Last summer, I made a vow to myself: I will go to Pride in 2020.
I had been out to myself, close family and friends for a while. But each time Pride rolled around and I saw those glorious technicolour photographs of people celebrating who they are with the ones they love, my heart ached.
Pride seemed to be almost utopian: somewhere to express who you are freely and unapologetically – with no fear of rejection or shame. But still, there was something inside me that pulled me back.
Fear and caring too much about other people’s opinions – I don’t know exactly what. I just know that I felt alone and unsure if I would ever feel courageous enough to live my truth.
But last year, something deep within me wouldn’t rest and I promised myself that I would be at the next Pride. More than anything, I was tired. Tired of feeling like I was only living a half-life – denying myself the chance to find someone who would accept and love me just for me.
Pride events around the world have since been cancelled due to the worldwide coronavirus pandemic, and whilst I hope to go in 2021, I still want to celebrate who I am: a gay woman.
I will be 29 on my next birthday, and I sometimes find myself wondering: am I too late to join the party?
For the last few years or so, I have known that I am gay and have told a select few closest to me. But I still haven’t managed to be ‘out’ and live my life freely in the open like so many wonderful people I know.
A friend once casually remarked, ‘Straight people don’t feel the need to “come out”. Why do gay people?’ I suppose one of the answers to that is: straight people don’t need to come out because heterosexuality is too often the default – the norm.
To come out as gay in a world that is not always tolerant or accepting is a revolutionary and liberating act. I am lucky: I live in a country where homosexuality is not criminalised – so many are frightened and terrified to be who they are.
Of course, the UK is far from perfect and homophobia will always rear its ugly head. As a teenager, I knew of just one person who was out, and she was the butt of so many cruel jokes and snide comments.
Whatever I might have felt as a teenager, however different or unsure I was, I never felt I had the language to express that. Had I known, and seen more women and people living their lives on their own terms and loving whomever they loved, I am sure that my own experience would have been smoother. I might not have lost so many years.
To be out is to be visible and I know how much I longed to see more people like me when I was attempting to come to terms with everything.
I have allowed the fear, shame and confusion of knowing myself to be different to seep from my teenage years well into my twenties. Now is the time for me to reclaim that lost time and live the life that I deserve.
I don’t want to hide in the shadows any longer, I don’t want to feel my cheeks burn and my stomach flip when a well-meaning family member or friend asks about a boyfriend.
I deeply regret the times that I have bitten my tongue and stayed silent when I’ve heard someone question why gay people ‘feel the need’ to get married or proclaim that children should be raised by ‘a mother and a father’. I wish more than anything that I had been braver.
Whilst I haven’t lied to anyone – if someone asked, I would tell them – I also haven’t been honest, and I want to be honest. Even writing these words feels incredibly exciting and freeing – it is not something I have ever shared openly. This feels like a new kind of life.
Years of hiding who you are and living a kind of half-life is a heavy weight on the soul. I have grappled with anxiety and depression for as long as I can remember, and I know that it is partly down to denying such an enormous, integral part of myself.
I know how lucky I am to have a family who are accepting and loving, and who were as soon as they knew about my sexual orientation. My privilege as a white cisgender woman means that I have had a relatively easy time.
So many LGBTQ+ people don’t share that experience and instead have to carve out a life without the support of their family and loved ones. I cannot imagine having to endure that kind of pain.
We all deserve to love and be loved, and we shouldn’t need to explain or justify our very existence. The fact that some of us do just proves that, as a society, we are not there yet and there is still so much work to be done.
I don’t know when or even if I will find the right person. In the last year or so I have dipped my toe into dating and whilst I cannot predict the future, for the first time in my entire life things feel the way they are supposed to feel.
Perhaps being out will give me the confidence and freedom to pursue romance more and, hopefully, a relationship. I’m not hiding anything anymore so I definitely feel that a weight has been lifted.
I hope that one day I will find the right person and be able to share my life with them – a completely normal part of life that I was never sure I’d get the chance to have.
I can’t wait for Pride next year – if it goes ahead! I wish I didn’t have to wait 12 whole months for it, but I plan to live the next year joyfully and freely, and try to make up for all of the years I lost when I had shut that part of myself away.
I don’t feel like I’m standing outside in the cold looking in on everyone else living their lives – I am finally there too.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk
Share your views in the comments below
MORE: This Pride month, let’s take the time to reflect on how to build a better society
MORE: I was called the N-word during my first ever Pride event
MORE: Pride 2020 must stand together with Black Lives Matter
source https://metro.co.uk/2020/06/26/was-planning-come-pride-year-was-cancelled-12902887/
0 Comments