Freedomgirl

Reading the latest post over at sugarbutch, I felt a wave of sorrow break over me. She describes interacting with a group of friends in a way I can only dimly imagine for myself. Instead I picture the things I was doing six years ago, and the people I was hanging out with, and I remember feeling such an ache of isolation. I was (and am) continually an outsider, lurking on the fringes of other people’s communities. Always observing. Quiet. Shy, even. And yet, when I get to know people they always say things like “why didn’t I know you before?” and “but I would classify you as very sociable!” Her post is about finding a gender identity, or growing into one — and though my own gender has been pretty constant throughout my life, I think I’m still waiting to grow into my identity.

I can point to a thread of continuity in my life: I love to be in groups of people, talking, drinking, socializing, singing, what have you. This shy, quiet person is not me. I have the desire to talk to people all the time, to connect with them, to listen to them, to find out what their experiences are. I love nothing better than to find out where someone is from — there is so much specificity in geography, but so much universality in it too. What is better than to see the world through someone else’s eyes, at least for a moment? So what was holding me back? If I’m honest (as I claim to be in an earlier post) I have to admit that my relationship was holding me back. And it still is. I’ve been asked out to drinks with a group of people in a few weeks time, and it’s up to me whether I bring her or not. And I’m not sure what I should do — I will feel constrained if she is there, but I wonder if I will be able to shake the feeling that there will be consequences if I go alone. Not to mention that I will feel bad, like I left her all alone and went out and partied without her. It’s hard — I truly believe that couples should do things together, and separately. Have friends together, and friends apart.

In some ways I really wish I (we) had come out in high school. I don’t think she ever realized that if we came out as teenagers, there would have been a community for us. Not right there, or right then, but we would have found others, and I think things might have been easier for me. I am constantly amazed by other women’s coming out stories. The ones who came out in high school are so awe-inspiring to me; they also make me feel a little sad, because I could have been one of them. I was such a ridiculous freak in high school, partly because of being in the closet. Would it have been worse to be gay? At least I would have had an identity to embody, instead of being a shadow invisibly passing through the throng. There are of course reasons for waiting to come out, like personal safety risks and lack of support networks, but my parents were reasonably on board and had resources to draw on. I intimidated people (my one nickname, my whole life, was ‘ice queen’ because the straight boys were mad that I wouldn’t talk to them) and I truly believe I can hold my own in a fight, so I wasn’t overly worried about the safety aspect. There was a tiny goth/alternative community in our town, and being gay would have been an entry into that group — as it was, I lurked on the fringes of it just like I lurked on the fringes of the ’smart girls’ group and the ‘bad-ass-boys’ group and the ‘lower-income underachievers’ group. [Yes, I did in fact exist on the fringes of both the smart girls and the lower-income underachievers. I was smart, but was an inveterate underachiever, and wore a lot of hand-me-downs from my mom. I think that explains it.] Never once however did I even approach the fringes of the ‘jocks’ group. That’s right, a sporty dyke I am not. No softball for me…though I could see changing my mind for football.

So I guess I’m still working on growing into my identity, and finding a group to go with it. Not a ‘mean girls’ clique, just a fun, tolerant, funny, smart group of people who will watch my back when I’m not watching theirs.