Proud
I started writing this as an Insta post, and then thought better of it (mainly because it wouldn’t all fit). It’s my first official Pride Week, although now that I think about it I could have also been proud last year, and arguably (depending on who you ask) for a couple of decades. Yes, I’m aware that Pride Week isn’t just for LGBT+ people, and that people in general can (and should) celebrate being who they are, but this is my story, and I’m choosing to tell it this week, which happens to also be Pride Week. Anyway, as I’m more of a stay at home kinda homo and not particularly enthused by parade-ish activities, my contribution to P.W is this - my coming out story.
In retrospect, my intense crushes on various female friends, Xena, and Britney in my early years would suggest I’ve been fairly queer for some time. My parents (bless them) spent the majority of my upbringing as devout Christians, which lead to my deep seated belief that homosexuality was at the very pointy end of a long spectrum of misdeeds which would send you to Hell (including lying and not finishing your dinner).
As a teenager and young adult, my intimate encounters with the opposite sex were generally inappropriate (in terms of age difference / power dynamic) and often highly traumatic, leaving me a very confused and validation seeking young woman who secretly enjoyed making out with her girlfriends at bars more than getting the attention /drinks from guys that this theatrics was apparently for.
Heading toward my 30’s, I tentatively described myself as bisexual, whilst privately envying the romantic relationships of my lesbian friends, who I seemed to weirdly (lol) collect over the years once I moved from Auckland to Melbourne. During this time I had various long term relationships with cis men, which ended ‘naturally’ (aka terribly) with no thought to my repressed sexuality, even as I watched 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘓 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 repeatedly and became ridiculously heartbroken over failed female friendships.
When I went back online last year after my last stint at being single, I changed my preferences to female only, mainly to avoid the “how much do you squat?” questions and accompanying dick pics. Enter Kelly. She was / is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and everything just seemed to fall into place like the plant jigsaw puzzle she was enjoying in her spare time when we first connected.
Entering into a same sex relationship was really the most natural thing in the world, so the actual coming out part for me was telling my parents back home. I was absolutely shitting myself over this prospect, and braced myself for some level of outrage / disappointment on their part. I was as wrong about their preempted reaction as I was about being straight. Their genuine love and support (as well as lack of surprise) was a momentous relief, which gave way to wondering how I could have ever thought they’d react poorly (besides the obvious gays go to Hell thing).
Nothing has really changed in terms of my life. I seem to have collected / been gifted a lot of rainbow apparel, and I’ve become a lot better at decorating and knowing where to find things at Bunnings. So whilst I won’t be dancing around Mardi Gras wearing a strap on, it’s safe to say I’m pretty fucking proud of who I am. If I feel different at all it’s that I feel more ME, and the confidence of that has been the best part. I’m probably still a confused, validation seeking, not-so-young-anymore woman, but at least my sexuality is a bit more sorted.
