Rae’s Reflections

How being queer became my career. By Rachel Badham

) My queer identity is perhaps the most pivotal factor which led me to decide on a career path. As many people’s sexual/gender identity has little to no overlap with their job, the importance of my queerness to my work as a journalist probably seems a little bit unusual, besides the fact that I work at an LGBTQ+ magazine. However, discovering that I was queer and accepting my sexuality was not just a personal realisation, but it led me to decide that I wanted to pursue a career as a writer. I realised I was queer when I was 14, although it took me a good while to actually accept it. I spoke to one friend about it during my time at secondary school, with most of our conversations involving me saying: “I have a crush on a girl in our class and about 20 other female celebrities, but I’m probably still straight, right?” I’m not entirely sure why accepting my sexuality was so strenuous considering all my friends and family have been so supportive of me. I usually attribute my difficulties to my internalised biphobia, which manifested as a result of negative representations of bi/pansexual people. However, after a few years of not just denying who I truly was to others, but to myself, I decided that enough was enough. While I did explicitly come out to my close friends before I began college, I made up my mind that once I started this new chapter of my life, I would just start living as my true self. I never publicly came out on social media as a lot of young LGBTQ+ people have done, but if anyone questioned me on my sexuality, I told them that I was queer. Or if anyone asked if I was dating or interested in someone, I was honest with them, regardless of the gender of that ‘someone’.

After a few challenging years of confusion regarding my identity, I finally felt much more at ease with myself. However, these years were also characterised by another kind of confusion - what the hell did I want to do with my life? I think everyone has been asked the age-old question ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’, and unless you’re one of the few people who has always had a clear career in mind, those words were probably enough to send shivers down your spine. When I was a young child, I would answer that question by saying I wanted to be a vet during the week, because I loved animals, and then a pop-star at the weekend. However, as I got older I realised that this was not viable and I would have to consider other options. As a teenager, I had a handful of vague ideas about fields of work which I could enter into; at one point I considered marine biology as I enjoyed science and had dreams of travelling to tranquil coastal locations to study the beautiful wildlife. Fortunately I decided against it, as I realised the fact that I’m terrified of most sea creatures might cause some complications. I always loved English literature at school, so I considered some form of writing as a possible career choice, but again my thought process was all rather vague. As I was struggling to accept and feel confident in my sexuality, I was also finding it hard to create a solid idea of who I wanted to become once I left education. As someone who hates life’s unavoidable uncertainty with a passion, this was an incredibly difficult period for me. As I mentioned, I started accepting my queerness and speaking more candidly about it during college. As I became more confident about my identity and started to interact with LGBTQ+ culture more, I started to pay greater attention to the injustices that queer people were facing across the globe. It was during my time at college that the 2016 Pulse nightclub shootings happened in Orlando, which saw 49 people killed and a further 53 injured. This attack on the LGBTQ+ community enraged me so much that I felt compelled to write a piece on it for our college newspaper, examining whether our progress towards LGBTQ+ equality was beginning to stagnate in Western countries. I also openly discussed my own sexuality and whether I personally felt the level of LGBTQ+ tolerance was increasing in the UK and its schools.

As devastating as the context was which led me to produce the article, it was writing this piece which confirmed to me that I wanted to be a journalist – not only did I enjoy the writing process, but I found meaning in discussing issues which I felt strongly about, and found strength in the idea my words could resonate with someone or make them consider the inequalities which LGBTQ+ still face to this day. And I certainly wouldn’t have felt brave enough to submit the article had I not accepted my identity at that point. Now four years and one degree later, I’m still a little surprised to say that I am actually working as a journalist. And I’m proud to say that at 21, I’m actually further than I thought I would be in my career, especially considering the effects the Covid-19 pandemic has had on the job market. My desire to be a journalist is not solely based on being queer, and I’ve written a handful of non-LGBTQ+ articles for other platforms, but I can safely say that my want for LGBTQ+ equality has been one of the main factors that has fuelled my passion for writing. And without embracing my own queerness, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to share my writing.

HYDES’ HOPES

BY MICHAEL HYDES A calling?

) At my first Pride event at Kennington Park in 1991, I met a group of people who were from an LGBTQ+ affirming church. The church was MCC North London and I remember going to their Pride service the following day. By the time it was over I knew I had found a new home; but if you’d told me that one day I would be the pastor of an MCC church I would have thought you were mad. Life is full of strange twists and turns and finding our calling in life isn’t easy. I had met people who were in work that had felt ‘called’ to, but I had never felt called to anything. I became a chef because my mother said that people would always have to eat. I became an engineer because I was curious about how things worked. “If your experience is anything like mine then you’ll find out fast that this can’t be about money or recognition. You are going to meet people who don’t understand why you care, or even believe that you really do”

In 1998 I felt the call to go to Kings and study theology. I still didn’t have any intention of becoming a pastor. and only went because I was curious to know what I didn’t know. In fact, even when I got my degree I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do next. I often wonder if all virtue has selfish roots. People who have lost loved ones to cancer want to raise awareness and funds so that no one else has to go through what they went through. In a way it was the same for me. I knew what it was to be rejected, feel unloved, believe that being gay was some kind of cosmic error; and I really wanted to make sure that nobody else ever felt like that too. Being a pastor gave me a voice that I could use to make a difference. I knew that God had made me just as I was, and I wanted to make sure that others like me knew that same truth about themselves too.

“I knew what it was to be rejected, feel unloved, believe that being gay was some kind of cosmic error; and I really wanted to make sure that nobody else ever felt like that too”

Perhaps you are being called to make a difference, called by your heart to work in a field that supports those who have been disenfranchised or hurt in ways that you have experienced yourself? You don’t need to be a good person, just a person that cares. You don’t need to be clever, just feel like you want to make a difference. If your experience is anything like mine then you’ll find out fast that this can’t be about money or recognition. You are going to meet people who don’t understand why you care, or even believe that you really do. You will have more people that want to tear you down than build you up. But you will feel real about yourself. Nobody can tell you what you are called to. I have met doctors, therapists, artists, performers, speakers, writers, and many others who were called to their work. It doesn’t matter what it is, but if it matters to you and nurtures your heart then it is important that you follow it. Right now I can guarantee that there is someone just like you out there hoping beyond hope that you do.

SCENE & DONE IT

BY MICHAEL STEINHAGE My queer careers

) I was to be a fashion designer. World famous, like Lagerfeld! I lay down on my bedroom floor, tip of the tongue clenched between teeth in concentration, and furiously drew and designed. Not just clothes but shoes and jewellery, and handbags to match, because without accessories, what’s the point of living? Or so I thought, aged 10. What boy even knows the words ‘fashion’ or ‘Lagerfeld’ at that age? Another ‘should’ve known then’ moment for sure, looking back. I apologise now, this is most certainly going to become a column packed to the fairy-light-wrapped rafters with stereotype after stereotype. “Other usual queer careers, the prancer, the dancer or the hair stylist, were tempting, but not for me, as one must keep in mind what one gets in one’s gay starter pack when one first signs up”

Anyway. Two years later I was in a band, on the keyboard. Albeit briefly. All we ever did was draw pictures of us ‘being the band’, not actually pick up any instruments. Plus, two of my friends fell out over a playground incident involving a water bottle and a wet sandwich, and so the band that never really was, broke up. Then at 14 I was moving to Hollywood Hills to be a plastic surgeon. I had seen Death Becomes Her, and had fallen in love with Meryl Streep, Goldie Hawn and all things Hollywood. There was glamour, and there was money to be made there.

Other usual queer careers, the prancer, the dancer or the hair stylist were tempting, but not for me, as one must keep in mind what one gets in one’s gay starter pack when one first signs up. In my gay starter pack, I got ‘flower arranging’, and ‘picking curtains that match the carpets that match the cushions’, but not ‘dancing’. And definitely not ‘doing hair’ either, as my friend Amy can attest to, following that day when we tried home-made highlights. Amy never liked the colour yellow after that. “Two years later I was in a band, on the keyboard. Albeit briefly. All we ever did was draw pictures of us ‘being the band’, not actually pick up any instruments”

Still, a leopard has to stick to its spots, or used to, whatever colour they may be, and eventually you had to be sensible and become what you can. Funnily, I became neither florist nor interior designer – although both strong contenders, together with psychologist (like Frasier Crane) or lawyer (totally saw myself as Lucy Liu in Ally McBeal). No, I became a teacher, and for better or worse, that is what I still do and probably will to the day when I’m an old man in his sixties shaking a board marker at teenagers, waiting desperately for retirement. Or until I get a book deal out of this column, or the boyfriend wins the lottery with one of those pink tickets he’s always buying. Of course, in these modern times, everyone can be who they want to be and do what they want to do. Read that news story of the straight rugby player who bumped his head and woke up a gay stylist? Anything is possible! Gay men can play football! Lesbians can colour hair! Just do you. And you know what? I’m all for it, because while I love a good stereotype, I love fighting one even better.