Being in a queer body in a violently cisheteropatriarchal world is heavy, obviously.
I hope you’re embracing the invitation that Pride Month represents to glean a deeper understanding of the violence that queer people still face, even within supposedly “safe” countries.
(Take what’s happening in the UK and the US, for example)
I hope you’re learning more and more about what the fight for queer liberation means, and how it’s intertwined with all other resistance movements.
This piece isn’t going to be about that. Plenty of that exists already, written by people much cleverer than me, and I really encourage you to go and find some.
I want to explore the gift that is queerness today. Even, dare I say, a privilege.
(Hear me out.)

Cishetero patriarchy indoctrinates all of us — queer or not — with a bunch of toxic bullshit that dampens our aliveness and restricts our expression.
The gender binary has very violent colonial roots (again, this is certainly worth a bit of research if you haven’t already, equipping yourself with that knowledge will liberate you enormously), and regardless of gender, the colonial categories of “man” and “woman” are debilitating and harmful to all of us.
I don’t think we need to spend too much time going into detail about how fucked up that indoctrination is on people of all genders and sexualities, we’re all pretty onto it already.
But in essence, people who are assigned male at birth are conditioned with a strict and rigid understanding of what it means to be masculine that equates power with dominance and ownership, shames “weakness” (read: anything patriarchy has coded as feminine), restricts emotional expression, suppresses relationality, and demands stoic perfection. People socialised as women are conditioned with a strict code of femininity, which usually translates to desirability, as well as a buttload of bullshit about staying quiet and polite and docile and homely but also very sexy but also very nurturing but also but also but also. You get it.
For people in queer and gender expansive bodies, these categories are a whole different kind of oppressive, in that (I’ll just speak from my own lived understanding here, obviously I don’t have the monopoly on the entire queer experience) they never fit to begin with.
The performance can feel much more arduous, because not only does the costume feel itchy and gross and it doesn’t fit right — the character I’m playing doesn’t even feel anything like me.
What that means though, is that for people in queer bodies (or at least, for me), I was kind of forced into a whole bunch of self-inquiry and self-realisation that I just think isn’t really offered as much, or talked about as much, for my cis comrades.
My understanding of my own humanity and the expression of my aliveness was entirely choose-your-own-adventure, because it had to be.
I wouldn’t have survived otherwise.
In much the same way that neurodivergent people often have a way better understanding of their own mind and how their creativity works than their neurotypical counterparts (because again, in a world that actively isn’t built for you, you’ve gotta put in the work of figuring it out yourself), I’ve found that generally, queer people have a much deeper and more nuanced understanding of their gender and sexuality than their cishet counterparts do.
Because when something just fits, there’s not a whole bunch of intrinsic motivation to do a heap of digging around it.
For example, we live in a heteronormative world. For heterosexual people (for example), this means that everything’s already set up for you to slide right into that identity, with very little friction around it. Heterosexual people probably don’t have to go through a whole internal reckoning to come to terms with their sexuality, or their authentic expression in that space.
When you never fit into the “normal” from right at the outset, you’re forced to learn real quick what you need and how to move through the world safely.
It starts as necessity. How can I pass as a normal or typical person enough to not be harmed or ostracised.
But all the work that goes into learning how to adapt and how to effectively pass often ends up becoming a big giant enormous reservoir of knowledge about ourselves that I feel like a lot of cis folks just don’t have.
When you have to write your own lines, create your own character, design your own costume — because none of the ones you’re forced into at birth fit for very long, you have the opportunity to build so much intimacy with yourself.
In honour of pride month, I really want to extend an invitation to my cisgender and heterosexual comrades to begin cultivating that kind of intimacy.
(And just to be clear here, this whole essay is full of sweeping generalisations. Obviously not all queer people have cultivated a super cosy sense of self. Obviously there are plenty of cis and straight people who have certainly done a whole bunch of inquiry and self-discovery around their gender and sexuality. I’m writing this to the folks who maybe, for whatever reason, haven’t.)
Questions about gender and sexuality aren’t just reserved for queer people.
Cis people still have a gender.
Straight people still have a sexuality.
And taking a moment (or several moments over several years, hopefully) to cultivate some clarity and intimacy around what gender and sexuality mean for you is going to open up SO MUCH for you.
Being “the default” generally doesn’t create a whole bunch of friction.
And that friction is where we start really knowing ourselves.
BEYOND the roles we’re given and the conditioning we receive.
With my whole heart, I want you to have total autonomy and freedom in your own body, your own expression, your own identity. Everyone deserves that.
So, my cis comrades — how do you know what gender you are?
What was it that made you really realise you’re a woman (or a man)?
What does being a woman mean for you?
How does your woman-ness feel?
In what way has your relationship to your gender changed over the course of your life? Do you reckon it’s deepened as you’ve gotten older?
What aspects of womanhood feel super comfy and cosy for you? Which feel a bit itchy and uncomfortable? Are there any that feel downright gross?
If you got to choose, would you have picked woman? Why? What is it that makes it yours?
How does your gender express itself? How does it move, how does it dress, how does it take up space in the world?
For my straight comrades — when did you first realise you were straight?
How does your sexuality make your body feel?
What are you attracted to? What turns you on, what makes you feel safe, what makes you feel hot pulsing desire?
What does it mean for you to have an active relationship with your sexuality?
What would it mean for you to engage with it?
If your sexuality wasn’t for the consumption of anyone else, how would it express itself?
What does arousal feel like in your body?
Follow these lines of inquiry. See where they take you.
Gender and sexuality are unique to all of us — queer or not — and your relationship with your unique gender, your unique sexuality, is your birthright.
I love you.
Thanks for being here.
May we all have the opportunity to deepen our intimacy with ourselves.
May we all know ourselves.
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