Dandelions in the Wind

[Author’s note: The following post is about an Andrea Gibson poem, which can be seen/heard here.]

To anyone who has ever wanted to die: I have been told sometimes the most healing thing we can do is remind ourselves over and over and over other people feel this too // The tomorrow that has come and gone, and it has not gotten better // When you’re half finished writing that letter to your mother that says I swear to God I tried.

Andrea Gibson performed at UNC last week, and it was fantastic. I’ve been a big fan of her spoken word for a while now, but hearing her speak in person was an entirely different experience. As I’ve said before, Andrea’s words usually make so much more sense than the ones in my own head—feeling the energy of those words echo in a room full of people was one of the coolest experiences of my life thus far. One of the best parts of Andrea’s work is that she truly speaks from the heart and addresses issues that most people feel more comfortable just ignoring. This is one of Andrea’s newest poems, and she performed it last week at UNC. Out of the 10-15 poems that she performed, this one moved my heart the most.

You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy // I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside // Some people will never understand the kind of super power it takes for some people to just face the day.

These words. There’s something really beautiful about a heavy heart—it’s a testament to love and pain and living. I don’t really know how to express how much admiration I have for people who have the strength to face the day.

What I know about living is that pain is never just ours.

I think it’s easier for us to believe that pain is a solitary experience. We can hide away in our own troubles and ignore everyone around us. Because letting other people in, that’s the scary part. That’s the part that takes strength and bravery when we feel as though we have nothing else to give.

Here we are, together at the window, aching for it to all get better // But knowing there is a chance, our hearts may have only just skinned their knees // Knowing there is a chance, the worst thing might still be coming // Let me say right now for the record, I’m still gonna be here—asking this world to dance.

As great as the “It Get’s Better” campaign was in terms of opening up dialogue, I don’t think it necessarily sent the right message. Yes, one day your life will be better. But, one day, it might be worse too. And that’s okay, because that’s life. What we need to be saying is that we are here, wearing our red capes, making it through it all together. We, taking in this life together, will make it better.

The only thing we have to gain in staying is each other // My god, that is plenty // My god, that is enough // My god, that is so so much.

Finding Myself

[Editor's note: Yesterday, Duke and Duke Med issued a statement of support for This Wonderful Community. Read more here, if you wish. But definitely read more below for an incredibly powerful blog post!]

If you asked me at the beginning of my Duke career to tell you who I was, I probably would have given you a really superficial answer. You see, what I would have said then would have referred to what I did rather than who I was. I say this, because looking back on it, I was very lost as a person and very unsure of what it meant to be confident in my identity. Coming out of high school, I allowed my identity to be defined by what my family, friends, and environment expected of me. Looking at my life now, it seems as though I have nothing left of what I used to deem important—sports, religion, school activities, etc. In writing this, I feel as though I should mourn the ‘identity’ that I seem to have lost—but I don’t. You see, it was never my identity to begin with. And in realizing that over the past three and a half years, I feel as though the value of what I have gained entirely outweighs whatever I may have given up.

I suppose to begin answering the question of who I am, I need to first explain how I came to realize that I needed to define my identity for myself. While I go back and forth between not wanting to be labeled first and foremost by this one aspect of my identity but then also realizing that it is very central to who I am, I think that I have come to accept that my identity as a queer woman has been the driving force of my identity development. I began to question my sexuality late in high school, but it wasn’t until my sophomore year at Duke that I was ready to fully admit it to myself. My biggest struggles adjusting to life as a college student ultimately stemmed from the major questions that I was dealing with internally—questions that absolutely made it extremely difficult to define who I was or who I wanted to be. The inner conflict that I experienced over those first two years affected everything from the friendships I formed to the activities I chose to get involved with on campus. Unfortunately, those decisions that I made out of fear or confusion were not fulfilling and led me to be relatively unhappy or discontent with my life.

My dissatisfaction with the way I was living my life continued to grow until I reached the point when I knew I had to make a change—there literally was no alternative. So I made a decision which I think will probably be one of the most crucial and life-altering decisions that I will ever make. Since I felt as though I could not get over my fear in order to come out at Duke, or more generally in an environment where there were people who knew me, I decided to study abroad. But, I made myself promise to take active steps towards coming out and affirming my identity. I sat on a beach a week after I arrived in my new temporary home and said to myself, “Okay. You’ve flown across an entire ocean to get away from everything you know. Start from scratch and figure out who the hell you are.”

So I did. I started taking very big, very scary, steps towards affirming my identity. I went to LGBT events held by the university I was studying at, I met new friends and didn’t let them assume that I was straight, I cut off all my hair (something I had been dying to do, but was too afraid that it would ‘out’ me), and I even pursued a relationship with a woman. Within a few weeks, or perhaps even days, of starting to take these steps I felt like a completely different person. I woke up happy. I lived every day to its fullest, and enjoyed it. And most importantly, I felt a huge sense of confidence in myself. I finally felt like Logan, a person who knows who she is and who shares that person with the rest of the world. I felt like a person of worth.

These are feelings that I really had never experienced before. I think it’s important to note that I don’t think coming out in itself was what made me happy. More, I believe that in denying my queer identity, I also had to hide other parts of me. Accepting and affirming my sexuality has allowed me to reveal and develop so many other really fantastic parts of my personality: I feel comfortable and confident in expressing all of me, not just bits and pieces.

So who am I? I am a queer woman. More importantly, I am funny and love nothing more than making people laugh. I am passionate: I want to be an advocate for transgender youth who often receive little to no support from their family or friends. I am social, and would now almost always choose spending time with friends over being alone (which would have been a crazy thought for me a few years ago). I am intelligent, and I finally feel confident enough to engage in conversations that challenge my thinking. I am strong—nothing like the weak person who didn’t have the strength or courage to take charge of her own life.

Who I am will surely continue to change. I’ve learned through my time at Duke that I should and must be an active participant in my own life. It’s up to me to create and live a life that I am proud of, and if I’m not satisfied, it’s up to me to make a change.

The Elephant in the Room

I had a lot of [potentially ridiculous] expectations about what it would be like to come out. I desperately wanted to anticipate every possible reaction or question that I might receive before I actually talked to anyone in the hope that it would reduce my anxiety or somehow make things ‘go smoother.’ Ironically, the one question that I never considered was also the one question that nearly everyone I’ve come out to asked me—in fact, it’s usually the very first question they have.

“So when did you tell your family?”

…

Really? What on earth would make you think that I would have told my family? You know me. You know it took me forever to come out to you, even though both of us knew. How would I have come out to my family?

Now, I suppose my relationship with my family is different than a lot of people’s, so this is probably a perfectly reasonable assumption/question for most people. See, while I’ve always had a good relationship with my family, I would never describe it as being a particularly close relationship. I’m not the type to talk about my personal life with many people, least of which being my family. The closest that our conversations ever get to being ‘personal’ are when we talk about what I’m doing in school. And quite frankly, I’m perfectly fine with it being like that.

Since I’m not used to talking to my family about my personal life, it’s never really been an issue (for me) that I’m not out to them. I’ve never felt the need to inform them that I’m not looking for any Prince Charming to come sweep me off my feet. (No, there’s really nothing wrong with Duke’s dating pool—you can stop suggesting that I go over to UNC to meet a ‘nice young man.’) It’s just never been particularly relevant.

I’m sure that all of my friends assume that I would have told my family simply out of a desire for them to be involved in my life. But really, my family has been involved in my life. They have heard extensively about and/or met all of my girlfriends—even if they haven’t been aware of the extent of our relationship. I’ve never wanted to hide the people who are important to me from my family.

Recently, however, something has changed. The past few times that I’ve been home, it has been challenging, difficult, and even uncomfortable to be closeted around my family. My queer identity has become such a central part of my life that it feels impossible to ignore it when I am around my family. Perhaps that’s really the root of the issue—I never considered the possibility that I could so fully accept myself that it would be difficult to not talk about who I am with my family.

At this point, I’m really at a loss for what my family’s reaction will be when I do finally come out to them. I’ve been getting mixed signals about their level of awareness for the past several months—one day my mom starts using the term partner rather than boyfriend or husband, and the next she’s trying to set me up with the boy across the street. The level of tolerance within my extended family is a completely different question…I was informed over break that if I ever adopt a child of a different race, my grandparents would not acknowledge it as their grandchild. I wonder how they will react when I’m trying to adopt a child with my Lesbian Lover.

Regardless of how my family reacts, I feel much better now about the prospect of being out to them than I did a few years ago. Knowing who I am and feeling confident in my identity makes everything a little bit less scary. Best of all, I’ve realized that when the day comes that I get to marry the woman of my dreams, I will absolutely want to share it with my family.

Q and A with Your Token Queer Friend

Since it’s finals week and my brain has become entirely useless, I decided to do something fun for this post. I invited my six closest friends to ask me any question they wanted about My Queer Life. I did my best to answer [most] of their questions based on my personal experiences, but of course, I’d love to hear other people’s opinions/responses! Whenever I’m talking about the community as a whole, keep in mind that my responses are based on my personal opinions/view-points and that they may not be true for everyone.

Who has been the hardest to come out to? Did you have any negative reactions?
Well, you [my best friends] were. I’m not sure why it was so hard to talk about my sexuality with you all, the people who probably know me better than anyone. Maybe that was it. Since you know me so well, I was scared that it would change something if I told you that the version of me you knew wasn’t actually who I was. It felt like I had been lying to you or something. Of course, you all knew who I was all along—probably even before I did. And now that we do talk about it, I realize that what changed our relationship was the fact that I hid something so important to me from you.

In terms of negative reactions, I haven’t really had any so far. The closest I’ve come to a negative reaction was one individual who, while trying to be respectful and open, asked several rather uncomfortable questions. Perhaps uncomfortable isn’t the right word…it was more that they were coming from a very skewed perspective.

Do you feel you've been able to express more/different parts of your personality since you've been out (cliche but do you feel more YOU)?
I absolutely feel more ‘me’ now that I’ve started coming out. I feel as though I gained a lot of self-confidence when I came out, which helps me to express myself in all types of situations. The weight of trying to hide something so central to your identity inevitably has consequences that affect how you live your life and how you interact with other people on a daily basis. Feeling confident in myself has allowed other aspects of my personality to become more vibrant.

Who is expected to pay for the first date? What's the protocol?
Generally, I think that whoever makes the invitation should pay. Then again, in my experience same-sex dating is much more egalitarian than heterosexual dating. Rather than there being the expectation that the ‘gentleman’ should always pay, there seems to be an expectation that same-sex couples will take turns paying. Offering to pay for dinner/a movie/whatever else people do on dates is a really nice gesture that certainly isn’t lost when you’re both making the effort.

What's considered sex for lesbians?
This pretty much sums it up.

Are there any terms/phrases/questions that someone has said offhandedly that you considered offensive? And on the flip side, can you think of anything that other people may tiptoe around because they think it's offensive but actually it's not? Do you find it offensive when girls jokingly refer to themselves as lesbians?
I can’t think of anything that people have said offhandedly that I find offensive. People seem to generally mean well, and if they don’t, they tend to make their offensive statement very clear. The only word that I consider offensive is “dyke”—but then again, I’m only offended when someone who is not a queer woman uses it.

It seems like people tiptoe around the word ‘homosexual’, and I’ve even had someone directly ask me if it’s offensive. I personally don’t find it offensive, just awkward. I probably wouldn’t talk about any of my straight friends as heterosexuals—it’s weird, right?

I’m not sure if I would say that I’m offended when girls jokingly refer to themselves as lesbians, but I am annoyed by it. First of all, I think joking about being a lesbian trivializes the way queer women feel and live their life. The fact that I date women isn’t funny—it’s just normal. Secondly, I feel as though the context of these jokes is usually the bigger issue. It’s frustrating when girls pretend to be lesbians to get male attention (#mixedsignals?) or call themselves lesbians because they’re wearing not-so-feminine clothing (#lesbianslikeskirtstoo). We know you want to be one of us, but you can’t. Get over it.

How do you think same sex relationships compare to straight ones? Are there 'roles' as often stereotyped or not so much?
Same-sex relationships are pretty much exactly the same as straight relationships. Same-sex couples go on dates, cuddle, fight, make-up, work on communication, fall in love, get jealous, break-up, and do it all over again. As far as there being ‘roles’ in the relationship, I think that there are always roles that people play: someone is the pursuer, someone prefers to be pursued, someone likes planning dates, someone brings up the difficult topics that need to be discussed, someone typically initiates sex, and so on. I feel that in general, who plays these roles within a relationship depends on the personality of each partner, not their gender.

Do people usually assume you’re straight or gay?
I think that people generally assume I’m gay, but then again, who knows. People surprise me sometimes.

Would you say as many lesbians want to or plan on have children as straight girls?
I’m not entirely sure about this one. My initial reaction is that whether or not women want to have children isn’t really impacted by their sexuality. These days, people have so many options in terms of starting a family that it is perfectly reasonable for same-sex couples to have the same hopes/expectations about having children that opposite-sex couples do. However, my experience with this topic is limited, so I would love to hear other people’s opinions!

Do you think you can tell if others are gay better than most people? How?
I think I have a pretty good ‘gaydar’. Maybe it’s because being queer means that I know what it’s like to go through the process of questioning/coming out, or maybe I’m just particularly perceptive. Who knows? I think it’s pretty easy to pick up on the innate sense of confidence that queer individuals have (yes, even those of us who are super awkward have this confidence).

As far as the gay community and your relationships with other lesbians increasing.. what's your relationship with gay men like?
Great question! While I have met more gay men since I came out and started hanging out at the Center, I definitely wouldn’t say that I’ve built any significant relationships with gay men. I’m not sure if this is a product of the LGBTQ community at Duke being divided in some senses, or if it’s because I tend not to build strong relationships with men in general (gay or straight).


What do you do if a guy tries to hit on you? Do you tell them right away, play hard to get because that's funny, let them keep talking..?
Let me start by saying this doesn’t happen very often…most guys seem to get the idea pretty quickly. For those that don’t, my first reaction is a pity laugh (haha not really…but it is kind of sad). I don’t feel the need to out myself right away—“Hey, how’s it going? My name’s Logan and I’m into girls.” Awkward. Making polite conversation is nice and an easy way to work in little details that will let them know I’m not interested. You have to give them props for making the effort, right?

That said, when a guy tries to hit on me for his sister, I’m all for it! #truestory


The heterosexual Duke relationship culture is generally viewed as hook-up oriented, what's the Duke lesbian relationship culture? How would you say it's different?
In my opinion, the ‘lesbian relationship culture’ is very much relationship-oriented rather than hook-up oriented. The stereotype that queer women tend to get in serious relationships really quickly seems to be true—if anyone has an explanation for why this is I would love to hear it! Realistically, queer women on campus can’t really afford to be hook-up oriented because the community is so small. The chances of finding another queer woman at Shooters—much less having a D-floor make-out with her—are pretty low. That’s not to say that women don’t want to pursue hook-ups instead of relationships, but rather that the community isn’t big enough for that to work—inevitably, you’ll end up hooking-up with a girl your best friend dated two years ago who cheated on her with your other best friend who’s now dating a new girl, who also happened to have a fling with the girl you just hooked up with. You get the point.

Girls often dress "slutty" to attract male attention, what do you do to attract female attention?
Get a queer haircut and wear flannel? Joking. Kind of. I don’t usually make a conscious effort to attract attention. I find confidence most attractive, so I guess that goes both ways? For me, the most important thing is feeling good about the way I’m presenting myself.

What is something you've learned about women that you might not have?
Interacting with other women in a romantic context is very different from a purely platonic one. It’s hard to name anything very specific that I’ve learned, but I think it’s fair to say that I respect women so much more after coming out. Maybe that sounds weird, and it’s certainly not implying that I didn’t respect them before, but it seems like ‘respect’ really is the best word for it. I think I always viewed women in a heterosexual context as being almost dependent on men in relationships—not really taking charge of what they wanted. Seeing queer women as strong, independent, confident, and inspired is really awesome.

What's the biggest advantage to being a lesbian?
Getting to date girls. Girls are great :)

The Common Thread

[Editor's Note: In addition to all of our awesome columnists who write under their own names, we also have some awesome anonymous columnists that for one reason or another must use a pseudonym. Details on anonymous columnists here. Without further ado, please welcome our newest blogger, Logan! ]

I’m going to tell you a love story. Or rather, several love stories I suppose. Because I feel as though that’s what our lives are ultimately about, right? This blog is a testament to the fact that we all approach this life from vastly different perspectives, and as such we come away with a very unique set of experiences. But no matter how different we are, we can always relate to one another through this most innate human experience—love as our common thread.

I saw her from across a crowded bar. She was wearing this really cool vintage-like, masculine jacket and a dark blue sweater with little white stars on it. Between her dark clothes and relaxed demeanor, she nearly blended right into the wall behind her. Never in my life had I felt so completely drawn to a person. To this day, I’m still floored by how absolutely certain I was that I needed to go talk to a complete stranger (especially given that I would consider myself to be a relatively quiet and reserved person). I think we have certain moments in our lives that we know immediately will be ‘significant’—this was one of mine.

Before I continue, I should back up and tell you that for me, coming to terms with my sexuality was a very long and a very slow process. It started out with little hints that something was…different. The problem was that I couldn’t figure out what it was that was different: I didn’t feel any different, and yet I just wasn’t the same.

These whispers eventually grew into a little lump in my gut. I wrestled for a long time with this little lump that seemed to grow bigger and bigger every day. When it finally became a tangible idea, I was glad that it was something that I could identify and label, but it still felt very foreign. I kept waiting for something to change, for me to feel different, for me to truly become this idea: gay.

I never experienced the blatant shift in my thinking or experience of the world that I so desired. I thought that if I was ever going to be certain about my identity then I would need to be able to tell the difference between my ‘straight’ life and my ‘gay’ life. But I think that what I actually experienced was so much better. That moment in the bar when I saw The Girl, something clicked for me. However, it wasn’t the ways in which I was different that clicked, it was the ways in which I was the same. I felt more like me than ever before—I felt my authentic self.

One day, a while after The Girl and I had started dating, I asked her if she ever struggled with her sexuality. I was still trying to understand how my world fit together, but quite frankly didn’t know where to begin. She sat there with a look of utter confusion, and responded with what may be some of the most honest words I have ever heard: “Well, no…I don’t think I do. I suppose it’s just normal for me…why would I struggle with it? It’s just who I am, why would I be bothered by it?”

This is the heart of the matter. Coming to terms with my sexuality had nothing to do with accepting the fact that I was ‘different’, and everything to do with accepting the fact that I was the same. I never felt a shift in how I experienced the world because there was nothing to shift to—I was already me. The key to understanding my identity was realizing that I could, and did, experience love and attraction in the same way as everyone else.

Now, my real love story comes later, but I think I’ll save that one for next time. I’ve found out that the fine print of loving authentically is that you also experience pain and heartbreak authentically— though, that’s a whole post in itself. I’ll leave you with a quote from Andrea Gibson, whose words make a lot more sense to me than the ones in my own head: I am whatever I am when I am it, loving whoever you are when the stars shine and whoever you’ll be when the sun rises.