Kath Ebbs on learning to accept yourself
My coming out journey is an interesting but complicated one. To put it simply, I grew up religious. Do I need to explain any further? I didn’t know any gay people growing up. Relationships were strictly between men and women. Marriage and children were the goals.
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From the age of five I became terrified of the word lesbian. It was a dirty word used to tease. By the time I was six, I had a feeling I might be one. When I got to high school, this fear was amplified by the only two (known) lesbians in the school being the laughing stock of us peers, again reminding me to be anything but a lesbian. I was continuously tormented by this deep knowing that I, too, was gay. I spent the next 8 years praying my “sin” away, distancing myself from anything that could mean being outed. I listened to (and believed) homophobic rhetoric in order to justify why I was not, in fact, THAT.
I have a lot of shame about that time in my life. The things I consumed and being on the wrong side of conversations when it came to queer rights. My internalized homophobia was rife. I wore it like heavy armor in order to shield myself from the truth. My truth. The part of myself I knew if I let slip, would pour out of me like lava.
As I sit here years later, out, proud and writing a think piece for Mardi Gras Pride, I am hit with a sense of gratitude and tenderness. Both for just how far I have come and the people who have helped me along the way, which leads me to Community. Without it, I don’t think I would have survived my truth. Community has been a slow process for me. Being in touch with my wider queer family is something still quite new to me. For context, I was not yet out before I fell in love with a queer person for the first time about two years ago. This was my first introduction to Community and queerness as a whole. I rejected parts of it for a time. I was uncomfortable and unsettled but I knew I loved this person and needed to start loving my authentic self if I wanted a love that was true.
There is this unspoken bond between queer folk, a language of “I see you” before you have even exchanged conversation. - Kath Ebbs
My partner at the time was my community: the person that allowed me to be myself, who held space for me, allowed me to explore this thing I had been terrified of my whole life and loved me for it. Sadly (and not so sadly) that relationship ended abruptly at the beginning of 2021. Not at the time, but now, I am seeing it as a huge gift because it brought me closer to authenticity. At first I felt lost and alone, not only from the separation but because without this person I didn’t now how to connect to queerness. I didn’t know a life being out and proud on my own. I had attached so much of my identity to this person that, without them, I felt like a terrified 15 year old again.
Where do I belong?
I soon realized I had to begin to pave the way for myself and learn to heal the parts of my upbringing that still affected the way I viewed my sexuality and gender. I had to learn to love myself enough to allow others to love me in return. As Queen RuPaul says “If you can’t love yourself, how the hell are you going to love anyone else?” I couldn’t hide behind someone anymore, like a scared little kid not yet ready to fully come out of the closet. It took time but whilst healing my broken heart I found myself, and my community. Slowly but surely, these incredible people started to come into my life, because I was ready to accept the love that had been there, by people who understood the parts of me I spent so long rejecting.
About five months ago on a trip I took to Naarm, I looked around during a dinner party and thought, “oh, wow! This is what people mean by community”. I had never felt anything like it before. These people weren't only my friends, they were family. There is this unspoken bond between queer folk, a language of “I see you” before you have even exchanged conversation. A love that is so palpable that it feels like your chest could explode when you are in the presence of it. A sense of safety and permission to be who you wanna’ be, without succumbing to any of society's expectations. It’s magic. True magic. The love of my community is what has helped me be so okay on my own. This love informs my work and my values. I want that to be what young teenagers like myself, who are terrified because they have never seen a happy lesbian in their life, seek in their own lives. Well, I am a very happy, genderqueer lesbian. I am happier than I have ever been before.
This year's Mardi Gras is a very special one for me because this is the first time I feel as though I really understand what this community means to me. I always knew on an intellectual level, the things elders had fought for throughout history and the representation that is so important to our survival, but now I have my own experience of what queer family means to me. And that is everything.
Note: It is not always safe to come out. I acknowledge this and respect those who need to stay in the closet for their survival. I want to state the privilege I had to come out safely. You are just as much a part of community.
