Community Rainbow Waves

Lesbian Military Boss Babe

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

Free

I knew I was “different” in the early years of high school, 14 years old, and I denied it… hard. I had seen and heard how people in my family, in my community and in my friends group reacted to any sway on the sexuality spectrum, and so I hid it. For so many years, from every single person, to the point where I had hidden it from myself again, any thoughts or feelings for someone of the opposite sex and I would chalk it up to envy or just admiration and leave it at that, even though I knew I was actively lying to myself. When I was 18 a close friend of mine came out while we were still in high school And she faced some relentless bullying because of it, despite having friends and others who supported her, And that made me decide that I would wait until I graduated, which turned into I’ll wait until I’m not living with my parents which turned into I’ll wait until I move out of this very closed minded town.
I came out to that very same friend 2 years later because I was having some incredible inner turmoil over all of it, of what it would mean to be myself. To allow myself to breathe and live my life without lying or hiding.
And from then on I found it harder to hide my true self, and even harder to want to hide. I had been hiding for so long that once I started to accept that part of myself, there was no holding back.

I moved to the other side of the country, I had many reasons for that decision, but ultimately it was for my mental health, I had been through a lot of traumatic experiences and after four years of treatment for my depression and anxiety I felt the only way I could make progress and be able to live was to leave the town and people who had contributed to my state.
And when I moved I came out officially and publicly at 22 years old. I know there are people from my home town who no longer acknowledge my existence, that didn’t welcome me home as the same girl they loved when I left, but that is not mine to carry, I am being honest, and living my life which has seen me heal and grow into the best version of me.

By acknowledging who I am, I was able to acknowledge the pretty crappy things I had put up with because I had been convinced, by my own mind and by others that I didn’t deserve to be happy because I loved differently,
Since coming out, I have been in the healthiest relationship that I’ve ever been in, she helps me heal, and grow and strive for better everyday, and being in a healthy relationship is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, being open and vulnerable and trusting after years of closing myself off from pain or fear or my past is the scariest thing but it has been the most rewarding.

Progression not Perfection from a gay mormon

CONTENT WARNING: THIS COMING OUT STORY CONTAINS DESCRIPTION AND/OR DISCUSSION ABOUT ABUSE AND VIOLENCE.

My journey is far from over, stalled out yes but not over…not yet. I was born and raised as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (Mormons-not the polygamist version). When I look back over my life, I realize that I felt different, broken…a mistake when I was 3 or 4. Going through life, church every Sunday, church activities almost every evening, seminary in the mornings…year after year. I tried so hard to be just like everyone else. But I felt something for women that I didn’t feel for men…while I didn’t understand what any of those feelings meant I knew I needed to keep my secret…a secret I didn’t even know about. I didn’t meet anyone who was gay until I was 21-ish and still had no idea I could be gay until I was 24 or so. Xena was the first suggested gay anything I had ever known. I fought against it so hard, I was always the “tomboy” and hated with a passion when someone would call me gay. As if at that time I even knew what gay was, I just knew that you couldn’t be gay and be in the church. You can’t go to heaven unless you marry in the temple. I had to be straight but I hated the idea of being with a man. After all, men were the ones who told me what I could do with my body, men were the ones that used my body before I ever knew what my body was for. But women were safe, soft and caring. I fell in love with my best friend in 1st grade but had no idea at the time what I was. Who I am. Just that I had to keep it a secret. I tried killing myself in high school…for a lot of reasons really, but mostly because I felt and had learned that I was a mistake, that something was wrong with me. I wasn’t normal. But I tried so hard to be what everyone wanted. My junior year of college I met gay people for the first time, and suddenly life started making sense. Their stories were like mine, the confusion, the loss and the horrible lonely ache of feeling like you can’t be you. At that time though, only church members were really in my life…when they started suspecting I was kicked out of two separate housing locations, I lost my all of my friends. All of them. It wasn’t hard coming out to my mom, bless her soul she has loved me and supported me even when I hate myself. She is the only reason I exist now. Dad, well…I’ve blocked most of it out but remember him with a steak knife. The majority of my family loves the sinner but hates the sin. I’ve been fired from jobs for being gay. I’ve been beaten up, called names, spit at and threatened…but I can’t change who I am. I still feel like a mistake, either waiting to die or waiting for life to start…and while I have no idea what actually happens in the afterlife…I know that I live with integrity. I help those less fortunate than me, I help lost and abandoned animals, I give to charities and I work with some of the most challenging of clients in my professional life…I’m not gloating, not puffing my chest. Just saying that I’m being me, all of me. I am gay. I love women. I love helping others. I firmly believe that if we do our best every day, no matter what the best looks like…that maybe God/the universe will understand that I am the way I was made as God intended. Yes, I still feel broken, lost and a mistake…and if being gay keeps me from heaven, then sadly I admit okay. I cannot change who I am any more than I can change my blood type. I cannot change my faith even if my church hates me. Coming to terms with yourself is not a destination, it is a journey and I am far from the end. Yes some days are better than others, and some days I am a victim to my own mind but this I promise…I will never give up my integrity as a good human. An empath. A gay Mormon. Had God wanted me different, then I would be different. No matter where you are in your journey…know others have been there. While the steps are not the same, the feelings are. Don’t let anyone steal your shine. You are worth it. Every little bit. You are worth it and so much more. Be at peace and know you are loved. <3 Deb

Bisexual

I knew I was attracted to the same sex since my early teens, I am 32 very soon my sister has ways known and she is so supportive and amazing about it, I came out to my close friends a few years ago, but recently came out to my co-workers and my other friends, I was in a long-term relationship with a guy and I have now ready to explore new horizons and enjoy my sexuality, I have recently joined the local LGBTQ community and I happy that I have new friends from this too. I am happy and feel like I can be myself and I feel like weight has been lifted off my shoulders now I’m out, everyone took it all very well and is very accepting of my being part of the LGBTQ community. Moving on and being accepted into the LGBTQ community and making new friends has made me a happier person and a new lease of life and opened doors for me I thought I wouldn’t have thought I would never had opened. I am super proud of myself being part of this new community I am now a part of.

And to quote Dom:
Out is the new IN

So proud of you Dominique

Sending my love

Saira

Sunsets on Mars are blue

I’ve always liked science and reading about anything and everything I could. I grew up as a very curious kid, and was mix of sporty and bookworm. I loved structure and the sense of control that sports gave me. But what I was never able to achieve was to be feminine enough to be seen as a traditional girl and of course I was not a boy either. I was once again a dycotomy, and that mix in my gender expression translated for over fifteen years in being a loner. I love learning and as much as reading about society and history makes me passionate, I came to recognize that I had been avoiding knowing about myself, my truth self. For years I tried to model my behaviour and looks to fit into some image others had created of me and I was so thirsty to fullfill, specially what I thought my parents wanted me to be. I admit now that I was scared of the knowledge that was already deep inside me: I liked girls. The simple thought of it felt to me like I was flirting with something that was out of my reach. I tried to numb it during my teen age years until I relapsed into an episode of severe depression. Now I wonder how many years of deep sadness I could have avoided if I had listened to myself instead of letting the outside noise damp my own voice. I have always known I am gay. Proof of that is how many times I had crushes with female superheroes (Hallee Berry as Storm in XMen was maybe my first) and how many times I craved to be more similar to certain strong female figures (like Ronda Rousy). The knowledge was always there, waiting for me to open that chapter of my own life. My self-acceptance felt like washing my worries away while getting soaked in pouring rain: cleansing and comforting. Then came my very first real relationship with some girl I met in college that quickly morphed into a psychologically violent relationship. It still stings to think of myself as an intimate partner violence survivor as well as a sexual assault survivor. I failed to protect myself because I focused on filling an image that wasn’t my own. Now as I work as a therapist and have made peace with my past I wonder, how many other queer kids like me are in a greater danger to be hurt because they feel the need to hide? How many adults grow up as broken humans because they get denied the chance to shine in their own light? I mourn for the queer kid I was. For that little girl who loved sports and to dress like a boy, who loved climbing trees and wanted more than anything to be able to be the red Power Ranger instead of the pink one. I mourn for all the queer kids like me who are still waiting to shine. If one of you is reading this I can tell you, it gets better, you are loved and wanted just as you are. I finally made peace, I am in a relationship sith a wonderful woman who showed me her acceptance and love to my truth self when she looked for sciencey facts that she knew would make me happy to know. Now in my ribs shines my tattoo with the first fun fact she looked for me: Sunsets on Mars are blue.
I am not longer afraid of knowing myself completely: I am a therapist, still love science, I love sports, I still dress a lot of times more masculine. I am a gay woman and proud. I am loved. I am valid. I am wanted. I belong.
So if you are still seeking, still waiting, if you feel alone I tell you this: I got your back, always, I am your family now. You are wanted, you are loved, please keep shining with your own light.

Asexual

My whole life I was asexual and aromantic. But I didn’t have words. I picked names of random guys to be crushes, basing it on ‘well he seems nice and people expect me to say someone.’ I agreed to go on dates when asked. For a time, I even wanted nothing more than to be in a happy, straight relationship because that I meant I was not only wanted and desirable as a person, it meant I was normal. After trying out dating life with someone who on paper should have checked all the boxes, I felt so uncomfortable. Every day as his ‘girlfriend’ I felt nauseous. I felt like I was lying. I couldn’t call him my boyfriend. I avoided him as much as I could. I kept thinking in time it would get better, but the more attempts we made at having a normal relationship, the more uncomfortable I felt. I had a friend say ‘well maybe you’re asexual.’ I sheepishly agreed, but honestly had no idea that was even a thing and felt embarrassed in my ignorance. After a lot of googling, I knew who I was. I am thankful for that relationship, which I ended shortly after my discovery.

But the way I found myself and the time I found myself (2012) ingrained a sense in me that as well as I could understand myself, no one else could. So I went on, being myself to people who knew me, but staying silent in other areas aside from a few brave moments on social media. And often when it did come up, people asked questions. And as much as I do think everyone deserves an education, I couldn’t help feeling like no matter what answer I gave, they already had one in mind that would hold true. No matter if it was or not. That continued. I have been welcomed by the LGBT+ community, but knowing not everyone feels that way towards asexuality kept me feeling wrong and broken all over again. I didn’t fit in a straight mold. Nor did I fit a queer one. Even though the majority of people I’ve encountered have been kind, I still tend to fall into silence. Supporting pride and equality for others, but producing an internalized list of reasons why feeling inferior in my identity daily isn’t enough to qualify me as deserving the same as everyone else.

Years of off-putting conversation, exclusion and lack or representation created this paradox. I could accept myself. I could love seeing other people proclaim their pride. But I felt indulgent, selfish and out of place if I did the same. But as time has gone on, I realized I don’t need to justify my right to claim my identity. It’s not a contest of suffering. And in a way, the rules we use to measure our experiences don’t fit all identities. I have had the amazing safety of passing as straight and the anonymity to be who I am without fear of repercussions as long as I avoid the topic of my sexuality in conversation. But I’ve also had to lie every time I turn a guy down because I’m afraid if I tell the truth that he’d try to prove me wrong. I had a therapist I went to for help question my orientation and experiences relentlessly, going as far as suggesting I ‘try it’ with multiple genders to see which I prefer. I’ve had strangers ask if I masturbate, if I’ve tried X,Y,Z thing, or tell me I just haven’t found the one yet because they know me better than I know myself. And most of all, I have to go through every day thinking I don’t have the right to express who I am. Feeling guilty for being proud and knowing who I am.

Dom came out on her birthday. I write this on my own birthday. I’ve been ‘out’ for years now, but this year I pledge to allow myself to take up the space I deserve. I have and will always support the representation of all orientations, genders, races, cultures and identities. I will continue to raise up all of the other voices that need to be heard in this world. But I also need to start using my own.

Lesbian

Oh man. It’s been quite a journey. I guess it started around 5th grade or so. I recognized it and actually began to come out to myself, but in true ADHD fashion, managed to push it to the back of my mind and forgot about it for several years. My sexuality popped up later in middle school when relationships began to bloom and I failed to understand my friends’ obsession with boys. Instead I was thinking about them. I kept repressing it’s and was terribly unhappy up until last year, when I entered my first real relationship. She and I met through school and did not even know the other’s name after 7 months of sitting right next to each other. Finally, she bucked up and asked me out. Then I realized I wanted my parents to know her as my girlfriend. So I came out to them via text while across the street from them. They took it very well and it was immediately seen as just another part of me. I wouldn’t have it any other way. By coming out I was able to understand that I don’t want to hide my love for this amazing woman from anyone.

Truth

All of the coming out stories on this site encouraged me to write what follows and post it on my website and social media. Thank you to one and all for speaking their truth and in doing so, reminding me how important it is to own our truth and for me, stand publicly in my truth.

I have never officially come out of the closet. I also never sat my parents down to explain my sexuality. It never felt right to me, I would not explain having a boyfriend so why would I explain having a girlfriend. The idea felt degrading and separatist. I brought my girlfriend home from college and we slept in the same room. My parents have always been accepting and supportive and this was no different. Eventually conversations occurred with my parents and we all acknowledged my having a girlfriend in college and in high school it was boyfriends. That was it, and the love and support I expected and desired has always been there. With time and life experiences I recognize how blessed I have been to have such parents.

By my sophomore year at college I had a serious girlfriend. We were not out to everyone, but we were not hiding. We essentially lived together and hung out with mutual friends. College felt freeing to me, having grown up in a small town in Western Kansas where EVERYONE knew everything, or it seemed. Unfortunately, college was also my first experience where I discovered what it is like to be judged and attacked for my sexuality. I was outed by an instructor and several peers. The derisive gossip was meant to attack and shame me, to what end I do not know. Action taken, I assume, because I was different and that apparently made me a threat. Again, one of those people who outed me was a college instructor… The lesson I took was to become smaller and less of a threat, and it worked.

I became a professional horse trainer and riding instructor; a career path that is heavily dominated by men with women predominantly the clientele, a world built on traditional conservative values. In this role I had to be as tough as a man and as feminine as I could be in appearance to survive; I worked hard and found success and continued to hide in plain sight. My inner circle knew, I just did not blatantly flaunt my relationships in the workplace. However, on occasion, I experienced people finding out and attempting to use my sexuality as a weapon against me. They were never even my clients. Somehow, being a woman and loving a woman was a threat to some. I find it confusing, the horses never seemed bothered and my students grew their riding skills. Shouldn’t that be enough? Wasn’t that my job?

Over the last several decades I have been asked to go back into the closet surprisingly frequently. One such request was from a partner. For her, I embraced a much higher level of privacy and seclusion, embracing dishonesty about my truth. I justified it to myself for her benefit as she was struggling with her own sexuality, and I knew what it is like to be outed and attacked. This choice came at a cost. I slowly but surely chipped away at my own value and self-worth. When you add the shift in our culture toward more blatant violence being taken against the LGBTQ+ community, it is no wonder I find myself hesitating to come out of my cave and stand tall.

During this pandemic, I have had some extra time on my hands and have continued the process of self-discovery and awakening. In 2016 I had a health scare, a little bit of breast cancer, which started me on a path of embracing life at an elevated level. I have explored regrets, past relationships, work choices, friendships, the list goes on. Recently I have been addressing my sexuality in depth. It seems strange to do at 51… After my last breakup I tried to talk myself into being straight, didn’t work. I have sought a label to fit in, frankly because it seems easier to find community and answer questions. The truth is that I do not fit a specific label, I am not gay, straight or bisexual. I like men, but I truly prefer women. Like many, I have struggled with understanding the diverse array of labels I have come across and what they all mean. Finally, I have landed on the belief that they, much like me, are trying to find a simple way to describe and understand themselves and maybe find others who are similar. It is hard to find community and mentors if you cannot describe yourself or see yourself in others. Visibility matters. Voice matters. Being acknowledged matters. Being seen, really seen matters.

Today I am choosing to officially come out of the closet. I am guessing the closest I will get to a label is calling myself queer, but I still do not prefer labels… I am so much more than this one word. I am a woman, driven, a leader, compassionate, an empath, a warrior, a facilitator, a healer, a horse trainer, a people trainer and coach, an aunt, a daughter, a professor, a humorist, an author, a story teller, a nature lover, a dog mom, a dancer…. and I am queer. I must speak my truth and be fully congruent. If I am not congruent, I am not whole. I deserve to live an entirely whole life embodying my full truth. I am most at ease and entirely in my power when I am my truth. I want to be the mentor for that person who feels alone and know it is possible to be fully embodied and live your truth. Self-acceptance gifts us with self-confidence, which empowers us. The job or client I do not get because of this statement, I do not want. No more tainted money. I am a better facilitator, teacher, trainer and human being because of who I am and what I have experienced in my life. I deserve to give you the best of me and you deserve to receive my best. That means I must stand fully in MY power.

I am here and I am reaching my hand out. To my cousin – I am sorry I did not know you, did not know that you were suddenly a teenager forced to survive life and the streets because of who you are. I am so grateful to know you today, to love you and count you as my family. I do not want to fail another. To those who simply need to know they are not alone, I am here with you. I stand beside you and see your light. To those who need a hand, I am here and will steady the ladder. To those who need to be witnessed or heard, my eyes and ears are open. May we all as a community, young and not so young, stand together and raise our voices. May we rise and be the mentors we dreamed of to create a better world for us all; every shade of the rainbow deserves to be seen and honored.

Cathy

Abbey: One who’s capacity to love grows exponentially each day!

I always love deeply. Through my adolescence I loved so hard it hurt. I was truly confused at the difference between what I felt inside and what I saw all around. I even went as far as determining another type of love that I just knew existed to try to explain in a more “acceptable” manner what I was feeling for other people. This was when I was 15 and knew little of other cultures that describe a myriad of types of love. I dated many people of both genders pretty quietly for too many years. Then I met Molly. Our love was so luminous . So able to easily penetrate through all the bullshit that had been and that I had allowed to be built around me. And that was that. We loved each other. We came out to our families and friends. Years later I proposed, we are married and have a beautiful daughter and a son on the way. It is intense how my capacity to love grows exponentially each day. Allowing this love has allowed all the love.