By Janelle Levesque, Staff Writer, Emerson College
I guess looking back I should’ve known all along, and maybe I did to some extent. I preferred dirt caked under my nails to paint laced on top of them. I never thought boys had cooties or felt embarrassed around them. I liked racing them at recess instead of getting them to chase me.
I liked girly things too. Sometimes I’d prefer wearing a dress. I enjoyed it when my mom would take me to get my nails done, and I liked dolls too. I didn’t think anything was wrong with having two Barbies as the moms; it made sense because I didn’t have enough Kens. I was young, and kids don’t think of things as wrong unless they are told.
It’s not that these things made me gay or were even a reflection of my homosexuality. They were simply part of who I was, who I still am. At the time, I don’t think I ever questioned any of the things I liked to do. It wasn’t until I was a little older that I realized how some of these things that felt so natural to me could be seen as bad. By the time I received my First Communion, I learned from the book I was committing to why I couldn’t use two Barbies as parents.
As I got older, I felt a constant pressure to be more feminine and to act a certain way towards boys, to be more gentle and reserved. I liked sports and competing, but by middle school, it seemed like I could no longer be so aggressive with the boys my age. At sleepovers, my friends would talk about the boys they had crushes on.
The idea of finding your “Prince Charming” had been drilled into my head for as long as I could remember, and while it seemed nice to have someone treat you like that, I never met a boy I thought could be that for me. But each of my friends seemed to have lists of boys that fit the part, so I always tried my best to just find one of my own. When it was my turn to confess my undying, middle school love, I would just pick the most popular boy, knowing that they’d approve of my choice and leave the issue alone.
I fell in love for the first time in the 8th grade. What they don’t tell you in the movies, though, is that love can hurt. They don’t tell you that sometimes your Prince Charming won’t love you back, and they sure as hell don’t mention that Prince Charming sometimes isn’t a prince at all.
The “warm, fuzzy feeling” they say you get when you fall in love was actually more of a nausea churning in my stomach. I hated that I loved her. I tried so hard to suppress these thoughts- to kick the habit, so to speak. I begged the God who I now feared to love me enough to free me from these sinful desires. I went to my priest to ask forgiveness for my thoughts, but I never felt pure for long- they always came back.
Eventually, I thought I could train myself to not love this girl and to never have these kinds of wrong thoughts again. I turned to cutting myself in the hopes that my brain would begin to associate pain with such ideas, hoping I’d stop thinking them out of anticipatory fear. That too didn’t work. If I couldn’t control my thoughts, then the only solution I saw was to stop thinking altogether. I tried to drown the sin out of me, hoping that I had tried hard enough to rid myself of it to make it to Heaven. Though I wouldn’t have thought so in that moment, I am glad I came up for air.
What is the lesbian nightmare? It’s when you’re 13, looking into a mirror and hating what you see, beyond the frizzy hair and braces, to a deeper part of yourself that you fear won’t be as easy to grow out of. It’s finding the strength to live in the same body as your worst enemy, but to never make the battle known to those around you.
It got to a point where I had to choose between learning to love myself and thriving or continuing to hate my own mind and letting it drive me to madness. Everyone has to find their own way to this self-love, but we unfortunately live in a society where some never get the chance to discover it. I almost didn’t, but now I can look back and say that the biggest accomplishment of my life was simply deciding to live it.
What is the lesbian nightmare? It’s finding the bravery within yourself to finally tell the ones you love. It’s the agony of wondering if they will still love you once they know. How could they, when you have known for 5 years and are only just beginning to love yourself again? It’s fighting back the urge to cry, throw up, and pass out long enough to look your mother in the eye and tell her that you are gay. It’s swallowing it all back when she tells you she’d prefer if you weren’t, knowing that there were times when you wished the same thing. It’s hearing your father cry at the news and wondering if he will ever look at you the same again.
The lesbian nightmare is the fact that some people will see you differently, some will leave, and some will hate you. Despite this, you have to hold onto the respect you have for yourself- not only to hold onto it, but to believe in it strongly enough to know nothing anyone else says, does, or feels makes you less of a person.
We live in a society that prides itself on freedom and individuality, but fears the results of those ideals in practice; where personal expression is valued but the expression of gay love is shamed. What is the lesbian nightmare? It’s walking down the street, holding hands with the girl you love, and seeing judgment in the eyes of those you pass. It’s like a cold fire pulling away your spine so that you must remind yourself to stand tall, don’t look at the ground, don’t show how tired you really feel. The lesbian nightmare is living in a war with society and wondering how many more battles you must fight until a peace is made; wondering if that peace is even possible.
I guess looking back I should’ve known all along, and maybe I did to some extent. I preferred dirt caked under my nails to paint laced on top of them. I never thought boys had cooties or felt embarrassed around them. I liked racing them at recess instead of getting them to chase me.
I liked girly things too. Sometimes I’d prefer wearing a dress. I enjoyed it when my mom would take me to get my nails done, and I liked dolls too. I didn’t think anything was wrong with having two Barbies as the moms; it made sense because I didn’t have enough Kens. I was young, and kids don’t think of things as wrong unless they are told.
It’s not that these things made me gay or were even a reflection of my homosexuality. They were simply part of who I was, who I still am. At the time, I don’t think I ever questioned any of the things I liked to do. It wasn’t until I was a little older that I realized how some of these things that felt so natural to me could be seen as bad. By the time I received my First Communion, I learned from the book I was committing to why I couldn’t use two Barbies as parents.
As I got older, I felt a constant pressure to be more feminine and to act a certain way towards boys, to be more gentle and reserved. I liked sports and competing, but by middle school, it seemed like I could no longer be so aggressive with the boys my age. At sleepovers, my friends would talk about the boys they had crushes on.
The idea of finding your “Prince Charming” had been drilled into my head for as long as I could remember, and while it seemed nice to have someone treat you like that, I never met a boy I thought could be that for me. But each of my friends seemed to have lists of boys that fit the part, so I always tried my best to just find one of my own. When it was my turn to confess my undying, middle school love, I would just pick the most popular boy, knowing that they’d approve of my choice and leave the issue alone.
I fell in love for the first time in the 8th grade. What they don’t tell you in the movies, though, is that love can hurt. They don’t tell you that sometimes your Prince Charming won’t love you back, and they sure as hell don’t mention that Prince Charming sometimes isn’t a prince at all.
The “warm, fuzzy feeling” they say you get when you fall in love was actually more of a nausea churning in my stomach. I hated that I loved her. I tried so hard to suppress these thoughts- to kick the habit, so to speak. I begged the God who I now feared to love me enough to free me from these sinful desires. I went to my priest to ask forgiveness for my thoughts, but I never felt pure for long- they always came back.
Eventually, I thought I could train myself to not love this girl and to never have these kinds of wrong thoughts again. I turned to cutting myself in the hopes that my brain would begin to associate pain with such ideas, hoping I’d stop thinking them out of anticipatory fear. That too didn’t work. If I couldn’t control my thoughts, then the only solution I saw was to stop thinking altogether. I tried to drown the sin out of me, hoping that I had tried hard enough to rid myself of it to make it to Heaven. Though I wouldn’t have thought so in that moment, I am glad I came up for air.
What is the lesbian nightmare? It’s when you’re 13, looking into a mirror and hating what you see, beyond the frizzy hair and braces, to a deeper part of yourself that you fear won’t be as easy to grow out of. It’s finding the strength to live in the same body as your worst enemy, but to never make the battle known to those around you.
It got to a point where I had to choose between learning to love myself and thriving or continuing to hate my own mind and letting it drive me to madness. Everyone has to find their own way to this self-love, but we unfortunately live in a society where some never get the chance to discover it. I almost didn’t, but now I can look back and say that the biggest accomplishment of my life was simply deciding to live it.
What is the lesbian nightmare? It’s finding the bravery within yourself to finally tell the ones you love. It’s the agony of wondering if they will still love you once they know. How could they, when you have known for 5 years and are only just beginning to love yourself again? It’s fighting back the urge to cry, throw up, and pass out long enough to look your mother in the eye and tell her that you are gay. It’s swallowing it all back when she tells you she’d prefer if you weren’t, knowing that there were times when you wished the same thing. It’s hearing your father cry at the news and wondering if he will ever look at you the same again.
The lesbian nightmare is the fact that some people will see you differently, some will leave, and some will hate you. Despite this, you have to hold onto the respect you have for yourself- not only to hold onto it, but to believe in it strongly enough to know nothing anyone else says, does, or feels makes you less of a person.
We live in a society that prides itself on freedom and individuality, but fears the results of those ideals in practice; where personal expression is valued but the expression of gay love is shamed. What is the lesbian nightmare? It’s walking down the street, holding hands with the girl you love, and seeing judgment in the eyes of those you pass. It’s like a cold fire pulling away your spine so that you must remind yourself to stand tall, don’t look at the ground, don’t show how tired you really feel. The lesbian nightmare is living in a war with society and wondering how many more battles you must fight until a peace is made; wondering if that peace is even possible.
The lesbian nightmare is living in a country that, despite all its progress, still contains states that seek to pass legislation to discriminate against gay couples. It’s knowing that you and your partner could be banned from parks, kicked out of restaurants and theaters, or even lose your jobs because someone disagrees with the way you live your lives. It’s the potential to be refused the basic American and human rights to medical care and police response.
The lesbian nightmare is knowing that LGBTQIA people all around the world are being oppressed and even murdered for who they are. It’s the thought that a person can take another’s life just because they don’t approve of who and how they love. It’s the thought that a human could even carry such hatred within themselves.
What is the lesbian nightmare? It’s holding the girl you love in your arms while she cries over this hatred, and you can’t help but wonder if one day you’ll have to hold your own daughter the same way.
Born and raised in the Boston area, Janelle is struggling her way through college as a marketing student, starving artist, and hopeless-romantic lesbian. She runs off Dunks iced coffee, Marlboro reds, and shots of Bacardi when she needs a little extra something. With lots of insight on how relationships can go wicked wrong, wicked quick, she hopes to advise her readers so that they may avoid similar mistakes.
Images: weheartit.com, Corbis
The lesbian nightmare is knowing that LGBTQIA people all around the world are being oppressed and even murdered for who they are. It’s the thought that a person can take another’s life just because they don’t approve of who and how they love. It’s the thought that a human could even carry such hatred within themselves.
What is the lesbian nightmare? It’s holding the girl you love in your arms while she cries over this hatred, and you can’t help but wonder if one day you’ll have to hold your own daughter the same way.
Born and raised in the Boston area, Janelle is struggling her way through college as a marketing student, starving artist, and hopeless-romantic lesbian. She runs off Dunks iced coffee, Marlboro reds, and shots of Bacardi when she needs a little extra something. With lots of insight on how relationships can go wicked wrong, wicked quick, she hopes to advise her readers so that they may avoid similar mistakes.
Images: weheartit.com, Corbis