Nobody Asked Me

NOTE: The draft essays I’ll post here are usually micro-essay versions of projects I’m working on that I share at a local open mic. (Shout-out to Creative Colloquoy!) Since the open mic limit is five minutes per reader, they’re (hopefully) stripped down to the general thrust of the piece. I am finding in expanding them that sometimes they evolve in new directions or — both exciting and frustrating — morph into multiple essays as I learn I’m cramming too many ideas into a single piece.

When Aidan, the man who would become my ex-husband, moved in with me, I told him I checked in with myself daily to make sure I still wanted to be with him. What he heard was a lack of commitment, but it was, in fact, an act of love and respect. The cost of staying in a dishonest relationship would be far greater for both of us than the discomfort of ending it. 

It was a lesson I’d learned by staying too long in previous relationships. I used to believe you’re supposed to find the one and settle down in your 20s. That being coupled up is the best way to navigate life. That relationships are about sacrifice. That you should do anything to make them last. These unquestioned scripts drove my choices for years, until I finally began to decode them by asking myself simple questions: Why am I doing this? Am I enjoying it? Is this worthwhile or necessary to reach my goals? Would I be happier if I made a different choice?

Aidan eventually took this approach to heart, proven eleven years later when he told me it was time to end our marriage. Between the fight and the breakup, Aidan and I used this approach when evaluating decisions. As we unraveled our desires from societal expectations, I was reminded of all the times in my past when I’d rejected them. Looking back, I think it started with an erection in the eighth grade. Uninspired and hormonally distracted in class, the love interest in my fantasy morphed from Katie to Jimmy and back again. And for the first time, I questioned it. Am I normal? Or am I a faggot? This could have been the start of a years’ long struggle with my sexuality. I wouldn’t come out for another seven years, but the identity crisis was brief. If I liked Katie I wasn’t gay. If I liked Jimmy I wasn’t straight. I was certain both were true. In a rare moment of grace, I allowed myself to just be.

At the heart of my queerness is feeling at odds with the world and being told my discomfort is my fault for not contorting to fit in. This feeling extends beyond sexual attraction and behavior into all aspects of my life. I recognized a shared experience when I read bell hooks’ definition of “queer” as “being about the self that is at odds with everything around it and that has to invent and create and find a place to speak and to thrive and to live.” I felt validated and – more importantly – called to action. It is a gift to have the opportunity and the obligation to build a space where I belong.

Breaking societal expectations is a start, but it is only preparing the ground. The personal is easy. I threw out all the polo shirts, replacing them with patterns and vibrant colors. I filled my home with cozy spots for reading in natural light and snuggling on cold winter nights. But humans are social animals. We will not thrive in perfect but isolated spaces. Belonging requires community and community is an act of co-creation. 

Co-creation looks like the games we used to make up with our friends. It is creative play without boundaries. Self-regulating chaos where everyone has fun and everyone or no one wins.