I’ve been an out lesbian for four years now, and I’ve been with my girlfriend for two of those years. However, there’s a large difference in the way I was treated when I simply labeled myself as gay, to when I was publicly in a relationship with a woman. I figured nothing would change, certainly nothing for the worse. I was greatly mistaken. It occurred to me that although I had clarified my homosexuality multiple times to those around me, no one took me seriously until I had a girlfriend. I remember being so shocked when I told my grandmother the good news, fully expecting support, and yet I was met with a laugh. Once she realized I was serious, she told me, “I would still marry a man, right?” When I responded no, there was nothing funny left about the conversation.
 It was around this time that I started to taste the reality of the rest of my life. Family members who had once been my favorite to see during the holidays treated me as if I were diseased. While taking pictures for the yearbook club at a volleyball game, I noticed my aunt and uncle, whom I hadn’t seen for a while. I was with my girlfriend, but I didn’t think much of that as I approached them to say hello. They didn’t say anything rude to me, because they didn’t say anything at all. I’ve never felt so little, standing in those bleachers. I turned to face my uncle and called his name while he pretended not to notice. I got the hint pretty fast. They were not my family, and they had never been.Â
Losing my friends hurt the worst. These were relationships I had created, which made the sting much worse. They didn’t fully reject me, at least not at first. I mean, these were the people who knew all of the gay things I had already been doing, so why would they feel any different now that I had a girlfriend? However, my worries shouldn’t have been focused on my friend’s judgment; it should have been on their parents. Growing up in a small town truly means zero privacy, as well as zero secrets. So, whatever lies they had been telling their parents about my identity soon crumbled when my queerness was confirmed. I wasn’t welcome at their houses anymore, and they weren’t allowed to come to mine. I know it’s not their fault that our relationship fell apart, but I always wonder how much they resisted their parents’ decision. I wonder if it was easier for them to just write it off as that. I had to let them go. It wasn’t my place to ask my best friends to disobey their parents, so I did what I do best: cut ties and move on.Â
The more time that passed, the more I discovered my name and the word lesbian seemed interchangeable. This label became attached to me, not a part of me. I was no longer the granddaughter who loved to write, or the niece who made honor roll, I was the lesbian. I was a completely different person to them. No matter that I was still the same to me. It was like everyone saw something that I couldn’t.Â
I came to realize that the bridges I burned by being myself weren’t really very strong to begin with. If a silly thing like who I love is enough for them to discard me, they had never truly loved me at all. It was a harsh truth to face, but I’ve accepted it. I have no need for those kinds of people anyway, and they don’t deserve my patience. I rebuilt my family myself, filling my circle with the people who stood by me. And I found better friends, ones that support me instead of hiding me.