Vera

Today is the third anniversary of my grandma’s death. She supported me in so many ways, many of which I’m sure I never even realized. I think about her often. I am thankful she died before COVID. I can’t imagine the extra stress that would add to her life and ours, not being able to visit her and worrying about her being lonely and isolated. I wish I could show her all of the clothes I’ve made since I began sewing again in August 2020. I wonder what she would think about my queerness. I think she would be happy for me. I like to think she wouldn’t judge me or think it was wrong. She only ever wanted me to be happy.

Happy to be Queer

This is a new part of my identity and personhood that I have been leaning into over the last ten months. And while there is far too much in the title statement of this post to unpack in the few paragraphs below, my hope is that by beginning to write about my experiences, I can continue to show up more authentically for myself and for others.

Growing up I never thought I was anything but straight. I admired women in movies and on TV, but that was more out of wanting to be like them, or have them as a friend. Since exploring my queerness I’ve found those lovely corners of the internet about realizing you’re queer, or what it’s like to be queer…One of the memes/statements I connect most to is, “Do I want to be her, be friends with her, or date her?” When I rewatch movies or shows I used to watch in my youth, take for example Charlie’s Angels with Cameron Diaz, Drew Barrymore, and Lucy Liu, I think, “of course! It’s so obvious, Kelly.”

But growing up Christian, and evangelical Christian at that, I never even let myself think perhaps I was queer. Really, though, “queer” wasn’t a word that was popular in the 90’s/00’s, at least not in my world. The words to describe LGBTQ folks all had dirty, harsh, damning and shameful connotations - gay, lesbian, homosexual. These three were words were associated with sin and being wrong. At this current point in my life I am working on deprograming my response to some of these descriptive words.

As a now 32 year old woman, growing up evangelical Christian also meant I grew up in the peak of the purity movement. Regardless of your sexuality, purity culture teaches fear and shame and denial in regards to sexual relationships, both with self and with others. I can confidently say that every young adult’s testimony I heard at youth group or church camp included the speaker talking about their past sexual experiences and wishing they had waited to be married to their husband or wife before experiencing them.

My nature is to follow the rules. I worry too much about letting someone else down or disappointing them. Turns out I was very good at being a Christian in the purity movement because I was too afraid of disappointing God, myself, and my future husband to do anything. I followed the rules and cut myself off from so many normal teenage experiences and opportunities for relationships, whether they were platonic, romantic, or just friendships.

In general I would say I was (and still am) uncomfortable in new social situations. I get drained pretty quickly from interactions with others. But the only way to get better at something is through practice and repetition. This applies to upping my ability for social intake, gaining confidence in “putting myself out there” and dating, and while I wish I practiced more in high school and undergrad, the fact is, I didn’t. But I am working on it now.

For years I’ve gone through the familiar download the dating app, swipe, maybe chat and meet for a date, delete after an overwhelming sense of dread and lost hope, then download and go through the whole vicious cycle again…and again…Then, towards the end of last year I decided to open my preferences on the dating app to both men and women. I was curious if other women put thought and effort into their profiles like I did, or were they like the majority of the men I saw with five pics of them in their car, or photos from at least then years ago, or the dreaded fishing/hunting poses. And wondered if I would have better luck with women on the app than the men on the app.

With the pandemic and quarantine, I actually had more confidence in being on the apps. I had a clear and valid excuse to not meet up with someone if I felt uncomfortable. There’s a whole separate post I should write about that - the fear of chatting with someone in the app and then feeling bad for changing my mind about my interest in them or meeting up with them. But I’ll stick to the main point of this post, which is my recent experiences dating women.

It’s felt markedly easier messaging with and meeting up with women than with men. I’m not nervous to give a woman my actual phone number, or tell her the neighborhood I live in. And, unsurprisingly, I have a lot more in common with women than I do men. In fact, when dating someone at the beginning of the year, I asked myself, “am I just dating myself?” At this point I’ve gone out on many dates with women and had a couple short stints of dating. Each experience has pushed me outside of my comfort zone, taught me new things about myself and how to communicate with others.

One thing I’m incredibly grateful for is the fact that in not even one of these interactions/dates/experiences with women have I felt guilt or shame. And I’m honestly shocked by that fact. The faith I had in my adolescent years and early 20’s primed me for feeling guilty in any sexual experience pre marriage, especially that of the same sex. And yet I’ve felt none of that which, for me, solidifies the fact that there is nothing wrong or disturbed in being LGBTQ+.

As someone who cares (too) deeply about what other people think of me, writing this post has taken a while. I want to craft my words with care and confidence. I worry some people will read this and think, “oh that must be why she’s been single for her whole life,” or that they need to pray for me because what I’m doing is wrong. I am constantly reminding myself that I cannot control someone else’s reactions or thoughts or beliefs. I can only be myself and show up as authentically as I can with those that I trust. To my friends and family members that have supported me through this part of my life, I am so grateful for your presence and encouragement and interest.

I’ll end this post with a song recommendation. I’ve been a fan of Charlotte Day Wilson for at least five or six years now. She recently dropped a new album, Alpha, and I love the whole thing. But I’ll highlight here her track "If I Could.” I’ve written several times about my love for water, be it a bath or a pool or a natural body of water. She alludes to the power of water and its ability to cleanse with, “I’d bathe you, wash you of the sins that plague you. Rid you of the burdens and you’d be free once more…” It’s a bit religious, reminding me of the baptism (which I had such a lovely experience of), which could be touchy with where I am at in deconstructing my faith right now. But on the contrary, it fills me with such warmth and hope.

9 to 5

Over this past weekend I watched the documentary 9 to 5: The Story of a Movement, which tells the story of a group of women in Cleveland, and all across the United States, that started the organization 9to5. Their goal was to get equal pay and rights for women in the work place. It is such an inspirational documentary about women recognizing the injustices in the work place, coming together and sharing their stories, and then mobilizing and making real change in the work world.

And while this movie gave me hope and energy and made my feminist heart sing, it also left me feeling incredibly angry about the lack of progress in the past 50 years since 9to5 and other organizations were created. According to the US Department of Labor, in 1973, women made 53 cents to a man’s dollar. In 2020, white women make 82 cents to a man’s dollar. The rate for women of color and minorities is even more abysmal. In 1973 the average family household income was $12,900, with rent at about $175 per month. That’s roughly 17% of your incoming going just to rent. Average family household income in 2020 was around $68,000, with rent averaging $1,500 per month. That’s just under 27% of the household’s annual income. And yet women’s pay has only increased by 29 cents? And that’s if you are white and educated and have the right connections.

It makes me livid that we are still fighting for equity in the work force when it comes to gender, race, education level versus real life experience and knowledge, and so many other flawed areas. I am thankful to the women, men, and others who have come before me and fought for equality in the workplace (and every space). There is still so much work to be done.

On to New Adventures

I am now officially unemployed. What a strange feeling. I have worked since I was 15, whether it be part time in high school, multiple jobs through undergrad, nannying, substitute teaching, and most recently, for the past four years, in admissions at a private high school.

As I get ready to enter my third (and final) year of grad school, I’m unable to maintain a full time job while completing my fieldwork and taking four classes. I have always fantasized about being able to be a full time student. As I moved out at 19 and became responsible for my own bills, I never had that experience in undergrad. And as I went through my first master’s program I was still able to work 35 hours/week as a nanny.

The two master’s programs I’ve been in are incredibly different from one another. My child development program was research and writing focused. My current counseling program is more reflective and experientially based. Last semester we worked with real clients in the community for the first time. I had four clients that I saw each week via Zoom. This upcoming semester I will be expected to maintain 10 clients per week in order to meet my hours requirement. In addition, there is required supervision for two hours per week, along with seminar for two hours per week in the clinic’s main therapy modality. I’m so thankful for these supports. But it will also require a great deal of my attention and energy, and I know I will need to be mindful of how I spend my time. I am an introvert through and through. I know that alone time fills me up. Walks around the neighborhood help me decompress. Making things with my hands through sewing makes me happy. Shooting film helps me slow down.

Working full time, even part time, isn’t conducive to my schedule for this final year of school. I feel really ready to leave my job. Over the years it has become more difficult to reconcile my own thoughts and beliefs with my employer’s, as it is a Catholic institution. It is important for me to be able to speak my truth and to share that with others when asked. There are certain things I wasn’t allowed to talk about or share in my previous position without the risk of losing my job. Moving on to my fieldwork site will be a full 180 turn, as I will be working with the LGBTQ+ population and with peers and colleagues who are working towards similar goals as I am.

That being said, I’m also incredibly anxious about the fact that I’ll be living off of student loans. This next year will be a challenge for me to really stick to a budget and be super mindful of how I spend my money. But it’s also a welcome challenge, and one that I wish I had risen to years ago. I’m nervous to have more down time on my hands (at least until my semester starts at the end of August). I do best when I am busy. More space means more time to think and feel and while I generally try to lean into those things, too much of it can overwhelm me. I’m nervous about working with a population I’ve never worked with. But grateful to step into a queer affirming community and finding my place in it.

I’m incredibly grateful for the ability to be in graduate school (for the second time), and to have the support system and safety net to be able to leave my job and focus fully on school. I know not everyone has this opportunity and I never want to take that for granted.

Last of the Santa Barbara Film