I was laying in bed last night, in that tender and vulnerable place between waking and sleeping. My sweetie didn’t know I was drifting in the sweetest way, otherwise she might not have brought up sad politics.
In that in-between moment, I got a current news update from her about fearful people exercising their “right” to vote on whether or not we’ll get equal rights under the law.
The everyday little things are like the ocean I swim in: My self censorship. The times I feel like I have to ‘pass’ as straight and play the disgusting pronoun game when talking about my partner to be safe. To not be discredited in my work. Or over-sexualized. The sometimes excruciating process of choosing an outfit (and a gender expression) in the morning when I don’t know how I’ll be received where I’m going. Showing sweet, beautiful love and getting pushed back in subtle ways, or harassed. The slightly held breath. Bracing myself a little, not knowing what might come next when I talk about my life authentically.
It can be hard to really feel something that I can identify as grief about those everyday moments. There’s a hardness most of the time, protecting me from letting all that touch me where it can hurt.
But after unintentionally letting it in to a space it’s usually never allowed last night, today I hold my Tender Gay Heart in my hands. And there is some mysterious relief in feeling the ache of that heartbreak. Some melting into place of all those parts waiting in the wings to be held.