Only Time Will Tell
by Tess Beiter
Growing up is hard enough without a sexuality crisis to top it off. Unfortunately, in my particular situation, the environment I was raised in was not one that fostered the exploration of sexuality. Rather, my childhood was painfully heteronormative. For years, I was left stranded, adrift at sea, convinced that I was completely and utterly alone in my “deviant” thoughts. The faith I was raised in and the parents I was raised by could not, in any sense of the word, be called approving of the LGBTQ+ community. As a result, I was not even aware that gay people existed until I was eleven years old. Shocking, I know. It angers me that a key part of my identity was stifled and suppressed for far too long, locked in a prison of ignorance. Looking back on my childhood, it’s almost comical how obvious it was that I’m not, nor ever have been, straight. But hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. And despite how clear the signs may seem to me now, they were nothing but confusing for the young girl I once was. At age five, I couldn’t grasp why I simultaneously wanted to be a princess and the one to rescue her from danger. My young mind couldn’t comprehend why it was strange to others that I wanted both. Why can’t I also pretend to sweep her off her feet? At seven, I was ecstatic when an older boy told me that girls could marry girls in Hawaii. Never mind that this wasn’t true; the more telling part is how overjoyed I was. My mind immediately jumped to how much I wanted to spend the rest of my life with my closest friend.
Elle! Do you want to run away to Hawaii with me? At ten, I furrowed my brows when everyone else only argued over Jack Sparrow and Will Turner. Was I the only one who also dreamily watched Elizabeth Swan? I blushed and averted my gaze when she graced the screen, afraid of the apparent strangeness of my thoughts. You truly don’t find her as pretty as I do? At eleven, I listened from another room as my parents heatedly discussed the 2015 Supreme Court case that legalized gay marriage. My parents were furious over the ruling, and that terrified me. This was the first time I’d heard the word “gay” defined as “same-sex attraction”, and it hit me as sharply as a slap across the face. I reasoned that I couldn’t possibly be gay; after all, I’d had crushes on boys, too, so I must be conflating my attraction to girls with something else. If being gay is such an abomination, then...what does that make me? I lived in this constant state of denial for years, and in retrospect, I now realize how miserable and isolating it was. I was constantly torn between my identity, who I truly wanted to be, and the parents and faith that I trusted. For people who were not raised religious, it may be nearly impossible to understand the battle that raged within me, but bear in mind that my parents and the faith they instilled in me were all I had ever known. However, the hypocrisy of the beliefs they preached became glaringly obvious once I knew to look. How can anyone declare that it’s our duty to love everyone while simultaneously condemning those who love differently than them? If their idea of love is discrimination and elitism masked by facetious sympathy, then I want no part of it.
