understand and meet the needs of their partner. This could also lead to the Black person feeling resentful. “I didn’t intend to create harm,” has become carte blanche for so many white people to leave the impacts of their words and actions unexamined. 

In my experience, many white men – gay or straight – aren’t used to being challenged as much as women and BIPOC folkx are challenged. This may lead to defensiveness. Reluctant to take accountability for his actions, I once had a partner tell me that it was “unusual” and that I was being “petty” for identifying an interaction in which I felt hurt by their actions. 

In my own dating, many times a white man has told me, “I think you misunderstood” or “That’s not what I meant,” when I’ve called them out on something that may have been slightly offensive. I’m able to identify the quick dismissal of accountability, and it’s not pretty. To be fair, none of us like the mirror to be held up to our face, especially when we’re feeling really insecure with what others may label us (e.g. racist, bigot, insensitive), but it’s necessary for us to move towards trust and learning, and also deeper intimacy in our relationships. 

I truly believe white people when they say they don’t mean to create harm, too. 

Navigating sexual desire can also be fraught with problematic statements, too. It’s like the time one white partner tried to assign a monetary value to my butt. He thought it was cute when he didn’t think about it. And also, I’ve written before about comparing Black bodies to chocolate in a sexual way seems innocuous to many white people, yet it objectifies us. After all, nobody asks chocolate if it wants to be eaten. They just eat it. And chocolate is so replaceable. You might think you want chocolate today, but tomorrow you may have decided that pie is better. It’s this kind of thinking that leads white partners to become fascinated with images such as BBC. It’s also this kind of thinking that leads white partners to believe they automatically have the right to touch or play with their partner’s hair, which for so many Black people is more than just hair, it’s a sign of Black pride. 

And when a white man that I have only been on one or two dates with doesn’t respond to my text or puts me through the typical non-sense games that plague any person who’s actively dating, I bet they don’t consider that this might trigger my own insecurities around my self-worth and value — insecurities that are perpetuated by a world that hypnotizes us to devalue Black beauty. “Do they not like me because I am Black?” is a question I’m sure every Black person has asked themselves in some context at some point in their lives. 

Why would they know these things? It’s not their fault that the world is organized in a way that these experiences are not visible for them. Sometimes it’s possible to be guilty and innocent at the same time; the innocence creates the guilt. Absence of awareness, doesn’t erase the factors at play, however. But now the tides are turning, and it’s no longer “acceptable” to just “not know” about the factors at play.

These are just a few examples. There’s actually a whole realm of studies related to decolonizing our sex lives. I’m not sure if white folks realize that as with all things in our unequal society, dating is harder for Black lives, too. I’ve dated plenty to say that I’m not sure most white men can really hold space for the most tender parts of my Blackness. 

For example, the lead up to the Derek Chauvin trial, the trial itself, and awaiting the verdict was an especially stressful time for me. It’s something I manage better now that I have been exposed to more and more injustice in the world, but still I haven’t become used to them. So many of my Black friends anticipated a not guilty verdict. We’re too familiar with these cases. It’s in these moments, where I know so much of the Black community is feeling a lot, that I think about my Black brothers and sisters out there that are partnered to white folks. I just hope their white partner is able to hold the space for them if they need it. Because while justice was somewhat delivered and Derek Chauvin was found guilty, the pain and suffering for the Black community will continue.

If you’re white, and partnered to a Black person, please consider this advice:

  1. Set aside time with your partner to learn about each other’s implicit biases. Taking a free assessment such as one through Project Implicit may give couples really interesting data to start that conversation together.
  2. Some relationship gurus call it contracting or developing personal user guides, but essentially the premise is the same: develop an understanding of each other’s perspectives and needs, perhaps with the help of a relationship counselor, to establish some norms and agreements for how you will navigate the sensitive parts of the relationship. You could also discuss preferred ways of resolving conflicts. Did you know about the Five Apology Languages?
  3. Actively and continually engage in learning, using books such as White Fragility or Blindspot or a memoir by a Black author. Spice things up and maybe read to each other in bed, if your partner is willing. Attending Black history museums, art exhibits, and community and cultural events are also a meaningful way to learn together, as well.

These are some of my thoughts, but not the definitive experience of interracial dating. Share your thoughts and stories in the comments on social media when you share this article!