The closet seems smaller this time...

After a slow section over summer vacation, Our Lives is ready to get back in gear for this semester. If you're new to Our Lives, here's the kind of thing you can expect:

After the end of last semester I got home with every fiber of my being feeling totally relieved. Finally, I was out of the pressure cooker environment of Duke and could relax a little more. I do like being at Duke, I was just ready for a break from the intense environment here. After taking about a week to myself, I began applying to jobs for summer employment. I started with tech based internships to build a good resume for a computer science major, when that failed I went to the more typical retail/service/food job applications. 20 or so applications in, I started to get a bit nervous. I started branching out more, and found myself applying to local golf courses. Most of them weren’t hiring anybody, but one ended up calling me back. This course had a full time job available for the summer and I’d get paid $7.50 an hour. After all of the panic of searching without any positive results, I jumped at the chance and took the job immediately. (Little did I know that the job was half lawn mowing and half weedeating ditches and trimming thornbushes by hand. But hey, work is work.)

 A little while into this job I started to realize just how good I had it back at Duke. No, I don’t mean the difficult physical labor, that was hard but I didn’t mind it. No, I mean the people I worked with. The employees I called my coworkers included one rapist, one serial rapist, one decent man who was relatively unprejudiced, one man who was a pretty reasonable person but was still quite prejudiced, and a sixteen year old who wanted to grow up to be just like the serial rapist. (Note: I found out about the serial rapist when he bragged about how he used to get girls drunk to the point of being unconscious and then have sex with them. The other rapist then laughed and told the story of when he did something similar.) So, we’re talking about a pretty wide spectrum of people here. Oh, and my boss was a birther, said he was ok with “the f-gs” so long as they didn’t touch him, and was convinced that white people are naturally more hardworking than all other ethnicities. So a real charmer. By the way I describe them, you may be beginning to get an impression of how I dealt with this situation. I hid behind a veil of dry sarcasm to prevent myself from suffering a mental break but never having to commit the workplace suicide of telling them any of my real opinions. It sort of helped that none of them understood sarcasm.

 About two months into it I was having a bit of an identity crisis. I’d obviously not come out to anybody at my workplace, but I had also never explicitly denied anything. For an example of what I mean, I present this actual situation: I was edging and mulching planting beds around the parking lot of the clubhouse when my boss drives up in a golf cart and tells me that if I’d like to work on the bed near the pool next, he’ll let me. I should mention here that the reason he presented this like a gift is because most of the other people that work there liked to work near the pool in the afternoons to watch women who are sunbathing in bikinis. When I said I didn’t care, he asked, “What, are you gay or something?” I responded, “Not quite, but seriously what do you need done?” This answer put him off a lot more than I expected and he drove off disgruntled. I guess a lot of sarcastic comments like that built into a reputation for me, and many of the workers would refer to me as “queer”, “homo”, “fag”, or “faggot” about half the times they wanted to get my attention. Also, they had a little joke amongst themselves that if any of them were left alone with me, I would sodomize them. After a while, I started to wonder if I should be challenging them on it. Deep down I knew it wasn’t my responsibility, I knew that no real gain could come of me engaging the group about their homophobia, racism, or sexism. Yet I still felt like every time I just took it when they called me a faggot made me a weak person. I felt like a total coward, but I knew there was nothing else I could do.

One day the coworker that I mentioned earlier who was pretty reasonable but was also prejudiced finally picked up on my facial expression after he used gay as a pejorative. He then asked me if I had a problem with him using the word. Here’s how the conversation went.

Me: Do you hate gay people?

Him: No. Actually, I don’t think I’d mind if they could marry.

Me: So when you call something gay, what do you mean?

Him: Well, I guess I mean that it’s… I don’t know, it’s just a word.

Me: You mean it’s something you dislike.

Him: I guess, yeah.

Me: But you said you don’t hate gay people.

Him: I don’t!

Me: Then why do you use the word “gay” to refer to things you dislike?

Him: Oh.

Me: Yeah.

He didn’t mention it for a day, then came back two days after we had the conversation and told me that he considered it, and he wasn’t going to say it anymore. Best part is, he kept his promise.

I did gain a lot from this summer, as it gave new meaning to my work here at Duke. BDU, this blog, and my work at the Center seem even more real and relevant when I consider that there are people out there that have to experience what I did this summer with no foreseeable end. While that thought makes me angry, it honestly makes me more determined than anything else. Forums like this blog are rare, and though I obvious come from a biased viewpoint on the matter, having a place where the LGBT community can share and discuss their life experiences is so key to coping with the isolation that many of the members of our community feel. Here’s to an excellent year, for all of you, the blog, and the entire spectrum of people that belong to and affiliate with our community.

So on that note let me proudly announce that Our Lives is officially back! Well, we never really leave, but we're going to restart posting on a regular basis. The rate of posting will likely increase as we get more writers, but expect regular posts to be going up from now on! If you want to get involved with the blog as a writer, email me and we can get you set up as soon as possible! Also email me with any questions you may have about the blog, I'd be glad to answer them.

Best,
Kyle

This is my home too

When the Amendment 1 was proposed, I was upset, but I really don’t think I realized that is was actually real. It was surreal and something to worry about later. But in the last couple of weeks, it has become starkly real to me. It’s hit me that these are my neighbors, my friends, and my family, some of which will definitely vote to deny me even the possibility of having equal rights. And these people will say (if I ever get the nerve to confront them about it, which I surely will not) that it’s not personally against me—that it’s an issue of principle, not individuals. But it can’t be divorced from me personally. This is the state where I grew up, and my community back home is asserting its disapproval of me, and so are many of the friends that I have come to love and respect. It makes me nervous that these sorts of feelings are becoming more and more socially acceptable. I have always sensed a tension at home (tiny rural area in NC, cows outnumber people, mostly socially conservative, that sort of thing), but in my experience people have managed to at least keep it largely to themselves. I think they haven’t expressed any direct malice because it’s not something that they regularly think about. Now, though, LGBT issues are the topic of discussion, and I dread what I know that I will hear in two short weeks when I go back. I have been thinking a lot lately about coming out at home, to my family if to no one else. But now I’m afraid the climate may be too hostile for this to even be an option. I’m afraid of the insensitive passing remarks and conversations that I’ll overhear about how wrong or disgusting queer people are. I’m afraid that I will let these inevitable words get in my head. I’m afraid that I will feel ashamed or less of a person where I know that I never should. I’m afraid of giving people power over me, even if they are completely unaware of what they are doing. I’m afraid people will draw a connection between my politics and my sexuality and expose me. I’m afraid that what has been my home for so long will no longer be that. And I’m afraid that all of my friends there who would be affected by the Amendment and the change of social atmosphere that it would bring, wonderful queer and allied people who deserve nothing better than the best, will be subjected to the same.

I find myself faced with what seems to be an unavoidable step back into the closet. I’ve been able to surround myself with LGBT community at Duke in ways that I never had even imagined possible. I have been fulfilled and supported and have developed and it has all been a dream. After having all of this freedom, going back is going to be undeniably hard. I dread that I will have to be there when the Amendment 1 voting results come in. If it’s good news, I will celebrate alone; if it’s bad news, I will cry alone. And it is like this for so many queer and allied people in rural communities through the state. So I guess that’s ultimately what Amendment 1 would mean for me—a hit when I’m already down.

Questioning in Silence

Starting my sophomore year, I’ve written a blog post every year on the Day of Silence. While the rest of the nation participated in Day of Silence on Friday, we were busy celebrating our seniors in Lavender Graduation (2012, what’s up!?). As a result, the Blue Devils United Executive Board decided that here at Duke, we’d observe DOS tomorrow.

Which leads me to this post.  

Tomorrow, I’m silent for those who are questioning in silence. After all, I was one of them for far too long.

So what kept me from talking about it? At the time that I came out as questioning on the blog, I wrote that there were “approximately 12318023 barriers along the way.” Here’s four of them. And, while I can’t say that these are the barriers that every person who is questioning faces, I also don’t believe that they are entirely unique unto me.

1. I didn’t want to be “Just another gay LGBTQ Rights Activist” It might be hard for some people to believe, but I’m not an LGBTQ rights activist because of my own sexuality. My activism has and always will stem from the “ally” part of me—the part of me that believes that all people deserve respect, equality, dignity, and safety. It’s the part of me that embraces MLK’s quote, “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter,” and out retired NBA player John Amechi’s quote, "Why speak, why act, why exist if not to change the world?"

I didn’t want to be “just another gay LGBTQ rights activist,” because I’m not. I might be gay or bi or something other than straight. And I’m definitely an activist. But those identities aren’t connected for me. To this day, when I advocate to vote against Amendment 1, it’s not because someday I might want to marry a woman. It’s because I believe all people deserve the right to the legal protections and benefits that come with marriage. As people in this community understand all too well, it’s not fun being taken for something you’re not. Coming out as questioning jeopardized people understanding my motives for being an activist.

2. I didn’t want to be “Just Another Gay Female Athlete/Women’s Sports Fan” What I learned from this is that stereotypes hurt people. Both people who are and aren’t a stereotype feel the need to continually prove that they’re not. Specifically, people who fit a stereotype want to be seen as an individual—not as an archetype. The female athlete/women’s sports fan stereotype, especially, kept me from embracing who I might be. I didn’t want people to think I was just another gay female athlete/women’s sports fan, because once again, those things are obviously unrelated for me. And because I’m so much more. I was afraid people wouldn’t get that. So I denied that I was questioning—to myself and others.

3. I didn’t want to talk about it until I had answers/a girlfriend/etc That’s pretty simple. Explaining what you might be and what you might not be—well, it’s confusing and complicated and most people, even if they are embracing/affirming/etc, don’t get it. I didn’t want to “come out” if I was just going to decide that I was actually straight. And if I did decide I was gay/bi/queer, I didn’t want to come out until I had a significant other, because, it seemed pretty irrelevant.

4. No One Else Talked About Questioning Even in the LGBT Center, where people are eccentric and own their quirks…nobody once talked about questioning (in my presence). Everybody seemed to know where they stood—seemed to have this story that they popped out of the womb gay and have known since then. I felt like I was the only one to ever struggle with this, and I didn’t even have words for it.

Obviously, I’ve learned to put those woes aside. People might think that I’m an activist because I’m questioning and they might think I’m just a stereotypical female athlete and women’s sports fan, but they’d be wrong on both accounts. There isn’t much I can do about it, though, and it isn’t worth my time or energy to worry. It sure isn’t worth my energy to be ashamed of who I am because of their narrow views.

I’ve also since learned to live with and embrace questioning. Anybody who’s ever taken a class with me (dating back to kindergarten) knows that questions are what I do best. It seems that this is just another area of my life where that’s true.

It probably won't surprise people reading this who know me that patience isn’t my strength.  In typical Risa fashion, I got tired of waiting to have to talk about my sexuality. Now, I’m not sure I’ll ever have answers—and I’m finally okay with that.

Lastly, I learned that if I want people to talk about questioning, I’ve got to be the one to talk about it. Nobody can share my story if I don’t. I didn’t have the role models I wished I would have had—but I can be a mentor, an ear, a support system for someone else. As I see it, I have an accepting family and community, and so it’s my responsibility to help in any small way I can. I want to empower others to share their stories of uncertainty and coming into their own.

On the Day of Silence, our collective silence is loud. But in everyday life, the silence around questioning is desperately lonely.

Anonymous Posts (3.13.12-3.19.12)

Every week, we collect anonymous entries sent in using the link on our sidebar and post them all on Monday. We post anything as long as it doesn't contain personal attacks, hate speech, or express or insinuate that one is at risk for hurting themselves or someone else. Please read this for an explanation of this policy and seek help if your or a friend find yourself in that position. With those exceptions aside, please feel free to submit your thoughts and questions. :)

So...March Madness is upon us. And depending on if you follow teams other than Duke and tournaments other than the men's (which you should)...we're still going! #DWB4LYFE (copyright DW and DUMB).

In other news, Duke celebrated Holi on Friday and it was colorful and great. And Durham celebrated the one year anniversary of "Marry Durham," which was fabulous and very LGBTQ and Allied and full of great signs like "If the Amendment Passes, I couldn't Marry Durham."

Also...tomorrow night is the Our Lives Discussion Group at 6pm! All students--LGBTQQ and Allies are welcome! And don't forget that Blue Devils United is having elections for the 2012-2013 executive board on Wednesday! 6pm! Be there. Run for stuff. Vote. Yay!

In other other news...notes from OC!

#1
I'm kinda closeted, but i kinda this guy is cute and seems cool... one problem... i've never actually met him and he is a year older.. i'd go up and introduce myself, but what kind of person does that so randomly? what do i do?!

#2
I just want to come out to all my friends that I'm straight. I'm pretty sure no one ever really thought I was gay but the way I acted, it was probably confusing. At first it felt like the strong bond that the LGBT community has was only for people who are gay or questioning so I pretended that I am just to fit in. The way I am, if someone assumes something about me, I usually pretend that I am just to avoid any awkwardness so that also contributed to the confusion. I wonder if there is a line that allies shouldn't cross at the center. Maybe the faculty reception is only for out people or WLW and M2M really has no place for someone who just wants to hang out and make friends. As an ally, there's always a question of how much involvement is appropriate or how much am I apart of the community. There's a friend that I really need to come out to because he's convinced (by me) that I'm gay. But before I do that, I guess it's just an anonymous coming out.

Please remember that there are a number of resources available on campus and in the local community. These resources are available over breaks and throughout the school year. If you or a friend are experiencing thoughts or urges to harm yourself or somebody else, please reach out to the following resources: In an emergency, please don't hesitate to call CAPS at any time, including "after hours" at (919) 966-3820. Ask to speak to the advice nurse and tell them you are a Duke student. You may also call the Trevor Project, a national hotline specifically for lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer and questioning youth (college students included). Their number is 866-4-U-TREVOR (866-488-7386).

Fear

As I believe I've previously mentioned I was in the closet throughout my collegiate career because I felt I had to be in order to get the references I needed to move on with my life (i.e. seminary). Initially I was okay not talking about it, but as time passed I became increasingly frustrated that I had to talk out of the side of my mouth for the sake of self-preservation within a community that claimed to want to discuss the “big issues” of our day - although only if you played for team hetero.

Don’t get me wrong - I love and respect many people from that time, but unfortunately the bitterness of loneliness colors the way I remember my last four years.

I've gone through plenty of unfortunate events in my life, however coming out and wrestling with that by myself stands as an exceptionally painful moment.

Several weeks ago I was talking about Things and Feelings at lunch in the Duke Divinity lounge. The woman I was conversing with had just been “evangelized to” outside of the Brian Center, and apparently in this exchange the person trying to recruit her to Team Jesus asked what she thought about Teh Gays.

I took this opportunity to mention my own gay-ness and how exhausting it had been to be semi-honest and fearful, an experience which motivated me to choose Duke. I praised Duke Div's ability to be orthodox and inclusive (although I don't really know how the two can ever be divorced), and I expressed my gratefulness for a community of people who I felt safe to be myself around.

Although I'm sure it appears otherwise from my posts on BDU, I actually don't (explicitly, at least) inject my sexuality into everything I do. I can and do talk about other things quite regularly. I have a variety of interests, and ladies are just one of them.

_{Y’know? Y’know?}

(However I suppose my faux hawk makes everything I do implicitly gay...)

I don’t need to talk about My People and Their Rights all the time. I know gay people who do that and it’s like. Get a hobby please.

That being said, though, I want to feel safe being honest in the event that gay-related things do come up. Sexuality came up on the regular in college and I couldn’t actually contribute my view(s) because it would have been incriminating and destructive to the world I had so carefully constructed. Feeling obligated to be less-than-honest for the sake of everyone else's comfort (and to ensure my academic reputation) was painful, to say the least.

In this Christmas season, when Jesus came into the world in all kinds of compromising and socially unacceptable/unexpected ways, I am infinitely thankful to be a part of a people who, even if they don't agree with me, don't dismiss me automatically for loving who I love and being who I am. I am thankful I don't need to cloak the "real me" for the sake of academic preservation, and furthermore for the opportunity to talk about my Things and Feelings on the BDU blog.

Anonymous Posts (11.28.11-12.4.11)

Every week, we collect anonymous entries sent in using the link on our sidebar and post them all on Monday. We post anything as long as it doesn't contain personal attacks, hate speech, or express or insinuate that one is at risk for hurting themselves or someone else. Please read this for an explanation of this policy and seek help if your or a friend find yourself in that position. With those exceptions aside, please feel free to submit your thoughts and questions. :)

Wow. What a weekend. Women's soccer took us on an incredible ride to the national championship game, and, though we didn't pull out the final 'W,' I couldn't be more proud of the team or the way this campus supported them.

The Bar...Durham got pretty crowded Saturday night, thanks to one community member's efforts, so props to him and thanks! If you didn't get any action, have no fear--Sara (#i'mbitter) and I (Girl Crushes) teamed up to make sure at least the blog got some. :-P So check out the posts!

Happy December and good luck as we embark on Fall LWOC! The Center and BDU have a bunch of events (first year dinner tonight, Spectrum Tuesday, Our Lives Discussion Group Wednesday, Women Loving Women Sunday) to keep you on your toes, so check out the sidebar. And be sure to come out to the last Blue Devils United meeting of the semester, Wednesday, 5:30pm.

Now, notes from OC!

#1
Over the last week a few people have made jokes about my being gay or being closeted and I just go right ahead and laughingly agree with them. It's funny because I am (I think right?)! But it's surprising how natural it is to hear myself referred to as gay... I guess it's just an outward expression of how I tend to think of myself anyways. Anywho I'm just chillin in the closet until I figure out exactly how I feel... what do you guys think the chances are that that will happen (I know you don't know me, but best bets)? I'm not stressed or anything, because I don't know how much it matters if I "know" how I feel, but I do feel like I wouldn't want to come out as questioning or come out at all unless I was sure.

#2
I'd be curious to know the community's reaction to this. It's a rarely expressed viewpoint here, and I'm curious as to reactions. Shane

#3
[Author's note: this is directed to multiple gay men, although the letter is addressed singularly:]
Dear Gay male, Your comment last night was hurtful. I was in your room, and you said, "The Bar was so LESBIIIAAAANNNN tonight!" You know what? The Bar was about 50:50 women:men tonight. It really wasn't "that" lesbian-in fact it was almost equal, for once. We've been going to your events for years (read: BDU, Vespa, virtually any and every gay bar, etc.), and we never once told you that it was "so gay". Instead, we quietly tried to cultivate our own women's community and hoped maybe one day we'd get a space half as many women as we consistently see at your events and your gay bars. When I walk into the LGBT Center, I notice that you talk to the gay men. But never to me. I know you're not physically attracted to me-that's okay. But it's not okay to ignore me and pretend like I don't exist. Just because I'm not a prospect doesn't mean I suddenly don't matter. I speak with men when I enter the Center-not only is it common courtesy, but ignoring them doesn't even cross my mind. Why do you ignore the women in your own space? Is it because I'm any less sexually appealing than the men? (Would that rationale even make it okay?) You say you are "progressive". You then speak over me. You talk, and talk, and talk. I'm not sure if it's your white privilege or your male privilege or both that lead you to do this-but I feel like I can never get a word in. I wish you would realize that men, statistically, dominate conversation time. Women can never get a word in. Please don't tell me that "women are more expressive with their emotions" and so that makes it okay that you are being expressive now. Facts show that women's voices are routinely not heard-whether that is politically, economically, etc. You say you are a "progressive" gay. You're not being progressive if you don't ask the women what they think-and you're even less progressive if you simply don't care. Are you recognizing your own male privilege? If not, you're losing me as a friend, because your comments hurt, whether or not you can understand why. You can actively be my ally. You can ask me my thoughts, opinions-and you can be willing to be silent (not all the time, but yes, at times), and listen to my female voice. I hope you're willing to try.
-A Queer Woman (who is a member of your community, your "family", and just as much a part of this movement as you.)

#4
I told this girl I like her today...well I hinted at it and I'm pretty sure she got the picture. She seemed weirded out and the conversation ended shortly after. I thought she'd be cool with it because she's very open about one of her relatives being gay. I think it's somewhat funny that my first attempt at getting with another girl went so horribly. I feel really crappy. That is all.

#5
I just can’t help but wish that I was better at the whole gay bar scene/thing. I’m a girl who is pretty involved with BDU and the Center and I have a lot of lgbtq friends, but I still had a hard time figuring out who to go with to the bar on Saturday night. I’m not in any of the gay friend groups, and most of my lgbtq friends are guys. It’s hard to go out with them, because they, understandably, don’t want to have anything to do with me when they’re looking for a hook up (or even when they include me, I get left out once people decide to be sexy with each other). I’m not the biggest fan of Women Loving Women, which probably would have been the easy fix to all of this. Once I finally found my way to the bar, I just felt paralyzed. I didn’t know how to dance with anyone except my gay guy friends (a few of them have the same social anxieties as me, which means that dancing with each other is the safe alternative to having to find someone of our same gender). I like dancing with them. It’s fun! But I can only do that for so long…and it’s not why I went to the bar. But when it comes to other women, I don’t know how to do anything other than ‘circle dance’ in a group. And then it gets to the point where it’s just so hard to see everyone pairing up and being sexy with each other and not having anyone. I’m so at peace with being single until I go out to the bar, at which point I’m still fine with being single/not in a relationship, but I really want to partner up for the night, at least. But of course, I don’t want to partner up with someone who I know well from Duke—because what happens when I run into them on the quad or at the center later? This isn’t very coherent, but I guess what I’m trying to say is that going out is just all so complicated for me and by the end of the night I always experience frustration, disappointment, self-hate for not being ‘better’ at ‘this’, and am in a funk.

Please remember that there are a number of resources available on campus and in the local community. These resources are available over breaks and throughout the school year. If you or a friend are experiencing thoughts or urges to harm yourself or somebody else, please reach out to the following resources: In an emergency, please don't hesitate to call CAPS at any time, including "after hours" at (919) 966-3820. Ask to speak to the advice nurse and tell them you are a Duke student. You may also call the Trevor Project, a national hotline specifically for lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer and questioning youth (college students included). Their number is 866-4-U-TREVOR (866-488-7386).

A Letter from Your Clandestinely Queer Daughter

[Editor's note: Please welcome our third newest blogger in as many days, Sara!]

Dear Mom and Dad,

You’ll never see this letter, but I make no promises I can’t necessarily keep. It doesn’t really matter; you would hear none of it. You’d refuse to see me, acknowledge me, let alone keep our precarious bond intact. It’d be shredded pieces of paper from a daughter that’s no longer a daughter to you, blood be damned. You’ll wash your hands clean of it, praying to God—you’d be furious with Him, albeit your loyalties made your bed, so lie in it, prayers and all—to give you the strength to go through this. You’ll smile, bear the burden of having raised some heretic that contradicts every inch of your stern belief system, occupy yourself with another daughter—she’s perfect, she won’t stray. She won’t break your heart in two, watch it go asunder, know it was of her own devices and still went through with it anyway.

If I were to open my hand, guide you through the many rooms occupying my thoughts, through each intricate, deeply concealed secret, my offer wouldn’t be extended for too long. You’d immediately shut the door before ever crossing over the threshold, and flee.

This is a story that may never reach you—you, the tragic heroes, and I, the villain who ripped the world apart.

Now it’s high time I’ve gotten some things off my chest. Because you won’t see this—assuming I’ll always remain the same meek, reserved child of ’95 frozen in time on the hordes of pictures stashed in some corner in your closet (oh, the imagery makes me swoon)—I am without reticence. I’m sad that reassures me more than when you held my hand on my first day of kindergarten, or when you held me close when I was wrecked of tears and unbidden cynicism, nineteen and angry and exasperated.

Mom. Dad. I love you. I also happen to not be straight.

I know, you’re wondering where you went wrong with your parenting. Actually, your parenting skills were incomparable, look how far I’ve come, how much I’ve accomplished? This isn’t you, not exactly. What is you, though, is what you’ll do with my confession.

So, I’m queer, if you haven’t noticed. I thought I was dropping some neon bright, anti-heterosexual sentiments the last time I was home; my adamant demands for the shortest haircut possible and my aversions on the topic of boys were definite givens. I’m attracted to both men and women, but I never equate physical attractiveness to sexual attraction; they’re two mutually exclusive things in my head, no argument there. Which is why for the longest time I thought I was asexual, since, y’know, I have intimacy issues—probably because I was touched inappropriately/coerced to perform sexual favors on my “friend” when I was seven-eight years old. Half of the time I identify as asexual, with convoluted explanations as to why I am and why I am not “strictly” asexual. But I’m absolutely positive I am not straight, sorry.

I am not, however, “out and proud”.

Remember that night, Mom, back in my first year? It was after the awkward ride back home when my older sister blurted out that many of my friends at Duke were G-A-Y. For a moment there I really thought the car swerved dangerously close to a conveniently placed ditch by the side of the road. Your knuckles were stark white against the backdrop of the steering wheel. The rest of the car ride continued in silence.

The next night remains seared into memory, leaves me sick to my stomach each time I replay the words that will forever and forever cause me to doubt the strength of a mother’s love for her daughter.

“If you ever,” you said, alarmingly calm, like the eye of a storm. I faintly recall that you gripped my hand and I heard bones creak under your fingers. “If you ever said you were a lesbian, Sara, I’ll disown you. I will disown you.” In the same breath, she asked me to join her in prayer.

My cheeks were burning. She placed my head against her shoulder, muttering a string of biblical verses against my forehead, rocking me back and forth: I was her little girl again, the one who hadn’t rough-housed with boys, the one who hadn’t walked straight to the menswear during back-to-school shopping, some ideal daughter I loathed with every fiber of my being. For the longest time that night she never relinquished my hand.

I remember my mother gesticulating in a booth of a diner, frustration lurking behind every word, as she relayed to my two sisters, my older sister’s husband, and me the rumors that claimed I was a butch, a lesbian, a dyke, a freak. My older sister glanced at me, as if she were searching for answers I didn’t have. Closing my eyes, legs trembling under the table, I took a shuddering breath as I burst into tears, hiding my face into my shaking hands. I couldn’t bear looking at my mother then, couldn’t bear explaining it to them. So I lied through my teeth, I’ve only liked boys, while in the deepest crevices of my heart, there lingered feelings for a friend who’s just recently passed away last month (September 9, 2011).

I love my mother, but…how can you be the best possible you for someone when your own mother — unbeknownst to her — denies a piece of you so fragile, so empowering, very much an integral part that makes you you?

Dad, I’ve neglected you for awhile. I don’t know you well enough to predict the consequences if I were to send this to you. I can’t say we’ve talked much about love, or about life, or about our lives as father and daughter. This does not invalidate our quiet bond. How could I, when we’re so similar? Sometimes, just leaning on you, my silent, impenetrable wall, offers me the greatest comfort and warmth. We easily slip into contentment. I can hear the ocean waves lapping against the white sands of Hawaii, long hair blowing in the wind, my heart full because I got the chance to sit there with my daddy, no care in the world, except for the worry bubbling in the pit of my stomach.

What would he say if he knew? What would he do? If you can’t even tell me you had a heart attack, how would you expect me to tell you I’ve had boyfriends, but I thought about girls, too, the ones who’ve rendered boys as mere candles next to her brilliance?

I want to tell my parents that I haven’t fallen in love yet—I’ve come close, but they all end up the same: I love the idea of a person I’ve fabricated and imposed on them, not the reality that sets fire to bridges between these infatuations, or they leave me first. (R.I.P, D.W.) Rarely with my family have we been on the same footing, which is becoming more and more evident in my third year at Duke. Lying is second nature now, something I never fathomed as a possibility. I was taught that lying was an ugly sin against your family. I was also taught that home was my sanctuary, my shelter, the center of a child’s universe. Sometimes home…isn’t safe. And that is terrifying.

I want to tell you, when it (eventually) happens, I’m head over heels for a person; they just happen to not be a man, and you won’t mind. When you meet her, I want to lean over and whisper, unabashedly and with no hint of irony, “She could be the girl of my dreams,” and you’ll grin and say, “She deserves you.” During holidays, when our fragmented family comes together under one household, the room lit up by your wonderful smiles and big, gracious hearts, I want my boyfriend—I want my girlfriend to receive the love I know you’re capable of giving. You’ll glance my way, say, “Welcome home, love, you’re always welcomed, never forget that.”

Unfortunately, I can’t have these things, not unless I tell you, and even then it’s not guaranteed. Not unless I unlock those secretive rooms floating in my head for you and you accept everything in stride could we be okay. You’ll say, “Thank you for sharing this with us. You won’t ever have to hide again.”

I will always love you, no matter what, you’ve once, twice, countless times, said.

I love you. I love you I love you I love you. Please, let it be true. (It won’t be.)

Sincerely,
the girl behind closed doors

In which I pass for a girl

[In addition to all of our awesome visible and identifying columnists, we also have some awesome anonymous columnists that for one reason or another must use a pseudonym not their full name (and pseudopic?). Details on anonymous columnists here.]

My post is a day late because last night, I was still in Washington D.C. with my mom. She and I spent the weekend together for my birthday, exploring museums, eating amazing food, and having "girl time."

I actually had fun. Like, a lot of fun.

I was panicking a lot before I left. I had intended to come out to my family long before now, and hadn't seen my mom since before I started going as Lawrence pretty much full-time on campus. (I'm out to two of four professors now, and to my boss. Possibly this is also why I was panicking; I was pretty emotionally drained.) I resolved to be myself as much as possible, though, and only packed my most masculine clothes. I also got my hair cut just a few days before leaving, so I was as butch as I could get without binding.

And... it was fine. She didn't say anything. Last time, I got some flak for cutting my hair so short-- but this time she just talked about how happy I seemed these days, and how glad she was that I was finally enjoying my life. She asked how things were going with my girlfriend. It was the kind of experience I've always wished I could have with my mom, but never really did. It was also completely surreal, because it was so different from being at Duke but it only took an hour in the air to get there.

The strangest part was that I didn't even mind when strangers called me ma'am, even though it happened all the time. All last week, it was like little ma'am-meteorites were smashing into me and cracking me into a million pieces; I came out to a lot of people in a desperate attempt to get it to stop.

I think the difference is that in DC, I wanted them to read me as female. I mean, I didn't want it, but I also didn't want anyone to out me to my mom. They were accurately reading the gender cues I was trying to give them, so it was all right.

Of course, I'm back on campus now, and back to wishing people could get it right. I'm already struggling to remember how I felt yesterday, because I've sunk back into being Lawrence. I couldn't find the binder I wanted this morning, so I'm keenly aware of my breasts under my polo shirt. For just a few days, I was oblivious to this feeling, and although I don't think I could have maintained that facade for too much longer (it was just as psychologically uncomfortable, in entirely different ways), it was nice to take a bit of a break from my usual crises.

As always, I love getting questions in the comments. What's on your mind?

In which I am a little exhausted

[In addition to all of our awesome visible and identifying columnists, we also have some awesome anonymous columnists that for one reason or another must use a pseudonym not their full name (and pseudopic?). Details on anonymous columnists here.]

Hey there, what have you been up to? Doing okay? Great, great. Oh, me? I've been knowingly making myself miserable, but what else is new?

So, every month, I do this thing where I start running low on birth control pills. I wake up and say, "Only five pills left! Better call in the prescription!" -- but then I don't. So the next morning I wake up and say, "Only four pills left!" -- but I still don't call. I don't call in the prescription until long after the pills are gone. I resist and resist, until PMS sets in. I can't describe how terrible PMS is for me. (Well, I can, but I deleted it because it's super gross.) And yet, I knowingly bring it on myself -- more than once a month, since lately I've been getting sloppy about taking my pills even when I'm not running out!

Or, this semester I've been doing this thing where I kind of don't go to class. Well, I always attend my grad class. And I pretty much attend Romanticism, because that dude is a hardass about late homework, but if there's nothing to turn in, I don't bother. King Arthur, though-- I think I'm literally 50/50. And Astronomy... last night I was up until 5am marathonning recorded lectures in a desperate attempt to prepare for the quiz today, because I haven't shown up since the last quiz. I wish that guy kept track of attendance; I might actually go. I like these classes. I like these professors! I'm actively curious about the subject matter. And yet-- resistance.

I know what I need to do, to make myself happy, and it even lines up with what I'm naturally inclined to do, and yet-- I resist. So I just end up stewing in my unhappiness and my bitter knowledge that the whole thing is my own damn fault.

Except-- the resistance isn't my fault, not completely. I resist taking my birth control specifically because it feels so wrong to put fucking estrogen in my system. And I resist going to class because it's the only place where I'm still in the closet. The closer I get to making my life look the way I want it to look, the harder it is for me to endure the parts that still don't match.

I wish I could just dodge the question for a little while, to take a break, but the world we live in doesn't allow for that. People make judgments about my gender before they even ask my name, so I'm fighting an uphill battle from the beginning. I can only choose to correct them, or let the lie stand. And when my teacher starts with "Yes, the girl in the back-- sorry, I don't know your name," there's no way I'm going to respond to that by saying to the whole classroom, "It's Lawrence."

I had to choose between outing myself to everyone in all my classes, and shoving myself back into an increasingly-agonizing closet every time I wanted to learn something. Being closeted is hard to bear, and genuinely impeding my ability to learn, but coming out would have to be such a production, it would surely get in the way of my classmates' education, too. I don't want class time wasted on people's double-takes, or on clarifying my identity, or on anything to do with me. So until there's a chance that anyone, ever, would look at me and consider the possibility that I might be male, this is what I'm sticking with.

Which just leaves me feeling like this whole thing is so unfair. I have to choose between having my identity acknowledged, and learning during class time. But I've been a little sick lately, and I'm stressed out because my car broke down, and I don't want to go through that kind of emotional turmoil to learn how to predict lunar eclipses. I just want to go to class and do my homework like a normal student. And I can't.

Usually I like to open things up for trans 101 questions in my posts but I think I'd rather not, this week. Right now I'd like to focus on all the other things in my life, rather than letting this one aspect define me.

Instead, I'd like to ask all of you to do me a favor. Don't assume you know someone's gender until you've at least asked their name. Actually try this. When you get dinner tonight, don't think about the girl in line ahead of you who is taking forever-- think about the person ahead of you. Self-censor your own gendering instincts as much as you can. And I guess, let me know how it goes. It'll probably be harder than you expect.

In which I do not discuss the many awesome parts of my vacation, in favor of whining

[In addition to all of our awesome visible and identifying columnists, we also have some awesome anonymous columnists that for one reason or another must use a pseudonym (and pseudopic?). Details on anonymous columnists here.]

And now we discover the danger of assigning me to Saturday mornings: I like to sleep in late. Especially when I'm feeling a little unhappy.

Luckily, though, I bring a revelatory insight: the closet sucks, y'all.

At Duke I generally don't tend to feel closeted, because at Duke I don't actually pretend I'm a girl. I just don't always correct people when they make the wrong guess. It's not exactly comfortable, but who really expects to be their most genuine, authentic self in Chemistry class? And if the wrong guesses start to get to me, I can just talk to a friend (or my girlfriend) to get called the right name, or bind for the day, and I feel better. It's not my fault people don't see the obvious, so it's not really the closet.

No, the closet is when I encourage people to misgender me. Which is... this weekend. My mom likes me to bring laundry when I come home (seriously, if I don't she'll complain that I don't need her any more and spend the vacation trying to bury me under cups of tea) but I could only bring my girly laundry. So, today my mom asked why I brought thirty pairs of underwear, ten shirts, and some pajamas-- "You do... wear pants, don't you?"-- and I told her yet another half-truth: "The laundry was all over my room, so I only grabbed some of it." Sure, I heavily implied that the selection was random, when in reality I obsessed over every article of clothing to make sure it conformed appropriately to her standards (that is, I checked everything for rainbows before putting it in the suitcase) but it wasn't technically a lie.

The rest of it is lies, though. Lies, lies, lies. I think this is the heaviest irony of trans life: you know how people generally imply that trans folks are lying about their gender? Like, the "trans panic" defense, used (successfully, alas) in so many murder trials: "when I found out it was really a man, I just had to kill it!" Or, the murder mystery I watched with my mom last night-- "it turns out he was really a she!" There's the transphobic idea that the gender you were assigned at birth is your real gender, but there's also this idea that if you say you're anything else, you're lying and deserve what's coming to you. Well, I do feel like a liar, all the time-- when I tell people I'm not a man.

I'm not a religious person even a little, but I have a strong sense of honor. I hate lying.

Part of it is that I'm not a very good liar, so to maintain the facade I have to forget the truth a little. I grew so accustomed to the facade that I showed the rest of the world that I actually had no idea what was underneath until this semester when I decided to drop it. (Turns out: there was a man under there! Other than that, pretty much the same.) But I've always had a special facade for my parents. I wasn't just their daughter, I was the daughter they always wanted-- which means, I was straight, I was femme, I didn't curse, I didn't drink, I definitely didn't have sex, I wasn't a feminist, I wasn't an activist, I wasn't an atheist... I got to be a geek, but that was pretty much it, in terms of resemblance to my actual self.

And today, right now-- that's who I am! Sure, I've holed myself up in my room to write this, but I'm wearing pearls. It's only been a few days but I already feel like my sense of identity has been eroded away. (Not just my gender identity-- my whole identity.) I called my girlfriend last night-- from inside a literal closet, with three closed doors between my and my family-- just to hear her say my name. My real name. Which is Lawrence.

So, to remind myself who I am for the rest of the weekend, I open the comments up to all your Trans 101 questions. Just call me by my name, my real name, and I'll answer anything you want to know. Don't worry about dumb questions, personal questions, or even unintentionally offensive questions-- I did a lot of 101 in my lesbian days and I know what I'm signing up for. If you're nervous, that's what anonymous comments are for.

So ask away! I think it'll help both of us.

The Whole Truth

I find it disheartening to write about problems to which I feel there is no real fix, but this blog is "Our Lives," right?

As much as I'd love to say that I'm open with everyone, that I'm completely confident in being my full self all of the time, and that I never have reservations in disclosing my sexuality, it's not true. I have a closet. It may only exist for fifty minutes out of the week, but it's there.

I spent my last two summers living in Russia on exchange. Why did I choose it? I felt the need to experience a new part of the world, and this program was without cost to me. It was my first time out of America (and flying, for that matter). Russia is far behind in terms of acceptance, so, for convenience and for safety (at our pre-departure orientations, the program advised against coming out to Russians: "No matter the bond you've built with your host family, they'll probably just kick you out."), I was only open with my American peers.

Ironically, I had my first relationship (with a fellow American) this summer abroad, but that's a story for another day.

Enter Russian class, Duke University.

"Do you want to get married?"

My response: "No."

Yes, of course I want to get married someday. I can't bring myself to tell my teacher that, though. In class, we learned two different expressions in Russian for the English phrase "to get married." There is one for those who marry women, and one for those who marry men. His question and my response both contained the "marrying a woman" verb. It isn't exactly a lie. I don't want to marry a woman. However, it's not the whole truth.

The follow-up: "Why not?"

"I like being alone."

A complete lie. It was all I could come up with in Russian on impulse, and I hate that I said it.

Maybe I'm not giving him a fair chance, but I feel that the classroom setting is neither the time nor place to speak out on this issue. Furthermore, I actually slipped up once and made the mistake of answering, "I am not married" using the participle form of the "marrying a man" verb. My teacher quickly corrected me, laughing, waving his hands, and stressing the importance "watching word choice" in that situation. "You don't want people to think . . . you know . . ."

It isn't like I want to strengthen the bond between my teacher and me. I just hate that I feel the need to keep the whole truth inside.

Like I said, I don't know if there is an immediate fix to this. For now, it's simply an annoyance. At least I'm an optimist. After all, times are changing. Look at how far we've come.

Who I Am (and Who Are You?)

I received my first assignment to write for the blog, and I had a difficult time trying to think about what to write. I started to think about current events, pop culture, and the like, but nothing seemed to click. So I figured I ought to introduce myself, and go from there.

My name is Cameron Kim. I am a first-year from Florida, and I am studying to be a biomedical engineer with a double major in mathematics, and perhaps an IGSP certificate. Clearly, I am a little insane for wanting to complete all of those requirements in four years, but I think I can do it. I am a nerd, and I am quite proud of that. As a matter of fact, as I write this post, I am working with friends on a math competition test. I am the quidditch referee (I'm sure you've seen me out there). But most importantly, I am an introvert.

When I first came to Duke, I feared being an introvert, let alone a gay introvert. College always seemed to be a place where you had to party, get drunk, and be friends with everybody, but I don't do the party scene and do not plan to change that, and I am perfectly okay with that. I was not completely out in high school, but because I was so worried about fitting in, I was not sure whether I had to be completely out or completely closeted. I decided to go with the completely closeted. But I was not happy because I felt like I was not being myself, but being out is not even who I am.

This post, is for the LGBT-identified introverts and/or closeted friends who feel the way I do. I have been an anonymous poster, just like many of you have been. You are not alone in how you feel.

Even though I am posting on this blog, I still feel as though I am closeted. I do not openly tell people I'm gay unless they ask. I still see myself trying to conform to heteronormative standards because that just feels "right." But even though I acknowledge these behaviors, I am proud of who I am.

And if the rest of the post seems to be rambling words of nonsense, just read this part: Be proud of who you are.

Who are you? What do you like? Have you thought about that recently? I think college is a great place to sit down and define you as an individual. Sure, there are ethnic groups and other groups that you may identify with, but sit down and figure out who you are. Labels don't define you; others don't define you. You define you.

An Open Letter To Closeted Duke Women

My Statistics final is tomorrow morning. Of course I can’t sleep.

From perusing the Me Too Blog I can tell that many women at Duke are in the closet. I also know that Janie and Chris meet with many closeted people at the LGBT Center. I like to think of myself as an approachable gal. If a closeted woman at Duke wanted to talk to another queer student, she’d feel comfortable talking to me. Yet so far I have received no Facebook messages. No e-mails. No calls. No texts. No one has randomly come up to me and identified herself as a queer woman. Why is that?

I’m a self-proclaimed Center kid. I have been out since I was 12 and visited the LGBT Center during Blue Devil days with my dad. I am committed to both Blue Devil’s United and Women Loving Women. Most of the LGBT people I interact with are open enough to come to the Center or Women Loving Women. Next year as a member of the executive board I will help shape Blue Devil’s United and I have no idea what it is like to be in the closet at Duke. I know of the many pros of being out of the closet and can also attest to its cons. Every day is an opportunity to conduct informal research. What reactions do my girlfriend and I get when we’re holding hands on the Plaza? How many people came to Lavender Ball? How do the people in club X and Selective Living Groups Y and Z view openly LGBT people? What do some members of sororities think about not being able to take other girls to their formals? When and where do I hear the most hate speech? My research has also extended beyond Duke. What is it like to be openly LGBT and homeless? What is it like to be openly LGBT at a Catholic all-girls school in San Antonio, Texas? What is it like to be openly LGBT and a great dancer?

To all the closeted LGBT women at Duke: I need you as much as you need me. The regular attendees of Women Loving Women have already convened to talk about what we can do next year to reach out to closeted women. I’m sure you’ll find our ideas strange, but hopefully you’ll also find them attractive. If you want to chat send me a message on Facebook. Perhaps in the Fall we can meet in person.

To everyone: Have a swell summer!