First Inklings I Was A Lesbian…
Despite knowing—on some level at a very young age that I was a lesbian, it took a silly amount of time for the pink penny to finally, consciously drop.
Into my university years I was writing entry after entry in my diary about how beautiful my latest girl-crush’s eyes were … yet expressing in the very next paragraphs my bewilderment as to why I never felt excited when a boy touched me.
My diary makes for a forehead-slapping read.
So, how could I know I was gay when I didn’t know?
What were the light prods at my conscious mind?
What were those early signs?
If I found another girl attractive, I somehow knew, from the earliest age, to keep this to myself.
We are so subtly trained all day every day to be gender-conforming and heterosexual, that the youngest child knows when she has stepped outside these social expectations. I knew I had to keep certain feelings secret that other children could share freely.
When the five-year-old kids in the playground did an impression of a teapot (which I now know to be a supposedly gay man with one hand on his hip, the other hand dangling from a limp wrist), I had no idea what they meant (and I’m fairly certain that they didn’t either).
But I did know that:
a) I mustn’t be a teapot
b) I was probably a teapot
In every infant school assembly, where I would sit cross-legged in the rows of five and six year olds, I would stare in the direction of the piano.
I would wait for the hymns to start, when the teacher would raise her hands, in preparation, way above the keys. From that moment I was transfixed by the agility and motion of her fingers.
There was something about those hands. And whatever it was, I wanted it.
While my sister was converting our shared playroom into her personal ‘dollies’ hospital,’ I put on my big boots, climbed trees, played football, and practised cycling round the sharpest corners with no hands.
I was aware that all the other girls seemed to be conforming to a role that held no interest for me.
As I was growing up, I was aware that I felt excessively fond of certain friends.
And I was aware that I seemed to have more of a need than other children to cultivate special friendships, in which exclusivity would play a part, in my favour…
It wasn’t until I was fourteen that this tendency reached a peak.
When my best friend of two years dumped me for being overbearingly possessive, I cried myself to sleep for two years.
What were your first inklings?