sticks

I was only thirteen when we moved houses, and I walked through the doors of my new school feeling determinedly excited. When you are one of the few openly gay girls, word of it spreads fast.

I wasn’t interested in any of the girls in my class, but I still thought the world of them. I saw how they could be smart, and charismatic, and had the kind of potential that would change lives. One of them tried to break my arm between two desks during class, and another told me she wished I would die. I showed my arm to the only teacher that made me feel safe; she waved me away and told me that we both needed to be nicer to each other. This treatment followed me to each school I transferred to.

It sticks with you forever, being targeted and dismissed by both peers and teachers. I’m in college now, and I still grapple with the imprint of my formative experiences. One of my best friends, a woman, recently put her hand on my shoulder to tell me a story and I almost flinched away out of a subconscious fear that I was making her uncomfortable, and even more terribly, that I might be dirtying her hand. At the end of her story she pulled me in for a ginormous hug, and I didn’t feel the need to pull away anymore.

You’ll soon find that love sticks with you too, and your pain doesn’t define what your future will become. After everything, I have friends and family who work very hard to make me feel loved and show me it’s okay to love them back. People will find you, they will love you, and they will put their hand on your shoulder to tell you a story.

Just hold on in the meantime, I am cheering for you, please stay safe.