An acknowledgement that 'coming out' isn't necessarily a one-time thing and the journey it took to get there.
Realising my queer identity was a scary process. Coming from a more conservative, Catholic, African-Asian background, there was definitely pressure to conform to certain ideals. Throughout my childhood, I remember feeling like a disappointment for not being ‘girly’ enough, or not having the qualities that ‘a young woman should have’. The first time I considered the possibility of my sexuality, my immediate feeling was guilt for not being the perfect daughter my parents might have hoped for.
And then came the panic. ‘Am I really attracted to girls? Am I a lesbian? Do I like guys?’ I didn’t sleep that night. I distinctly remember the cold sweat and the desperate flurry of questions I asked myself. Hopelessly trying to convince myself that I was wrong. It felt like some secret shame. Even when I wasn’t thinking about it directly, I still felt the weight. The fear of discovery was a constant. I felt anxious around my closest friends, panicking that they could somehow sense my queerness. This fear was only exemplified at home. Averting my eyes whenever an attractive woman appeared on screen, as if my family would realise my interest, and avoiding any conversations surrounding love and relationships; it was verging on paranoia. This shame and dread followed me for months. It wasn’t until I came out for the first time that I could begin the process of accepting my newfound identity.
"Even when I wasn’t thinking about it directly, I still felt the weight"
Still, in the back of my mind, I worried that I may have got it wrong. In my rush to assign myself a label, I began to look into what bisexual people were like. Unintentionally, I began ticking off boxes in my head. I did this thing, and I identified with that. I look like that sometimes. All in attempt to fit in with this preconceived idea of what a queer person was. The way I sit, the music I listen to, that all fits, which must mean that I am. It was naïve and based solely on stereotypes. Of course, there were instances where I didn’t exactly fit, which sent me spiralling. It was always minor things which had nothing to do with my sexuality at all, but it was the only frame of reference that I had. I had not seen anyone that looked and thought like me in any of the media that I consumed. I realise now that seeing yourself reflected in media reaffirms that your experiences are normal and real, but limited or stereotypical representation can be very damaging.
"All in attempt to fit in with this preconceived idea of what a queer person was."
In media when queer identity is explored, it usually leads to a big ‘coming out’ moment, and everything after deals with the ramifications of that one instance. However, I have since learned that you never come out just once. Obviously the first coming out is a major moment that can shape how you interact with your sexuality moving forward, but life as a queer person does not stop there. It’s always treated as if once you’re out and proud, somehow the whole world will know. This is not the reality. Every time you meet a new person, there is a moment where you may or may not come out to them. The simplified idea of coming out fails to cover every instance where you have to decide who to let in. Co-workers, family friends, and even minor acquaintances that you may never interact with again; each instance requires its own ‘coming out’ – and can vary wildly. The other thing I came to realise, is that not everyone needs to know. It’s taken me a long time to understand that I don’t owe anyone an explanation.
"It’s taken me a long time to understand that I don’t owe anyone an explanation."
Article Written By Kirsten Nair
(She/Her)
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