Last summer, I bought a pin and a hat. They both had rainbows on them. I put the pin in my pocket and the hat in my tote, telling myself that’s what I do with all purchases. I’d figure out where to put them when I got home.
But it was summer in downtown Toronto, and it was hot. The kind of hot I was still unused to, with no ocean breeze to shift it around, where it slams up against the buildings and the pavement with nowhere to go. I’d only been in the city a year. Even in the Village, during June, at a queer market, I hesitated to put on the hat. In my mind, I knew there was nothing to worry about. I was out to family and friends, I was in a safe place, and I wouldn’t think anything of others wearing something similar. I was surprised at my hesitation, at the uncomfortable ball—shame, discomfort, uncertainty—that was forming in my chest.
The heat won out. I glanced around me and put on the hat. I took a breath. Nothing happened. Then I noticed a funny feeling on my face. I was smiling. The ball in my chest seemed to dissolve. My shoulders relaxed. The smile got bigger. I might have even laughed.
I thought when I came out as queer—I am interested in women, and I am non-binary—that there would be a clear before-and-after, one “aha” moment followed by the rest of my life as an out, queer person. There wasn’t. Instead there are dozens of moments like putting on the hat that accumulate over time. That initial feeling of uncertainty and swirl of questions—does this fit who I am? Do I belong here, or am I faking? What if I make people uncomfortable? Will people roll their eyes at me? Want to be in my life? Followed by a feeling of relief, and sometimes a smile.
There are also many moments of trying things and realizing they don’t feel quite right. For example, it turns out I am still not a parade person, even during the month of June, and it doesn’t make me less gay to prefer celebrating with a picnic instead of a parade.
For me, being queer is a daily practice and experience. I wear my queerness like a loose garment. There’s lots of room to move around, to change and adjust as time goes on and learn what it means for me, and what feels right today. To pay attention to how it feels to hang a Pride flag, to say yes to some things, to say no to others, to cut my hair and grow it back and cut it again. To wear the hat some days.
Leslie Gallagher, MEd, Registered Psychotherapist (Qualifying)
