I'm Karen. I'm twenty-one, a senior in Sociology and Human Development, have a difficult time with getting through the day without coffee, and I like girls. Among other things.
My disclaimer is this: I never had the lightbulb go off in my head, nor did I insist on playing the 'husband' in games of house as a kid, or any of the things we come to depend on to validate a person's sexuality. I came to know that I liked girls after falling in love with one - that is, the realization came as slowly and intensely as falling for someone does. I hadn't expected it to happen, and while it was me that instigated the whole thing, I had to have my metaphorical hand held through most of it. I was scared sh*tless, but not just because I was with a girl. Falling in love is hard regardless of how and why you do it - the feelings might be effortless but the way you deal with them certainly is not. You can't control who you fall in love with, but you certainly can controlhow.
That is, as young people, we need the freedom to navigate the immensely complex world of dating and love and all of the petty things you often find tangled up with them without having to simultaneously defend our feelings, our actions, and our happiness. It's hard enough without that, right?
My story: It happened, in my opinion, in a frighteningly fateful way; my parents' visit to see me in Copenhagen seven months into a study year abroad was smite by none other than an Icelandic volcano and massive flight cancellations. Wallowing in my own misery, I went out with a group of friends to distract myself from disappointment, eventually finding myself walking to another bar with relative strangers, a group of Danish students I had run into outside of another club. In the group was her, who I set eyes on once and felt an entirely unfamiliar sensation of debilitating nervousness and overwhelming need to know her simultaneously. In an uncharacteristic burst of confidence, I set in motion the relationship that would, over the span of five confusing, unrelenting, exhilarating and ultimately life-altering months change who I was. It destroyed my sense of stability and confidence in where my life was going - because, I suppose, being in a same-sex relationship does change a few things - but forced me to conquer my personal demons I had been avoiding, and learn how to love someone with that kind of intensity. So, eight months after the forced end of a whirlwind romance, confusion, self-loathing and subsequent acceptance, and plenty of tears, here I am.
So, I guess I came out late; I was twenty when I came to terms with my affections for women (recognition of old and new emotions) and twenty-one when I told everyone about them. I did most of my coming out within the span of just a few weeks (time was of the essence, apparently?). One week, no one besides myself and a few friends overseas knew, and the next, you could have surmised my orientation after a single glance at my Facebook profile. For me, there was no reason nor any benefit to slowly coming out of the closet. Recognizing who I was and what I wanted meant letting everyone else know who I was and what I wanted - for me, they went hand in hand. While I knew I couldn't spell out anything for anyone (as I never set a "gay" standard, but rather shared my story of love found and lost with another woman... which tends to speak for itself) I knew that the more open and honest I was about myself, the more open and honest I would be with myself. I see my coming out as not a sudden shedding of light on what I knew all along, but instead a drawing back of the curtains on an already open window to begin to see that it was okay - and often best - to pursue what it was I wanted and was attracted to, regardless of how that might change perception of who and what I was. If I were honest and sincere about what I wanted, then I would eventually find myself around people who were okay with that. Which I have, in a sense, and will continue to. After all, we are a work in progress.
What I do know is that having a core group of like-minded people on campus - like those you'll find in LGBTQ coalition - that will openly tackle the issues of community and comfort between queer culture and 'hetero-normative' culture in safe, fairly judgment free space was immeasurably important. Since ASU is a sprawling metropolis of youth and innovation, it comes as no surprise that students in LGBTQ Coalition are as unique and diverse in their own right as the whole of the student body. Without this new group of students in which I've found wonderful friends, both gay and straight, I would have had a much more isolating and painful experience in coming out to myself. The sheer size of the University provides the anonymity a lot of us need to come to terms, on our own terms, with who we are and what we will become. Couple that with a safe-space like a queer student organization, and you'd be amazed what you can discover about yourself, your friends, and your community.
After playing with every gay cliché and stereotype you could possibly fathom - embracing some and rejecting others - I have begun settling in to where I am in the scheme of things, which is stable in my recognition that willingness to adapt and coping with the stress of uncertainty is paramount. The most challenging part of my transition has been and always will be staying centered and balanced - and confident enough - to be okay with not always knowing what I'll want. Circumstance changes who we are, and in turn, what we need. For eyes looking in on the queer community, it's easy to cast us all under the same light. What we have to do as individuals - queer, human, students, Americans... what have you - is knowing that just because you have something in common with another queer person doesn't mean you need to have everything in common with them. Maintaining a sense of individuality while not being afraid of being who you are in the fear it may fall either inside or outside of stereotype is part of learning to be an adult. Funny how college teaches you that.
There are so many things we learn as young adults. Learning how to be in a minority is, sometimes, one of them. And, although queer is one minority, so is being a Star Trek fan, having curly hair, knowing how to juggle, enjoying the music of Ke$ha (you know who you are)... we are unique in lots of ways. Important part is finding some people to be weird with you.
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