The Line
I’ve learned that when you come out, people tend to introduce you to a range of battles that come hand-in-hand with queerness. Yet, people failed to tell me how sleeping with someone of the same gender would greatly change my relationship with my body, and how being naked around another woman who is similar to me would impact my self-worth - and even my relationship with sex. No one told me where to draw the line between what attracts me and what I expect from my own body.
I realized I was attracted to girls when I was 14, but I only had my first serious relationship with another female when I was 17. That was also the year I started gaining some weight and started realizing that the body I was attracted to, my girlfriend’s, was similar to mine, but not really. I remember feeling too big next to her, feeling like I took too much space in the bed compared to her; and it was dangerously easy to compare myself to her - something I had never experienced with males. When it came to guys, what I was attracted to in their bodies didn’t match what I had envisioned my body to look like. I never got into bed with a guy waiting for my measurements to match his, but I always expected that with the girls I was seeing.
My issues with my body started to completely dictate how I acted in the bedroom. My discomfort even leading me to remain clothed during sex with female partners - a fact I was incredibly ashamed to talk about. Being intimate with my female partner turned into a vicious cycle of self-hatred and guilt. The amount of love I had for my partner didn’t matter, and I was still incredibly uncomfortable and unable to reciprocate her nakedness. Her body was exposed, which made her more vulnerable than I, which took a toll on our relationship and my self-esteem. I was only truly ready to recognize what had happened to me and how damaged my relationship with sex had become, once I started dating a male and realized that I didn’t expect the same from him His nakedness wasn’t a reflection of mine, so comparing them didn’t make sense in my head.
I feared talking about this for a long time because I was terrified that I would be misunderstood, or that I’d somehow sound narcissistic. I didn’t want to have my struggle invalidated or have someone use it against me. I found some comfort with my male gay friends that understood what I was experiencing - even if in different degrees. I realized I wasn’t alone, which allowed me to work through guilt and self-judgment - as well as empower me to discuss it with more people in the hopes they’d find comfort in my experience. I found it to be far more common with my male friends, which made a lot of sense as the male gay community tends to be far harsher when it comes to looks.
Unfortunately, my lack of self-love ran too deep for me to place it all on this. My self-hatred was something I had watered for years without realizing I was doing it, but it exploded the minute I started looking at the girls I was attracted to and started to link that to how my body should look like. To deconstruct the link between the two was liberating, and a big part of my journey towards loving my body. I still have bad days; I still go into the bedroom knowing I could find myself uncomfortable all over again. I still don’t take my relationship with my body and sex for granted, nor do I blame myself for the bad days when I take steps back. I once read this quote that said, “no amount of self-improvement can make up for any lack of self-acceptance” and it has been my beacon through the ups and downs I’ve experienced with my body, as it has helped me deal with the bad days and not top them with guilt over struggling.