LGBTQ – Page 2 – …on the B.L.

11… Ways I Try to Show Up for My People

May 1, 2023April 30, 2023 RaeAnna

People who don’t know me very well have the impression that I’m a genuinely optimistic human with an ability to always find the silver lining. Even people who do know me quite well think of me as such. I’ve recently been in touch with a friend who, at one point in time, knew me better than almost anyone, and he described me as always able to find the silver lining. It got me thinking in the way things that take me off guard usually do.

Why do so many people see me as a silver lining, glass half full, optimistic, ray of sunshine human, when the reality is so starkly different? Only my closest friends realize the depth of my nihilism. I am such a dark and twisty human. I only see worst case scenario.

A woman in a vest sitting on the ledge of a scenic overlook in the Appalachia mountains in Tennessee. — There is something very peaceful about being in nature. It makes my loneliness feel so much less.

As so much in my life, there is the public and the private. The me the world experiences versus the me that only I know and my best friends get glimpses of. To the world and in interactions with other humans, I wouldn’t call myself optimistic but I present reality. “That sucks, but it’s not forever.” is something I say often. Often people don’t need optimism because that can be toxic. People just want and need their feelings and thoughts to be heard and validated. I’m really good at that. I’m also just really good at showing up in the dark times. For others, I can see the potential, light, and possibility lying ahead of them. Within and for myself, I live in a space of nihilistic gloom.

Why am I so good at appearing like a happy, stable person?

Boiling it all the way down… I don’t ever want anyone to feel the depth of my loneliness. So I learned how to say all the right things at exactly the right time because no one has ever done that for me. People are not the same. Everyone has specific needs and desires and boundaries. Some people need optimism. Some people need silence. Some people need anger. Some people need hope. Some people need sadness. Some people need reality. I have the ability to know the person and what they want and need to hear. Most people treat people the way they want to be treated. I read people and treat them the way they crave to be treated. People don’t see me, and they definitely do not see me to my core.

There is something so intrinsically optimistic about being seen by someone else. It gets so much easier to show up for people when I can see what they need when they need it. I fail all the time at showing up for my people. I do my best and sometimes that’s not good enough. But I keep trying to show up. It’s hard to feel alone when someone in the world sees you. So people see me as optimistic because I give them what they need when they need it, and it’s really hard to think of that person as anything other than a rainbow person.

I’ve only touched on that feeling twice, but it just made me more lonely. They almost saw me, but couldn’t quite push far enough to really see me. Or probably more realistic, they pushed as far as they cared to go. And it’s a little bit devastating to feel almost seen. The other part of me thinks, “Thank God. They would’ve left so much faster if they truly saw me.”

Ultimately, I have always shown up for other people in every way no one has shown up for me and in every way I cannot show up for myself.

“I love you.” I tell my people I love them. All the time. Every time I see them. Except for the people who are weird about hearing it, so I only tell them on special occasions. Sometimes, I just randomly text my people I love them.
My calendar is always up to date. This seems weird. I’m very good with dates in general, so this, by and large, is unnecessary because I will probably remember. But, just in case I don’t, I put everything on my calendar. Sad days in friends’ lives along with anniversaries and birthdays and really anything in between. It all goes on my calendar, so that every year, I can reach out or plan something depending on the event or memory. I don’t want to forget the important things in friends’ lives.
Giving flowers. I have always been someone to show up with flowers for all kinds of events. Flowers make things better, and they at least bring a breath of fresh air to a space, which helps on bad days and good days. This has been made even easier with a florist best friend and my role in her company. I get to give my people much better flowers now.
Making a thing out of birthdays. I try to go big for birthdays. I’ve kinda sucked at it the last couple years. Birthdays are an annual reminder of who gives a shit. Granted life happens and there’s a grace period, but those who care show up in one way or another. I try to do just that.
If I’m left alone in a friend’s house, I will probably leave a whole bunch of notes around the place for them to find randomly. The notes may range from funny to serious to sweet to everything in between.
Showing up without an invitation. I do not do this to everyone because that’s a lot. For my really close people, if I know things are tough, I will pop by unannounced with the things I know will make them feel better. It’s hard to not accept love and help if it’s smiling at you on your doorstep with your favorite things.
I love being behind the camera, so I take pictures all the time. I love taking candid and posed pictures of my people. From random days to actual photoshoots, I want to capture my people as they live their lives. I don’t want them to look back and wish they had more pictures of themselves, so I do.
Let me feed you. Cooking and baking is one of my biggest love languages. I love feeding people their favorite foods. Food feeds our bodies so we can keep going. Good food feeds the soul so we can keep going in the most fundamentally important way.
When traveling, I like to send my people postcards. Who doesn’t feel a little special getting anything in the mail that’s not a bill? Postcards are fun. They’re also getting harder and harder to find as less and less people send them. But I still search them out and send them anyway.
Random compliments. Most of my people are not words of affirmation people, but that doesn’t mean they don’t need or deserve to hear just how much they mean to me.
I see people’s hearts and souls. Call it trauma. Call it PTSD. Call it being a stripper. Call it autism. Whatever the reason, I tend to read people who they are and not just their public selves. It can be the most raw and intimidating feeling having someone outside of yourself know you, but I tend to see people. And apparently that’s a gift to them. Or a curse. I guess, it just depends.

Life is hard enough as it is. We don’t need to make it any harder. So I hope your people show up for you in all the ways you need them to. If they don’t, go find new people. They might be difficult to find, but they are out there. Go find them. Let them show up for you in all the ways you show up for them. You deserve an army of people who love you for all that you have to offer, whether you’re a bubbly, rainbow human or dark and twisty. Don’t settle for anything less.

bisous un обьятий,
RaeAnna

In My Own Words, Lifestyle

Tattoos: A Reclamation of the Body That’s Always Been Mine

June 15, 2022June 15, 2022 RaeAnna

I got my first tattoo when I was twenty-four. I didn’t get my next until last month when I was in Denver visiting my best friend. The last set of tattoos were about embracing and even publicizing my queerness, specifically my lesbian identity. In hindsight, I should’ve gotten them years ago; it’s really cut down on the number of men who approach me out in the world. Also they make me happy.

For my 31st birthday, I doubled my number of tattoos by getting three all at once. They also mean a great deal for very personal reasons. The most personal being the most visible. No one has asked yet, but I know it will be commented on one day. I have no idea how I’ll handle it, hopefully with grace.

After getting my tattoos in Denver, I knew I wanted more. And I knew exactly what I wanted to get. I didn’t have any set plans for when or where I would get them, but I knew it would be sooner rather than later.

I’m going to take this moment to introduce Meghan. A few names pop up in my writing with frequency: Dylan, Alex, Amanda, Kelsey. Meghan has been mentioned multiple times over the last eight months but never by name. I don’t name people often because I really do like to keep my private life private. Also I am guarded, and it takes a long time for me to be convinced someone actually wants to be in my life for the good and the bad. Once they make an appearance in my writing, there’s no undoing that. For whatever reason, people pay attention to me and my writing and ask questions when new people show up or when regulars disappear. Eight months is actually quite fast for me to mention a name, but we bonded fast, and sometimes you just know when a human is for you. I figure she’s probably sticking around at this point; we’ve been through a lot. I might as well let her have her name. Plus, like all my other notable friends, she has an exceptionally generic name, unlike me, so there’s still a modicum of anonymity; except I will tag her on Instagram, so if you really want to know what she looks like: good luck her profile is private. Anyways, Meghan is a fundamental human in my life. Why do I mention her now? Because she’s an important part of this story.

A week before my birthday, Meghan asked what I wanted to do on my birthday. I generally don’t think about it because a) I hate my birthday b) I just let whoever’s in my life plan whatever they want for me c) or I ignore it completely. After giving it some thought, I told her I wanted to have it be very low-key, get tattoos, and have a bonfire. So that’s exactly what we did.

On the day of my birth, we both got tattooed. Her tattoo is her story to tell, but I will tell you about mine. I got an 8 on my left ankle, servive just above my right elbow, and a crocus on my ribs near my heart.

The 8 was not originally a tattoo I knew I wanted. On May 7, Meghan and I buried her cat Ocho, who died suddenly. My gay concentric circles tattoo (read about that here) is partially in honor of Ocho’s dog brother, Nigel, who also passed far too soon. I spent so much time with both Ocho and Nigel since meeting Meghan. They weren’t my pets, but they absolutely stole my heart in every single way. When they both passed, I was truly devastated. I still miss them. Ocho was all but a kitten. He and I played… hard. When he wanted to play and I didn’t, he would attack my ankles like the apex predator he was. He ruined my ankle modeling career with his murder mittens. I still have scars. He was also the snuggliest, sweetest, goodest, most determined, stubbornest, swiftest boy in the world. So when he died, I knew I wanted to get something to commemorate him like I did his brother. Nothing felt more right than an 8 on the ankle he loved to shred. I miss him every single day, but I carry a sweet little reminder of his ridiculous antics.

I love flowers. My best friend, Amanda, is a floral designer who turned me into a subpar designer when she needs me, so now flowers are more than just something to be admired. I appreciate them. I also know a lot more about them than I did a few years ago. So Amanda helped me figure out which flower best represented what I wanted to communicate to myself because… this tattoo will really only be seen when I want to show someone. It’s more of a show and tell kind of thing.

22 year old me would be extraordinarily surprised by all of these tattoos but especially this one.

The tattoo placement and color is an interesting choice for a couple reasons. I always said I would never get color tattoos… Woops. I have a very colorful arm tattoo and a very colorful crocus tattoo. I also said I would never get a tattoo on my torso until after I had child[ren] because I don’t want stretch marks to ruin them. The older I get, the less and less likely it is I have a kid, so fuck it.

Crocuses thrive in adverse conditions. They actually can’t bloom without four months of below freezing temperatures. They bloom even when there’s snow on the ground. Year after year, crocuses come back with more and more blooms. Small and delicate flowers with a huge impact and an ability to thrive because of the chilling period. I feel like a crocus that hasn’t bloomed yet. I feel like someday I will thrive because of the chilling period. That I will bloom because of the harsh conditions I have servived. I wanted it near my heart because sometimes I think my heart needs the reminder that all the pain it has endured will lead to something beautiful. I just don’t know what the fuck that beauty looks like yet. Hopefully, I servive long enough to find out. I chose the color purple because it’s my alma mater’s color; the place I met two loves of my life, Alex and Kelsey. I would not be here covering myself with tattoos if they had not chosen to love me all those years ago.

servive was the hardest. It took me two weeks to be emotionally stable after inking myself. I was truly a wreck the day after my birthday. I didn’t get off the couch.

“Servive” is a word I came up with because I hate being called a survivor. I am. I was cyclically raped for years. I’m a domestic violence, sexual assault, rape, psychological abuse survivor. It’s an integral part of who I am. It’s not something I have ever hidden from. But I hate the term survivor. I didn’t survive. The girl I was before is dead. Everything I went through killed that person. Who I am now is not who I was. I will never be her again, and I would give anything to be the person I was before. I am not stronger, I did not survive, but those are conversations for another post another time. So, I coined the term servivor or servive because I use my experiences, my story to serve others, to make change, to bring awareness. There has to be good that comes out of the hell I call my life.

I watched the ink needled into my skin as each letter of servive started to appear. I cried the whole time. It was hard and overwhelming and emotional. I knew it would be hard, but I had no idea how awful it would be. I’m glad Meghan was there because I needed someone who loved me to be by my side. The men who hurt me left their mark on my heart and soul and memory. It’s indelible. I will never forget. But they’re invisible. I only had invisible reminders of the men who killed the person I was before. Now I have a physical reminder. It’s not for everyone. For me, I needed it. I need that pain to be visible, even if I’m the only one who understands.

The process of having servive tattooed on my body felt like I was branding myself with every wrong and violence those men put my body and mind through. It was awful. It was horrifically painful emotionally. I was not okay in any way. Choosing to put it in a visible place was a choice I made for myself. A very hard choice that opens me up to questions because it’s misspelled, but it also opens me up to vulnerability just as much as animosity. I made that choice knowing it would be hard. It’s one of the few times I’ve underestimated how difficult something would be. I do not regret it. I love this tattoo more than the others because it’s hard. Because I earned it. It is a reminder of where I’ve been, so many obstacles I’ve overcome, an allowance to give myself grace, and a message to not give up.

While I was getting the first of the three tattoos, Meghan had just finished getting hers. She sat down to watch me get mine, as much for her own amusement as in support. She asked a question that I will never forget, which she does frequently without meaning to, it’s irritating how accidentally insightful she can be, “After you get a tattoo, do you feel like it was always supposed to be there?” I had never thought of it in that way, but the only tattoo I had up until six weeks ago is not extraordinarily visible. Having it felt right. But it had also been there for seven years, and I go long periods of time without seeing it. With my most recent tattoos, I see them constantly. I can’t agree with her more.

Looking at these tattoos on my body, they feel like they were always supposed to be there. I feel more myself than I’ve ever felt before. I wasn’t the kid who looked at tattoos and thought I would have them. It wasn’t until I was in my early twenties that I even considered getting one. I’m a cautious person by nature, and tattoos are permanent. These tattoos, that mean a great deal, feel like I’m finally reclaiming my body—something I constantly struggle with. These tattoos make my body feel like my home. Like I’m taking ownership of something that has always belonged to me but was never accessible. Marking it. Making it my own. Decorating it with things that make me happy, turning it into a representation of my truest self.

For my 31st birthday, I got tattooed. I’m slowly giving my body back to myself.

In My Own Words, Lifestyle, So Gay

Gay A Synonym For Happy, So Gay Pride 2022

May 31, 2022May 31, 2022 RaeAnna

The very first Pride I ever went to was ten years ago in London, albeit accidentally. I haven’t been to one since. I have celebrated every single Pride month in some way for twelve years—a year before I came out as pansexual.

I’ve never really been to Pride. As an extreme introvert with zero gay friends in Houston, I haven’t had anyone make me go or go with me. As soon as my life included people, straight but supportive people, who would happily accompany me to Pride, the pandemic hit, and Pride was canceled for two years; though, I put on my own Pride Parade, dressing up my six dogs in 2020.

The pandemic put stress on the seams of my life that I had been so desperately mending as they tore until I couldn’t do it anymore. I let every seam pop, and my life is just a jumble of fabric and thread at this point. Eventually, I’ll figure out how to sew it all back together, but I’m in the process of figuring out how I want the pieces to fit together because what was didn’t work.

Over the last two years, I have become more and more outspoken about being gay. I’ve never hidden this part of myself since coming out eleven years ago, but being in straight passing relationships made it a bit more complicated. And it is exhausting arguing with people over my own identity. Two years ago, I decided to stop letting exhaustion deter me from calling people on their heteronormativity. A conversation worth having for myself but also for every other queer person so maybe one day it no longer needs to be had. Six months ago, I came out as lesbian.

Gay, queer, lesbian. They’re all identities I happily wear.

Living my best gay life surrounded by a bunch of circles.

Sometimes I feel like my life has been nothing but doing hard things. Thirty-one years of just getting by, biding my time until the next tragedy creeps in. In my early twenties, I chose to walk away from a cushy corporate life to pursue a career in doing the hard things. I spend my time learning and writing about this life and this world of inequity, violence, and struggle. As someone who has chosen to always have the hard conversations, to stand up for what I believe is right, to never stay quiet, to not accept what is as what can be, my career and beliefs, though rooted in kindness, has alienated everyone in my life who do not believe in working to create a better world. We do not have to hold the same opinions or beliefs, but my people cannot actively cultivate ignorance, hate, violence, or worse ambivalence. So, I am well acquainted with watching people walk away.

My life has been a series of doing hard things, but coming out was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

As someone whose life revolves around gender and racial equity and human sexuality, as a gay someone, I am well acquainted with the fears my community has when they come out, when we live our lives in the open. I know the privilege I have as a straight passing woman. A 5’10” woman who can hold her own in a fight against a man. A white woman. An American woman. A cis woman. A woman with an education and the words to tell my story and defend my actions and understand the consequences of my choices. I choose to come out at every opportunity. I chose to get very gay tattoos in very visible places. I choose to put rainbows on everything. I choose to call myself gay and lesbian and queer. I choose to be loud and proud because so many people never had the chance. So many live in fear because they are who they are.

My community has fought for the rights we have. We have died to be where we are today. Yet three days ago, I listened to a fifteen year old girl talk about her parents refusing to acknowledge her sexuality because she’s not straight, maybe bi, maybe lesbian. The fact a fifteen year old feels comfortable enough to call herself gay is such an amazing win, but the fight is not over. Especially if we look at what is playing out in the highest court of this nation and the repercussions of the decision and overturning of Roe v. Wade will have for women and my community.

Blue and yellow are my favorite colors, so yes for this wall.

Pride is a celebration. It’s a celebration of who we are. It’s a celebration I hold in my heart and life every fucking day because Pride isn’t a month, it is my life. It is the lives lost to violence and ignorance; the lives lost to hopelessness; the lives lost to a lack of health care; the lives lost fighting for equity. Pride is a remembrance of every person who has come before so that we can wear rainbows and dance in the street. Pride is honoring the pain that has led to joy and love and laughter. Pride is hope that the struggles and fights we continue to face will be alleviated for the queer people of tomorrow.

So yeah, I’ve made gay a huge part of my personality in the last two years. Because I’m fucking proud. I’m proud of my community. I’m proud of myself. I’m proud of who I am, and it has taken me thirty-one years of doing the hard things so that I could have this one easy thing.

I am gay. I am lesbian. I am here. I am loud. I am proud. I will be at Pride in Houston whether that is with my people or by myself. If you need people, I’ll be your people. Because I’m proud of you too. We’re not perfect, but gay is a synonym for happy, so here’s to a Gay Fucking Pride and celebrating exactly who we are because we are exceptional.

In My Own Words, Lifestyle

My Favorite Love Story; Happy Birthday, Alex

May 29, 2022May 29, 2022 RaeAnna

Alex is the person I have written about most. In a way, he’s at the heart of every word I write, and my heart will always write about him. He turned 33 two days ago, and for the first time in a few years, I wasn’t able to celebrate with him. I didn’t post anything the day of because I couldn’t come up with words to say, and, if I’m being honest, I will never be good enough with words to properly convey what he means to me.

This is and always has been who we are together.

I have spent twelve birthdays loving Alex. My entire adult life. I used to believe all love was conditional, but over the last twelve years, he has proven time and time again that some love comes without strings, rare though it may be. Through college, break ups, an enlistment, deployments, vacations, cross-country moves, deaths, coming outs, falling in love, buying cars, growing up, fights, and so much more, we have persevered.

At 31, I’m not old, but I’m no longer young. I can look back on the stunningly complicated life that I have led because Alex came into my life. Thank you choir. Every person we encounter shapes us in some small way, but there are people who are fundamentally impactful. Looking at my life, Alex is the fundamental human for me. I am who I am because of him. I am because of him. Every story I tell, I get to tell because he showed me I was worth loving, that life isn’t just pain. Life can also be joy. He saved my life in the abstract but also held my head above water many years ago.

Falling in love isn’t a choice, but the act of loving someone is a choice. To stay, to work, to be present, to ask the hard questions, to show up, to admit fault, to forgive, to see someone at their worst and at their best, to communicate, to be compassionate, to challenge, to support, and all the in betweens, that is a choice. An active choice made every moment of every day in big and little ways. Alex has made the choice to love me even when he has had every reason to walk away. From the very beginning, if he were any less of the man he is, he would have and should have walked away. When we broke each other’s hearts, he could have walked away. When I came out, he could have walked away. He never has. I hope he never will. At this point, there’s only so many life altering things I can drop in his lap.

Our love started in college. A grand, sweeping love. The kind I dove into with body and soul. The kind that is devastatingly beautiful. A once in a lifetime kind of love. I knew the moment we kissed I would die loving him, and I will. Though, I’ll never wear white or have children with him, I will grow old by his side—good lord, I hope his future wife likes me. We have never been a perfect couple; there is no such thing. To me, he will always be perfect. The pain. The love. The tears. The laughter. The life we built and lost. The love we found and have worked to maintain. It is all perfect. We are my favorite love story. Love cannot conquer all (it’s the gay bit), but it has conquered so very much.

Life didn’t play out the way I saw it at 19. Although, looking back, I’m not exactly sure what I saw for us. I saw him. He saw me. There have been so many twists and turns to get lost in the way I used to get lost in his eyes in our bed ten years ago. I’m not going to go down the what if road because I am who I am and he deserves to find someone who is not gay. I don’t think I would change a single thing about our story. It’s beautiful and sad. If I could go back, I would tell myself to give more grace, be angry less, communicate more, be vulnerable, tell the hard truths, stop being strong all the time, lean into him because he loved me as I was, as I am, and there’s nothing I could have done that would change that.

I will never love anyone the way I have and do love Alex. A love I could spend forever writing about, and I might. A love that I can’t explain but I feel so deeply. It’s transcendent.

Books, Reading Lists

Pride Month May Be Over But Here’s An LGBTQ+ Reading List

July 15, 2021July 15, 2021 RaeAnna

Pride was last month. Like all the other heritage months, those who belong exist the other eleven months of the year. I love Pride. I think it’s great. A month long opportunity to celebrate, learn, challenge, and spread love. For the LGBTQ+ community, Pride is every day, all day, forever. It’s an existence.

A combination of not being able to and spreading the joy, this post is coming after Pride month has come to an end. If you didn’t dive into learning about LGBTQ+ issues or stories during Pride, there’s no better time than the present. Learning is a never ending pursuit.

I belong to the LGBTQ+ community, but I have so much to learn as well. We all do. None of us can know all of the things. Although, that’s not going to stop me from trying. These are three of my favorite books I’ve read recently dealing with rainbow issues. If you don’t know much, these are a great place to start. They’re grounded in personal stories, so you can connect and empathize with the people that make up this beautiful community.

Of course I posed in front of a church with this one. How could I not?

The Queer Bible edited by Jack Guinness
I loved this one so, so, so much. It’s jam packed with illustrations, stories, maps, and more. It’s told by and supports the LGBTQ+ community. A collection of essays by well known members of the queer community about their personal queer icons. From David Furnish to Tan France to Graham Norton to Mae Martin and so many more. They’re personal stories of discovery but also love letters to the people who inspired them.
Memorable Quotes
“This book is dedicated to my queer ancestors who went before me, that I never knew existed, whose stories we’ll never know, I hope that I’m making you proud.” Jack Guinness—dedication

Buy on Amazon | Buy on Book Depository
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I sat on a rainbow in a rainbow dress for Queer Love in Color.

Queer Love In Color by Jamal Jordan
The queer community has been marginalized for so long, but to be a person of color and queer is double the marginalization. So often the queer narrative has been told by the white community. The media has portrayed white queer stories. Where are the people of color? They exist. Jamal Jordan photographed people around the world and tells their love stories in this marvelous book.
Memorable Quotes
“Their stories range widely, but one thing kept coming up: the feeling that, on some level, finding love felt impossible.”

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I will find color whenever and wherever I can.

The Queens’ English by Chloe O. Davis
Language fascinates me as a writer and a linguist. Words are fluid; they change with time, geography, community, and more. Words are a way of excluding and including people. The LGBTQ+ community has their own language, which evolved as much as a way to protect themselves as to include themselves. So much of queer language has seeped into the mainstream vernacular, but so much of queer language has not.
I am known for being decades if not centuries behind on slang. I’ve found mainstream language difficult to understand, and I have found queer language just as difficult because my head has been hidden in books for years. The Queens’ English is a cheeky and very thorough dictionary that opens queer terms to me and I’m sure countless others. This is a fabulous book that is simultaneously heartbreaking, inspiring, educational, and uproariously funny. One of the most important things to remember, Davis says, “Many of the terms are not appropriate for people not in the LGBTQIA+ community to use.”
Memorable Quotes
“The Queens’ English is merely a starting point for the important conversations around inclusivity, sexuality, gender expression and identity, gay slang that’s been co-opted by mainstream culture, and queer American terminology that’s been around for decades.”

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Happy reading, my dears. I hope you enjoy these books as much as I do. They’re inspiring and beautiful. They showcase the ever expanding range of humanity and our capacity to survive and love. Because love is love, and we all are exactly who we are.

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

In My Own Words, Lifestyle

Hey! I’m Queer. Happy Pride!

June 29, 2021June 29, 2021 RaeAnna

Does this outfit make me look gay? Good.

Hey, y’all. I’m queer. Pansexual to be specific. This isn’t my coming out. I’m fully out of the closet. If I’m being honest, I never had an I’m-not-straight talk with anyone. It’s just been something that has existed as a solid fact in my life for a decade now. My non-heterosexual identity has been talked about for awhile, but as I get older, I’m feeling the need to live more loudly in my queer identity. This story is a whole lot longer than a single blog post, and, honestly, I may turn it into a collection of essays at some point. Let’s be honest, I’m unpacking so many things about my sexuality that I have kept firmly in a box unto itself, which is very unfair to my identity and journey as a human.

I never felt the need to come out for a whole lot of reasons. Too many to count. The two biggest being my family and my college.

I grew up in a weird house. Conservative in as many ways as it was liberal. So much progress mired in an ideology founded in my parent’s small, Midwestern childhoods’ of the 60s and 70s. My parents were and are accepting, but they did not grasp the nuance, language, or broad rainbow spectrum. They were products of their generation, and it showed[s] in their language, phrasing, expression, and beliefs. Equally, I am a product of my own generation, education, family, and ultimately genetics.

Cornell College, my alma mater, is incredibly liberal. The epitomization of: college is for self-exploration. My friends embodied “Do the thing. Do all the things. Try them now before life crushes us with debt and responsibility.” Damn, I love those humans. There were labels, but if you were on a journey and didn’t label anything, well that was okay too. Label it or don’t, just be a good person.

I remember writing, “I think I’m gay.” at twelve. I quite literally burned that piece of paper. For so many reasons I couldn’t name back then. Shame (which was not instilled in me by my parents or church, just, you know, society and the patriarchy). Isolation. Mostly uncertainty. I knew I wasn’t gay in the binary that I was aware of. Bisexuality wasn’t even presented to me as an actual sexuality… I’m not even going to get into that here. The isolation came from knowing I wasn’t straight, but knowing I wasn’t gay either. In a progressive town that had… all but no gay people (that I knew of, especially at the time), I would have been very much alone in an identity I still had no name for. For the kids reading this, this is pre-high speed internet, and I would have had to know the term to look it up in a dictionary—it’s a large book containing all the words and their definitions. I remember hearing people say, “Oh, she’s gay.” But “she” had moved out of town years before. Had I known what I was and been out in high school, it would have changed nothing because there were only boys to date anyways.

For so many reasons, the unknown of what I was didn’t affect my adolescence in any way. Truly, there is zero trauma stemming from my pansexual existence; loads and loads of trauma from other things in my life, though!

I don’t have that trauma because of a seminal moment in my adolescence.

But first, back story. I was an incredibly late bloomer. I didn’t get my first period until I was sixteen. I was not interested in sex until I met the love of my life at almost twenty. (I did get raped repeatedly by my high school “boyfriend” from 17 to 19. Oh hey there, trauma. Sup?) My sexuality wasn’t a crisis because it didn’t really exist for twenty years. I did not go through the boy/girl/sex crazy phase. Ever. I might be entering it now at thirty. Like I said, late bloomer. I became a sexual human at 19.5 when I fell in love and entered my first serious relationship with a human, who happened to be male. I fell in love with the human because he was and is incredible.

More back story. As a kid, I was pretty intensely into ballet. I was also a cheerleader, had a huge affinity for dresses, played the flute, was working on being a classical pianist, had straight As for most of middle school and high school (getting raped affected that a bit), obsessed with wearing heels. In so many ways, all arrows pointed to girly-girl, on the surface. (I still present super femme.) Dig deeper into my psyche and for those who knew/know me, the gender expression and sexuality waters get a lot murkier, but I won’t get into that right now.

On to the seminal moment.

At fifteen, I was walking through the kitchen, having just gotten home from cheerleading practice. My mother was in the kitchen stirring spaghetti sauce. One hand controlling the wooden spoon. One hand holding the pan. One foot grounded and the other on a stool, a bit Captain Morgan-ish now that I think about it. As I walk past, she says, “RaeAnna, I have a question for you.” My mother is never this formal. The Type A personality in me froze. What had I done wrong??? “Okay?” Without missing a beat or looking at me, still very much focused on her task, “Are you a lesbian?” Not the question I was expecting at all. It was so far off my radar, I really never ever thought I would hear that question. I had always known that if I was gay that it would be no big deal. My parents would be able to accept that without a problem (probably one of the few things about the authentic me that have been easily accepted). I hadn’t really thought about it since writing “I think I’m gay” three years prior. Like I said, not a sexual human at that point in time. “Um… Not that I know of.” Again, without missing a beat, “Okay. Just asking. If that ever changes, let me know.” One of the most nonchalant conversations I have ever had with the woman. She has given me a lifetime’s worth of writing material, but this is one of the moments I look back on and respect the hell out of her for.

If you don’t know me, if you don’t follow me, if you’re just meeting me for the first time, I present as ultra feminine, conservative, Christian, Suzy Homemaker, Type A, straight woman. I can be femme, but I also have some serious masc energy. I am absolutely not conservative; I get why people think that, but yikes no. I live my life pretty conservatively because that’s my comfort zone. Haha, trauma. But I am not conservative in any way at all. I am quite the flaming liberal, progressive, intersectional feminist. I’m not Christian; I’m atheist, but I was raised Methodist. I am definitely a Suzy Homemaker. Call me grandma; I love cooking, baking, sewing, cross stitching, knitting, crocheting, taking care of people, and keeping a clean house. I hate cleaning, but I AM Type A with a touch of OCD. Hey there, I’m neurotic, fun neurotic, still neurotic, though. I am NOT straight. I have only been in relationships with men. For a lot of reasons, none of which have anything to do with preferring men to women.

There was never an announcement of my queerness. No discussion. No party. I never officially came out. I never felt the need. It started with an “I’m attracted to women.” progressed to “I would definitely date women.” before turning into “I would have sex with women.” and eventually became “I’m attracted to people. I could spend my life with any gender.” It was slowly and steadily established as a fact about me. It’s been the last six years that I started using the term pansexual to describe myself. It’s been in the last year that I’ve started claiming queer. It’s a journey, and I’m on it.

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

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