The Free Spirit | Loving Myself Despite the Battles of Homophobia
Growing up in a city where hate crimes rose by 24% just last year, being a Black, queer boy in Chicago was interesting, to say the least. I was living in a space where I felt like my genuine existence could possibly risk me my life. Swarmed with varying emotions, I had to learn how to handle a whirlwind of experiences.
Being around others, I would constantly feel belittled for who I was. Peers would always mention jokes about queer people, in both subtle ways and crudely.
One thing that a lot of people do not understand is the impact that our friend groups have on us. These are people who, for some of us, we spend most of our time with. However, it’s the judgment from these groups that leads us to question ourselves.
So, I did.
I spent night after night,
Reflecting on who I was.
Judging my self-worth.
I even reached a point where I questioned if I deserved to be in this world.
When it comes down to judgment, most people, in general, leave that up to their religious affiliation. For the Black family, we are 83% more likely to believe in God than our White or Latino counterparts. With the Black church being a dominant support system for our ancestors and elders, especially during the Civil Rights era, it has always been something that is engrained in the minds of little Black children.
Most of us grew up in religious households to some degree. Even if you weren’t in church every Sunday, you were still being preached the word of the Lord whenever things got tough. We were taught to trust in God, and always keep him before everything.
Yet, how could I be so receptive to a religion that people used against me?
Countless times I have been in and around conversations where people frequently mentioned that queer folks were a sin. That we were “unnatural” beings. That we are mistakes.
Can you believe that?
For me to still be here
Breathing
Living
Loving
How was I a sin?
“You better not grow up to be gay or you will go to hell” is what my own sister said to me when she caught me switching too hard one day. When the motto of Black churches was basically “don’t name it, don’t claim it”, words like that from people closest to you can stay with you for life. I wish that I could say that #ClosetMoment was one of a few, but that wouldn’t be the truth.
My truth was similar to other Black queer folks who are just trying to find their way. In both families and the community at large, we are battling a much larger issue with homophobia. Being called a fag, sissy boy, or weak are just a few of the adverse slurs thrown at us. As if we are not deserving of equal respect. This societal issue can, and has, create a divide amongst others who are not queer, especially men.
It was as if them sharing any level of intimacy with another man crossed a “gay line” for them.
As if my sincerity and respect of looking them in their eyes as they spoke were offensive.
As if living from the heart itself was a sin.
Therefore, I often never told my male friends about me being queer and chose not to share my experiences except to those who were willing to know me. Being young, gay, and in the closet, our experiences growing up are much different than our peers. Feeling like you have to hide who you are from everyone around you is TASKING. Similar to other Black, gay men, keeping that secret for so long made me feel alone.
There weren’t any outlets.
There were few mentors in the community giving tips on how to survive while being Black and Queer.
There’s no playbook, no practice runs, or techniques that were given to help polish the specialness that was inside of me. I had to learn a lot on my own. I had to fall, make mistakes, and get back up with no one to cheer me on but myself.
No one can really teach you to be queer.
It’s a journey of a self-discovering process. So, having all of this raw talent, passion, love, and Divine being with no real space or avenue to display it really compelled my abilities to remain resilient until I was able to free myself and express it.
That journey of being “in the closet” is what taught me to be myself. It gave me the courage to follow my inner voice. To sing my song because no one can sing it for me. To trust in my Divine being with confidence while expressing it.
It’s where I found love for myself.
It’s where I found people, like my brother, that supported me. Who would tell me “It’s okay, just be gay. I’ll still love you all the same.” Those who created a space for me to be myself in my own little closet. Those who were concerned about me being a young black queer man on the South Side of Chicago and provided resources, places to comfortably sleep, and help in any way possible.
I remember those who cheered me on.
Those who mentored me in silence.
Those who encouraged me to be myself despite what others thought.
Those who gave me comfort in my darkest nights.
My “in the closet” experience was filled with overburdened valleys and ecstatic mountains. But it’s my story; my voice; my tune. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.
It’s funny that in our worlds, we make certain moments more important than others have who shared those same experiences with us. I still remember a #ClosetMoment of my life when I let my aunt borrow my laptop, not even considering what she could see. As I’m in the shower, singing my heart out, I didn’t anticipate that I just outed myself. Seconds before I began scrambling to get a towel and rush downstairs, my cousin came in the bathroom yelling “Auntie just found gay porn on your computer!”
You could imagine that not only did my heart drop, but a sudden wave of embarrassment rushed over my body. As I quickly tried to close the video tab, I lie and tell her that it’s probably from a virus on my computer. At that moment, she just brushes it off and acts confused. When I asked her about it recently (years after I’ve come out), she tells me that she doesn’t even remember it.
How could she forget a moment that I hung on for so long? Because of this I probably unconsciously began to be more careful during my internet searches, instead of having conversations about it openly.
To take a second to learn.
To teach.
We need to teach young kids, young black kids, young black gay kids to share their “nakedness” with the rest of the world so that they can see how amazing they are. Do not let a snake deceive you with illusions to cover it up.
Your real, raw self is all you ever need to be.
It’s the only thing that matters.
#YourStoryMatters
