Like many Black women who date white men, I could not help but draw parallels between my own experience and Ciara Miller’s.

Three years ago, Miller, a beloved castmate on Bravo’s Summer House—and, for a time, the only Black person on the show—entered a relationship with new housemate West Wilson. The two had a fun summer affair that ended with West sending mixed messages and using his newfound fame to date around. But this wasn’t what made their relationship a matter of international interest. That would be when Wilson began secretly dating Amanda Batula—another housemate and Miller’s close friend—culminating with a joint admission released on social media earlier this spring.

While I have not had a friend date my ex, I have been in situations where, because I am a Black (and trans) woman, I have not been taken entirely seriously as an option for the white man I was dating.

During the season that aired before the scandal, Miller discussed her experience of dating in white spaces: the flak she gets from the Black community for dating outside of her race, the jealous anger directed at her by white fans. I could wholly relate.

I have lost count of how many times I’ve seemed to shock people with the man I’m dating. The issue, for others, is that they ultimately don’t believe traditionally handsome, white men should be with a woman like me. Batula’s indignation during part one of the Summer House reunion immediately called those instances to mind: Though she claimed to be sorry, Batula’s defensiveness betrayed her real belief—that she believed she was a better match for Wilson than Miller was.

There are certain conversations, thoughts, and concerns that arise for women like me and Miller: Will I be viewed as marriage material to a white man? How will his family receive me? We know that we are worthy, that we are desired—but does that go beyond the bedroom? We know that we can date whomever and however we like—and yet we’re prepared for an extra level of scrutiny, and fatigue.

I actually began watching Summer House right before the scandal came to light. It was recommended to me by two friends from different stages in my life, both of whom knew that I would identify with fun-loving, pretty Miller and her dating history on the show. One of the first scenes that grabbed and held my attention involved Miller telling her castmates that when she dates, she doesn’t want to be seen as an experience, or something to try. What she means is that she does not want to be sampled like some exotic fruit, only to then be discarded; she wants to be viewed as a viable partner. When, after exiting an eight-year relationship, I started using dating apps, I had to put the very same thing in my bio: that I was not interested in being someone’s experiment.

More than once in my dating life, I’ve had a man tell me that he isn’t looking for anything serious or with a label, only to later end up in a relationship with a woman who is my exact opposite. It hurts. I have to wonder if the person he chose was more palatable to his family and friends (yes); if the relationship was easier for him because they had a similar cultural background (probably); and, ultimately, why he started things up with me in the first place (a question to which I will never receive a straightforward answer).

Miller had the privilege of holding her ex accountable to his face, surrounded by cameras, and with the world watching. But unfortunately, even then, Wilson did what I've seen far too many white men in his situation do: He sat there and evaded any questions that made him uncomfortable, letting Batula take all of the heat.

One could argue that this isn’t a race issue. There isn’t a Black person alive that hasn’t heard a white person quip at them, “I don’t see color." I have a few problems with that idea. For one thing, to not see my color is to not see me—to not see my heritage and what makes me who I am. For another, it’s just a lie. We live in a country where race is embedded in our history. And I would be lying if I claimed not to notice that the people taking Batula’s side in comment threads and tabloids are largely white women. As Black women in white spaces, our feelings are often disregarded or discredited as a victim complex. Our lived experience is made to seem beside the point.

Watching Ciara Miller’s story play out, I think of all of the times that Black women in media have been relegated to a supporting part: a shoulder to cry on (which Miller certainly was for Batula, from playing mediator to acting as couples counselor and consoler during many of Batula and her ex’s spats), a support system, the sassy comic relief. But we have always deserved more—and that begins with being the main character in our love stories.