Community Rainbow Waves

Bisexual

My coming out was not the best. I was forced out by an ex’s parent. I was 18 and was in a complicated relationship with my best friend at the time. Unfortunately the future would show me she was neither my girlfriend nor my friend, but that’s another story. She had wanted furniture for her room so I told her I could give her some of mine because I didn’t really use my drawers. Of course that caused commotion at home so I lied and told my parents I was going to move in with her. That way they wouldn’t think I was just giving her my stuff. My mom drove me n the furniture over to her house and I was going to bring the furniture inside. Her Father and my mom started talking while I went to her room to figure out where to out everything. Next thing I know my mom comes up to me and says ” el dice que quieres a su hija.” (Meaning he said u love his daughter) and my heart dropped but I didn’t want my mom to know I was freaking out so what I said was “So”. After that my mother broke down crying and we ended up not leaving the furniture. What followed was being ignored and getting kicked out a number of times. The good thing is now that I’m 30 my mom has become more accepting but I would have loved to have told her when I was ready.

I’m a unicorn

When I was 12 I met a girl, she eventually became my best friend. We spent a lot of time together. She liked to hold my hand and hug me constantly. I noticed that my feelings for her were getting stronger, suddenly I realized that I wanted to kiss her, that something had changed, that I was jealous if I saw her with a boy, but I refused to accept what was happening to me, how could I like my best friend? It was very hard for me to accept myself, to realize that I liked men, but also women. I was never able to tell my best friend that I was in love with her, I’m still afraid to tell some people who I really am, and it’s killing me.

Kind-dorky-lesbian-queer-gay

Looking back (on my *very* old and *very* cringe-worthy social media) it seems like I should have known that something was up WAY EARLIER. I always felt more drawn to girls -be that in real life or in characters of books and movies- found them to be more interesting, enticing and mysterious. Beautiful. Next to them my brain equated men with dull, boring and uninteresting. Mind you I value men and I am lucky to say I have some incredible guy-friends and always had them throughout my life. I also grew up in a very openminded and accepting family so my inhibitions and repression truly came from ‚society’. Never in my dreams would I have thought that I would be gay! Where would that thought have come from. I just always thought I wasn’t into relationships. (This is what a heteronormative society does to queer folk!) Turns out I am actually interested in love -what a surprise that was. But my period of self-reflection would never have started had it not been for positive representation in the media I consumed. Most notably Carmilla and Emily Andras’ work on Lost Girl (and later Wynonna Earp) played a big role in that. There were more but non as impactful.
So then I knew. Well I suspected. Then debated with myself for a few weeks and THEN finally I knew. Honestly that was the hardest part for me. The coming to terms with myself. Guess there must have been more internalized issues there than I would have thought possible. Then I told my two best friends -old school style- via actual physical letters I sent them. They were great and I knew they would be. Then came what I like to call my ‚closet-Phase’. It wasn’t long but it was hella awkward. I soon told my sisters and then a few days later I blurted our my truth over lunch to my parents. Not the most graceful move but effective. At this point I would have thought there was no possible way for me to be more openly queer. (I’m talking RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE.) Still I continuously came out to more people in my life. Some were surprised some already knew. Some came out to me in turn as well. On the anniversary of coming out to my besties I got a rainbow tattoo on my ankle. Now I wear a rainbow necklace I was gifted that same year and have never taken off since. My earrings, piercings and watch-band are rainbow. Still some people need to be told. I feel like I will never be done ‚Coming Out’ but I am happy and proud to do it. For all the people who can’t yet themselves live their truth.

Girl that likes girls but loves people

I come from Serbia, country in Europe. When I was thirteen I had my first girl crush, but at first I didn’t admit it to myself. Later I thought I was bisexual, cause it seemed easier. I came out to myself and my family when I was in high school. I am so lucky that my parents and sisters accept my sexuality. As the years passed by, I came out to my friends and became more open about talking about that to people surrounding me. Unfortunately, my grandma and her side of family don’t know so I’m feeling like half of me is still in the closet. I feel like I’m not fully out and that frustrates me. It is hard for LGBTQ+ people to live in my country, but we’re taking baby steps.

Thompkell (she/her)

I have a vivid memory of walking home from school when I was 13 years old. Where my steady footsteps on the pavement, the soft weight of my backpack, and the gentle warmth of afternoon sunshine created the conditions for my mind to wander to romantic curiosities about one of my best friends – a girl (like me). The memory doesn’t stay with me as a milestone for my first gay thought (which I’m not even sure would be accurate), but it hovers because of the innocence that emerged when I remember telling myself afterwards with a playful shrug – “I’m sure everyone has thoughts like this.”

Whether or not more people ever do feel a pull to kiss their same-sex friends, my experience was that it was unsafe to consider – so forget talk about – that this desire could be any part of my truth. But there was something enchanting about the tension that I then began to experience as I felt called to acknowledge this part of myself.

I had to make a choice.

So instead of pulling myself together – I split and divided core facets of my being to maintain an illusion of a “normal” life and to hide the pieces I was not ready to accept.

The division, as one might expect, led to secrecy and a dynamic where I could only find true happiness in controlled, private, and hidden spaces. Escapism and disconnection. And, as if to further confuse my inherent sense of self and intuition, my friend – who I had imagined kissing – ended up playing in these shadows with me. We “dated” in the later years of high school – a secret we kept from literally everyone else in our lives. But where we were each coming from, at our cores, wasn’t aligned. She would cycle through boyfriends and force a hard separation from our day life and our shadowed life. I started living a life so empty on the surface – craving the time in the shadows – that I became numb to who I was spending time with when it wasn’t her.

I lost my centre.
I lost my own personal sense of who I was since I was craving to exist in the only one place I permitted and allowed myself to connect to what I was truly feeling.

Eventually it became too much to maintain the separation between the two lives. When I had approached her with the confession – that what I felt in the shadows was something I wanted to share with the light – I was met with hostility and denial. This would start a dysfunctional pattern of dismissing my own needs for those I love. How can you develop any sense of confidence in yourself when the person you care about most and feel you can be your truest self with is ashamed of who you are? Can look you right in your eyes, speak directly to your heart and tell you that who you are and what you feel is wrong?

But perhaps the biggest hurt was to realize that we did not feel the same way about what we were experiencing. That the space we had created together was starkly unsafe for me to feel the way I felt.
My world began to collapse.

I had separated an incredibly significant piece of my identity from the rest of my experience, and since I had defined my happiness based on how worthy I was in someone else’s eyes, my core became a void. Who was I? An emptiness emerged from the gaping hole that I had been filling with validation from others – validation I did not recognize I needed to be seeking from myself first. And when the sadness shifted to numbness it became an exceedingly difficult vibration to move out of – especially when fear and shame took control.

Then in the swirl of sadness, shame, confusion, loss, and uncertainty – the emergent realization that maybe I am gay snapped any remaining stability out from under me. To be this way wasn’t safe, especially if my love won’t be reciprocated, wasn’t enough, or was to be used as a weapon to demonize me. I couldn’t trust myself if this kind of happiness also meant so much harm.

But what is a “coming out story”?

I would love to say that this was the lowest point of my life through this journey – but that isn’t the case. I would also love for this to have been the moment that I accepted and acknowledged my place in the LGBTQ2IA+ community – but that isn’t true either. It would take many years to get to where I am today, and maybe I will always be going through the process of coming out and deepening my self acceptance.

What is the case though, truly, is that as I have found more self acceptance, the people in my life and the world (I believe) have also been finding softer hearts and raising their levels of acceptance, awareness, and love – consciously and subconsciously. And I genuinely believe that we will only get better. We will only love more. We will only build on and grow our collective kindness and compassion.

And, at least based on my experience, I deeply believe all of this is possible through the simple, challenging work of each of us turning inwards towards ourselves – first – and lovingly embracing all of who we are.

Change doesn’t need to be a light switch – but trust that lights shine their brightest in the dark.

Thank you for creating this space for us to share. Thank you for starting this wave of change and inspiration. Thank you for your sincerity and courage.
xo

Pansexual

When I was younger, I never really thought about my sexuality. I kind of had no interest in dating anyone of any gender. I was somewhat immature and a bit socially awkward, so it wasn’t like anyone was lining up to go out with me. I always admired beautiful women, but never thought anything of it. Looking back on it now, I probably should’ve figured it out a long time ago, but hindsight is always 20/20.
I didn’t start to think anything about my sexuality until my roommate pushed me into joining Tinder shortly after my 25th birthday. I went on a couple dates with guys, but nothing really stuck. About a month after I started on Tinder, my aunt made a comment that changed everything: if you and (female roommate) were lesbians, you two would be all set! That kind of opened my eyes to the fact that maybe I liked girls too.
This is where my story gets to be a little cliche. I started developing feelings for my (straight) roommate. I didn’t tell anyone for almost a month, because I wasn’t ready to tell her how I felt. On St. Patrick’s Day on the way home from a night out, the topic of girl crushes came up. Drunk me figured that if I didn’t tell her now, I wouldn’t tell her at all.
So, with the help of some liquid courage, I came out to her. She was incredibly understanding of it, and was proud of me for telling her. I knew nothing would ever happen between us, but felt that she had the right to know.
I starting coming out to my close friends, and but still had some questions. Do I really like girls too, or just her? Here’s where my story gets even more cliche. I went to see the musical Rent, and when red-headed Maureen came out in her leather pants, I was sold!
That night, I came out to my mom. She didn’t want to believe it, and told me it was just a phase and kind of brushed it off. I knew she would be supportive no matter what, but it still kind of hurt that she didn’t accept it right away. I came out to the rest of my family, other than my dad, at Thanksgiving that year.
It wasn’t until I moved to Key West and got my first girlfriend that I really began to own my sexuality. I’m no longer afraid to tell people, and am trying hard not to care what people think about it. The past 2 years have been an amazing journey, and I am so thankful to the people who have helped me along the way. #outisthenewin

Nat

I started to realize and accept my feelings toward girls in middle school. I had just come out of a very stressful living situation and, since my brain didn’t have anything else to ruminate on, it turned to the girl that welcomed me into my new community. I spent the next several weeks v e r y confused and ended up texting my best friend to ask for help. I explained what I was feeling and she said that it was okay. She said I didn’t need a label to be worthy.

That was maybe five years ago. Now I’m a gay woman who is out to her family and is in a serious relationship. But that doesn’t mean it’s easier. I still get looks in the hallways for kissing my girlfriend. We still get scolded by administrators for laying our heads on each other’s shoulders. My family is tentatively accepting, but I know they’re uncomfortable. But I don’t let that stop me. I still hold my girlfriend and kiss her in the hallway. I still tell her that I love her. Because I do. And this is a part of who I am. And no one will ever take that away from me.

Embracing my rainbow

My secondary school was single-sex, so I was constantly surrounded by girls. 8am-3pm Monday to Friday, the only people in my life were girls and women. It wasn’t until I was in either year 10 or 11 that I realised I had a crush on a girl in my school. She was so intelligent, beautiful and funny, and she was one of the only people who really saw me and bothered to speak or listen to me. I tried to ignore it for so long, putting the feelings down to wanting to be her friends or he like her. It wasn’t until year 12 when I got my first boyfriend that I realised it was more than that. I loved my boyfriend but I felt more when I looked at or thought about girls. Our relationship went downhill fast and within only a few months I was single again.
Since then I’ve spent a lot of time getting to know myself – who I am, what I want from life/a partner, and it’s been okay. When I first properly realised my attraction to girls I gave myself the label of bisexual and came out to one of my best friends who I’d met through tumblr. She came out to me at the same time and it was the best feeling knowing that I had someone in exactly the same position as me who I could talk to. When I started university we both began questioning our identity again and it was with her support that I was able to start identifying as gay.
There’s alway been that voice in the back of my head saying “you’re not gay. You’re faking. You’re bi. You’re straight. Stop lying to yourself” and everyday I’m learning how to fight it. It’s now been 3 years since I started identifying as gay and I’m out to all of my friends, as well as my parents who I told last weekend (something which I didn’t think would happen and which was completely accidental).
I’m still terrified of fully being myself and embracing my rainbow. Keeping this part of me hidden for so long has felt like I was being suffocated but it feels amazing to finally be free.

I’m me.
I’m free.
I’m gay.
I’m not going to hide it away.

I’m embracing my rainbow and letting my flag fly high.

Olga from Belarus, Minsk

I’m queer (bi). I madly love my girlfriend, with whom I live. We are raising her son. We love, we are happy. But, our parents (both her and mine) do not recognize our feelings and deny them. We want our parents to know that their children are happy.

Learning not to Fight Myself

A lot of people seem to know that they are “different” from an early age.

I never did. Or I didn’t for years anyway.

I had so many other things I was worried about. Whether it was switching schools again, taking care of my siblings that were significantly younger than me, or just trying to settle in to another new place, boys always seemed unimportant, so the fact that I wasn’t interested in them obviously just wasn’t a big deal. “I’m busy,” I told myself. “I need to make friends, get good grades, go off to college, then I’ll have time for that.”

But I was enamored with my girl friends, here and there. They were dynamic, intelligent, powerful, beautiful, captivating. I wanted to understand them, to do things for them, to make them feel like they were seen and they mattered. I would skip out on homework to text them, crawl out onto the roof at night when I was supposed to be in bed to have long phone conversations about our hopes and dreams and fears and insecurities. I would give up sleep to hear more about the complexities that come out of a person in the dark. I resented the boys that made them feel worthless or annoying or not good enough, because how could they be so blind?

When I first figured out that dating girls was a thing that you could do, I was 15. My first thought was, “Oh no. That. I want to do that.”

I made my way through my sophomore year in a blur, for the first time fully aware of a crush while it was happening. I went to prom with a nice boy from my friend group and hid in the bathroom because I couldn’t bring myself to dance with him. I knew I was staring at a friend who would never look at me that way, and I knew I had something to confront.

In the middle of all of it, my parents sold my childhood home and announced that we would be moving from our tiny Midwestern town to a suburb of Denver. I muddled through the year, researching by consuming every piece of lesbian representation that I could find and then promptly deleting my search history. Until the day that I didn’t. Until the day my parents sat me down as asked me about it. And I told them. And they asked if I was trying to get back at them for making me move. And we decided a few months later that I would go back home to finish high school, but tell no one because it would make things too hard. Make people too uncomfortable.

I truly, publicly, came out a month after I graduated. The day that marriage equality became the law of the land in the United States, June 26th 2015, I wrote a long, thoughtful Facebook post for anyone apart from my friends and family I’d already told. My mom called me to tell me that I should have asked her first, because she was having a hard week because it was her 40th birthday. That I should have asked before I celebrated because she didn’t want to deal with questions form the family. That I could still live a life of celibacy with God.

That was the first time that I felt the fierce protectiveness for my community, for myself, for my own worth, swirl and solidify in my chest. The first time that I really recognized that I didn’t need to be my own worst enemy because the world would take care of that. I had plenty to fight. I didn’t need to fight myself. Most importantly, I was strong enough to put myself in front of anyone that wasn’t there yet, and that that’s what this community does. We defend each other. We help each other. We love each other.

Since then we’ve seen the Pulse shooting. We’ve seen half a dozen years of Pride. We’ve seen job discrimination outlawed. I’ve fallen in and out of love and back into it again. I’ve met spectacular women and men and non-binary and agender folks that have taught me the beauty of the spectrum of human expressions of gender and sexuality and love. It’s made me a better person. I’m more understanding, more empathetic, more open. I wouldn’t trade this community, or this experience of myself for anything.