When I graduated from Sir John A. Macdonald High School in June 2019, I thought I had a pretty good sense of who I was. I was eager to start at Dalhousie University in the fall and ready to trade the quiet familiarity of Upper Tantallon for the energy of downtown Halifax. But what I didn’t realize was that my journey to self-understanding wasn’t about leaving one world for another. It was about learning to exist between them.
Upper Tantallon isn’t quite rural, but it isn’t the city either. It’s a place where you still recognize the cars that pass by, where people remember your name from the grocery store, and where life feels slower. When I started commuting to Dal, I began to notice how different the two spaces felt, not just in pace, but in how they made me feel about myself.
At home, I was surrounded by familiarity. My old routines, my small circle, the comfort of not standing out too much. But at Dal, surrounded by thousands of students, I found myself exposed to new ideas, perspectives, and people who were unapologetically themselves. I remember sitting in my first-year classes, absorbing everything — not just the lectures, but the energy of being in a place where identity could be celebrated instead of hidden.
In high school, queerness always felt like something whispered, something not fully formed. I had few examples of what queer confidence looked like within my community. But Dal changed that. My professors encouraged critical thinking and self-reflection, my peers shared their stories without hesitation, and slowly, I started finding the courage to do the same.
Still, it wasn’t a simple “before and after” transformation. I’ve moved between Tantallon and Halifax a few times since 2019. Each move came with a subtle shift in how I saw myself. When I started living closer to campus, I felt freer for the first time. But when I came back home, I carried that confidence with me, even if the world around me hadn’t changed all that much.
That’s the part I didn’t expect: learning that confidence doesn’t have to depend on your environment. Halifax gave me the space to explore who I was, but Tantallon gave me the space to reflect on it. Between the two, I’ve found a kind of balance – a version of myself that doesn’t shrink in quieter spaces, but also doesn’t demand that I prove myself in louder ones.
Now, six years after starting university, I see my education as more than the credits I’ve earned on a transcript. Studying at Dal taught me how to challenge assumptions, write with purpose, and analyze the world around me. But it also taught me how to see myself clearly, as someone who doesn’t fit neatly into one version of Nova Scotia or one version of queerness. I’ve learned that self-discovery doesn’t always happen in dramatic leaps. Sometimes it happens on drives down Peggy’s Cove Road, in the space between two worlds that have both shaped you. Looking back, I’m grateful that my story isn’t one of escape, but of coexistence. I didn’t have to leave home to find myself. I just needed to learn to take up space wherever I am.