I rarely tell people I’m gay when we meet, oftentimes just letting it be a mystery for them to figure out— subtle nods to queerness when referring to my “partner,” but rarely correcting them when they ask about “him,” talking about C as both “she” and “they” to prolong and avoid the inevitable— the moment of realization and the knowing that I can’t hide anymore.
I do not look gay. Deeply femme, with long nails and daily makeup and an affinity for skirts, at first read, I am a straight woman. It is easy to navigate life looking the way I do— I never have to worry if I will stick out, if someone will glance me and think something harmful or homophobic. I never think that I would have reason to be worried. When planning travel, whether or not the country is LGBTQ-friendly never even comes in the equation— if I am going somewhere homophobic, I just plan to, well, not tell anyone. I do not look gay, and I can use this to my advantage in most social situations. My worry, however, is when I get closer to people and I can’t really shy away from it so much. Being in a relationship for so long, my partner has become a huge part of my life. When talking to strangers and new friends, I will inevitably bring up a story involving her and there is only so many times I can say “my partner” before I have to drop a pronoun. And that is where I start to feel strange and scared.
I feel this mostly around men. I have had too many potential male friends stop talking to me upon realizing that I would not or had no interest in fucking them. It hurts, being devalued to sex, and it is largely for this reason that my friend circle includes mostly women and non-binary folks and few men. Whenever I meet a new man who I think I might like to be friends— I can’t even control it anymore, I swear, it just happens on impulse— I refrain from telling him I am gay or even in a relationship for as long as possible. This, to prolong the friendship. This, to hopefully give us enough time to actually become friends, so that when he gets to know me, he wants to stay friends. Of course, in hindsight, which is always 20/20, this line of thinking is ridiculous— why would I even want to be friends with such a person? With someone I feel I have to hide my true self from in the beginning?
But even around women, I tend to feel a bit reserved. The truth is, I simply never know how anyone will react, and, in some sacred moves of self-preservation, I prefer to keep my queerness to myself, at least as long as I can.
I recently met a gay man at a bar. Him— openly, visibly. Me, making a reference to queer themes, hoping I wouldn’t have to say it out loud for the others to hear. Him, assuming I was bisexual. Me, saying and stating that I am gay. And of course, nothing happened. Why so much fear and covering up around this? Is it possible there is still some shame associated with being gay for me, that I am embarassed to be queer, and, therefore, to bring it up? This, to be honest, is entirely possible. I have never been a particularly “out and proud” gay person— “We’re here, we’re queer” is not my battle cry. I stay out of the gay bars for a variety of reasons, and have few queer friends. The ones I do have aren’t particularly involved with the community either. I have little interest in it and don’t do much to make myself known to it.
So, is it shame, or just indifference? I have always said that I feel the same way about being gay as I would have about being straight— neutral, ambivalent, uninterested. I am not proud because I did nothing to do this. Being gay is neither an achievement nor a punishment. In the grand scheme of my life, being gay is such a small part of my day to day that my reluctance to mention it to others upon meeting them is also partly because I myself never really think about it.
Being gay is something that is part of me, but that doesn’t define me or really make me. It isn’t my personality, and has little to nothing to do with it. The gayest thing about me is, of course, my relationship, and, admittedly, I often wonder if it would have been possible for me, in another life, to have found love like this with a man. I think no. It feels like what we have could not ever be found with another person— but I think many relationships also feel that way to those in them.
Is it shame or indifference? Is it hiding or is it simply not stating that which I think is unimportant, that which I find so absolutely boring and uninteresting (about myself and about other people) that I don’t think it relevant to share at all? Yes, I do fear, sometimes, that people might react in an archaic or homophobic way. I do think that it is probably better (for me, at least), to see what people are like before revealing this piece of information about me. But what hurts the most, or what I find the most frustrating, is that this even has to be a thought process for me at all. I am assumed straight upon arrival— even gay women rarely see me as one of their own— and I choose to enjoy that shield, that veil of societal protection and ignorance. Why is the onus on me to come out, constantly, to every person I meet, over and over again? It’s exhausting to always have to assess the situation, the conversation, the setting, the person, to see if they are someone I can trust with revealing my true self. It’s exhausting, to think, so frequently, about this, about something that doesn’t matter to me but might matter to somebody else.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t gay, just so I could avoid this whole thing in general. But then I remember that, at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter.
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