Minority Trifecta: Mexican American, LGBTQ, and a Woman
I’m in Spanish class for native speakers my sophomore year of high school. I’ve just recently met a new girl, she doesn’t have many friends but every time I look at her I get this sinking feeling in my tummy since the first day she came into class. The universe somehow places us, months later, sitting near each other. We begin to write notes to one another and tell each other our secrets. We start hanging outside of class and even cuddle when in either of our houses. We hold hands occasionally, but only if we’re sitting on the couch and under a blanket. One evening while browsing the TV, South of Nowhere is on The N. We watch it holding our breaths and between each commercial we somehow manage to awkwardly get up. When it’s over my hands start to sweat and when I look over to her, finally, my heart races. She knows and I know now what this all means.
We dated for 6 years, during high school and a year into college. We broke up because of distance and just life teaching us different life lessons – but that was my first love. My awkward first fumbly kiss, I love you, and even first sexual experience was with her, and it was pure.
However, in between all of that, I had to come out to my VERY Mexican, Catholic, and conservative parents – not once, but three times. If you ask any Mexican-American Latinx folk out there they’ll tell you our culture is so intertwined with Catholicism that it becomes our lives. The first time my parents found out, they found a note (the ones we used to pass) from my girlfriend during the summer. That summer they sent me to Texas to be with my aunts. I did not have a cell phone. I did not have access to the internet. I was alone. I contemplated suicide a lot that summer because I finally saw what it would mean if I lived my truth. The second time I came out to them was after my suicide attempt. It was 2 weeks after my 17th birthday and I had enough of hiding who I was, I had enough of the world telling me that I couldn’t be Mexican, a lesbian, and a woman, and that if I was I was going to disappoint the family, the church, and our community. I had enough of lying to my parents. During the treatment process my counselor pulled my parents into a room and he had us have an honest conversation. I told them that I attempted suicide because I knew that I was different and they’d never accept it. My mom knew what that meant and never repeated it again – we didn’t even have closure that session. I completed therapy and completed my in-patient program. I recovered from that incident, but I was completely broken already. Years passed and I finally had the chance to go away for college – to a 4 year Uni in Chicago. By this time I was no longer with my first girlfriend. I joined a diverse sorority and met so many queer women that empowered me. I attended a social-justice driven school and so when I learned so much academically then thanks to “city life” about strength in diversity my perspective changed. I started dating around and I came home less and less every semester. My parents found my Facebook and they realized how I was going out and having fun; they realized we no longer had a deep relationship. They sat me down one Sunday afternoon and asked about me finally. My mom sat me down and asked, “Is there something you want to tell us? What is going on here?” I was filled with animosity and hate toward them, toward my culture, toward my spirituality. I told her all of that. I told her it was because I was gay. That was the third and final time I had to come out to them. They finally got it after that. My mom cried of course, we stopped talking for months, my aunts would call my cell and leave voicemails with gospel readings, my cousins stayed at a distance… etc… It was horrible, lonely, painful – I still have flashbacks of the time I spent not knowing if I had a blood family. I had already found my Gamily (gay family) in the city. I knew who I could go to and feel safe to, and cry to. That’s what became important to me, gamily that could just accept me as me and protect me as me.
I’m 30 years old now. I met my now wife in 2013. We’ve been married since 2016 and have two cats. We still live in the city where we fell in love, Chicago. I am now comfortable in my own beautiful Mexican brown skin. My parents and family don’t fully accept our marriage, but they’re coming around slowly. I am still attending therapy, I am now doing meditation and I’ve opened my mind/body to the healing powers of crystals and other rituals. We work on our spirituality a lot, just not with religion. We advocate constantly for queer Latinx youth that feel lonely and isolated. We are strong queer feminists. We support transgender equality wholeheartedly. We are living the life we wish we had when we were younger.
If you’re Mexican American, or of any Latinx background and you identify as LGBTQ feel free to take this story as the representation you seek/need. I am proof that things get better, always. (Sorry for the Cliche). They get better when you find your gamily. They get better when you begin to live authentically and unapologetically. You’re valid. You’re beautiful. You deserve happiness, too.
. Finally, I could start being me, whatever that meant.