What Book Bans Taught Me About People, Not Politics

For the past few weeks, I’ve been buried in research for my ENG‑190 essay on book bans in Oklahoma. I expected to learn about laws, policies, and political agendas. What I didn’t expect was how much this research would force me to look at the people behind those decisions — and, unexpectedly, the people in my own life.

Book bans are always framed as “protecting children,” but the deeper I dug, the more I saw something else: fear, insecurity, and a desperate need to control narratives. The state says it’s about safety, but the inconsistencies tell a different story. Oklahoma bans books about identity, race, and sexuality while ignoring the media kids actually consume every day. 

It’s selective. It’s performativity. It’s hypocritical.

And somewhere in the middle of analyzing that hypocrisy, I started noticing the hypocrisy in my own relationship.

I kept hearing, “Get off my back,” every time I asked a simple question. Meanwhile, in the back of my mind, I couldn’t unsee the things that didn’t add up — the sudden disappearance of timestamps on every account, including mine. The new social media profile that appeared out of nowhere. The endless feed of other women’s profiles he’d been scrolling through. The way transparency vanished the moment I had access to his accounts.

It felt eerily similar to what I was writing about: someone insisting everything is fine while their actions tell a completely different story.

Book bans taught me that censorship isn’t just about hiding information — it’s about controlling perception. It’s about shaping a reality that benefits the person in power, even if it means gas lighting everyone else. It’s about saying, “Don’t question me,” while quietly rewriting the rules behind the scenes.

And that’s exactly what I was living.

The more I wrote about Oklahoma’s contradictions, the more I recognized the contradictions in my relationship. The state says it’s protecting kids, but the data doesn’t support that. He said he wanted trust, but his behavior didn’t support that either. Both situations relied on the same tactic: deny, deflect, and hope the other person stops asking questions.

My research didn’t just teach me about censorship — it taught me about patterns. About the way people hide behind excuses. About how easy it is to say one thing and do another. And about how much clarity you gain when you stop accepting explanations that don’t match the evidence.

I didn’t expect my ENG‑190 essay to bleed into my personal life, but it did. It made me braver. It made me more honest with myself. And it reminded me that hypocrisy isn’t just a political problem — it’s a human one.

Sometimes the hardest part isn’t seeing the truth.

It’s admitting that you already knew it.

Maybe it's not me with the problem

I'm moody; maybe look at what you don't see.

You keep asking what’s wrong — why I’m moody, why I have an attitude. Well… imagine if I were the one surfing through guys’ profiles the way you’re scrolling Jennie Couch, MistyDawn Theonlymthrfn, Meena Ponnusamy, Jennifer Mosley, and Kristen Haveard.

Imagine if, while you slept, my device showed up active on Messenger at 9:10 PM.

Imagine if the logs showed me repeatedly checking the same men over and over.

"Maybe then you’d understand why I feel the way I do. Maybe then you’d see I’m not ‘moody’ — I’m reacting to patterns. "

So before you ask what my problem is…

Don’t you think I might have a reason?

 

My Constitutional Rights to My Unapologetically Thoughts

I am a woman exercising my fundamental right to think freely, to evolve intellectually, and to share the messy, beautiful process of becoming.

I often feel like an anomaly among the commonly accepted definitions of "female"—not "typical," perhaps even "strange" to those who don't know me well.

This distinct perspective, this constitutional right to see the world through my own lens rather than inherited prescriptions, is something I've claimed through years of cognitive revolution.

"Let me be clear: I honor my upbringing. The rigid beliefs instilled in my youth—marriage as exclusively between man and woman, substances as gateways to moral decay, pornography as a slippery slope to "abnormal" desires—weren't given to me with malice. "

They were given with love, with protection, and with the best intentions of people doing what they believed was right.

I claim my constitutional right to both honor that gift AND to think beyond it.

"Because here's what the First Amendment protects: not just speech, but the marketplace of ideas that must exist in our minds before words ever form. There comes a profound turning point in every American's existence where we must exercise our right to re-evaluate, to let new perspectives force their way into consciousness. "

The world, once a simple sketch drawn by parents, becomes a complex painting of our own making—and that transformation is as American as the Constitution itself.

This series will explore what happens when we claim our constitutional right to nuanced thinking—because the same freedom that lets me write these words is the freedom that terrifies those who would ban books, censor thoughts, and mistake their personal boundaries for universal law.

I KNOW: And I’m Not Carrying Anyone Else’s Secrets Anymore

There’s a moment in every woman’s life when she stops tiptoeing around someone else’s behavior and starts standing in her own truth.

This is that moment for me.

Let me make this unmistakably clear:

"I KNOW."

I see the Snapchat activity—the “Add Me On Snapchat 💫😈” group, the searches, the returns, and the curiosity that magically spikes at 10:23 AM and again in the dead hours of the night.

I see the Facebook patterns—the late‑night profile visits, the repeat returns, the pages followed, the channels joined, and the women viewed at 2:58 AM, 5:30 AM, and 5:39 AM.

"I see the names: "

Amaya. Jennie. MistyDawn. Meena. Jennifer. Kristen.

I see Tina with the 405 number.

"I see Sweetie Venice giving out an address at 301 N Walker Ave in OKC like it’s nothing."

I see the streets:

North May Avenue. Walker Avenue. Downtown OKC.

"The places where the digital trail keeps circling back."

I see the timestamps:

5:39 AM. 2:58 AM. 5:30 AM.

"The same names. "

The same patterns.

The same nights.

"And here’s the part that matters—not just for me, but for anyone reading this who’s ever been made to feel crazy for noticing what’s right in front of them."

A Lesson for Anyone Who Needs It

Don’t be embarrassed by the truth you uncover.

"Embarrassment belongs to the person who created the situation—not the one who finally stopped pretending not to see it."

Don’t cringe because an address was mentioned.

If someone hands out their location freely, that’s their choice.

"If someone engages publicly, that’s their choice. "

If someone leaves a trail, that’s their choice.

You acknowledging it is not the crime.

"Don’t hide behind someone else’s infidelity."

Secrets only survive when you agree to carry them.

And I’m done carrying anything that isn’t mine.

"Don’t let anyone shame you for speaking your truth."

Silence protects the wrong people.

Silence keeps you small.

"Silence keeps you stuck."

I’m not doing that anymore.

This Is Not About Revenge—It’s About Reclaiming Myself

"This is about refusing to shrink. "

Refusing to be gaslit.

Refusing to be the quiet one while someone else plays loud in the shadows.

"This is about saying:"

I KNOW.

I know the names.

"I know the apps. "

I know the streets.

I know the patterns.

"I know the behavior. "

I know the truth.

And I’m not hiding it.

"Not for him. "

Not for anyone.

Not anymore.

"I’m Finding My Ground Again—And I’m Rising"

Every time I’ve been knocked down, I’ve stood back up.

Every time someone tried to make me doubt myself, I sharpened my clarity.

"Every time someone tried to bury the truth, I dug it back out."

This is me rising—again.

This is me reclaiming my voice—again.

"This is me refusing to be small—again."

And if anyone feels uncomfortable reading this?

Good.

"Maybe they should."

Because the truth isn’t meant to soothe the person who created the mess.

The truth is meant to free the person who lived through it.

"So let this stand as a reminder—to him, to anyone watching, and to anyone who’s ever been told to “let it go” or “stop overreacting”:"

I KNOW.

And I’m done pretending otherwise.