The Forest: A Letter I Wish I Had Read

Dear you,

You may not be me. I hope I still have something to teach you.

When you dig your roots into the ground, make sure to do so firmly. Grow your limbs wide and allow them to reach far. You may not realize the space you’re consuming; grow anyway.

This is okay.

Your lack of spatial awareness comes from the shade you’ve been growing under. You’ve grown accustomed to the comfort found within the shade. This is okay.

But I promise you, a day will come when you no longer have your shade. It will be stripped away. Perhaps the trees taller than you, the ones that once shielded you, have fallen. Or maybe a creature unlike yourself wandered into your space and imposed upon you its own unique way of growing. 

Whatever form your disrupter takes, your shade will be taken away. This is inevitable.

This feeling may be strange. The rain may feel too harsh as it hits your back, reminding you of what you have now begun to live without. But you, as well as I, know that the rain helps us grow. Perhaps it may help us grow so that we, too, can become the shade others so desperately need.

I know having no shade can be a scary thing. I know because I was once the tallest among the trees. The veil has been lifted for you, and you can now see the forest for what it is. The predators and the prey. 

They may try to chip away at your bark, or rip off your leaves. But you know who you are. You’ve planted your roots firmly, remember? Don’t let the other creatures strip you of your autonomy or your authenticity. Stand tall and allow yourself to be the shade for others, the same shade you once so deeply relied on.

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This piece is about my first encounters with homophobia, which didn’t truly occur until I entered adulthood. I grew up surrounded by an accepting family and a progressive hometown, and I came to rely on that form of shelter.

Moving to Boston exposed me to a diverse city filled with an array of ideologies and opinions, some of which I strongly disagree with. These are perspectives that I come in contact with nevertheless. 

There has been a series of odd encounters, especially over this past summer, in which my social position in relation to my sexuality has suddenly become visible to me. What I mean by this is that I have now been exposed to the preconceived notions that others hold about me because of my sexuality, in ways I never had before. The predators of this forest I navigate every day had begun to reveal themselves, and for a moment, I found myself carrying the weight of their discomfort with me.

If these feelings resonate with you in any form or capacity, I want you to ask yourself this: Will you let a stranger’s discomfort with who you are define how you feel about yourself? 

The answer should always be no.

It is not your responsibility to make yourself smaller to save space for others. You are lucky enough to know exactly who you are, and that in itself is a characteristic of survival. To know yourself is to be rooted, a means of braving the passing winds and rains. 

I can’t relieve myself of feelings of self-doubt from the past, but I can choose not to internalize the opinions of others in the future. I encourage you to strive for this as well. 

I am still growing, and I may not have all the right things to say, but I can offer you these words: Be proud of who you are and how you identify. Your authenticity and pride in yourself will afford you opportunities and successes that you may never have seen otherwise. That self-pride will enable you to help others do the same, to stand tall and stretch their limbs wide, taking up the space they were always meant to occupy. 

• identity
• LGBTQ+
• personal growth
• pride
• self-identity