As a gay Black woman I have found that the burdens of being Black often overshadow my sexuality. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I had to pick and choose what issues I would speak out on. Decide which part of myself deserves to be fought and which must be suppressed.
Do I consider my self a happy healthy Black woman? Or am I proud of being a queer woman? I and many others have been prevented from being themselves by the resistance to be both and fully human.
In 2020, June will be LGBTQ Pride Month and coincide with Black Lives Matter nationwide protests. For the first time ever, I felt my dual identity recognized at once.
My life changed a lot at that time. I realised that being Black and queer was possible. I could be a strong voice for all my queer friends.
Now we can really think about what it means for us to be Black and queer. It hasn’t always been easy, and we still have a lot of work ahead. This is my story, which I hope will inspire you to share yours with clarity, without fear, and in an unharmed manner.
What is my identity?
The majority of the population were Catholics and religious beliefs were deeply ingrained in cultural norms. Religious education at home and in school made it difficult to talk about sexuality or sex.
My parents, who were traditional Christians, believed that homosexuality and sexual activity before marriage was a morally unacceptable act. My Catholic private school, where I was the only Black girl in my class, echoed this belief.
When I celebrated the holidays with my family, or watched my Black friends, I often worried that I wasn’t Black enough. My family was proud of its race and often spoke about their experiences growing up as Black kids. They would talk about their skin or hair color, and how they were treated differently because of their race. Their self-confidence was impressive.
I have never felt like I was a part of their conversation. My family would make fun of my lighter skin tone and my hair, saying that I did not look “Black” enough. The same people would also criticize me for liking the angsty punk rock music that they thought was “white people’s music.”
I felt apathetic, confused and apathetic because of the constant mockery they received. Even my family didn’t approve of my Blackness, so I wasn’t sure how to feel confident. I tried to be more accepted by changing my hairstyle and listening to hip-hop, but it did not feel authentic.
When I started my senior year in high school, I found that I had a wider social circle and I no longer felt the need to be “more Black” (or “less Black”)
My love life was lacking an essential element. It was only after I met B that I realized I had a real connection. B had moved on to another college in a very short period of time, but I still knew what I needed. But everyone around me was completely unaware of this.
I found it difficult to reconcile my sexual orientation with the values of my parents and society. I had to decide between being honest with myself or pleasing others. For a long time, I was afraid of rejection and discrimination.
It takes courage to be me
After a few years of confusion and agony, I felt like I was going to explode. It felt like I was living half a life every day. I realized that to break out of this rut, I would have to stop caring about what other people thought.
I realized that being me takes courage. I was conditioned to think that the Black identity and the queer identity are incompatible, and I would have to choose between the two.
It was a struggle to be open and honest with my sexual orientation, as a Black woman. In my work, my social circle and my university research group, I had to accept rejection. The most I could hope for was that someone would be consistent with me. The only thing I wanted was an air of normality. It wasn’t nice acts, or extra good deeds.
This was to be expected. The only positive aspect was that as I accepted myself and my identity, I started to see others who were fighting the same battle.
As I travelled through the Bahamas and the US, I encountered larger communities that were more diverse and more accepting of gender and sexuality differences. identities. This experience made me realize that I was not alone and that other people also had similar experiences.
Coming out, microaggressions and facing bigotry
Over time, I became aware of how many people were being suppressed. Ninety percent of Black queer youth have faced discrimination on the basis of race, and six-seven percent have been physically abused because they are queer. These numbers are likely to have surprised you because they’re subtle.
Microaggressions have been a common way of demeaning people who present themselves as progressive, inclusive and open-minded for many years. After a pleasant night, I remember feeling a sinking feeling. My partner whispered to me: “I’ve not been with a Black woman before.”
You might think it’s a harmless comment or even charming if you have never experienced discrimination. To be a novelty for someone else, however, shook my very worth. Was it being Black that I am remembered for most?
When I became bisexual, I had to deal with comments such as “So who is the man in your relationship right now?” Don’t be too cheap! You’re just trying to take advantage of the two people. These questions were asked without any thought and I laughed at them to avoid making things uncomfortable. The questions fueled the chaos which threatened to overwhelm me. It was a roadblock in my daily battle.
We Are Not Alone
Feeling totally alone was the main cause of my stress in trying to be who I used to be as a teenager. Even when I talked to my family, I was met with rejection rather than acceptance. You may feel that you are not alone if you think you are.
My background in research from my university years helped me develop the habit of seeking out data. I also followed this pattern when it came to my sexuality. I was health familiar with Black role models, but I now sought out queer ones.
I learned about the civil rights activist Bayard Rustin’s work, which inspired Martin Luther King Jr. to think of non-violence. Rustin, who was gay, faced criticism and resigned himself to a role as a behind-the scenes advisor. Rustin, however, began speaking out in the 1980s for gay rights. Although it wasn’t easy, it was a process that proved to be important for all those who followed his example.
Rustin’s story, despite the fact that we were born in different generations, gave me a feeling of pride which soon turned into courage. When I started exploring, as I mentioned earlier, I found several others who had been on the path I am on now. Now I know that many more people will follow me.
We are fortunate to live in a country where a singer like Montero Hill doesn’t have to hide his identity. He had a hard time coming out. His ability to win each and every day in front of millions of people makes me proud. Queer and Black.
How to have a conversation
As the times change, so does the need to. For hundreds of thousands gay and lesbian Blacks, the challenges have multiplied. My teen self would not have believed that I could feel such a peace. My family’s conversations about my relationships have become more nuanced and less emotional. It has become a tradition for my girlfriend and me to have dinner together. There is a feeling of normalcy.
All this progress would be for nothing if the next generation experiences what I did and the fight continues. It is not acceptable to let the importance of your identity take a backseat. It is for this reason that it is necessary to have difficult conversations. They are still vivid in my mind because they were so exhausting and often traumatizing.
You don’t have to learn from my mistakes if you are about to start a conversation about race or sexual identity with someone you know is not very informed or open about the subject.
List the reasons for the conversation, and the message you want to send.
You should focus on describing your own experience and giving examples in conversation. It’s much easier to understand than abstract concepts.
Don’t get stressed out if the conversation doesn’t go your way. There are no winners or losers in this discussion. This is a simple discussion of ideas.
You can end a conversation at any time.
You should not take someone else’s opinion negatively. Most likely, they’re speaking out of ignorance.
Choose your audience. You can’t convince everyone. So, use your passion and have a conversation with those who are important to you.
In my role as a sexual therapy therapist, I advise my clients to use these methods. My personal experiences were what led me to choose my profession. It’s important to share our stories, and understand that we are not alone.
As a Black bisexual woman, a non-monogamy female and a femme, I believe queer people of colour have a right to a place where they can feel safe in the sexual wellness industry. Sexual problems that affect minorities are still prevalent, and I would like to do something about it. I am a defender for BIPOCs, BAMEs, the poly community, kinks, and LGBTQ+. The + symbol represents the diversity in sexual orientations and gender identity.
I enrolled to participate in the Gender & Sexuality Program at the University of Arizona in order to raise awareness and the voices of marginalized people. Since receiving my PhD in 2017, I have been an advocate for more representation and inclusion within the field of sexual wellbeing. I am determined to help others find their voice and accept themselves and their sexuality. It’s not difficult to pursue pleasure and discover yourself. I would like to help everyone live their best life.
We should accept our identities and explore the world with no fear of rejection or judgement.
Change is inevitable when you have courage
It is evident that my experience was more difficult because of the culture in the Bahamas. It also made me stronger and more determined to be myself. It was a steep climb, but I wouldn’t change it because it brought me where I am now.
I discovered an inner pride for my Blackness after my personal journey to discover myself and accept my queer identity. I realized that being Black wasn’t just about having the same shade of hair or skin. It was an experience we all shared of triumph and strength over challenges. In retrospect, I’d like to remind myself it was fine to be different because I am still the same healthy Black as all my peers despite what they said.
Freedom is the key. The burdens we bear are ours. It will still take courage to uphold your values, even if you are sharing the burden. Remember that there’s no other choice. The less we will differ the more we stick to the path we have always taken.
