Community Rainbow Waves

The age of love is short, there is no limit to oblivion… But this is the value of love.

Since childhood. But the awareness and acceptance of self came at a more conscious age. Now I am happy about it. I have been living with my beloved person for several years now and the most wonderful thing for her is that I was a discovery of her sexuality and an opportunity to realize that the world is not only black and white. I live in Russia, the country that patience and understanding of such I am not very different, here still slips the foundations of the past, and there is probably a disadvantage in this, but there are a lot of people like me who are gradually me attitude towards us)

Anne , Brasil

At 10, I discovered that there was something different, I realized that I was attracted to a girl who studied with me for a few years. But I was always afraid to expose myself by the judgment of the people around me, most of the time the family says that they accept you, but when we assume who we really are, there is a certain judgment, which is a very sad thing, because they they are always represented by harsh words that I will never forget. At 16, I met a woman who fell in love from the moment I saw her, at 18 I told my parents as a lesbian, and it was terrible. I married this incredible person, who helped me, as well as his family, to be someone better and not be afraid of anything. Today we are no longer together, I still have some fears, because my parents still think it was just a phase, just a long phase of 8 years ne! I continue to work with them and show that it was not a phase, and I am proud to show and raise the flag, and I know that nobody and nothing will silence me anymore. thanks for the opportunity to tell my story.

Always be myself

I realized in high school that I wasn’t attracted to boys, I went to catholic school though, so I kept up a facade. I started seeing females during college. I never really had a “coming out” story, I just kinda came home with a girlfriend one day & that was it. My sisters didn’t care, they love me no matter what. My parents are ok with it, but my mom still occasionally makes comments about dating one of my guy friends, while I do love him, I don’t love him like that. I’ve had my ups & downs with relationships, my 1st one was abusive. Then I was not so no eat with my next & I did cheat. My most recent one was 7 years, it ended back in October, she left me for a friend of a friend, they’d known each other like a month & got married a week after she left me. Since then I’ve been taking time for me, get back in touch with myself, what I want, what’s important, & right now, for me, my family & friends are most important. I lost touch with 2 of my best friends because of my ex, but I got back in touch with them & that’s the best decision I’ve made.
I’m so proud of you Dom for coming out, you are a beautiful person both inside and out. Always be yourself

Lesbian Military Boss Babe

I knew I was different from about 9 or 10 but I knew I was gay when my teacher in 8th grade, giving a talk about sexuality, gave all the girls a survey to ask, “on a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you desire a boyfriend?”. It was an odd question but it was anonymous so I answered truthfully. He then collected the papers and read out the numbers aloud “8, 10, 9, 2! Two??? Wow.” The class laughed…I was mortified. I spent the next 20 years hiding this truth from myself and everyone around me.

In order to keep up pretenses I slept around and dated every guy I could but I never felt love. It always felt like friends with benefits. I joined the military at 26 during Dont Ask Dont Tell and after I started dating women, in secret, I still did my duty at work but that law kept me from feeling connected to my fellow troops. I couldn’t share my dreams or hopes or loves. I couldn’t talk about my weekend trips without dancing around pronouns or lying altogether. I lied to myself, my family, my friends…i felt like a fake. I was externally happy-go-lucky and adventurous but inside…I felt alone. Empty.

At 30 yrs old, I finally stuck with one girlfriend longer than a few months and we moved in together. I couldn’t keep lying and I wanted to free myself of the burden I had felt most of my life. It was time to be honest. I was a grown-ass woman; brave in every other area of my life except this one. No more lies.

I knew my biggest rejection would come from my religious family so I went big and started with my parents; if I could tell them, I could tell anyone. I knew that the moment I said it out loud I would lose them forever but I could no longer live for others; it was time to be authentically me. My parents and I got into a car to head to the beach and on the way home I told them I had to tell them something big. They saw my face turn white, my voice began to shake, tears started to fall. They said, “Mija…whats wrong? What is it?”. I said that I was gay. I knew I was attracted to women and I was tired of living a lie. I then commenced to crying even harder. My father spoke up, “Lisa, you are my daughter…you are the same person you were 5 minutes ago, nothing has changed. I love you. I will always love you.”. My strict religious father surprised me with LOVE. My mother took it harder but she came around over time.

I’m 44 now. I’m happy, healthy, and OUT to ALL . In the military I have to still be careful who I let into my circle but those who know me, accept all of me. I am finally allowed to serve and feel connected to my team. I am absolutely unafraid to live and love. It feels so good to say that. I lost some homophobic friends and family members along the way but you find that when the lies are gone you are able to have closer bonds with those who truly love you. It was worth it.

Sending love and amazing vibes to all my fellow LGBTQ+ family. May you all be free to explore your path and live devoid of any shame that stifles your happiness.

Old School Dyke

I came out 40 years ago this August when I was 19 years old. For me, the realization of who I was when I came out was like someone had thrown open the shutters and thrown up the sash and let the air and light into my life. Unfortunately, there was also a great since of fear especially at that time. Short history lesson: Stonewall had happened just 11 years earlier in 1969. Homosexuality was removed from the list of “mental illnesses” by the American Psychiatric Association only 7 years prior in 1973. “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” was still 14yrs away so they did ask and if you were found out you could not only be disowned by your family, but chances were good you might lose your job or your housing and most of your friends.
For me it was a time of wonder, I was naïve. But I as lucky because when I first came out, I found an older lesbian, who I worked with, that was able to help me navigate this new hidden world and find the community. You must remember that this is long before the internet, so finding each other was exceedingly difficult. She taught me about feminist bookstores, Lesbian Connection (a newsletter that is still published today), women’s potlucks, women’s music and of course the bars, though very few if any of those women’s space still exist. It was all about knowing the code words and symbols: feminist, womyn, potluck, lavender, violets, labrys, etc. To this day I still use “the look” with other women in public that let us each other know that we are the same without words.
Regarding the fear and history there is one story that I carry with me to this day. It was on St. Patrick’s Day 1981 when my older lesbian mentor smuggled me into the Three Sisters bar in Denver. I know they knew I was a little underage, but they also knew that the lesbian bars were one of the few places that was safe to meet other people like yourself. The Sisters was packed that night and the group I was with had been there about 30-40 minutes when across the room there is a face I recognized. Being young, and like I said naïve and feeling invincible I got up and walked across the bar, and bold as brass walked up to the woman I recognized and said: “Hi Miss (name withheld)”, to my high school guidance counselor. She turned and looked at me and said HI back in a very trepidatious way, not using my name and being kind of distant… I was a bit taken aback as we had been close in high school but figured whatever ‘it’s been awhile’ and went back to the group I was with. About a half hour later she came across the bar to me and said, “Hi Jackie” and introduced me to the woman she was with and we spoke for a few minutes. To this day I cannot forget the look of sheer terror that ran across her face when I said her name, it was the first time I understood just how dangerous being out could be. If found out she would have lost her job, possibly her home – everything. She was sacred of me recognizing her in a lesbian bar and it took her over a half hour to realize that if I was there too it was OK, and her secret was safe. I wish I could say that was the only time over the years that I have seen “that look”, but I am glad to say that I see it very seldom now and I hope that this generation and the next will never have to see it.
Thank you for this forum to share these stories. As I get older, I worry that our herstory and where and who we came from is being lost. Hopefully, projects like this will help to keep that from happening and keep our stories alive.

Bisexual (I think)

I developed my first ever crush on a girl October of 2019, in my second year of high school. I’ve only ever had one crush before, and it was on a boy. Liking this girl scared me more than anything else I have ever known, and I still like her. I didn’t really know what to do, but I eventually told a friend who it was and I felt better. What’s weird is that I ran away before I could see a reaction. I guess I thought she would be disgusted. But she wasn’t. I then told my best friend because I felt like it was eating me up inside that she didn’t know. We were hanging out and she was talking about this boy she liked and the whole time I was thinking it’s now or never. I told her I like someone, and of course she wanted to know because I never like anyone. I almost started crying trying to tell her, hoping it wouldn’t change anything between us. I finally told her the name of the girl and she just smiled. She wasn’t mad. I was terrified. But she was okay. And I am okay. I told another friend a few weeks later. I was insanely nervous about this one because I honestly felt like she would become immediately uncomfortable. I was with the first friend I told and I kept avoiding it. But I did it.
Last week however, I decided to tell my sister. This TERRIFIED me. My sister is not at all homophobic but I felt like I couldn’t breathe just by thinking about telling her. She kept asking who I like, and I finally said it. It was weird. It still kind of is. She doesn’t treat me different or anything, I just thought we would talk about it a bit more. But it’s okay.
And that’s it. I am out as a bisexual to the 4 people closest to me.

I’m an out and proud butch lesbian

I could, and regularly do, tell the story of coming out as a lesbian in the age of Section 28. I tell it because, mostly, it’s relatable, and it’s got some funny bits, and has very clearly defined parameters that say “This was the moment I was not out; this was the moment I was out.”

I’m not going to do that; instead, I want to tell you about what was, for me, a much tougher journey, one which took a lot longer and a lot more questioning, a journey which is no where close to being finished. I want to tell you about being butch.

It isn’t a popular word, nowadays, even in the LGBTQ+ community. But it’s an identity that helped me verbalise my own gender when I didn’t know how to, and gave me the comfort that I wasn’t the only woman trying to find her way through the world when the trappings of femininity felt increasingly like a cage.

I had always been a tomboy, more interested in climbing trees and getting muddy than in playing dress up and dolls (the barbie dolls my mum bought me spent more time rescuing each other from hideous fairytale monsters than they ever did swooning over Ken). Which is fine, when you’re young. It gets less fine as you get into adolescence, when the expectations of society become more restrictive, and the struggle to fit in, to be normal, comes to the forefront. I was a shy kid, bullied because my family were working class in a middle class neighbourhood, and my parents were catholic and somewhat strict; the thought of standing out any more than that made my stomach churn. So I wore the skirts, rolled shorter at the end of the road so our mothers wouldn’t see, and applied the colourful eye shadows which we’d be marched to wash off after first period, and I felt like I would never be happy again.

Skip forwards 8 years, and I was living away from home for the first time, in a foreign country, with no one to define me but myself. It was an opportunity, not just for learning, but for becoming. I found myself around people who wouldn’t bat an eyelid when I cut my hair short, or tentatively started adding “men’s” clothes to my wardrobe. It gave me freedom to experiment with my name and my pronouns, and start to uncover the layers of my attachment to womanhood that I had long since hidden in shame. I still felt anxious about it; there were still confusions and unkindnesses as a result of my outward appearance, but more clearly than any of those, I remember standing in front of the mirror with my waist length hair shorn for the first time, the strands lying around my feet, and crying because I finally felt like I was looking at myself.

It took another 5 years for me to exclusively start wearing “men’s” clothes, to stop disguising my mannerisms to appeal to the wider society who still demand performance of culturally mandated gender roles. It helped that I had found, online and offline, a community of women like me who enabled me to map out the words I needed to explain this huge part of my identity, and a woman who made me believe I was ‘handsome’ – not ‘pretty’ and certainly not ‘strange’. It took two thirds of my life and that unwavering support to fully accept myself as a woman, a lesbian, and a butch, and I’m still learning.

No, butch isn’t a popular word, nowadays. For the wider world it carries too many of the negative connotations attached to it by the narrow feminism of the 1970’s, but for me, it’s the key descriptor for who I am. I found an affinity with it, and it helped me – is helping me – on my journey as I dig deeper into what that means. It’s true that labels are just words. They’re just words we use to verbalise who we are, and our feelings towards them are based on our own personal experiences as we travel through life, constantly evolving or cementing as we ourselves grow. To the world at large, I’d ask you one thing: be gentle with other people’s labels, and the words they choose or do not choose to give their identity form. Invalidating them is a form of invalidation for the many roads they travelled to find them.

And to the masculine of centre women – the gender nonconforming women – the women getting called out in the ladies’ loos and receiving the side eyes as they pick up their groceries – stay strong. Stand tall. Keep on holding your own. And hold onto your swaggers – we’ve earned it.

Zo, Birmingham UK

Asexual

My whole life I was asexual and aromantic. But I didn’t have words. I picked names of random guys to be crushes, basing it on ‘well he seems nice and people expect me to say someone.’ I agreed to go on dates when asked. For a time, I even wanted nothing more than to be in a happy, straight relationship because that I meant I was not only wanted and desirable as a person, it meant I was normal. After trying out dating life with someone who on paper should have checked all the boxes, I felt so uncomfortable. Every day as his ‘girlfriend’ I felt nauseous. I felt like I was lying. I couldn’t call him my boyfriend. I avoided him as much as I could. I kept thinking in time it would get better, but the more attempts we made at having a normal relationship, the more uncomfortable I felt. I had a friend say ‘well maybe you’re asexual.’ I sheepishly agreed, but honestly had no idea that was even a thing and felt embarrassed in my ignorance. After a lot of googling, I knew who I was. I am thankful for that relationship, which I ended shortly after my discovery.

But the way I found myself and the time I found myself (2012) ingrained a sense in me that as well as I could understand myself, no one else could. So I went on, being myself to people who knew me, but staying silent in other areas aside from a few brave moments on social media. And often when it did come up, people asked questions. And as much as I do think everyone deserves an education, I couldn’t help feeling like no matter what answer I gave, they already had one in mind that would hold true. No matter if it was or not. That continued. I have been welcomed by the LGBT+ community, but knowing not everyone feels that way towards asexuality kept me feeling wrong and broken all over again. I didn’t fit in a straight mold. Nor did I fit a queer one. Even though the majority of people I’ve encountered have been kind, I still tend to fall into silence. Supporting pride and equality for others, but producing an internalized list of reasons why feeling inferior in my identity daily isn’t enough to qualify me as deserving the same as everyone else.

Years of off-putting conversation, exclusion and lack or representation created this paradox. I could accept myself. I could love seeing other people proclaim their pride. But I felt indulgent, selfish and out of place if I did the same. But as time has gone on, I realized I don’t need to justify my right to claim my identity. It’s not a contest of suffering. And in a way, the rules we use to measure our experiences don’t fit all identities. I have had the amazing safety of passing as straight and the anonymity to be who I am without fear of repercussions as long as I avoid the topic of my sexuality in conversation. But I’ve also had to lie every time I turn a guy down because I’m afraid if I tell the truth that he’d try to prove me wrong. I had a therapist I went to for help question my orientation and experiences relentlessly, going as far as suggesting I ‘try it’ with multiple genders to see which I prefer. I’ve had strangers ask if I masturbate, if I’ve tried X,Y,Z thing, or tell me I just haven’t found the one yet because they know me better than I know myself. And most of all, I have to go through every day thinking I don’t have the right to express who I am. Feeling guilty for being proud and knowing who I am.

Dom came out on her birthday. I write this on my own birthday. I’ve been ‘out’ for years now, but this year I pledge to allow myself to take up the space I deserve. I have and will always support the representation of all orientations, genders, races, cultures and identities. I will continue to raise up all of the other voices that need to be heard in this world. But I also need to start using my own.

Lesbian

I know I was a lesbian at age 12. I didn’t come out til I was 26. I grew up in a catholic family and being gay was not ok. I hide my true self for many years because of it. I came out to a close friend one night over drinks while getting ready fir a singing contest. I will be forever grateful to her. She loved me for me and without judgment. My family didn’t handle my coming out well. They are not apart of my life because of who I am. I have been very lucky to have great friends and family of choice who love me. I also live in a city that is very accepting and has a large LGBTQ+ community. I work at a LGBTQ+ safe space coffee house and mentor young queers, loving and supporting them over coffee.

I am bisexual right now.

I started to question my sexuality a lot a few years ago when I met someone who I was really into but was the same gender as me. She was amazing and I was scared. I was also very confused because I liked girls and guys. I am still confused and not super into labels so I just love who I love. I’ve come out to a few people, but not everyone. I am still trying to work up my self confidence to fully come out. I think you love who you love, and that’s the beauty of it.