I'm a queer woman, whose dated mostly cishet dudes my life. After coming out, I've dated a few girls (even having a few non-monogamous relationships) but I'm finding myself falling for a cishet monogamous dude that I *surprise* am reeeeeeally into. Am I a bad queer for having these feelings, and am I an even worse person for being confused on where I lie on the monogamous/non-monogamous spectrum?
Oh, honey. The very short and very firm answers I have for you, for both of your questions, are no, and no, not at all.
It’s Pride month, and there are lots of things floating about about queerness. Equinox has a horrible joke of an ad campaign about the ABCs of LGBTQ+, and they kick off the video with “ally” (gag me) – erasing asexuals from the queer community completely – and then lumping in kink and S&M as if those things are inherently queer, or all queers are kinky. This is the entirety of my reaction to that:
NYC Pride is supposedly going to be televised this year, because everyone wants to get in on queerness as spectacle. But the problem with marginalized identities being perceived through the lens of a dominant [read: white supremacist, cissexist, heteronormative, patriarchal] narrative (i.e., white cishets with money who like glitter and dislike the history that is the Stonewall Riots being led by Black and Latina trans women) is that the dominant narrative fucks us up. From adolescence (or even earlier if you’re Black or POC), and continuously.
What I’m getting from you letter is mostly that you don’t feel queer enough. “Not queer enough” is just another version of “not enough” and, in my experience, at the root of every “not enough” – especially for someone who lives within one or more marginalized identities – is how we’re not shaping up to some distant, inauthentic ideal (which is *always* seen through the lens of whiteness).
What does “queer enough” look like, to you? Take a moment and really think about it. What are the narratives that you’re bringing to “queer enough” that have you stuck in the position of feeling like you’re falling short?
I’m also a queer woman who for a long time dated mostly cishet dudes all my life, and when I was stewing in my ‘not enough’ feelings, they usually had to do with my femmeness, and how I was worried about being read. (This is called internalized femmephobia.) My response was to cut off all my hair (and then, ridiculously, have a lot of feelings about being read as too butch/“too gay”; read: “too much.” We truly cannot win.) I got a tattoo of a Sailor Jerry mermaid rocking a pixie cut and reading a book with her boobs out to telegraph to the world that I LIKE GIRLS. I later got an undercut, a septum piercing; all markings of things that I thought would make me more “visibly queer.” (And maybe it did, but now I’m also Brooklyn-adjacent, so I look pretty much like everyone else. Oh well.)
But here’s the thing with visibility that I think is important to note: My bbqueer striving to be “visibly queer” was a privilege, even as it was causing me anxiety and feelings of not enough-ness; trans folks, and BIPOC folks, queer and straight, struggle with hypervisibility in ways that my light skinned, cisgender ass generally does not, and it is important to me to state that plainly.
Did any of the things I did to establish my queer chick street cred actually make me any queerer? No. You know what does make me queer?
The fact that I’ve always felt a little odd my whole life, and it wasn’t until I found my queerness that some part of that began to ease. My intense relationships with female friends that crashed and burned in startling ways, which I now realized were warped and stuck in a pressure-cooker by the queerness that I didn’t have words for, since I was raised so steeped in Catholicism and heteronormativity. The fact that I’ve had to fight to recognize my queerness; the fact that my parents made me stop watching Xena for “the violence” when I have a sneaking suspicion I probably was made to stop watching it for the gayness (and I don’t say that to criticize my parents at all – I don’t even think that was something that consciously registered for them; that is part of my queerness too). The fact that my dad tried to make me stop watching Buffy when Willow came out as gay – he TRIED lol – and I literally told him over my dead body. The fact that Willow came out as gay and it still took me an additional ten years to realize that I’m bisexual, bc lol, where are all the bi girls on TV??? Where are the bi girls who look like me? (Here’s one.)
I understand your angst, though. As queer women, we’re so often told that our sexuality is contingent on who we’re with. My doctors have treated me that way – when I have male partners, I’m straight, and when I have female partners, I’m gay. When I come out about being non-monogamous, I’m pretty sure all they see is a neon-sign over my head that, depending on the doctor, reads “HIGH RISK” at best, and “SLUT” at worst. These are messages that we have to deal with every day. It is so, so rare to find a place and a community that validates who you are, exactly as you are.
And the queer community isn’t exempt from that, either! I had a girlfriend who identified as a lesbian who had a problem with me having sex with dudes. I had a girlfriend who identified as poly who hated the idea of me having other partners, so she asked me to be in a closed triad with her and her husband – and then the two of them, jointly, decided to dump me, in part because seeing him with me scared the crap out of her.
Our world is imperfect, and our communities reflect that. It takes strength and resilience and the deepest, fiercest love for who you know yourself to be to fight that. It can be exhausting, and sometimes we don’t always win these battles with “not enough,” because our society is not structured to encourage or even allow us to love ourselves. And I’m sorry for that, and I am sending you all of my love, not just because it’s June and it’s Pride month, but always, because you deserve so much better than this.
With regard to where you stand on the spectrum of monogamy and non-monogamy – fuck that scale. You are where you are, and how you do relationships is your business, and your partner(s)’ business, and anyone on the outside looking in can go fuck themselves. Maybe you’re feeling more monogamous right now – cool. Maybe you’re just super deep in New Relationship Energy with this exciting new person – that’s also fine! Either of these things or neither of them can be true, or one of them can be true sometimes, or they can both be true at least half the time, and the only thing that means is that’s where you are at right now, and where you are right now in your dating life is not a comment on how ‘good’ of a queer you are. You don’t have to be good. You just have to be yourself.The most important thing I ever learned about queerness was last summer at the LAMBDA Writers Workshop. My teacher was Benjamin Alire Saenz, and the first thing he asked us to do was to write about what scared us most in the world. I wrote about not being enough – not queer enough, not Latina enough, not good enough at non-monogamy, not enough of a writer. Not enough, not enough, not enough. He said to us, “Queer is an identity that is entirely self-defined” – and your ability to do that, to be who you are, all of who you are, and say fuck you to the cishets who want queerness to look the way they want to consume it, and a similar buzz off to the queers who would suggest your queerness is not queer enough because of who you’re with – is not only an act of resistance, but also the best gift you could give yourself, and a gift you have always deserved.
