Learning Before Living
I learned the word “intersectionality” in my junior year of high school. It’s defined simply as a framework for understanding how different aspects of a person’s identity combine to create unique experiences of privilege and discrimination, rather than viewing these identities in isolation. Despite learning this years ago, I didn’t truly understand its severity and implications until experiencing it myself in college. In high school, everything was black and white.
I was often surrounded by people who looked like me, thought like me, and spoke like me. Fostering a community was easier because most people around me shared the same beliefs and values. My parents, friends, and city were like my personal bubble, and I never really had to expand beyond that bubble. For my entire life, I’ve been raised to follow the Christian faith. I spent Sundays at church with my grandmother, and Mondays through Saturdays chatting about God with my friends. I studied my Bible often, listened to podcasts about being modest and strengthening your relationship with the Lord, as well as being the follower that Christ intended for you. Apart from being an immigrant, God was a part of my life beyond my Caribbean culture.Â
The Truth I Tried to Deny
I realized I was gay when I was 15 years old. After I first realized I was attracted to women, I tried to test what that meant for me. I dated a girl for a while in secret, scared of what it might say about me, what friends and family would think, or what it meant for the version of myself I had worked so hard to maintain. When we stopped talking, I convinced myself it had only been a phase. I returned to only dating men, hoping that would confirm the identity I had grown to claim. But something always felt incomplete. No matter how hard I tried, I never felt entirely present in those relationships. I started to believe that maybe I just wasn’t meant to love anyone at all. It was easier to think I was incapable of connection than to confront the truth.Â
Freedom of Being Unknown
When I came to college on a campus full of strangers, I had the freedom of not being known. No expectations. No childhood narratives to sustain. No reputation to protect. I started talking to another girl, this time without the fear of being monitored. And for the first time, my feelings felt undeniable. I fell for her in a way that felt natural, effortless, and whole. The emotions were deeper and stronger than anything I had felt before. I could imagine a long term relationship, a future where I’d genuinely be happy. Being with her felt like something out of a movie. The kind where everything slows down, and the world feels softer, safer. And then I remembered: it was like a movie. At the end of the day, it wasn’t my real life. Eventually, I would have to go home. Back to my Christian life, where homosexuality is forbidden. At home, I was hiding who I had become at school. But at school, I was betraying the persona everyone believed in at home. The happiness I felt with her existed in a world separate from the one that raised me. And I was an imposter in both worlds.
Still, in the middle of that confusion, I found something steady. Shortly after falling for her, I met my best friend. She became someone who understood what it meant to navigate queer identity, where it wasn’t always welcoming. She made my sexuality feel normal, not like a secret or a rebellion. With her, I didn’t have to explain myself. She became the first person I could talk to about how I felt, lean on without fear of judgment, and support that made it harder to go back to pretending.Â
Living in Two Worlds
Even now, I am still living between those two worlds. I am not openly gay at home. I still edit my stories when I talk to my parents. I still separate parts of myself depending on who I am around. But I no longer believe those parts are mistakes. I am slowly allowing myself to exist outside of the confined bubbles that defined me. I’ve learned that true intersectionality is about contradiction. It can be questioning God, but still loving that same God, all while loving a woman simultaneously. Honoring my Caribbean upbringing while challenging the limits it placed on me. Understanding that it’s okay to be yourself, even if it makes others uncomfortable.
One day, I hope I will not have to divide myself. I hope to live in a reality where my friends and family can accept all of me. But even if that day takes time, I am beginning to accept myself now, which is the first and most important step.
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