Community Rainbow Waves

Skylar Counts

I think that an internal battle with yourself is one of the hardest things.

I’m sure we’ve all been there. What do you do when your heart is telling you one thing, but your mind is telling you another?

In my case, my internal battle with myself was my sexuality.

When I was in middle school, I had my first girl crush. I didn’t really think anything of it. I was just like, “Oh, whatever, this will go away.” But it didn’t. The feelings persisted and I found myself in a situation I had never been in before — I had feelings for a girl. I remember being so confused and so scared to be myself. Those feelings resulted in me pushing the girl away and ultimately ending our friendship.

After that, I tried to focus on liking boys. And I did like them, even dated a few. I suppressed the part of myself that liked girls and did what my family, friends, and society told me to do — I liked boys.

When I would get a crush on a girl, I would ignore the feelings and focus on a guy that I thought was cute. That continued in high school. I hid a part of myself from everyone I knew and even from those I didn’t know. I was scared, alone, and struggling. Coming from a family who doesn’t talk about feelings, I suppressed what I was feeling even more. As long as they were happy, I didn’t have to be, right?

Wrong.

My suppressed feelings turned into anger. I was angry that I couldn’t be myself, angry that I couldn’t love a girl because of what others would think of it. How could I be living my truth when I was lying to myself? I was in a constant battle with myself; in a constant battle with what my heart was telling me and what my mind was telling me. My heart told me to take that leap and be unapologetically me, but my mind told me to push those feelings so far down to the point where they would become nonexistent. I had to decide if I was going to let society win or if I was going to let my truth win.

And then, when I was a Sophomore in high school, I stumbled upon a show that changed my life — Wynonna Earp. You’ve heard of it, eh?

I fell in love with the show at first glance. The writing, the cinematography, the acting, but, ultimately, Miss Waverly Earp and her being bisexual. I related to her right away and instead of fear, it brought me comfort. For the first time in my life, I was comfortable in my own skin. I wasn’t scared anymore. I was, dare I say, proud.

From that point on, I looked forward to Friday night’s. I could watch Wynonna Earp on the TV in my room and be myself. When I was watching the show, I didn’t have to be the Skylar who only liked boys; I didn’t have to be the Skylar who did what everyone else wanted; I didn’t have to be the Skylar who was scared to be herself. Wynonna Earp gave and still gives me the courage to be myself.

Shortly after I started watching Wynonna Earp, one of my best friends texted me one night and said that he had something he needed to tell me. A few texts later, he came out to me.It was late at night, maybe midnight or one o’clock in the morning, and he asked if he could come pick me up so that we could drive around and talk. So I sneaked out of the house and got in his car.

I remember feeling so free when driving around with him. We were both in a safe space and we had a new sense of comfort with each other. Before we ended our night, we went to Walmart and bought Fruity Pebbles. We ate them in his car and talked, laughed, and made a memory that both of us will remember forever. I almost came out to him that night.

But fear took over again and I pushed those feelings away yet again. It felt like all of my progress flew out out of the window. I was at a loss. I was 17 and, once again, scared, alone, and struggling.

What to do, what to do, what to do…

I lived in that fear for the rest of my high school career. When someone speculated that I was queer, I just shrugged and shook my head. When my mom looked at me weirdly for wearing skinny jeans and a baggy t-shirt instead of more “girly” clothes, I turned away and hung my head. When my family made jokes of me potentially being queer, I laughed along and cried when no one was watching.

I felt defeated, like I was never going to find the courage to be out.

But then I started making friends who were out and proud and that made me feel peaceful. I started being more myself, more my beautifully queer self. And, boy, did it feel good.

I’m 19 now. I’m no longer scared. I no longer have an internal battle with myself. Through my journey so far, I have realized that love comes in many different shapes, sizes, and genders. And with that realization comes the beautiful fact that I can now live my truth. I love humans. I love love. Ultimately, though, I love being queer.

It’s been a long time coming, but all those moments with my friends, family, and society full of fear, uncertainty, and struggle helped shape me into the person I am today. And that is a queer woman, out and proud.

With all of this being said, I want those reading this to know that it’s okay to be scared and confused. Your feelings are valid and you are not disposable. You’re not alone. If you ever need anyone to talk to, you can reach me on Instagram and Twitter @sky_counts.

Here’s to being here,

To being queer,

To being unapologetically you.

Spread your beautiful, colorful waves and remember that in light there is love and in love there is happiness.

#OutIsTheNewIn

Long journey that was sometimes, very difficult and challenging and will likely continue to be so. However, after 20 years of being with person I love, I can be myself.

I think I have always known, but when from a small town with little diversity, you push the feelings aside until you are generally faced with an opportunity to understand more. Much like the founder, I have an appreciation for males and females but my soulmate and best friend happened to be female which all of a sudden made life a bit more challenging and amazing at the same time. I had to deal with an ex-husband, my daughter and family. Was not easy but after nearly 20 years, raising my daughter, having a son together and finding myself, I could not be happier. I am finally comfortable with who I am and always willing to help others do the same.

Kimberly, Cisgender, Lesbian, she/her

I first realized I might be gay when I was in middle school, though it was not something I was ready to accept. I have always been a tomboy, and was very aware of gender growing up. While I had an incredibly supportive family and felt that I could live my life without limiting myself to what society had dictated someone of my gender should do, there were times when it was incredibly stressful. I avoided using public restrooms for fear of someone thinking I was a boy and trying to kick me out, I hated when activities were separated based on gender and even lost a friend because he thought I was a boy until we were separated in an activity, and I had another friend tell me he wouldn’t believe I was a girl until I had boobs. Despite all of this, I never changed how I dressed or the activities I was involved in until I thought I might be gay. I felt I was different enough as it was, I did not want to add the stress of being gay on top of everything else. My greatest fear through high school and college was that someone would think I was gay and I wouldn’t be able to deny it. I successfully avoided any formal events in middle school, but in high school I started wearing dresses for the first time since my parents dressed me as a very young kid. I avoided any physical contact with women and didn’t allow myself to get too close to any woman for fear of developing serious feelings I couldn’t deny. In the moment, I didn’t think too much about it, but reflecting back, it was pretty horrible. This lasted until my senior year in college, when my best friend started breaking down all of my barriers. She started hugging me, holding my hand, and cuddling, and for the first time I realized how touch starved I had been. This was great, but also super confusing. I had never had a super close friend or a partner and I did not know how to interpret my feelings for her. She was also in a relationship with a man and was pretty vocal about being straight. Eventually I just had to accept that I had fallen in love with her, and this helped me to start on my journey to accepting my sexuality. It was not until the next year, after we had moved in together and had been living with each other for a couple of months, that I finally felt ready to come out. I told my family first, and they were amazing, and then I told my best friend, who was also amazing. I thought that after I came out, everything would just fall into place, which did not happen. It has been almost 2 years since I came out, and I have struggled a lot. I spent the majority of my life trying to convince myself I wasn’t gay and the deep sense of shame, fear, and anxiety that I had been living with doesn’t just disappear. But I have also grown a lot in those two years. The shame, fear, and anxiety don’t rear their heads as much anymore, and I am starting to get to a point where I can actually have pride in who I am. I even told my best friend that the reason I came out was that I had fallen in love with her, which is something I had been hiding for so long and was a huge relief when I finally released it. There is still room to grow, but I am incredibly happy with where I am now, and for the first time in my life I feel like I can love who I truly am.

Androgynous

First, Excuse my english. It’s not my mother’s tongue.

It was a long time ago (the 80’s).
I realized I was lesbian at 16 (and tried to shut it down right away too because evreybody around me was -in the best scenario- mocking homosexuals).

It took me to go to University for a year (five years later) to understand that the desire for girls was too hard to fight and finally accept it.
I reconnected with the best friend I had between 9 and 11. It turns out she was gay too!
I think the first person I told it – few month after I quit Uni- was one of my cousins. I told her that on Sundays, I was going to this “famous” gay nightclub about 1h of road from our hometown and that the reason was because it felt home to me. Because I prefer girls.. She didn’t care AT ALL. 🙂 Her first words? ” I’m not surprised. Do you have a girlfriend?”…
Then, a short time after, I told it to the highschool friend I’ve been in Uni with and the 2 others girls we befriended there. I said: “Humm.., guys? I have to tell you something… Well, I’ve been in this gay nightclub a lot lately and…I have a flirt…..with a girl… And I’m gay”. No problem with them neither.
Basically, they said: “It’s your life, you do what you want to. It’s not important for us.”

But I stopped coming-out after that because there was only my family left to tell. I remained silent for many many years. (But it doesn’t mean I pretended being straight! It was not even an idea for me. And it would have made coming-out worse).
So, at almost 40, I had a little breakdown and send a email to those I had the address, knowing they would talk about it to their sister/brother I couldn’t reach out. I have been really less diplomat than you but I was really down:

“Ok, here it is, I can’t anymore, it has to get out or I’m gonna blow a casquet…

I don’t care if it doesn’t please someone but I’m not gonna play a role to satisfy anyone.
Let things be clear for everybody: I’m homo.
I haven’t change, I’ve always been.
I’m open to any question/discussion.

Here, it’s done.”

It turns out that, with all those years passed by, my family had evolved on the “homosexuality topic”… and that they love me for who I am.
It was just support and love. I was right to wait…

Happily working on it…

My best friend at primary school was my first love. I remember a lot from that time although frustratingly not first meeting her. But I remember her vividly. Tall (obviously relatively) with long dark hair and a lick right in the centre of her forehead. Her name was Cassie and when one day she wasn’t well enough for us to hang out, it was the first time I recall my heart hurt. I sat on my swing and I cried.

But even at primary school at the same time I was clearly in love with Cassie I had a boyfriend with whom I shared my first kiss, and more boys and more kisses followed. I liked boys a lot – I still do, they are often the people with whom I feel most comfortable and share the most in common. But it’s easy to confuse these two feelings when you are 5! And once they are set you barely question them; society gives you no call or space to.

I didn’t know there was any other option to the fairytale ending of when boy meets girl, that was and mostly remains, ever present in our society. Until I watched Ellen coming out when I was 15. Channel 4 made it a big Friday night special – they celebrated. In 1997. At peak Friday night TV mania! I’ve never had an opportunity to say thank you to whoever made that happen (btw a generation of queers salute you) – but thanks to them I started to think about myself and who I was. And although I knew in my little world it would be hard – I had this possibility that in the big world I would join there were ways I could be me and maybe even celebrated.

I came out at university. I was 20 years old. I was practically the only gay in the village. It was 2003…

I have continued and evolved to at least try to be authentically me. What that means changes. The recent explosion (or at least it seems to me) of gender fluidity is another expansion of who you can be. And another moment for me to reflect. Who knows what that means for me yet because now I’m older there are more layers to peel back.

But the culmination of it all is where I am now. And I have a job I love, amazing supportive friends, a wonderful family – one I was born into, and one I made. The later of which includes my two beautiful little boys, who warm my world.

I’m an unconventional traditionalist. Or at least I am for now.

Learning not to Fight Myself

A lot of people seem to know that they are “different” from an early age.

I never did. Or I didn’t for years anyway.

I had so many other things I was worried about. Whether it was switching schools again, taking care of my siblings that were significantly younger than me, or just trying to settle in to another new place, boys always seemed unimportant, so the fact that I wasn’t interested in them obviously just wasn’t a big deal. “I’m busy,” I told myself. “I need to make friends, get good grades, go off to college, then I’ll have time for that.”

But I was enamored with my girl friends, here and there. They were dynamic, intelligent, powerful, beautiful, captivating. I wanted to understand them, to do things for them, to make them feel like they were seen and they mattered. I would skip out on homework to text them, crawl out onto the roof at night when I was supposed to be in bed to have long phone conversations about our hopes and dreams and fears and insecurities. I would give up sleep to hear more about the complexities that come out of a person in the dark. I resented the boys that made them feel worthless or annoying or not good enough, because how could they be so blind?

When I first figured out that dating girls was a thing that you could do, I was 15. My first thought was, “Oh no. That. I want to do that.”

I made my way through my sophomore year in a blur, for the first time fully aware of a crush while it was happening. I went to prom with a nice boy from my friend group and hid in the bathroom because I couldn’t bring myself to dance with him. I knew I was staring at a friend who would never look at me that way, and I knew I had something to confront.

In the middle of all of it, my parents sold my childhood home and announced that we would be moving from our tiny Midwestern town to a suburb of Denver. I muddled through the year, researching by consuming every piece of lesbian representation that I could find and then promptly deleting my search history. Until the day that I didn’t. Until the day my parents sat me down as asked me about it. And I told them. And they asked if I was trying to get back at them for making me move. And we decided a few months later that I would go back home to finish high school, but tell no one because it would make things too hard. Make people too uncomfortable.

I truly, publicly, came out a month after I graduated. The day that marriage equality became the law of the land in the United States, June 26th 2015, I wrote a long, thoughtful Facebook post for anyone apart from my friends and family I’d already told. My mom called me to tell me that I should have asked her first, because she was having a hard week because it was her 40th birthday. That I should have asked before I celebrated because she didn’t want to deal with questions form the family. That I could still live a life of celibacy with God.

That was the first time that I felt the fierce protectiveness for my community, for myself, for my own worth, swirl and solidify in my chest. The first time that I really recognized that I didn’t need to be my own worst enemy because the world would take care of that. I had plenty to fight. I didn’t need to fight myself. Most importantly, I was strong enough to put myself in front of anyone that wasn’t there yet, and that that’s what this community does. We defend each other. We help each other. We love each other.

Since then we’ve seen the Pulse shooting. We’ve seen half a dozen years of Pride. We’ve seen job discrimination outlawed. I’ve fallen in and out of love and back into it again. I’ve met spectacular women and men and non-binary and agender folks that have taught me the beauty of the spectrum of human expressions of gender and sexuality and love. It’s made me a better person. I’m more understanding, more empathetic, more open. I wouldn’t trade this community, or this experience of myself for anything.

Anonymous

i was standing in line at an Amanda Palmer concert, and a female presenting person in front of me made me go: oh. girl-types are pretty too. i havent looked back except to realize how much this reveals about my adolescent interactions with certain girls that i didn’t recognize because they were different than my crushes on boys.

Kier – dreaming Big in Big Sky Country

CONTENT WARNING: THIS COMING OUT STORY CONTAINS DESCRIPTION AND/OR DISCUSSION OF SEXUAL ABUSE.

I was raised in a very strict, fundamentalist “Christian” cult, so many of my liberal values were viewed as wrong and shameful. My father was bisexual, but he was also very abusive to my mother and I. So my association with any kind of sexual ‘other’ was tied to difficult emotions. I was sexually abused by my father when I was of a tender age and again by a cousin when I was 14, so coming into womanhood and sexual awareness was met by fear and instant repression. I simply shut myself off to the whole experience.
Now, at the ripe old age of 29 😉 I have left the cult, separated myself from abusive family members, and am discovering who I am. It feels so good!
Just since turning 29 in April I have come out as gender queer and am flying the asexual flag (though I may truly be more demisexual). I have never felt so free or so confident.
It has always been easy for me to love others, but I find it’s even easier as I learn to also love myself!
I am inexpressibly thankful for Dominique Provost-Chalkley for her bravery and her representation. Positive representation really does change lives, and sometimes it even saves lives!

Ashanti

I haven’t come out to anyone yet. It’s a bit scary due to growing up in a very strict Christian household. But I’m hoping when I do come out, I’ll still be loved.

An Empowered Gay Woman

Coming out, for me, never really ends. I come out to new friends, to family, to coworkers, to the woman at the grocer who asks if I’m cooking for my boyfriend, to the stadium of people watching the “kiss cam” and to the man politely asking for my number at a crowded pub. Coming out is choosing to be honest, every day, and battling the fear of others’ responses.

I used to think that coming out was selfish, as if telling someone that I am attracted to women would only benefit me. It’s taken an immense amount of growth and education to believe in the power that standing together provides. Knowing the strength that I have now, I wish I had had faith in others sooner.

I grew up in a household that did not discuss sexuality in any form. We didn’t talk about relationships, or intimacy, and especially not about sex. Being the only girl, the gender expectations were enough to overwhelm me, let alone the differences I noticed in myself at a young age. My religious views told me homosexuality was a sin, and was best left unspoken.

When my friends began to develop crushes or dream of their perfect futures with a husband on a white ranch with kids and dogs, I failed to share that. I wasn’t sure what my future would hold, but I knew I didn’t want the same things. At 10 years old, I knew something about me was different.

When it came time to start dating, I once again felt no connection to the boys around me. I loved being around my friends, but I felt different from them. That scared the shit out of me. I thought: maybe I just didn’t understand. I had never been in love, never shared myself with someone, never had sex– so how did I know for sure?

And so I began dating my best friend. He made me laugh, was kind and generous, was adored by my family, and truly respected me. We made a great couple, and an even better team. For a while, I could forget my attraction towards women. Everyone was happy, and this life didn’t seem so bad.

My best friend knew me better than that, though. He sat down with me one day and asked if this was what I truly wanted. He said that I didn’t seem fulfilled, that if there was something I was missing in my life, I should go for it. It wasn’t until a year later and a few more attempts at heterosexual relationships that I finally understood.

The process was hard. I couldn’t state my sexuality in the mirror to myself, let alone to other people, and even less so to those who had known me my entire life. I spent hours crying to myself, journalling dreams that wouldn’t come true, and praying that I could be normal.

The problem with that was that I was normal. I am normal. Being queer does not make me abnormal.

I finally told a friend, and her acceptance encouraged more honesty. I needed a calm and quiet place for those closest to me, where I could tell my story and they could ask questions. I slowly began to feel more comfortable in my own skin, and began to rely on the support for this immensely powerful community. A community full of love and trust.

My family’s response is still difficult to handle today. They are scared for me, religiously and socially. I will always love them, but I take comfort in the encouragement I have received from others and hope one day they will share that same support.

Much like the rainbow that symbolizes the queer community, coming out can be an upward battle sometimes. There are times you may be scared shitless, and there are unfortunate times when people do not understand. But, there is growing education and knowledge to be supported and protected. With kindness, and with love, there will come a time when each person can love and be loved for who they are. And much more than there are negative responses, there are amazing and rewarding experiences, too.

Life surprises you.

The love of my life sits beside me, reading, hair a mess and glasses on, curled up under her favorite blanket and music in the background. I can look at her with no doubt in my mind that this is where I am meant to be. The discomfort and unrest that I felt as a child has settled.

I have found a home with a coalition of courageous, charitable, passionate people.

I am a gay woman.

I am out. I am proud. I stand by every human on their journey and hope that it is known how much they are loved.

I suppose my coming out story will never truly end. There will always be someone to tell, a situation that assumes I am straight. But I have faith that kindness prevails, and that each of us can be celebrated for our differences, rather than scared of them.

Each of us deserves love. And I can promise, if you give yourself to this community, they will give themselves to you, too.

Out Truly Is The New In.