“We cannot let other people’s prejudices define what we think of ourselves”
BY NAZ SAKICI, IMAGE BY GETTY IMAGES/CANVA
I believe my earliest memory of homophobia that changed the trajectory was in middle school. I was in art class, sitting next to the girl I was head over heels for, and our teacher gave us free time to do whatever we wanted. As I was enjoying my free time, there were a few kids in the back of the class playing truth or dare. One girl who was playing the game came up to her friend who wasn’t playing and asked her out as a dare. The other girl’s reaction sent chills down my spine as she yelled, “You are a lesbian, that’s disgusting.”
I think that moment left a mark on me that took me years to wipe off. It was one of those moments that made it harder for me to accept who I am. That and how my identity was seen as either a disgraceful act by women or a fetish fantasy by men. I knew I liked girls; I knew I wanted to be with them. My desire to be with girls was strong, but the shame in me was stronger. Ignoring was the way to go if I wanted to be like the others.
Every person who describes their experience with internalised homophobia describes it differently. Some tried to live a life that did not belong to them, some put their inner hatred on other queer people, some ignored their true feelings and took them to the grave. Of course, this kind of inner loathing does not come out of thin air. Our surroundings cause us to feel the way we do. Whether it’s our religious background, the country we were born in, the family we were raised by, or just prejudice from anyone.
But we cannot let other people’s prejudices define what we think of ourselves. In order to break this routine, I started off by mourning the life I thought I was going to have. Being raised in a heteronormative world as a queer person is not easy, and there are a lot of expectations from other people or ourselves when it comes to the future. Thus, I gave myself some time to understand that I was not going to have a so-called traditional life; my future was not going to look like the future of the people I grew up with.
I mourned the alternative life I could have had. I tried to get over the “what if” before accepting my truth, because if I wanted to grow, I had to grow out of years of conditioning. After all of that, I realised that if I can’t choose my identity, I am going to choose how I live. That was making the best of it. Because I would rather live my life to the fullest as who I am, than live a restricted life as someone I am, not just because I want to make other people comfortable and fit in. The first stage of grief is denial, but the last stage is acceptance. I needed to turn my sexual orientation into a unique blessing instead of an unfortunate quality in my head.
Who cares, I don’t get to live the so-called ideal life with my handsome husband, two kids, and my picket fence? That was not the life I wanted for myself; it was the life that other people thought was the best for me.
Loving myself and my identity took me so long, and I would be lying if I said I don’t have times where I struggle, but in the end, everyone goes through unique experiences, and I was not going to treat my unique experience as a curse because in the end, it can truly be a blessing. This is my first and my last time as the person that I am right now; I am not going to let that be a burden.
DIVA magazine celebrates 31 years in print in 2025. If you like what we do, then get behind LGBTQIA+ media and keep us going for another generation. Your support is invaluable.
