As a little Black girl growing up in small-town Georgia, USA, I was told to go to church and respect my elders, even if they were wrong. I was supposed to get good grades in school and, once I graduated from high school, find a husband and have kids. That’s what they call happiness in my small town. That’s what I saw growing up as a little girl.
I was different. I asked myself why I didn’t find boys attractive as early as kindergarten. As I got older, my best girl friends talked about the boys they had crushes on in the High School Musical movie. I didn’t understand, but I wanted to fit in, so I said, ‘Yeah, he’s cute.’ From then on out, I picked boys to “crush on” – those who I thought others found attractive.
When I was in the 4th grade, I was playing “house” with my next-door neighbor, who was the same age as my younger sister. I’m the oldest. I remember her asking us, ‘Who wanna be the dad?’ I immediately volunteered as the father, while the next-door neighbor played the mother, and my little sister was usually the dog or the child. The next-door neighbor and I would pretend to make out. It felt right, but I thought it was a bad thing to do because I went to church and knew the teachings.
I hated going to Church and believing in a God. I thought that it was stupid. I remember telling my parents that, as I was getting dressed for church. They told me, ‘God will punish you because you don’t wanna do what he says,’ or some shit like that.
It felt right when I touched the neighbor softly, then gripped her. But I got scared and stopped playing house when we almost got caught by her mother.
I remember the neighbor changing her bra and accidentally seeing her boobs. I apologized, but they looked so beautiful to me. In my little lesbian head, I thought about touching them, but I kept it to myself. She would ask my sister and me if either of us could help her put on her bra. I would get up quickly and volunteer.
I remember one day going to her house because I wanted to see her, but she had moved back to Atlanta with her mom and sister. I was really sad that day. I have never seen her again.
Fast forward to middle school, and I understood what I was feeling, but I was scared and confused. I admired girls at school, especially the high school girls. Especially when they’d walk by, and I’d see how big their butts were. I would keep these feelings to myself and push them down, ignoring them. I remember writing in my diary, ‘I think that I like girls but I can’t, I wanna be normal like the other girls’.
I got bullied growing up, so I didn’t really interact with anyone besides my sister and her friends. In high school, my sister and cousin tried to hook me up with boys on the app Kik. I talked to them, but would ghost them as soon as it got too much. I “dated” some of them, but we’d only talk on the app. It never lasted long. I started putting pressure on myself to find a boyfriend as a freshman until I met a girl who was friends with my sister.
I was too shy to speak to her because I assumed she didn’t want to be my friend. But she seemed nice, so I got the courage to ask for her Kik. We texted back and forth for a few months and became friends.
One day, she told me that she had a crush on a girl. I asked who it was, but she didn’t want to tell me. She kept giving me hints, but I was so confused. The bell rang for us to go to our classes. At lunch, she wanted me to sit with her. I enjoyed hanging with her until she eventually had to cut me off. I was heartbroken.
As time went by, she talked to me again. That’s when the feelings came. I couldn’t explain what I felt at that time. It was new. I hid it until I couldn’t hide it anymore. The next day at school, I finally told her that I had a crush on her. She felt the same way!
I was scared to kiss her. I didn’t know how to! So I watched YouTube videos on how to kiss properly. At first, I just kissed her on the cheek. The next time I saw her, I kissed her on the lips. It was messy, but I did it.
She broke my heart really bad. Instead of my mother comforting me and helping me process the breakup, all she told me was to ‘Date boys, they are so easy; women do too much.’ From then on, I just didn’t feel safe telling her or my dad about me dating girls while I was a teenager.
They had treated me differently since I came out to them. My dad even tried to manipulate me into thinking that I was not into women and that it was a phase. My mom agreed. My parents even compared me to women who used to be “lesbian” and date men now. Mom said, ‘This will be you one day, you are just being difficult.’
I remember getting upset and crying as a teenager because the thought of me ending up with a man made me feel horrible. I didn’t want to live if I had to be with a man. I didn’t even want male friends, but was forced to have them because my mom told me to. I gave in, but I was repulsed by the idea of falling for them. Some were cool, but others would make sexual remarks. I’d ignore them to not be seen as a “man-hating lesbian.” As I got older, I stopped forcing myself to have male friends.
I soon realized that I had internalized homophobia due to what I was raised around. My mom told me not to hang out with lesbian women, but it was fine for me to hang out with gay men. She’d say how gross it was to date women. One day, she said, ‘If my daughter brings one of those girl-boys to the house, I won’t accept it. I won’t allow hell in my house!’
I’m still healing. I’m only 26 years old, and I have a long way to go, but I won’t give up on myself. I dream of leaving my small town and living in the city. In a quiet place, where I can be free and love freely – without being afraid to hold a woman’s hand out in public. I hope that this story reaches younger lesbians and older lesbians, especially Black lesbians, and I hope they know that they are not alone. We will find our happiness one day.
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