A Glass Closet

I’ve only ever said those words twice. Both times, I wish I could’ve reached into the air and taken them back in before anyone had heard. Not because I was ashamed or scared of the reaction, but because they didn’t feel right. Both conversations were welcomed with open arms by the person on the receiving end. A nice feeling of validation in the haze. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of discouragement and pressure. How do I take back those words without confusion? I don’t think I can. So, again, I’m stuck.

I’ve never lied about it. I’ll be the first to tell you she’s my ex and he and I had a thing once, but that doesn’t satisfy someone trying to figure you out. Someone who wants to know which box to file you away in. Seldom is the ambiguity welcomed as such. My friends who belonged on either side of the line wanted to know where I fell. Questioning my world when, deep down, I didn’t know how to answer those questions either. I truly did not know who I was going to end up with, I just knew they would be great. Somehow, that wasn’t good enough. In a circle of friends that consisted mainly of lesbians, the idea was foreign. I had been with women and, for them, that was enough to be put in their box. For a while, I believed them. I began stepping out of this closet that had been built around me. Little did I know, I would be walking from one closet to another. The first, made of steel and iron. Impenetrable to the prying eyes of those seeking the truth about me. The second, made of glass. Allowing all eyes to cast their gaze in my direction without care, but will inevitably leave them with more questions that I am unable and unwilling to answer.

There is a certain comfort in having a place to fit in, a label or a box. Many, many people identify so wholly with them and I understand why. It’s comforting, it’s relieving, it’s finally being able to say exactly who you are and let others understand you better. I admire each and every one of them and I will sing for them until my lungs burn. I, however, find labels terrifying for myself. Over the years, I’ve said I was straight, bisexual, pansexual, gay, and more often than not “just whatever”. I’ve never held on to a label because they don’t seem correct. They don’t resonate with me. If others want to place a label to who they think I am that’s fine, I won't take offense. They'll probably be at least partially correct.

So here I am, a human who likes other humans, somehow stuck in another closet. At least this time it is one that will let the light shine in and I can be seen. I will keep myself to myself until I feel the need to justify who I am. Until then, I am just here to love everyone for whoever they are, wholly, in every season in their life. As for how the world reacts to me, that is none of my business. I am transparent and have no issues living my truth, if my truth isn’t satisfying for others, that’s not my problem. The only thing I can do is carry on loving, supporting, and encouraging as many people as possible. Maybe one day, no one will have to live in any closets. One day, love will be fluid and the greatest compliment you can receive. One day, people will not care what my label is, there will be no labels. Just love.