"In what ways has your community supported the thoughts you had on your identity before going abroad? In what ways has it challenged or altered how you identify yourself?"
I have to admit, I struggled a lot with this prompt. Without a doubt, I'm not the same person I was before I left for study abroad. I've become more adaptable, adventurous, self-sufficient, and comfortable exploring other cultures.
But of course, I knew this wasn't the prompt meant.
It's difficult to explain how my host community has supported and/or challenged my sexuality because in many ways, it's done neither. People seem to be generally accepting here; being gay just isn't that big of a big deal. On the other hand, there isn't a lot of gay visibility either. Exeter is extremely homogeneous; most people here are straight, cisgender, white, politically-moderate youths from Surrey. Beyond the university's LGBTQIA+ society (which doesn't do activism) and Exeter's one small gay club, there isn't much of a queer community or dating scene to speak of. And as lonely as that can be, it's given me a lot of time to focus on my own identity as a bisexual woman outside of the context of relationships and community.
The moment that kickstarted that reflection came in the form of Gender 101, a discussion hosted by Feminist and LGBTQIA+ Societies on the basics of gender identity and expression. At one point, a facilitator stated that there are as many genders as there are people, because each person interprets what it means to be, say, a cisgender woman, differently. This opens the door to multiple cisgender femininities, an idea that I had never considered before but found incredibly intriguing.
While I was walking home from the discussion, I couldn't get the idea out of my head. I started examining my own memories, remembering back to when I was thirteen, and wanted nothing more than to get a pixie haircut, thick-framed glasses, and casual button-down shirts. At the time, my family discouraged it, ostensibly because they knew that the kids in my socially conservative town would've made fun of me for it, but also because none of us had the language to candidly discuss gender expression. I've always found this memory confusing, because I don't remember wanting to be a boy or not a girl. Pacing down the streets of Exeter, I entertained an intriguing new explanation: maybe I just wanted to be my own kind of girl.
Because I've always identified as a cisgender woman, it had never occurred to me to explore the intersection between gender and sexuality. I had never thought to observe that pixies, hipster frames, and slouchy button-ups wouldn't become fashionable until years later. I hadn't had reason to dig through my memories enough to recall that the only women I had seen wearing those styles were lesbian couples from my church. Maybe I was overanalyzing, as I often do on humdrum commutes... but I couldn't help but wonder if even then, part of me knew that we had something in common, and was starting to explore my identity by emulating the queer femininities I saw around me.
Although the queer femininity that I ultimately embraced is relatively mainstream, it's nonetheless very different than the prevailing gay girl stereotypes. I love short haircuts, combat boots, and brightly colored dresses; I dislike lipstick and I'm afraid of cats. I can assemble a bookshelf while I have a tray of cupcakes in the ovens. I am ambitious and assertive, empathetic, nurturing, and creative. I'm attracted to both men and women, but I've never dated a girl. I've never been rejected by a family member or my religious community, never faced real harassment or discrimination due to my sexual orientation.
The more I reflected, the more I realized that the main reasons I struggled to come out in college was that I didn't identify with what society told me queer femininity looks like; somehow, I felt like I didn't have the right to call myself gay. And though I've gone so far in terms of accepting myself, maybe part of me still feels the need to prove and to display, to date a woman to satisfy other's suspicions rather than my own affections, just to make sure people believe me... to make sure I believe me.
Really, I've been fighting to discover and legitimize my own form of queer femininity for my entire life and if I hadn't gone to Gender 101, I might have never realized it. Maybe it's not exactly earth-shattering, but it's definitely affirming, and another step towards fully accepting my identity.