What Does My Pride Flag Mean to Me

I came out for the first time when I was 13 years old.

My mom was in her bedroom asleep after working an overnight shift. I was in the living room watching “The Runaways” movie for the sixth time that day when I realized that I wasn’t watching to learn about how hard it was for an all-girl rock band to make it in the 70’s. Instead, I was watching Kristen Stewart. I was watching it because I liked the way her voice sounded and the way she pushed back her hair. I liked seeing Dakota Fanning and Kristen Stewart kiss.

When my mom woke up from her nap, I told her about my latest self-discovery. She replied with only one word, and she told me “no.” My mom didn’t believe being gay was natural.

I didn’t know back then that my mom was wrong.

My dad got sick with kidney failure when I was a kid. We travelled all the time, so I didn’t make many friends. For most of my life, it was just me and her. She was my best friend and the person I trusted with everything. When I heard her say no, I immediately accepted it because I didn’t understand that I could know who I am more than my mom did. I trusted her to tell me what was wrong and right about the world and me. It felt like my responsibility to change myself into her idea of the perfect daughter.

When you've been denied the right to express who you are from an early age. It takes a lot of time to take pride in who you are and allow yourself to live life in a way that is true to you. It takes an even longer time to feel comfortable enough to share who you are with others.

For years after that, I came out to my mom over and over. Sometimes with a different label. Asexual. Bisexual. Pansexual. Sometimes I would confess it because she may see my web history. Sometimes I would confess it because I was really depressed about it. She would try to understand but still found a way to say the worst thing possible. Each time I would feel this painful sensation in the middle of my chest.

The final time I came out I put my heart out on the living room table and poured my eyes out. I told my mom how I felt and how I can’t go on if she doesn’t accept me. I never felt so exposed. She finally accepted me and somehow figured out the right words to say. I thought that when I heard those words, I would feel the peace I needed. I didn’t realize my mom’s disapproval of my sexuality wasn’t the only thing stopping me from accepting myself.

Her acceptance didn’t stop me from hating myself for being gay. After begging, I found myself angry at her that she made me beg for her approval. I was angry at myself for not being able to be myself even after all of that.

It’s been over a year since I came out to my mom. Over the years, I was able to start having honest conversations with myself about who I am. For so long, I was buried in self-hatred and feeling guilty that I wasn’t the person that my religious community wanted me to be. Over this past year, I have been able to tune down the voices that tell me who I am is wrong. It turns out being gay doesn’t have to be so exhausting and painful.

I’ve found that I can even celebrate being gay. I came out to a couple of my friends and found an online community that accepts me. All of the hard work and conversations I had in my head led to me being able to celebrate my first Pride month. For the first time, I felt included in Pride Month. For the first time, I knew that It was okay for me to celebrate pride month. I wanted to celebrate my first pride month by getting my first lesbian pride flag.

Each stripe of the flag I connect with and each one makes me want to be a better person. When it arrived, I immediately hung it in front of my window. If I turn my head to the right as I type this, I see sunlight shining through this beautiful flag. Every time that I look at my pride flag, I feel so much pride in who I am. The flag reminds me of how far I have come since the first time I stood in front of my mom, begging for her acceptance. I am not that 13 year old girl who looks to her mom for her blessing anymore.

Now I want to be brave enough to love myself for who I am and to ignore the people who don’t.

The flag represents how much work I have put towards being able to have pride in who I am. It reminds me that my sexuality isn’t a secret I have to hide in the back of my closet. I am able to be open and build a community of people who understand who I am. I am allowed to be honest about who I am to everyone without worrying about their judgement. I still struggle with so many different parts of my lesbian identity. A part of me just wants to hide it and pretend it isn’t true. It tells me “no” like my mom did all those years ago. That somehow, I may be wrong. That voice doesn't define me or limit me.

My flag helps silent that voice in my head. The flag represents how I see myself now. And right now, i see myself as a someone who is really gay.