LGBTQ — Blog — tell me a time.

As a gay woman, I feel I should open this passage about pride with a nod to my fellow queers. Whatever shape and size they come in, the majority of those who identify with the LGBTQ+ community will understand, unfortunately, what it is like to feel embarrassed, ashamed, uncomfortable, or simply: not proud.

It took roughly two years for me to get from point A (it’s a phase) to point B (it’s definitely not a phase) of my sexuality. And for the most part of this time, I felt pretty disgusted in myself.

But this confused me. What reasoning did I have to feel this way? The people I surrounded myself with were supportive and loving. Scotland, the country I was born and raised in, was leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of the world in terms of LGBTQ+ rights. I’d even spent most of my teenage years speaking up about the LGBTQ+ community and the importance of acceptance. It just never occurred to me that I was speaking up for myself.

For the first few months, I woke up most nights in sweats. I asked myself over and over why it had to be me. And as I began to understand the weight behind spitting out a certain three words, I wanted them to disappear. But instead, I saw them everywhere.

The words ‘I am gay’ felt like acid on my lips.

It took me two years to say those words. Even though they danced around my head every minute of every day, I let twenty-four months pass me by without uttering them. I admit, I crept around them. I used alternative phrases like “I like girls,” “I’m not straight,” or “I’m experimenting.” But I knew what I was doing, and I knew that I was pretty much in a state of denial. The expressions I was using left room for interpretation. They were true, but they still left much up to the imagination; I wasn’t straight and I did like girls… maybe I was just curious! Maybe this way, I didn’t have to be gay.

As a straight-passing, Edinburgh-born, white, well-educated female coming out in the 21st century, I can really see why some might find my story questionable. Why on earth did I find it so difficult to come out, when nobody even cares these days?! To explain:

Because people still care.

My internalised homophobia did not develop itself. It was taught and it was learned. Sometimes it’s the small things. A stare that lasts just a moment too long; a simple assumption that I have a boyfriend and not a girl. But other times, it’s the big things. Like being taught sex education for eight years through school and barely a mention of homosexuality. As a child every book, film, TV show; filled with straight characters and straight plots. Dreaming about my future honeymoon carefully because I want to be able to hold my wife’s hand on the street. When I used to think about being gay, I felt dirty.

But I dealt with it eventually. I am gay. And I told my friends, my family, told colleagues and strangers. I am a lesbian. Looking back, I can’t remember if the words practically jumped out of my mouth, or if they were forced. I think it was a mixture of the two.

And this is where pride comes in. All the sweeter because I pushed it away for so long and because really, it’s nice to feel proud of something that you used to hate. I am proud of being a gay woman and I have grown to love saying those words (if you couldn’t tell). I join millions of others who represent a different kind of normal and we are lucky to be able to come together in celebration of this.

But, I want to recognise that my story certainly does not encompass that of everyone. Only this month did MPS vote to legalise same sex marriage in Northern Ireland. In 2019, a Boston group plans to march in favour of straight pride. The sultan of Brunei implemented stoning to death under stricter anti-LGBT laws earlier this year and there are still a handful of countries that uphold the death penalty for homosexual activity. My nightmares are many people’s truths, and for this reason, I understand the importance of recognising my privilege and being proud of being gay. Not everyone can be.