When I told my mom I was going to see AIDS: It’s In Our Blood in Gay City, my mom gave me some sage advice: “Just be careful– there might be homo-sexuals there.”
Her concern was valid: there almost certainly would be homosexuals in Gay City. The good news is, my mom has long-ago accepted that she has a transgender, pansexual (or something along those lines) son, and was 100% kidding.
I just wanted to write a lil’ somthing to appreciate the parents who DON’T hate or abuse their children over gender or sexual orientation (which, by the way, their children have no control over). My parents weren’t thrilled when I told them I was a guy, but after many tough discussions and some long-ish bouts of NOT talking, we’re closer than ever. Intimacy is always aided by authenticity, and them relating to me as their daughter just…wasn’t working.
I was lucky, though. I’m not saying it was ‘easy,’ per say, but I felt like I could come out to them, and throughout the whole process I always knew there was a fair amount of hope.
A lot of queer people start of from a very different place with their parents, friends, and general community. I am a big advocate for self-care, which includes making the tough decisions to not interact with people who don’t support you, even your biological family. Sometimes taking some time apart from them (if you have that opportunity) can provide some much-needed perspective for both parties.
A lot of the queer people I know deeply treasure their “chosen family,” usually consisting of more queer people who they don’t have to constantly explain themselves to and correct pronouns like a skipping record.
I’ve always loved that the word queer means ‘odd,’ but there’s absolutely nothing odd about being authentic, choosing your community, or choosing love.