Doing My Own Dance

Your brother is going to come out to your mother and it’s going to tilt your world on its axis almost, but not quite in the same way it would for him. You had always known your brother was never really into the opposite sex, into the heteronormative, into fulfilling the construct our Christian mother wanted us both to adhere to. I always knew while everyone around me whispered as if I was too young to comprehend that my brother was brave enough to do something that I would struggle to do in the coming years: choose what/who I naturally desire even if it shatters the false fragile glass image someone may have of me.

Your brother is going to speak his truth to the woman that carried us for months and she is going to disown him for years as if his attraction to men had tainted the blood they both share. She is going to set an example of what it would be like if I were to ever one day share a similar candor with her. The moment my mother turned her back on my brother for daring to not only be seen, but be loved by the woman that gave him life, she simultaneously crushed any and all curiosity young me had about being queer. The stray thoughts of me possibly liking girls too? Suppressed. Being attracted to beings based on the heart, not body parts? Trampled. Drawn to those that dare to defy the binary? Demolished. Embracing a love that knows no gender? Smashed. Being bold enough to choose who I love because they are a reflection of the love I have for myself? Squandered.

Your brother spoke his truth and in the years following you would fight to shine a light on your own. The illumination would not be for anyone else’s approval, but my own because if I cannot look at the fullness of who I am without shrinking or squinting at its brightness, I remain blind to something that deserves to be seen. Is it possible that my brother’s truth freed him and also me put on the path to one day do the same?

You are going to have your first kiss and it will be nothing like you imagined. I remember it feeling almost like a compulsion; something that inevitably should happen because I am with a boy that likes me and I like him. We had to “re-do” that kiss because the first was rather clinical, like a thing I checked off my list as a girlfriend and eventually I would settle in to it being the norm at some point (I assumed). I enjoyed the cuteness of what came with young adolescents filled to the brim with like for one another. A rite of passage to be giddy and excited that you are experiencing a bit of what the adults around you are. The thing is, I was already prepared for the end of this season. Deep down I knew this fit would not be forever and while it would hurt, it had to come to pass.

You are going to meet a man, share kisses, and perform emotional labor that at the time you are not able to recognize as such. I was still trying to fit into this role; the role of what a woman/girlfriend/future fiancé/future wife should be. I am trying to remember what my mommy and aunties have instilled in me all these years, all the duties I would soon need to fulfill if I was going to be “the one” for “he that finds a wife finds a good thing” right? I been a woman all my life, been preparing to be the kind of wife the church speaks of, so why am I still out of sync? Rehearsal must have been rushed as choreography to this dance is losing its luster to me. I gotta keep this tired tango going because I forced down any other freestyle movement that would allow my feet, but also my heart to find their true rhythm.

You are going to “meet” another man and he’s the epitome of everything mommy, auntie, and society said he should be. Good job, good manners, type of good man they told Savannah about. This time, I’m waltzing when I realize once again this dance still don’t feel right. I’m fucking frustrated cause it appears as though this dance floor may not be for me at all. I’m two stepping with cis-men that feel like strangers when all I want is to slow dance with my queer loved ones that loved me before I knew I was more like them than I realized.

You are going to realize that you are queer and still feel like you don’t belong on that vibrant dance floor. Who do I think I am claiming to be like the ones who have always shown me that there are no rules to who you are supposed to love or how you are supposed to be? I spent so long desiring what I was told to therefore only pursuing what I never truly wanted. I fear it’s too late to learn new moves and who in their right mind wants a partner that’s late to the party, that’s inevitably going to fumble in this new free space? I found the light and that may have to be enough for me. While I may have lacked in love romantically, I have women whose love preserves, protects, and nourishes me platonically.

You are going to cultivate love with a partner that not only sees you and loves you, but provides a space for the little queer black girl that felt she had no choice but to shrink to fit another’s person’s ideal. I have always loved the way my friendships were a mirror that reminded me of what my most authentic self looks like, so how relieved I am to have found a love that does the same in every way. For the first time in my life, I am not hiding in a romantic partnership. I am no longer blind to what has always been a part of me. I am not bound to a role, tied to a tradition, leased to some legacy that is not aligned with who I am and who I’m becoming.

You are becoming exactly who you’ve always desired to be. Someone who feels free a little more than they did the day before. You are figuring it out on your own terms, no need for tutorials or how-to’s since the journey can only be traversed and experienced by you. It’s gonna take some tough lessons, it requires facing some fears. Be grateful you are not where you once were; I’m just proud of you for finally making it here.