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Last year when I watched Wynonna and ever since then I have watched girls and wanted them as muck as I wanted boys but I not out yet as I am still in school and scared of what people think as my friend is out and gets a lot of hate and I am scared
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
Growing up in an academic focused, traditional Asian family, my ‘path’ had always felt like it was mapped out for me. I knew who I was suppose to be the minute I knew how to walk. I was a pretty sheltered child and didn’t even know what the term “gay” meant, let alone understanding it. Moving to San Francisco for college was the first real introduction I had to the LGBTQ+ community. Once learning more about the community and understanding my thoughts and feelings, my whole life made so much more sense. I understood why I was so angry at my best friend in high school for hanging out with her boyfriend instead of me. I understood why I go out my way to make certain girls happy. I finally understood why and that scared me. I was different.
I first came out to my college friends as bisexual because I felt like it was easier for them to understand and accept. I wasn’t honest with myself even then. I’m very thankful that I had a group of friends that were very open minded and supportive. Living in SF at the time didn’t hurt either. I eventually came out as a lesbian to my best friend, crying my eyes out because I was finally allowing myself to admit it. Life at that point was good and I was embracing myself and experiencing this new me. But I soon realize I was living a double life. When I’m home I become someone else. I was out to everyone but my immediate family. I stumbled out of the closet to my mom when I was 21 and she kicked me out of the house, claiming that I was disgusting. She was my hero. I thought she going to understand. She didn’t and it broke my heart. I lived most of my life trying to make her proud and I failed her because I was being me.
I went through some of the darkest times of my life then as I was done with this life and it’s disappointments. I wanted a different kind of out. I try to end it all but I survived and that was my true awakening. I started on a whole new journey in finding myself and to be my most authentic self. During this journey I found the love of my life, a smart and beautiful woman who I asked to marry me. Now that I’m older, I decided to give the conversation with my mother another chance. So last Christmas, I came out again to my mom and asked if she would be at my wedding. Her answer was no. It hurts. It’ll always hurt but I came to the realization that I’m not going to sacrifice my happiness for anyone anymore. At the end of the day, I have to be able to live with myself and the person I’m becoming. I’ve learned to be brave and face what’s coming my way with kindness and compassion. Not everyone will understand my truth just like I might not understand theirs. We as human just need to help each other learn the different truths. Hopefully one day, my mom will understand mine.
But I’m now 31 and I’m the happiest and most free I’ve ever been.
Took 10 years but I’m queer, I’m here and that’s MY truth.
Much love, always.
Sandy
I knew when I was a freshman in high school. I was in love with my best friend. We never tried a relationship. I was torn. It was a hard process for family acceptance. It’s been a constant struggle. I continue to be out and proud and love who I love. I’ve been in a relationship with my girlfriend for 2 years. It’s my first same sex relationship. We’re slowly coming out to everyone and being proud of who we’re with.
CONTENT WARNING: THIS COMING OUT STORY CONTAINS DESCRIPTION AND/OR DISCUSSION ABOUT HATE CRIMES.
I am not really good at writing about myself or my experiences,
I suppose first I should say I am a lesbian.
I have been out and proud for over 12 years probably longer if I really
think about it, I have not always embraced who I was, whether that be
because I am afraid or because I had no role model to really look up to
growing up which I am sure many people say.
In my school it was not okay to be different, being different got you a
one way ticket to hell, when I was in school and just coming into my
sexuality and figuring out who I was as a girl I saw my best friend
being beaten his hair set on fire all because he was gay and he was out
and proud and at the time I didn’t that to happen to me, I didn’t want
to be bullied or beaten simply because I chose to love women and so I
sat in my own little bubble protecting the most important part of
myself.
It took years for me to feel even just a bit confident to admit to my
best friend that I was a lesbian and even longer to tell my mum which
was more of me crying and refusing to actually say the words until she
guessed what it was I was trying to say. My mum was supportive which
doesn’t always happen and in that respect I was very, very lucky I could
have had it much worse.
My father was a different story even though he said he wasn’t bothered
by it, I could tell our relationship had changed and yes it is upsetting
but I moved on I wanted to get rid of any negativity in my life and only
bring about positive change.
Then the worst thing happened, something which set me so far back in my
journey to discover who I was as a woman. My nan went to hospital the
same year I came out, so I hid again from the world, from who I really
was and I pushed it so far down within myself, I had never told my nan
who I was because I was afraid she would hate me. My mum told me after
my nan had died (2012) that my nan knew I was gay and that my panic and
self hatred (I hated myself around this time and turned to ways that
were not so healthy to cope) were for nothing, that I was still her
granddaughter whom she loved with all her heart. Flash forward 8 years
and now I own my sexuality and I am not afraid of it, I have a beautiful
wife whom I love with all my heart and I am an ear for anyone who is
coming to terms with who they are my door is always open to those that
need it and that’s the kind of positivity I want to show the world that
being gay, bi, lesbian, transgendered, queer or anything else doesn’t
matter to me as long as you are a good person.
They say your childhood years should be the best years of your life–little to no responsibilities, innocent friendships and frequent laughter. My story, however, veered into less blissful territory.
I moved in with my father at age 6, which is where the memory of my childhood began. I was happy there. My father, then on his second marriage, seemed to finally be stable. My step mother seemed to be a wonderful woman who really stepped up to raise a growing little girl she had only just met.
A year later, my brother moved in, and my father and step mother tried to establish as much normalcy as possible. We spent time together, going to the beach and playing games. What we didn’t see was the complete unraveling of their marriage happening right before us. My parents efficiently and completely sheltered us from their inevitable demise.
After the divorce, we moved many times. Which of course resulted in different school systems, and different homes, the worst of which were without electricity. Eventually, my father made the decision to move us closer to his family halfway across the country, to the panhandle of Oklahoma. It was there, a year later, where he found the woman who would become his third wife. And as a result, our life settled.
At age 11, my whole world changed into daily physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, by people who were supposed to be safe. Let me be clear that my father has never, aside from punishment, abused or hurt me. But he also profoundly failed to protect me.
At 13, I realized what attraction meant, and recognized I wasn’t like the other girls in my small town. Each of them had boyfriends and crushes, while I secretly daydreamed about the girls I liked. Like many young gays, I tried to date boys to distract or convince my brain I was “normal.” I hid the pain of my abuse and my homosexuality from everyone. I wrestled and struggled with the abuse and my complicated differences for another year, until finally, I was removed from my father’s care, and placed with my grandparents.
It truly felt like a crushing weight was lifted off my chest. It felt like my life had just started. But also, I was broken. I was on a train of tragedy, headed straight for derailment with no idea how to slow myself down. So, in an attempt to have any excuse to run away or escape, I came out to my grandparents. Having already endured what I believed was the worst life could have dealt, I shared my secret with them. To my surprise, I didn’t need to run. They hugged me, loved me, and accepted every part of me. I was finally free. Free from abuse, and free from my prison of secrecy.
I am a queer woman.
I identify as a lesbian.
I have a beautiful family.
I am stronger now than my 13 year old self would ever believe I could be–and I am strong because of what I survived in my childhood.
-Jes.
#OutIsTheNewIn
I always knew something was a little different about me since I was a kid. It always felt like people just didn’t get me. It wasn’t until I was 13, when I realised I liked girls. At first I was happy I had finally figured out what was different about me, I could put a name to it. But then I started to notice how others responded to my identity, with judgement, confusion and often disbelieve, I become scared and decided to hide who I am. It wasn’t until I turned 16 that I decided I couldn’t hide such a key part of myself any longer and began to accept myself by unlearning the negative perception I had gained. After a lot of introspection, I embraced my queerness and started to tell friends and even family. To my surprise everyone I’ve told so far has been accepting and celebrates who I am. I want to spread this message to others who may not be out yet. Never let a few unaccepting people stop you from being who you are, because you are enough.
Howdy! My name is Megan. My first “not straight” feelings were around age 9. I didn’t know what I was, all I knew was that I held my female best friend’s hand, and my stomach did somersaults. At age 10, I started going to a conservative baptist church, and over the next 14 years, I would battle with homophobia to the point of almost ending my life. My best friend, we’ll call her T, began to treat me as her significant other. We’d cuddle and kiss and hold hands, but it was just practicing for our future husbands (fun fact, I wasn’t practicing). T would kiss me, then ghost me for a bit and tell me what we did was wrong and against God. This happened for about 6 years, and then she started dating my brother (my brother did not know what was going on). As soon as they started dating, I lost myself. I became angry at everything and everyone. At this point, I was on my 3rd round of biblical counseling; I was being told I wasn’t thankful for my role as a woman, I was giving in to a life consuming sin, and that if I just prayed hard enough, that I would find a husband and these feelings would go away. I tortured myself to try to fit the mold I thought I needed to… In June of 2018, I was in Florida with my family. In key west, there was a pride parade, but I didn’t ask to go as to not make my family uncomfortable. We ended up accidentally running into the parade. I got off of my motorcycle and stood in the crowd, and they began throwing beads in my direction, but a big familiar hand caught them, and I looked to find my father standing next to me. Over the next few months, I began a journey of feeing comfortable enough to come out to my family, and then the world. I lost people in my life, and my family made sacrifices as well to support me. My brother and I left the church, and my parents were kicked out because they weren’t willing to disown me. I live now as a happy lesbian in eastern Washington State, and I wouldn’t change anything. My experiences made me a far more compassionate person, and I treasure that more than I know.
I discovered myself bisexual when I was 11 years old, and I didn’t take long to accept myself but I accept myself is one thing but my mother is another, when I discovered myself I started to stop performing femininity and so I wouldn’t have to assume myself because I think the term is completely wrong but I understand what important it is, Throughout my adolescence it got worse until I was 14 years old when I was seriously dating a girl and my mother saw my cell phone and so she found out and then it was a huge wrong thing and I was thrown out of the house but they forced her to accept me inside the house, well 2 years ago this happened and as much as she says that everything is fine, I know and everyone knows that she hates the fact of my sexuality and treats me with contempt for it.
I’ve always had a strong physical connection with other human beings. Intimate energy draws me to people, especially in a romantic sense. Because of this, I grew up in many relationships with different boys. It wasn’t until after 10 months with my last boyfriend at 15 years old (I’m now 21) when I realised that something wasn’t quite right. I had never truly been intimate with any of my partners, and at this point I hadn’t yet done ‘the deed’ with him. The moment came and it didn’t feel special, I didn’t feel ‘in love’ is what I realised. So we didn’t do it, and I made the decision to end the relationship with him the week after. As cruel as it may seem, I was being more cruel to myself by keeping it going after the realisation.
5 months had passed and YouTube became my best friend. I discovered Ally Hills and Stevie Boebi, Shannon Beveridge and Cammie Scott, I watched them for months in pure denial that I was attracted to women. This was during Summer, when I wasn’t at school – most of my time was spent watching these YouTubers and doing ‘Am I gay?’ tests because I very extremely confused and simply didn’t want to admit the truth. I had a lot of internalised homophobia.
By the end of Summer, I had become so paranoid and depressed by internalising it, I had to tell someone. First, it was my best friend at the time. Then she told her mum, who was supportive of me. That same day I told my sister (who had been jokingly calling me a lesbian my whole life) and she gave me the courage to tell my mum. We weren’t a family who spoke about our emotions much, so me saying this to their faces was completely out of the picture. My sister told my mum for me, then my mum told my dad. It seems strange however, I’m not one to open up easily and for me, this was the best option. My mum smiled and welcomed me with open arms, I cried at the relief of her acceptance. I never spoke to my dad about it, but I knew he’d be okay with it.
It took a few months for my parents to stop mentioning boyfriends and realise it wasn’t a phase – I’m lucky that now I can openly talk to them about my relationships with girls and the future I have with my family, adopting or surrogacy in regards to my future children.
As I lived in a more conservative town, I came out to a heteronormative society. Because of this, it was hard to explain the decisions I made as a gay woman – explaining why I was a-romantic towards men however still very much gay. I was repeatedly told I was bisexual, which I knew wasn’t right and caused many arguments with my friends. After leaving my hometown to embark of university life, I was much more accepted and as I discovered more of my own confidence and identity, I realised that I am much more fluid in my choice of partners whilst still mainly preferring women. This was whilst also becoming more educated in gender and sexuality as I realised that I was also interested in non-binary people.
So, I am a fluid, gay woman. I am a proud fluid, gay woman. No one can tell me otherwise and I now don’t ever feel the need to explain myself. I know who I am, and that’s all that matters. If you know who you are, then nothing else matters. If you don’t know who you are, then that’s okay. You need to experience a journey before you get to your destination. Your destination may change, it may stay the same, but what matters is that your are happy and that you allow yourself to explore and enjoy the journey you face. – Scarlett (England, UK)
