I lay awake the other night, contemplating the concept of death. During this introspective moment, a profound realization struck me. Out of all the possible reincarnations, such as a tapeworm, a dung beetle, or even a writer (once again), the idea of coming back as a heterosexual individual scares me the most. Honestly, the thought sends shivers down my spine. Now, please understand that I mean no disrespect to my straight friends, but I simply cannot fathom how they navigate through life, especially straight women. How do they endure the power dynamics inherent in heterosexual relationships without even the option of dating other women? It’s something I don’t think I could handle, and I hold them in the highest regard.
However, it’s not solely the romantic aspects that shape this perspective. Over the years, being gay has profoundly influenced my worldview. It has compelled me to question societal norms, from the traditional nuclear family to uncomfortable footwear choices. Now, I recognize that not all heterosexual individuals lack the imagination to challenge these norms, but being gay provides a unique vantage point. For instance, I recently had an epiphany that I have every right to shop for clothes in the men’s section. This realization, in itself, has been transformative. I am aware that there are straight women who do the same, but being a lesbian simply facilitates wearing “men’s” clothing with greater comfort and confidence.
Ultimately, as I lay in bed, I discovered that I have fallen in love with being gay. However, this realization didn’t come quickly, much like developing a taste for blue cheese. It was a gradual process. Yet, I find that the acquired tastes are the ones we become most enamored with and protective of.
When I was 21, thirteen years ago, I despised being gay. In fact, I even penned an article for this same publication expressing my feelings of isolation and frustration after coming out. It originated from a place of pain, and I now regret having written it. At that time, I had just finished university and had very few queer friends, despite living in Brighton for three years. My first same-sex relationship lasted only a few months, and although it brought me immense joy, it ended on a sour note. I projected my heartbreak and anger onto my sexuality. I was determined to “pass” as straight and even struggled to wear my first pair of Doc Martens with a floral tea dress (ah, the fashion of 2010). Mentally, I was not in a position to openly discuss my experiences as a gay woman.
Recently, I received an email from someone expressing their identification with that original article. They shared that being gay continues to be a struggle for them. We find ourselves amidst cultural conflicts and moral panics, reminiscent of the dark days of section 28, where we face baseless accusations of “grooming” children. It is no surprise that queer individuals still face hardships. However, to direct our hatred towards ourselves, rather than those who unjustly hate us, is a tragedy.
The correspondent asked me how I managed to make being gay work for me, and in my response, I emphasized the importance of the people in my life. In my early twenties, upon returning to London, I discovered its vibrant lesbian scene. It was the golden age of Dalston in East London, a time when I attended club nights with names like “Twat Boutique.” I formed meaningful connections with numerous queer friends, and it is to each and every one of them that I owe my happiness as a gay woman. Their confidence became contagious, and I am eternally grateful to every woman I dated (even those who broke my heart), every gender non-conforming individual I danced poorly with, and every wise elder butch who offered solace during moments of sadness in restroom queues. From the depths of my gay little heart, I thank them all. And, of course, I must express my deep gratitude to the beautiful woman to whom I am engaged, for obvious reasons.
I forgive the young woman who authored that initial article, and I hope others can do the same. Let us not hold against someone in such profound pain for words that may have caused upset or influence. If only I could embrace her and assure her of the happiness that awaits.
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Eleanor Margolis is a columnist for the i newspaper and Diva
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