At the start of my adolescence, I truly began to wonder if I wanted to be a boy. I felt trapped though, because every time I expressed interest in masculine things, I was shut down by people I loved. Over time, I slowly realized that I did not want to be a boy, but that I would have had an easier time enjoying things that I liked if I were born one. My Mother, in particular partook in the concept of “gender construction.” According to Judith Lorber, my mom may have been uncomfortable when I dressed like a boy because I was not submitting to the gender roles that society has set up for me as a woman, mostly because “it makes us uncomfortable until we have successfully placed the other person in a gender status; otherwise, we feel socially dislocated.” I acted accordingly to the way my mom treated me based on my gender, although I disliked it. “Once a child’s gender is evident, others treat those in one gender differently from those in the other, and the children respond to the different treatment by feeling different and behaving different” (Lorber).

Flash forward to today, I still enjoy dressing more masculine and experimenting with more masculine styles. I am slowly accepting my identity as a queer woman. Looking back at my childhood, the ways I felt isolated and different make a lot more sense. Kind of like how I would go on Club Penguin as an eight year old and try to get girlfriends on my older brother’s account. It just made more sense to me.

Simply put, I’ve never had a strong relationship with God. Religion would make me more scared than anything else. I remember nights where I would stay up for hours, obsessing over scenarios in which God would condemn me for simple mistakes or thoughts. I wouldn’t let myself sleep until I prayed to God that each of my family members remained safe. I always felt like I owed God something, and I never felt comfort in religion like I saw other people feel.

As I got older, I felt even more disconnected from Christianity and religion when I realized that I had romantic feelings for girls. I overheard people at the church talk about how gay people were going to hell and that “our country is going backwards for welcoming gay people into churches.”

At that point, I felt like a fraud for even going to church. I felt like I was playing a role—like I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Doing this made me feel even worse.

If these people found out I liked girls, would they still accept me?

Who are they to control my relationship with God?

Why do they care so much?

Why DO I care so much? Lots of questions.

When I had significant feelings and didn’t have anybody to tell, I ended up writing them all down. I find this entry to stand out because I remember my heart racing after I wrote it, as if anybody would read it. I remember feeling guilty for even writing these feelings down. I think writing down how I felt made it much more real. It was also the first time I really wrote down my fears regarding coming out to my mom and her religious husband (my so-called stepdad) who make their opinions on LGBTQ+ relationships very clear. This is also the first experience I had with a serious crush, something I couldn’t just turn off. There were many times I just wished this girl I liked was a boy, which made no sense because part of the reason I’m attracted to her is because she is a woman.

Realizing I liked girls wasn’t the hardest part about everything— accepting that I’m not romantically attracted to boys was.

There is a large stereotype among young, queer high school girls. I was naturally drawn to this girl, far before I found out she was also gay. But when I found out she was, it turned our friendship into more of a “it’s us against the world” type of situation. Of course, I was in denial about my sexuality, and I pretended that my intense fascination about her was purely platonic. I knew this wasn’t true, but because I knew it was “normal” for other girls my age to have “close” friendships, I thought nothing of it. I later found out that this phenomenon is pretty common in adolescent relationships among queer, or “experimenting” teens. Lisa M. Diamond states in “Having a Girlfriend Without Knowing It” that one girl described her situation as a “‘borderline obsession,’ and described that the type of continuous and intrusive thinking about the friend that characterizes the early stages of romantic infatuation.”

This is definitely what I was dealing with throughout the entirety of my high school career. Now that I know what it was, it almost makes me feel like I’m denying my feelings even further. In my case, my fascination with this girl started as something platonic, but definitely merged into something that included both emotional and physical attraction. I loved her, and I still do.

“The sexual part is over, but that was never the main thing. She’s still the most important person in my life” (Diamond).

Diamond states that this type of relationship is a common situation among both heterosexual and queer women, but that it’s more common among queer ones. Overall, I do not want to find myself in a situation like this again because it was confusing (maybe a bit exciting at times) but I consider it to be an integral part of the development of my sexual identity.

I am new to my identity. It changes everyday. I understand that peoples’ identities are not a fixed thing. They are ever changing. I choose to be kind to myself. I try everyday to undo the conditioning that has been done to me by my family, by society, and by media.

There are many things that make me feel better when I feel discouraged about myself and my sexual/gender identity. The majority of my friends are queer. Just my roommates alone are made up by asexual, bisexual, and lesbian people. It’s so nice that I am surrounded by people who understand a lot of my deepest feelings; feelings that used to be secrets. I find comfort in media that have characters that are similar to me. I know I am not alone.

I am almost positive that I am a lesbian. This “label” is what feels the best for me. There is comfort in finally finding a word that describes how I feel, but I also feel a tad bit of discomfort when I say “I’m a lesbian” out loud. This might be because it’s all fairly new to me, or maybe there are other parts of my identity that I haven’t discovered yet. Overall, I feel a sense of anger when I have to come out to people at all. It makes me mad that I have to tell people that I like girls, like it’s some sort of disclaimer—like a warning. It shouldn’t matter. This class I’m taking has further proven my point about “coming out.” Coming out is a human thing. Being gay is a natural thing that has been around forever; something that is present in nature. We discussed how there are hundreds of animal species that are capable of having homosexual relationships, and behaviors that completely defy straight, heterosexual norms. The longer I think about being scared about being gay, I feel silly, but I know it’s not my fault. Modern gender norms have conditioned me to think that my feelings are unnatural (when they’re anything but).

Of course, there are stereotypes surrounding “being queer.” Sometimes I feel like I don’t even fit these categories. I know that I “look” traditionally female. Sometimes it makes me feel like I have to dress a certain way to be perceived as queer. In some ways I feel privileged for this, because it doesn’t make me a target for discrimination. I am also white, so my race intersects with this. Sometimes I am not sure if I don’t express my queerness on purpose to avoid discrimination, or if I simply just do not fit the “modern queer mold.” Or maybe I’m overthinking this whole aspect altogether.

“I benefit from the privilege of passing as a straight and white, but most days I wish I could give up that privilege. It is extremely difficult to live your life where some of the most important things about you are hidden” (P. Abramson & S. Pinkerton).

Quote above is from an assigned reading, “Is Homosexual a Noun?” I identify with that quote so much. How privileged does it sound to want to “give up” a privilege? Very. But I can’t deny that part of me feels the same. Race and queerness are undoubtedly intersected. Where I could be discriminated for my sexuality, I am protected by my race. I think about this often. Would I feel even more scared to come out if I was Black? Asian? Hispanic? Of course I would. Staying educated about topics like this is something I need to do as a queer individual.