There has been debate as to whether or not queerness is a genetic disposition or socialized behavior. However we come into being is beside the point, genetic or society, growing up queer can be challenging. Some people are blessed with supportive and understanding parental figures and families, while others are subjected to various types of abuse, and the ones that fall in-between are simply ignored (which is its own type of violence).
What’s it like to grow up queer? Well, I can give you exactly one perspective.
It is being in the first grade and sprinting home excitedly, ponytail flying everywhere, to tell your mom that you have a crush on someone! The little red headed girl that sits beside you during story time, well, she held your hand and you really like her. When you fly through the door and drop your book-bag on the ground and hurriedly squeal, “Mommy! Mom, I have a crush on someone!” and she smiles through the kitchen doorway replying, “Is that so?” “Yes! The girl that sits next to me at story time!” Her smile will falter a little at your words and she’ll say, “Oh, no honey. Girls don’t have crushes on other girls.” You will be confused, brow furrowing but you will say, “Oh. Okay, Mommy.” And eat your afternoon snack.
It is being in the third grade and having a best friend named Chelsea. She smells so good and you love spending time with her. She has a crush on your other best friend, Tyler, which she told you in confidence and you’re okay with that because you like her so much. You and Chelsea have planned the biggest sleepover party and you are both over the moon. Late that night, after everyone else had gone to sleep, Chelsea is whispering about all the things she likes in the sleeping bag beside yours and she says, “But you’re my favorite person!” and lightly touches your face. Your whole being lights up, your body gets hot, then from deep inside your mind you hear, “Oh, no honey. Girls don’t have crushes on other girls.” You roll over and pretend to be asleep.
It is being in the sixth grade, in a big new school – a whole new world. Everything and everyone is so loud rushing around you that first morning and you’re trying so hard to find your locker. You push past a group of older kids and one of them says, “Hey, watch it faggot.” You let your long hair fall into your face and hurry to your next class, forgetting all your books in your locker.
It’s being in the eighth grade and you have your first girlfriend. Her name is Kelsie and she says everything that she’s thinking and she’s not scared of anything. You think she’s amazing. You want to tell your mom so badly, but girls don’t have crushes on other girls. And you definitely do. Deep down, you know that there is something inside of you that has been broken or put together wrong. You get angry. So angry that you become a different person. Just a fragment of the other kid you used to be.
It’s being in the ninth grade and being moved across the country to a little town in North Carolina. “That is so gay” “Faggot, faggot, faggot” are thrown around the hallways like Hail Mary’s. You dig deep down inside yourself and reveal in that anger a little more. This is a truly scary place. You feel terribly alone and damaged. Your mom finds a poem that you wrote about your first girlfriend one night in the laundry and she makes you promise that you don’t have those kinds of feelings anymore, promise that you’re over it. And you promise.
It’s being in the tenth grade and falling madly in love with a girl on your softball team. She is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, ever got to know. You share your headphones with her on the way to and from away games, falling further and further down the rabbit hole. One hot July night, you and she are sitting under bright lit stars and the world stands still. You pluck up your courage and quickly, mumbling through it, tell her that you’re fascinated by her. She likes you too. And your heart explodes. She pushes your hair back from your face and kisses you like you’ve only seen in movies. For those few minutes, everything is perfect.
It’s being a senior and getting your heart broken. After a long time of hiding and keeping your relationship discrete as possible in a small town, it has worn on both of you and she leaves, taking what feels like every part of you with her. You cry yourself to sleep at night, wrapped in her sweatshirt that she left with you. Your friends help you get through it, taking you out and keeping you occupied. But the thing about the small town is that you see her everywhere and it always aches.
It’s finally getting to college and going several hours away from home. You room with your best friend that you haven’t seen in a long time and you know that you’re going to get through anything. You meet more queer people and find out that there are a ton of them. You’re not alone. You slowly come out around campus and feel exhilarated. Occasionally, late at night, your mind drifts back to that broken piece of you – you’re not quite right.
It’s being twenty and having your first college girlfriend. She’s older, more experienced, very outgoing. You think she’s pretty great, and she’s extremely keen on you. Eventually, your mom calls and asks if you’re dating her, says she saw something on the internet. You whisper, “Yes, I am” and your mom will cry. She will say things like, “You promised me that you didn’t have these kinds of feelings anymore.” That night will be the first night that you cried yourself to sleep since your heart mended. The back of your mind rolling around with uncertainty and fear. Eventually, the girlfriend will take advantage of you after too many spiked drinks and you will know that you are indeed broken, laying there on the broken bed.
It’s being twenty-one and getting suspended from your university. Your mom makes the long drive to help you pack up your dorm room and you have never felt more out of control. Words, words, words keep repeating in your brain. When you get back to your parent’s house, you will get rip-roaringly drunk and collect all the pills you can find in the house. Lay them out side by side but decide that you refuse to become another dead gay kid.
It’s being twenty-three and graduating from the same college that kicked you out. You are a little more grounded and a lot more stable. You understand yourself a little more and are starting to think that perhaps you can be okay with being damaged. Your girlfriend travels up to your parent’s house to spend New Year’s Eve with you but before she gets there your parents lay down some ground rules - She must sleep in another room of the house, there is to be no affection in their house, and at the party we will not kiss at midnight or be affectionate in front of children because that’s not something kids need to see. Something insides you snaps, but you agree.
It’s being twenty-four and going away to graduate school. You have spent the last year as a barista and are ready to do bigger and better things. You are far more stable now and are looking forward to new challenges. Plus, it is much closer to the girl you believe is the love of your life. Bonus. You will succeed and do tremendously. The first time you see the girl, she kisses you breathlessly and you know for certain that she is the one.
Now, I’m twenty-five. I have survived, but not unscathed. I have lived when I thought I might not want to. I have found a place with and within myself that are at peace, to some degree. Occasionally, late at night, I will probably trace back over the brokenness but only out of habit, not belief. And I was right, she is the love of my life. There have been ups and downs and sideways and backwards, but mostly forwards with her. We actually just got engaged recently. She... whew, she is my soulmate. I am a better person for her existence in the world. My parents love her. And… I’ve been affectionate in their house with her. So, baby steps. I love my parents fiercely, but there are things that can never be said or unheard. Growing up queer is as diverse and unique as the individual queer. Be kind to one another. And don’t say intolerant things to children, they will always remember.
