For as long as I can remember, people have wanted me to be in charge of their lives.
I am the peacemaker. The organizer. Steady. Thoughtful. Capable.
I am the person strangers spill their secrets to.
The one who people turn to in a crisis.
When you walk into a room full of strangers, I am the one you find when you need to feel seen, held, safe, and intimidated all at once.
Last year, there was a multi-country-wide power outage across Portugal, Spain, and parts of France. Mine was the door people showed up at for comfort. For a plan. For reassurance. To put down their panic and trust.
And they were right to do it.
I was calm, prepared, steady in crisis.
I turned the power outage into a backyard barbecue. Bring everything that’s about to go bad in your fridges. We cook it all tonight! By candlelight and solar-powered twinkle lamps, we did just that. Chicken, rice, salad, pot stickers.
I popped a bottle of special Champagne and we toasted laughing to the “end of the world.”
The lights came back on late that night. Maybe 12 hours of outage in the end.
And the people who showed up—many of them who didn’t know me too well, actually—kept saying how simply stepping across the threshold of my home and seeing it was handled turned their panic to nothing.
When I think about my dominance, this is what I think of:
The way my power, my calm, my strength stand consistent over time. How they are safe to sink into, to build something on. And how somehow people sense that in me, often near-instantly.
My dominance is not a mirror of authoritarianism. It is not conquest against your will. It is a safe haven. A place to rest. A place to lay down the mask you’ve been wearing in a world that forces you to cosplay dominance because of your gender. A place to lay down the responsibilities.
A place to surrender.
To share your secrets and find that I am still there the next day.
To show your vulnerability and find that it makes you stronger.
To show yourself. Be seen. Be held. In your darkness. Your weakness. Your strength. Your truth. Every hidden part.
To step across the threshhold, see over and over again that I’ve got this, and release your grip on control bit by bit until you can truly, bone-deep let go of masks and anxiety and performance…
And simply be.