Community Rainbow Waves

ANONYMOUS

Ever since I started high school right through near to the end I never came to terms that I liked girls I tried to push it away and not think about it because I was scared of what others thought about me. In this society many people don’t agree with LGBT+Q and I’ve seen how people are some people are loving and accepting but some aren’t which we don’t have the power to change their minds everyone has the own opinions. But back to coming out I always liked this girl and her smile was just wow I was speechless. I didn’t want people knowing about me being bisexual so because these feeling became so strong for her I distanced my self from her so I’d stop loving her but because I did that they became even more powerful all I ever thought about was her. I came out not long ago and all my family and friends are accepting well the ones I told. But since coming I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been less anxiety and the girl I always had a crush on isn’t just my best friend but my girlfriend now and I’m proud to call her that , I’m proud to walk down the street and hold her hand , kiss and hug her and gives her compliments without caring what others think. This is me and I’m proud of it my confidence was never the best but now it is thanks to thinking more positive and for people being accepting and showing me it’s ok because it is ok to be you.

Trans masculine

I first questioned things when I was 5, but a negative reaction from my mother led me to suppress my queerness until I was 17. That was when I tried binding my chest for the first time. It was a life changing experience, and over the past 5 years I’ve continued to explore my gender. Now I can confidently say I am a non-binary man, and I am no longer ashamed of it.

Lesbian

I knew when I was 10, I think, I first thought I was bisexual, but two years later I found out that I was gay. I came out to my friends way sooner then my parents. I came out to my parents in the end of 2018, when the president of my country was elected. I cried so much and told them that I was crying because I am not straight (he’s a sexist homophobic man). I’m not out to my whole family, just a few relatives, and now that I have a girlfriend I want to come out, but I’m really scared. Oh! By the way, I’m 13, turning 14 in August.

The woman in Compartment C, Car 193

I didn’t come to terms with my sexuality until I tried to be everything else but myself first. Even today, I shy away from receiving love. I remember feeling myself let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding at Electric Forest on June 26th, 2015. I remember the day before not being as colorful. It was in Nashville years prior that I took my first big step to come out. It was midnight and sleep was impossible those days. I slipped out through the back door of the second story entrance down a long staircase past the window of my sleeping roommates, and I would get into the car and drive down the rocks of Battlefield Drive. I drove alone on the streets of Nashville past Sevier park, past Belmont University, and I would hear the clash of live bands outside of the bars off Broadway. This was the only way I could quiet my anxieties. Sometimes, Abigail and William would pick me up in their wagon and take me to East Nashville. We would walk into their bare house and go to the back yard and start the fire pit. William would turn on Delta Spirit, and they would let me talk about whatever it was that was keeping me up at night. It was always the same thing, but I wasn’t brave enough to talk about it. So I talked around it, and they let me. They gave me the space I needed to talk circles around my sexuality until I felt safe enough to talk about it directly. After I did, I was able to come out to my friends one by one. I flew to NYC to have dinner with a friend and to tell her I loved her when we were in high school. At JFK, I called my mom and started crying as I told her what I confessed to my friend. I asked her if that was okay and if she stilled loved me (which she said of course). Coming out wasn’t hard just the first time. It was hard every time, and even after coming out and moving to Los Angeles, I still found myself hiding behind terms that didn’t fit me, like bisexuality. I spent the first couple years in Los Angeles testing the waters, but still feeling like I wasn’t confident enough to be myself. Even today, I have to remind myself to let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. And this isn’t always the same breath. We are constantly restricting ourselves in different ways, oftentimes unnoticed. The times that I am the happiest are the times I didn’t even realize I was letting go. I was just being me at that moment, not for anyone else, and not for any other purpose but to be.

I’m an out and proud butch lesbian

I could, and regularly do, tell the story of coming out as a lesbian in the age of Section 28. I tell it because, mostly, it’s relatable, and it’s got some funny bits, and has very clearly defined parameters that say “This was the moment I was not out; this was the moment I was out.”

I’m not going to do that; instead, I want to tell you about what was, for me, a much tougher journey, one which took a lot longer and a lot more questioning, a journey which is no where close to being finished. I want to tell you about being butch.

It isn’t a popular word, nowadays, even in the LGBTQ+ community. But it’s an identity that helped me verbalise my own gender when I didn’t know how to, and gave me the comfort that I wasn’t the only woman trying to find her way through the world when the trappings of femininity felt increasingly like a cage.

I had always been a tomboy, more interested in climbing trees and getting muddy than in playing dress up and dolls (the barbie dolls my mum bought me spent more time rescuing each other from hideous fairytale monsters than they ever did swooning over Ken). Which is fine, when you’re young. It gets less fine as you get into adolescence, when the expectations of society become more restrictive, and the struggle to fit in, to be normal, comes to the forefront. I was a shy kid, bullied because my family were working class in a middle class neighbourhood, and my parents were catholic and somewhat strict; the thought of standing out any more than that made my stomach churn. So I wore the skirts, rolled shorter at the end of the road so our mothers wouldn’t see, and applied the colourful eye shadows which we’d be marched to wash off after first period, and I felt like I would never be happy again.

Skip forwards 8 years, and I was living away from home for the first time, in a foreign country, with no one to define me but myself. It was an opportunity, not just for learning, but for becoming. I found myself around people who wouldn’t bat an eyelid when I cut my hair short, or tentatively started adding “men’s” clothes to my wardrobe. It gave me freedom to experiment with my name and my pronouns, and start to uncover the layers of my attachment to womanhood that I had long since hidden in shame. I still felt anxious about it; there were still confusions and unkindnesses as a result of my outward appearance, but more clearly than any of those, I remember standing in front of the mirror with my waist length hair shorn for the first time, the strands lying around my feet, and crying because I finally felt like I was looking at myself.

It took another 5 years for me to exclusively start wearing “men’s” clothes, to stop disguising my mannerisms to appeal to the wider society who still demand performance of culturally mandated gender roles. It helped that I had found, online and offline, a community of women like me who enabled me to map out the words I needed to explain this huge part of my identity, and a woman who made me believe I was ‘handsome’ – not ‘pretty’ and certainly not ‘strange’. It took two thirds of my life and that unwavering support to fully accept myself as a woman, a lesbian, and a butch, and I’m still learning.

No, butch isn’t a popular word, nowadays. For the wider world it carries too many of the negative connotations attached to it by the narrow feminism of the 1970’s, but for me, it’s the key descriptor for who I am. I found an affinity with it, and it helped me – is helping me – on my journey as I dig deeper into what that means. It’s true that labels are just words. They’re just words we use to verbalise who we are, and our feelings towards them are based on our own personal experiences as we travel through life, constantly evolving or cementing as we ourselves grow. To the world at large, I’d ask you one thing: be gentle with other people’s labels, and the words they choose or do not choose to give their identity form. Invalidating them is a form of invalidation for the many roads they travelled to find them.

And to the masculine of centre women – the gender nonconforming women – the women getting called out in the ladies’ loos and receiving the side eyes as they pick up their groceries – stay strong. Stand tall. Keep on holding your own. And hold onto your swaggers – we’ve earned it.

Zo, Birmingham UK

The Sovereignty

Trigger warnings: physical and emotional abuse, suicidal thoughts.

The sovereignty I inadvertently created for myself that held me back for so long.
If you’ll catch this tumultuous wave with me, we’ll ride this journey of love, growth, and happiness together.
Note: All humans are extraordinarily amazing and your sexuality is valid. This is simply my story, my experiences/preferences, and my growth.
Growing up in a Roman Catholic household had me seeing church twice a week due to the private school I attended. Button up shirts, plaid skirts, and rosaries in hand. I knew nothing of the LGBTQ+ community nor did I think it was possible to love someone of the same gender.
It wasn’t until I went to a public high school where everything changed for me. I remember this so vividly: I was sitting in the quad with friends and across the way, I saw two beautiful women being intimate with each other. I asked my friends what they were doing and they looked at me so sympathetically. “They’re together,” my friends said.

And that sparked a fire within me; I felt like I might be…different. Back then, there was hardly any positive representation of queer relationships in the media. So I grabbed at anything I could find. I couldn’t turn to my parents because they wanted a “happy life” for me which meant a husband, a career, and kids birthed from me and my future male spouse.
I struggled for the next 4 years. And though I made friends in the LGBTQ+ community, I still felt I couldn’t have the same love they had because ingrained within me (through religion and my parents) was that a happy life was with a man.

I had a boyfriend. It was the worst.
I had a girlfriend. It was the best.
That was when I knew. I was lesbian. I couldn’t fight it, as much as I tried to for the next 8 years.
Then I was outted.
The part of me I was still figuring out was unwillingly thrust into the hands of my parents. They were heartbroken. They didn’t know how to handle the news because they were like me: they didn’t know anything either. They didn’t understand that I was still their daughter, a human being capable of so many things in life. Except, maybe love. At least, that’s what it felt like. My mom would come to my room every night since the news and ask me if I was going to marry a man, if this was a phase. My dad stopped talking to me altogether.
So I ran away at 18. Still a baby. Still figuring out who she is.
It was hard to leave everything that I had ever known — a family who loved and cared for me despite their own struggles. I was grateful but I couldn’t watch the pain flash across my mom’s heart and the disappointment surface on my dad’s face. So I left.
I moved in with my girlfriend at the time. It was a struggle. I was fresh out of high school and still going to college. We couch-surfed for awhile. We were completely homeless for a couple weeks until we had enough money to get a place of our own.
Just when I started to feel comfortable, things actually turned for the worst.

After moving out, my uncle met with me and proceeded to tell me I was the “devil’s spawn and I would never be granted access into heaven” in front of a Coffee Bean. I haven’t been to a Coffee Bean since then. And then, all my close friends moved away from my hometown.
I lost my family, lost direct contact with my friends, gave up on the faith I had grown up with my whole life, and was still figuring out if being a lesbian was even okay.

Then she hit me.
In her drunken stupor her mind would cloud. Her hands would meet my face in fists instead of the gentle, soft palms I once knew. Her nails scratched at my cheeks and the back of my throat instead of down my spine in ecstasy. Her legs met my stomach instead of intertwining them with my own. Her fingers pulled at my hair instead of softly running them through tangles. Her body propelled into mine to push me onto the pavement, into the bathtub, onto the floor instead of embracing me with warmth. Her eyes, wild with rage instead of the love I once saw.
I thought about just giving up. I felt as if I had no one to turn to, no one to help me out. I tried twice, she caught me every time and wouldn’t let me escape. Unknowingly, I’m grateful she didn’t let me because I wouldn’t be who I am today.
But I didn’t know any better when I was with her. I didn’t know that this wasn’t the love I deserved. She was the only love I knew at the time. She accepted me when no one else did. So I stayed but I can still feel the remnants of her every action.
It took me two years to finally have the courage to leave; to finally realize that this wasn’t right. Luckily, my parents came around and they accepted me back into their home with open arms. It was still a struggle with them but it was also two years too late. The damage was done.

I was 21 when I met my next girlfriend. And she was amazing, completely opposite of HER. Because she was there for me when my wonderful grandfather passed away. She was there for me, period.
Or so I thought.
See, abuse can take many forms and all I had ever known was the physical manifestation of it. I didn’t see that it could take a mental and emotional form as well.
Within the 3 years that I was in this relationship, I continued to lose my way. I was limited in how I acted, in what I could take interest in and in my hobbies.
Book-binding was a “waste of time.”

Hanging out with family and friends couldn’t be done “without me.”

Following and shipping new queer relationships in the media was “weird and you should stop.”
And I stopped. I wanted to keep this love because it wasn’t physically negative.
So I changed myself once again.
Unaware, I built my own sovereignty. A force within myself to govern my actions, words, my own identity. It grew and grew until I couldn’t control it anymore.

When I was accepted into nursing school at 24, she raged at me. Jealous of my successes and treated me like a verbal punching bag instead of a human being. We broke up. I was torn. Less than a month later, I found out she was cheating on me. She was too scared to break my heart to tell me there was someone else and instead used my own success against me, making me feel like getting into nursing school wasn’t a feat of its own.
I was 25 when I realized: I deserve a wholesome and pure love. When I knew that the sovereignty I built needed to be dismantled. But it had to start somewhere.

So I started with myself.
I began to finally accept that being lesbian was just as valid as being straight.
It helped when more positive LGBTQ+ relationships surfaced in the media. It helped when my mom told me that she wanted to come to Pride with me wearing a “I’m proud of my gay daughter” shirt and when she said I could “always visit them with my wife.” It helped when I got my family back. It helped when I got my best friends back. It helped when I opened up about my journey to my clinical group and finally admitted to my mom the abuse I went through.
It helped when I discovered a community capable of unconditional love and acceptance.
I’m 26 now and I’m still growing. I’ve come to realize every feeling is valid, every human is valid. Everyone is capable and deserving of an entirely pure and healthy love. I chose to fight against everything I experienced.
I choose myself. I choose love.
Ea: a Hawaiian phrase meaning a sovereignty where no one, absolutely no one can hold you back.
(inhale, exhale)
I am a lesbian.
I am a human being.
I am here and I stay;

I am me!

I always knew i was different but i didnt know what that meant. I grew up in a very secluded rich neighborhood where being straight was all there was. I was in high school when i met my first gay person and a light went off and everything just clicked. I finally knew who I was. I became me.

Pansexual female

I came out as bisexual when I was 12 because my knowledge of things like pansexuality was really limited. It wasnt till I was 13 that I realized I was pan. I knew that I would be accepted by my family but I was still scared. Like, once I told everyone it would be a reality. I knew I liked girls when I would look more at girls in movies and I would desperately try to find a boy to tell my friends I liked. I fell in love with my best friend which is such a trope but moving on, it was watching TV shows that I really found my home (if that makes sense). It was watching shows like Glee, Wynonna Earp, and One Day at a Time that I found my confidence. I think the hardest part of it all was learning to accept myself and dealing with hiding a part of myself. Now I’m 15 though, I spend time working on ways to make other people feel accepted and safe. I think the main thing that is really helped me is seeing lgbtq+ people on TV and normalizing it.

Bi

Growing up in a catholic community, i had no idea of what it was meant to be gay. Sure, i have gay guy friends, but never girls who were one. I used to not to care of what i wore, cause i didnt have the luxury for new clothes. I only had what i have from hand me downs or ones i got years and years back. I tried to be friends with either gender. I wanted to ba part of something. But there came a time when people judged you for the way you dress and it was just hell for me. I got bullied and i was not part of any group, i was an outcast. It was hard, but a year later, i decided to suddenly blurt out my boy crush (of course i had a crush for boys) little by little, people began to forget the rumors of me being “tomboy”. My new found friends gave me clothes and chose what i should wear and that was it, i wasnt an outcast anymore without that label. In college, when experimentation began. I found that i was attracted too in women, but i hid and hid. I asked myself one time, am i really into women too? So i dated a guy and almost got taken advantage without my consent. Thug life. Men only wanted me for sex i thought, so i started dating women in secret, having relationships in secret. I had bi friends and lesbian friends but i really didnt have the guts to say i was one of them. Even when i started working, i was really scared of that label of that brand that people may say, but i cant stay in the closet forever. Slowly i opened up, whilst told close confidants only, who i trust the most. I felt relieved after all the hinding. I decided then to take a post graduate course, i still had relationships in and out, but more i found out about of myself. Indeed, love takes in many forms. Its in Happiness and sadness, its in pride and self doubt, its in all people. And the one you fall for, doesnt really need to conform the norms of the society. You love the person because of the peoson, not their gender or what others may say. Im just partially out of the closet, sticking half my body out,. Honestly, some of my family knows, but not straight from me. Well, i just hope in time id be able to have the courage to be trully free. I am happy now with my partner, and more comfortable of my sexuality. Greatful for people like you who share their thoughts and experiences.

Take care everyone,
Doc WW

Queer / Lesbian

I think I was 14 when I realised that I was gay. I was watching “Dr House” and there was a kissing scene between two women. At that time I didn’t understand why I was so obsessed with it. I thought about it all the time. And then a few weeks later I discovered a TV show all about gay women. And then it clicked. The thing is at that time there were no representation at all. Of course I knew lesbian existed, but I didn’t know it could be me. It took me a few months to fully accept it, that I was that person. A year later, the day that I started to go out with my first girlfriend, I came out to my parents. I didn’t want to lie to them, it was important to me to be true to myself and to my family. I believe that I am very lucky because I came from a open minded, loving family so it was a relief to come out. I wish that every coming out story would be as peaceful and happy as mine. Love is love. And love is beautiful.