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Rainbow Reflections: The Closet Should Have a Revolving Door

CREDIT: ILLUSTRATION BY YEJI KIM

By Olivia Williams 

In our Rainbow Reflections series, we highlight the experiences of members of the LGBTQIA+ community in their own words. For this series, we spoke to seven people around the world about their varying experiences. For an introduction to our participants and their thoughts on the labels that they use, please read the first article in the series, here. Their takes on the familiar question “Am I queer enough?” can be found here. 

Surely my parents knew that I was bisexual long before I came home from Pride Week toting a multicolored flag or started talking about plans for a hand tattoo (three simple lines: pink to represent my attraction to the same sex; blue to represent my attraction to the opposite sex; and their resultant purple). But I never experienced the moment that seems to saturate so many representations of queerness in the media: that customary seat on the couch, the camera focused on the protagonist’s face as they inhale and exhale their nerves before saying those pivotal words: “Mom, Dad, I’m gay.” In fact, that trope often way oversimplifies the experiences that members of the LGBTQIA+ community have when coming out. Firstly, there’s the fact that the concept of coming out itself is individual: some people may feel comfortable telling everyone, or just a single person, or only being out in certain spaces, such as only online. 

Kat’s space includes everyone except her family. She’s sure that they suspect, but her coming out journey has not included telling them yet, as she wants to avoid the conversations she knows will ensue. “Everyone else in the world, I’m open,” Kat says. “I’ll say it loudly and proudly, but there are a lot of deeply dysfunctional parts of my family that have taught me that safety means keeping quiet about anything that truly matters to you within that space.” Obviously, Kat is just as valid as someone who is out to the entire planet. But her concerns are common. This worry – how others will react, the conversations that may follow – was common in each of the conversations with the seven LGBTQIA+ individuals in our Rainbow Reflections series. It seemed to stem mainly from a societal emphasis on heteronormativity. Several people also spoke of a lack of information or representation about their sexuality making it harder to come out.

Although Kathryn knew about same-sex attraction, “no one, not my friends, teachers, counselors, the media; literally no one told me that asexuality existed.” She said this ignorance led to harm. “Because I didn’t know it existed, I thought I was broken [and] because I was the one who wasn’t normal, that I should give my sexual partners whatever they wanted. I thought it didn’t matter because it didn’t mean anything to me. I did myself a lot of damage because I didn’t know that saying ‘no’ was an option.” 

Hannah also felt her options were limited. “I would definitely say [that] I struggled with my identity,” she observes, adding, “I would panic anytime someone mentioned me being gay or asked about my sexuality. I felt like everyone could see it on my face. It just felt like I was hiding this really big thing, and it felt like a lot of pressure.” 

So much of the panic and shame that Hannah experienced is also found in Kat’s experience, and the emotions presented obstacles for both women to come out. Kat’s shame specifically comes from her family. She speaks of when “it was made very clear to my mother that there will be no grandbabies or wedding plans.” “I felt like I then had to create that life my mother wanted [for me]: house, husband, kids,” she says, especially stressing her mother’s desire to be a grandmother. For Kat, the balance between her mother’s disappointment and her own desires is difficult. She explains, “[T]here’s this really strong sense that I’m the last hope of her getting that dream she’s always had, and I’m letting her down because that really isn’t a priority for me.” 

The other main concern that came up in our conversations as a hindrance to coming out was the lack of information about different queer identities. Miriam seems to speak for many when she says, “I feel it would be beneficial if there [was] more conversation around LGBTQIA+ issues. I didn’t really know I could be something other than straight or gay until I started seeing bi[sexual] people in fiction. I didn’t even register so many things I was feeling, partly because I never saw them as a possibility in my environment.” 

Emerson had a similar experience, sharing, “I struggled a lot with being trans. I hadn’t ever met a transperson who presented the way I did. I first came out as a transman, and later came upon the term ‘genderqueer’ and that really clicked for me.” 

As LGBTQIA+ information and the experiences that accompany it changes and grows, hopefully the concept of coming out will as well. Someday, coming out may be seen as more than tense living room discussions. In fact, distilling it to one event at all is limiting. “I’m still constantly coming out,” says MK, “…in meeting new people, having different types of relationships, and discovering new, better words that I would rather use. I’m not stuck on the labels I have chosen to describe myself. I have now decided I don’t really care [that] I have multiple labels that I sometimes use and sometimes don’t…[T]hose are for me [to] describe myself but…[not for] me to justify myself to other people.” 

For Edward, it was those around him who pushed him to officially define himself as a member of the LBGTQIA+ community and come out, while he was perfectly happy. “What I think I struggled with most was the pressure from other people to come out when I didn’t feel any need to come out, he remarks. “In high school, I was asked a few times, in a veiled way, if I was gay. When I started university, the trend continued, with people assuring me [that] it was okay to come out, it was okay to be gay. What was challenging was trying to understand why other people felt the need to effectively police my sexuality and identity based upon [my appearance and personality].” He agrees with MK that as your experience with your sexuality changes, the words you use and the ways that you describe those experiences should change with it. “[W]hy should it matter how society views these definitions?” Edward muses; your sexuality is your own. “But then,” he counters himself, “I think that it’s important to have some commonly understood nomenclature for the human experience, particularly in the context of something as close to our sense of identity as sexuality is for so many.” Perhaps it is not the words at all that are the problem, but the assumption that they, and coming out itself, is a singular, stagnant event. The way we talk about our sexuality can, and should, be fluid. 

Embracing that fluidity is the first step, although the heteronormativity and lack of information that makes the decision difficult in the first place may always be an obstacle, even for someone as self-admittedly “open” as Kat. “So though I’ve gotten better with it,” she admits, “at times I feel as though, by living authentically, I’m letting down my family, or walking away from this intergenerational idea of how things should be.” 

It is only by dismantling the ideas of “how things should be,” from the nuclear family to the experience of coming out itself, that every part of the journey becomes easier. We should all follow the examples of our seven Rainbow Reflections stars and chip away at stigmas and the lack of information surrounding queer identity so that the next generation can come out – or not – as they so choose. The final installment of the series will give each of our interviewees the opportunity to speak directly to that next generation and give advice to other members of the LGBTQIA+ community. 

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Books To Help Us See and Be Seen (Mid-Level Fiction)

By Meghan Serceki 

I recently began working at a bookstore, and part of my job is helping customers find new books to read. The other day, while I was shelving books in the kids’ section, I was approached by a mom who asked me if I knew of any books for young readers that had LGBTQ+ representation. She explained to me that she and her child read books together, and that they had asked her if they could read something about “someone like them.” While there has been more representation in recent years, I realized that the majority of titles that jumped out at me were for young adults, and that most of them involved romance which doesn’t always appeal to younger children.

I decided to do some research and compile some lists of books for different age ranges that represent LGBTQ+ individuals in positive and constructive ways. Books are a great way to bring people together. They can connect generations in beautiful ways as they share intimate experiences and provide hope through difficult journeys and internal struggles. With the holidays approaching, it may be a wonderful gift that makes a loved one feel seen.  #weseeyou

George, by Alex Gino

When George’s class puts on a class play of “Charlotte’s Web,” George wants to audition for the part of Charlotte. But her teacher sees her as a boy, and tells her she can’t get the part. She comes up with a plan to not only play Charlotte but to show the world who she really is.

Gracefully Grayson, by Amy Polonsky

Like George, a school play prompts six-grader Grayson to question the boy gender identity that people have imposed on her. In this thoughtful and heart-felt novel, we see her navigating the challenges of coming out and finding solace in being herself.

Lizard Radio, by Pat Schmatz

Lizard Radio is a quirky science fiction novel for young teens. The main character, 14-year-old Kivali uses she/her pronouns and presents as female, yet while they are living in an all-female camp, they gradually realize that they aren’t male or female, but rather fall somewhere in between. 

The Moon Within, by Aida Salazar

Celi Rivera experiences changes in her body, struggling to make sense of them. At the same time, her best friend grapples with being genderfluid. She seeks to make sense of the changing relationship with herself as well as with those around her. It is written in verse, giving it a beautiful cadence, and the representation of various Latinx cultures provides an added layer of significance and visibility.

Do be aware, though, that some scenes depict anti-trans bullying, depictions of menstruation, and descriptions of the body. 

The Deep & Dark Blue, by Niki Smith

This graphic novel follows the story of two twins, grandchildren of a noble lord, who disguise themselves as sisters when a coup rises up against their family. While waiting out the rebellion, Grayce gets to experience her life as the girl she is, and must soon decide how to live her life as her most authentic self.

Doodleville, by Chad Sell

Doodleville is another graphic novel for mid-level readers. As main character Drew’s artwork comes to life, a wide range of characters present themselves. As they go on adventures together, they accept their gender identities and support each other through various mental health challenges that arise. 

These are just a few of many, and I hope to share more in the future. Happy reading!

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Rainbow Reflections: Am I Queer Enough?

By Olivia Williams

In our Rainbow Reflections series, we highlight the experiences of members of the LGBTQIA+ community in their own words. For this series, we spoke to seven people around the world about their varying experiences. For an introduction to our participants and their thoughts on the labels that they use, please read the first article in the series, here. 

In the image, a green-clad character stands in front of an old-fashioned carnival strength test, holding a mallet. There is a rainbow in the background and the word “Queer” emblazoned on the top of the machine. The metaphor is clear: If you hit the mallet hard enough, you win, and you are allowed to use the label “queer.” If you do not, you are not. There is a clear, definitive line between winners and losers: some people are allowed to use the term, and some are not. Even if the image wasn’t quite so on the nose, the character spells it out for you in a small speech bubble: “I constantly wonder– Do I deserve to use the term? Am I ‘Queer Enough?’” It is one part of a comic of the same name, posted on The Nib by artists Jason Michaels and Mady G. 

Generally defined as Queer Imposter Syndrome, or internalized homophobia, this fear seems to fuel an endless stream of content on the internet. Headlines such as “I Constantly Worry That I’m Queer Enough” and “Am I Gay? Quiz” are commonplace. Edward defines the fear as “the internalized social pressure to denigrate that which is queer, even if it’s within us.” 

Kat has a theory as to the origins of the phenomenon. “As children, we grow up learning a bunch of things from the adults around us and the media we consume, whether actively (by attentively watching it) or passively (the background noise as our parents watch the news, etc),” she explains. This information, which comes from sources such as family, friends, teachers, and “the media of the time or comments of peers” is at its core an evolutionary process, as it shapes how we understand the world around us. However, it becomes dangerous when the information that is being relayed to us, whether intentionally or not, is flawed in some way. “[B]ecause we’re taught to trust the judgment of adults, we take that information as some kind of gospel truth,” says Kat, “rather than seeing it as opinions that have the potential to be biased, or flat-out wrong.” The effect is the same whether you are surrounded by blatant homophobia or simply pick up on them subconsciously. Emerson adds, “Living in the society we’re in, with all the violence and hatred towards queer people, it’s difficult to not take that pain and turn it against yourself and/or your community.” This can result in someone growing up to, as Kathryn describes it, “…hold some unfair ideas about the world, and yourself.” Thus…“internalized homophobia is when, even if you don’t actively believe in homophobic ideas, you’ve got blind spots in your thinking, or you hold negative patterns of behavior or belief that you’re not even really aware you have.” Hannah agrees, speaking to the fear as a “way the outside world has messed with your internal perception of yourself.” 

As Kathryn explains, “part of growing is recognizing [these biases] and working out which ones really align with who you are.” It seems to be a constant journey, especially for members of the LGBTQIA+ community, and involves quite a bit of time “questioning how you feel about yourself and why it is you [are] feeling that way.” Many participants confess to still struggling with internalized homophobia. We saw this most clearly in the words they used: they did not feel like it was “right” to call themselves their LGBTQIA+ identity, or they did not feel like they inhabited the denomination “enough.” For Edward, these words arose when we asked him about his pronouns. “I tend to think he/they,” he said at first, but then added: “However, I question if I’m [non-binary] enough to use gender-neutral pronouns when it’s really warm out.” “At first, I didn’t feel ‘bisexual enough,’ agrees Hannah. “I thought you had to have an equal preference for both, and I felt like I was more likely to be with men. Now, I think I’m more likely to end up with a woman, and have thought about changing my identity to a lesbian.”

Interestingly, all of the participants interviewed were actively and openly supportive of their friends who were members of the LGBTQIA+ community. The problem only came when it was time to admit to themselves that they had a certain identity. “I spent, and still do spend, periods of time thinking that I am kidding myself when I say [that] I’m attracted to people [who] are not men,” admits MK. “[A]nd I still see my relationships with different genders or genderless people in different ways to how I see my relationships with men.” Like everyone else interviewed, “[This] was an issue…just when it was associated with me.” The participant “liked girls, but I was very adamant that I couldn’t be a lesbian because the word sounded wrong to me, like it didn’t fit with who I was [or] I was gatekeeping myself…or being homophobic…” It was only when MK accepted another part of their identity, that of being non-binary, that their reluctance with using the lesbian label becomes clear. “Looking back now,” they explain, “obviously I know that’s because I’m not a girl and I am attracted to not just women, so…that word does not fit.” Miriam also found much of her identity guided by heteronormative dynamics. “I couldn’t see myself as a woman having a relationship with a woman, because somehow I still thought that wasn’t possible or ‘right.’ It took a long while to unlearn all that,” especially when she was later in a relationshp that could be percieved as traditionally heterosexual. “It took me a while to accept I’m still queer while in a seemingly straight relationship. But I’ve accepted I’m the same person and we two are very much queer together.” 

One of the best solutions on the path to this acceptance that our participants have found is acting in spite of their fears: claiming their own identities despite the fact that they may not always feel like they deserve to. For Hannah, “the first time I made out with a girl was pretty important. It just felt really right and natural and I wasn’t nervous in the way I usually am with men; it felt like what I was supposed to be doing.” Taking testosterone had a similar effect for Emerson. “One of the big moments for me,” he says, “was when I heard a recording of my voice for the first time after I got on testosterone. I remember feeling for the first time like my voice was what it was meant to be.” “Ultimately,” says Hannah, “I love both men and women and [I] shouldn’t have to change that identity to make other people, [who] would rather I fit into a binary, more comfortable.” And this includes herself. 

In proudly sharing their stories, these seven participants have continued to strengthen our Rainbow Reflections series and, in doing so, normalized many of the experiences that LGBTQIA+ members share, from navigating the long list of queer labels to the struggle with internalized homophobia. Next, they will speak about their coming out stories.

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Transitioning in the Workplace

By Jeremiah Ancheta 

In our previous article,“Cultivating a Trans-Inclusive Work Environment,” we noted what companies and employers can do to make their workplace more trans-inclusive. However, those who have transitioned may find themselves confused as to what they should do and how to approach their employers about being transgender. This article provides suggestions on how to proceed in the workplace post-transition.

Careful Consideration

Many of those who have transitioned have likely already looked into their conditions and social context, but this guide may still be helpful for some.

Before revealing your transition to anyone in the workplace, it is important to consider the material conditions and context of how you are situated. For instance, consider these questions:

  • What is the general attitude towards transgender people in the state or city that I work in?
  • What are the relevant transgender discrimination laws in the state that I work in?
  • What are the relevant transgender discrimination policies in my particular workplace?

Asking these questions is essential to determining whether or not to reveal your transition at all. This is a personal decision, and one that may affect your situation in the workplace. The Cloud Dancers Foundation founder, Robina Asti, often talked about leaving her financial job in New York City during her transition because it was not acceptable at her place of work. Robina ended up leaving her job and working at the makeup counter at Bloomingdales following her transition. 

While times have changed since Robina transitioned, there is still progress to be made. In accordance with Title VII as well as the 2020 Supreme Court Decision in Bostock v. Clayton County, it is federally prohibited for employers to discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity. However, transgender discrimination is still a problem in the workplace and unfortunately, some caution may be needed post-transition (See our post “Cultivating a Trans-Inclusive Work Environment” which briefly goes into the issues that transgender people face at work).

Finding an Ally

Finding  an ally to offer support during or after a transition is advised by the Human Rights Campaign, an LGBTQ advocacy and political lobbying organization. This step may differ on a case-by-case basis, such as whether you remain in a job post-transition or leave to find another job. Your decision and ability to find a co-worker ally will also depend on the existing relationship you have with co-workers.

If you know a co-worker who is strongly supportive of transgender rights, then you might consider revealing your transition to that person (and keeping it confidential between them at first, if one so wishes) to have an ally.

However, not everyone knows their co-workers very well. Research the transgender discrimination policies for your workplace. If you feel protected, you  may look into contacting the Human Resources department. As the Human Rights Campaign advises, “you may come out to your organization’s management or human resources representatives in order to create an action plan for transitioning at your workplace. If your organization has a coming out guide or non-discrimination policy, consult it for advice specific to your workplace.”

Updating Personal Information

The Human Rights Campaign also suggests updating personal information once you are comfortable doing so. If you found an ally in management or human resources, update personal information within the workplace such as name, pronouns, or official identification documents. The HRC also suggests looking into your workplace insurance policy to check for any changes that may occur post-transition.

Coming Out

With an ally and knowledge about your workplace’s policies, hopefully you will feel protected from transgender discrimination. At that point, the next step would be to update personal information and consider fully coming out to everyone in the workplace.

How this is done is ultimately up to each individual. A transgender person may speak to their co-workers privately to tell them, or they can choose to have group meetings and reveal their transition. 

Of course, one should be quite sure that they have full support of their transition by upper management and human resources in case there are any negative reactions during or after one’s reveal. Any discrimination that occurs during or after reveal may be reported to higher ups so that the proper procedure can take place dealing with such issues.

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What “Equal” Opportunity Means

By Meghan Serceki 

November 19th is the anniversary of the Gettysburg Address and has since been established as Equal Opportunity Day: a day described in 1959 by the New York Times as “an annual national observance dedicated to a basic democratic belief in the equality of opportunity for all our citizens.” Everyone has the ability to make a meaningful impact on society, but the vast majority of Americans face obstacles and barriers to even have the opportunity to do so. 

Although the Civil Rights Act of 1964 prohibited discrimination “on the basis of race, color, religion, sex or national origin,” it wasn’t until the 2020 Supreme Court Case Bostock v Clayton County that sexual orientation and gender identity was added to this list of federally-protected characteristics. This doesn’t mean, though, that this discrimination has disappeared. Trans* individuals in particular face a very unique set of challenges in the workplace which need an equally-unique set of solutions (see “Cultivating a Trans-Inclusive Work Environment”).

For trans* individuals, too, this occupational discrimination greatly affects other aspects of their lives.  It may impact their decision to come out or to transition. While companies cannot fire or deny employment to people explicitly because of their gender identity, they sometimes still do so, covering up the discrimination by giving other explanations which are not tue. This makes trans* people especially vulnerable to layoffs and disadvantages them in the hiring process.

Beyond this, there are those who may feel uncomfortable at work, fearing their coworkers will judge them. The average person spends 13 years of their life at work, and most people see the same colleagues every day. If these people express hatred or otherwise make a trans* individual feel uncomfortable, it can have far-reaching effects on their mental health, their drive to advance within the company, and their overall well-being. In this event, the individual may choose to find new means of employment. While it is in no way their responsibility to leave a company because their coworkers are intolerant, work can be extremely uncomfortable for trans* people, even bordering on unsafe. Leaving might remove them from a bad situation, but there is then the same gamble at a new company. 

In addition to this, a main factor in advancing within a company is the amount of time someone has been with said company. Leaving essentially restarts the clock, often moving them back in their careers, making them prove themselves once again, putting them at a disadvantage when up for promotions, and leading to an economic disparity. Benefits may be lesser, too, as some companies require a person to work there for a set number of years before being eligible for retirement aid.

Even if someone makes the decision to transition anyways, they may choose to keep it a secret from the people at their work. This idea of “going stealth” may work fine for a time, but keeping transness a secret gives it a certain sense of taboo, and plays into the idea that it is a deviant identity. My friend Magdalene recalls a long while where she was taking hormones and developing breasts, but was “boymoding” to work — what she describes as her “transmasculine era.” She wore baggy clothes, practiced chest-binding, worrying that someone there would notice differences in her body.

Having equal opportunities is not only a factor in one’s career, but it has innumerable implications on the rest of many trans* people’s lives. The way an individual identifies should be no one’s choice but their own. Coming out is already such a difficult and complex process; fear of it hurting one’s career should not be yet another obstacle. Legal protections are so important, but creating a world in which everyone is granted the same opportunities requires us all to take part and hold ourselves, and others, accountable.

If you believe an employer has discriminated against you, seek outside help and consider filing a complaint here with the Office of Federal Contract Compliance Programs. 

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Rainbow Reflections: 7 LGBTQIA+ People Share Their Experiences with Labels

By Olivia Williams

When my friend Hannah was about ten years old, she found herself unable to look away from the sight of Christina Ricci on her television. “I panicked that I was a lesbian,” she reveals, before mentally rationalizing away that identity by focusing on the attraction she felt for men. In fact, it took her until freshman year of college to “finally admit I love women and feel comfortable in that,” an identity she said she hid from herself  “probably from age 13 to 18.” Hannah is now happy in her bisexuality. She says, “I’m comfortable being like, ‘Oh, she’s hot’ when watching TV with friends and not feeling like I have to hide that part of myself.”

Hannah is not alone in her struggle to correctly identify her sexuality. According to Gallup, 5.6% of the population in the United States of America today identify as part of the LGB community: either Lesbian, Gay, or Bisexual. The Williams Institute found 0.6% of the population is transgender. Within these scientific labels, however, there are other identities, ranging in terminology and definition. Each person who makes up these statistics has a story, just like Hannah, and just like The Cloud Dancers Foundation founder, Robina Asti. Their stories differ just as much as their subjects do, and exploring them helps us to connect to each other. In fact, that same little ten-year-old on her couch says today that finding a community helped her claim her sexuality. 

Curious as to the differences and similarities in stories like these, Cloud Dancers sat down with seven members of the LGBTQIA+ community from around the world. We spoke about how they have found the identities that they inhabit now, their personal experiences with internalized homophobia, their coming out journeys, and the advice they’d give to the next generation. Compiled into our Rainbow Reflection series, these stories give voice to some of the myriad of experiences held by members of the LGBQTIA+ community.  

For most of the interview participants, distilling their identity down to a few words was nearly impossible, and many of them use multiple identities. In fact, even the process of finding accurate labels for oneself and deciding what labels to use is a deeply personal process, according to MK, who asked to be identified only by their initials. “The limited information I had growing up gave me only so many labels I could use for myself,” MK said, so they had the “impression that I needed labels [in order] to be valid.” 

Even now, some of MK’s description of their identity is marked by their audience. “In terms of sexuality specifically, I use bisexual as well as queer to say I’m attracted to any gender and that gender doesn’t really influence how I feel about people. [Bisexual is] a more known and recognized term and so outwardly, with other people, I use it, but I don’t always feel it internally,” MK said. 

When not editing for a social audience, however, MK tends to focus on three terms: queer, non-binary, and gay: “I basically use these terms because they seem to be the more vague and broad versions of labels and terminology within queer circles.” Using general labels such as queer helps MK to “distance myself from gender and be aware in my otherness.” 

In fact, the universality of the term “queer” seemed to resonate with several participants, including Miriam. “[Q]ueer is the word that overall resonates with me the most because it can encapsulate more than sexuality,” she says. “Destroying the notions of binaries and sex as [just] a reproductive act appeals to me on philosophical and everyday life levels. For now, I’m trying to change the narrative and be more playful around my identity and presentation.”

Emerson also welcomes the freedom of the queer label, and, like Miriam, turns away from the bigender binary by identifying specifically as genderqueer, an identity that is associated with the rejection of the traditional gender binary. As for sexuality, he identifies as quoiromantic. “For me, being quoiromantic is being unable to tell the difference between platonic and romantic attraction. For most people, there’s a clear line between ‘I want to be friends with this person’ and ‘I want to date this person.’ But for me, that line has always had to be explained.” According to LGBTA Wiki, people who identify as quoiromantic, also known as Whatromantic or even WTFromantic, do not want to or cannot define their romantic orientation. It is a “disidentification with the romantic/nonromantic binary.” 

Although the “queer” moniker specifically was not used by the other four participants, three of them had a similar experience while trying to define themselves. “I went with heteroflexible at one point because it feels the most comfortable and accurate,” says Edward, adding that he has also used the “bisexual” label, as well as “pansexual.” “Most of the time I’ll just say straight if asked,” Edward said. “I don’t want to get into the queerness, which I think might be something of a privilege.” 

Similar to Edward, both Kat and Hannah have experimented with calling themselves bisexual. Hannah has kept the definition, saying, “To me, this just means that I’m sexually and romantically attracted to more than one gender.”  “For a long time I identified as bi,” Kat said. “I had inadvertently excluded non-binary people from the narrative I was telling myself.” She now likes the label “pansexual,” which means “I love and am attracted to people without gender or genitalia being a deciding influence. The gender of a potential partner isn’t a factor in entering into relationships for me.”  

Kathryn, who identifies as “graysexual, demisexual, pansexual” acknowledges that her identity might be quite a mouthful to those who aren’t used to it. Going in order of her labels, she explains, “For me, these three labels explain that I rarely experience sexual attraction, that I require an emotional connection to a person before my brain even considers sexual attraction to be an option, and that I have experienced attraction to both men and a genderfluid lesbian (my fiancée).” 

Several interviewees also struggled with reconciling their identities with the world around them, which operated on a baseline of heterosexuality. Kat details how her mom “wanted grandbabies, wanted us to settle down with nice men. My whole family’s default with heteronormative, so I grew up with the idea that straight relationships were the only relationships in my family.” This was only compounded by Kat being “a child of the 80s” and thus experiencing “a lot of deeply concerning conversations around the AIDS crisis,” which made it “hard not to walk away with the idea that straight relationships were safer and more normal/appropriate.” 

Emerson describes being raised in a rural Catholic town. “In school, I was singled out as ‘the queer kid’ [and] bullied often.” Edward remembers “off-handed comments” made by family members which “definitely altered my perception of queerness to some extent, by making it seem out-of-bounds.” He credits the acceptance and tolerance of his friends in his late adolescence for challenging these beliefs.  

For Hannah, who admits to being raised “in a very liberal and left household” with parents who “had friends that were gay” and ensured that she “always grew up knowing it was an okay thing to be,” the world outside of her house was not as accepting. “Outside of my parents, however, I lived in a really small, rural town in Illinois, and homophobia was pretty common,” she says. Stacked against the accepting ideals of her parents, this made for “a weird dichotomy, because I had really supportive parents and lots of my friends were gay, and I consumed a lot of queer media, but kids at my school and adults in the community were pretty homophobic.” 

There is even bias among the LGBTQIA+ community. Speaking for the asexual community, Kathryn says, “[T]he ace narrative is [not] a big enough part of the LGBTQIA+ community or conversation yet,” she says. “It is so common that we are left out, and when you already feel broken or like something is wrong with you, being excluded from conversations or campaigns or charities or communities adds to that feeling. It’s so lonely.” 

It is this kind of loneliness that the Rainbow Reflections series aims to combat.  Visit CloudDancers.org to sign up for email updates and be first to know when the next article in this series is available. The next topic: addressing internalized homophobia. 

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The People Down The Street

By Meghan Serceki

A recent study from the Pew Research Center found that today 42% of adults in the United States report knowing someone who is trans*, up 5% since 2017. While this increased visibility is a step in the right direction, the same research concluded that comfort levels around and opinions of trans* people have largely remained stagnant. 

Using gender-neutral pronouns and admitting that sex does not define gender are both learned behaviors. It is instilled as an implicit bias early on as the society we live in favors the cisgender heteronormative status quo. Exposure and interaction are the best ways to fight against this prejudice.

My early childhood was almost a case study in this. I was born in Northern California — surrounded by the liberal flair one would expect from the Bay Area. For four years I lived down the street from a lesbian couple. I’m not going to pretend like I remember them. That’s just it. I don’t. Apparently my 101 Dalmatians spoon was important enough to live in my memories, but there wasn’t anything different to me about them. To my four-year-old mind, they weren’t my “lesbian neighbors.” There was nothing that struck me as strange about their relationship. They were just people who lived down the street from me and my family.

What I do remember, though, is my confusion when my family moved to Wisconsin and I began hearing kids in my class make derogatory comments about gay people. They didn’t know what they were saying. I don’t think any of them had even knowingly met a queer person, and we were so young that I’m sure they were just repeating what they heard someplace else. But it didn’t make sense to me. Were they saying my neighbors were sinners just because they were in love?

Nine years passed, and I was still the “weird” one. But their implicit bias was ingrained in me by that point. When I began to have feelings for other girls, I brushed it off because I was “normal.” I felt a lot of guilt and shame over my attraction to women. I told myself that being gay was fine, but that it wasn’t me. So, it took me another seven years after moving away from that environment to grow comfortable enough with myself and with the idea of being queer to finally come to terms with my own identity.

I often wonder how different my journey would have been if I had stayed in Northern California, or if I had known more openly queer people while I was in Wisconsin. It took a lot to get myself comfortable with queerness after living without any representation of it during such formative years. I keep in touch with very few people from my childhood, so although I’m out almost no one from that era of my life knows that they went to elementary school with a lesbian. Could I have been that representation to someone else if I had embraced myself sooner?

The burden to change society’s implicit biases does not lie on those impacted by them. But in order to reject these instinctive responses to differences in gender or sexuality, people must have true experiences to replace them with. Having more people report knowing someone who is trans* is a great sign — it means that these interactions are happening, that we are building these connections and challenging the prejudices that we have been taught. Statistically, though, the number of people who actually know a trans* individual should be closer to 100%, they likely just don’t realize. So the burden lies on all of us to continue this fight. The fight to see and be seen, the fight to be accepted, the fight to be “normal,” until one day we too are just “the people down the street.”

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“What Should I Tell the Family?”

By Meghan Serceki

By now we are all familiar with the depiction of gender and sexuality as a spectrum, and recently new terms and labels have been coined to lend visibility to those along it. However, spectrums are planes made up of infinite points, and people are changing with each second. For each point we define there are infinitely more waiting to be discovered, to be acknowledged. With every second that passes, our points move, however large that shift may be.

My own experience as part of the LGBTQ+ experience has been one of trying to place my sexuality along this spectrum. I first came out as bisexual. It made sense to me. In middle school I went through a phase that might have been defined as “boy-crazy.” That is, until the “boy” in question came out years later as a transgender woman. Throughout high school and my freshman year of college, I went on a few dates with cishet men I had convinced myself I was attracted to and brushed off the discomfort I felt as nerves. But when I downloaded a dating app I found myself only really being interested in the women on it. 

Settling into my first relationship, it was easy to call myself a lesbian. Safe. My mom insisted still that I must be bisexual since I had gone out with men in the past, and my sister labeled me pansexual once my seventh-grade “boyfriend” came out as Magdalene. But as long as I was in the security of a lesbian relationship I didn’t question it. A part of me thought, too, that if all went well I might not ever have to truly grapple with my identity beyond that.

Of course, though, like most people’s first relationships, ours fell apart, and my continued search for someone caused me to confront the uncertainty I felt in presenting myself and my sexual orientation to the world.

I maintained the label of “lesbian,” but I carefully caveated it with the fact that I wasn’t totally opposed to the idea of ever dating a man. Only that it would be unlikely. I felt like not having this disclaimer would somehow prevent me from ever pursuing something with a man if I felt a connection with them. I was satisfied with this answer.

My mom, however, questioned this ambiguity. One night before our extended family came for my sister’s wedding, she asked me, “Do you identify as a lesbian or are you bisexual? What should I tell the family?” I was upset, and I told her I was comfortable not having an exact answer to that question, so she could be, too. She explained, though, that she simply wanted to represent me how I want to be represented. And for her this meant having a finite point on the spectrum and a label for it. I still haven’t been able to give it to her.

This question, and a million others like it, were racing through my mind the other night when I matched with a transgender man on Hinge. If things were to move forward, how would I explain it to my mom? Would it be unfair to him that my friends all consider me a lesbian and I find him, a man, attractive? What would I label myself instead?

Obviously, this was all getting a bit ahead of myself as matching with someone on a dating app is far from committing to any kind of relationship. Still, I was already shutting myself off to the possibility because of my concerns over what other people would think. Whether or not it would be confusing to them. Confusing to people who wouldn’t even be involved in the relationship, who didn’t need answers. Who could be comfortable without them.

When I brought it up with my friends, none of them were fazed by the idea of me dating a transgender man. They just said “I fully support,” “trans guys are hot,” and “we’re here for it.” They understood my concerns, though, and Magdalene even said that part of the reason she didn’t talk to her family about her girlfriend was because she didn’t want to have to explain herself. She knew her family would  want answers that she can’t yet provide.

Having a label can be freeing, it can make people feel seen, it can give them the sense that there is a community of people like them, it can give them a more concrete answer to give the people in their lives. But it’s not always possible, and it’s not necessary. 

People will always have questions for us, and unfortunately I can’t give a catch-all solution to navigating them. I have learned, though, that the only person you have to answer to is yourself. Don’t let anyone make you feel less whole if you don’t have a succinct explanation for where you lie within a plane of infinite possibilities. Labels are ours to define. They should be a positive way of identifying ourselves, not another source of anxiety in our lives.

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The History of Transgender Military Access

By Jeremiah Ancheta

The United States has a long history of changes concerning transgender people being allowed to serve in the military. Transgender people were banned from serving in the military for over 50 years. It was only in the last five years when this ban was lifted, only to be revoked again the following year, with another reversal earlier this year. This article explores the history of policies concerning transgender people in the United States military.

In 1960, former U.S. President Eisenhower put into effect Executive Order 10450. The order stated that “the interests of the national security require that all persons privileged to be employed in the departments and agencies of the Government, shall be reliable, trustworthy, of good conduct and character.” As such, it was permissible for people to be terminated or denied from being in the military insofar as they were not deemed “reliable, trustworthy, or of good conduct and character.” The order explicitly states what qualities don’t count, citing “sexual perversion” as one of those qualities. 

According to Outserve-SLDN, “scholars today note that this [sexual pervesion] was applied, at least as early as 1960, to ban transgender individuals from serving as well. In other words, the U.S. Government deemed transgender people as not being reliable and trustworthy or as people with good conduct and character, just for being being transgender. This policy remained in place for over 50 years.

In June of 2016, the Obama Administration made a revolutionary decision when they “officially ended the US military’s ban on openly serving transgender troops.” In support of this decision, Defense Secretary Ash Carter stated that “only soldiers’ qualifications for service should be relevant to the military, not their gender identity.”

In a series of now deleted tweets from July 2017, former U.S. President Donald Trump stated on Twitter, “After consultation with my Generals and military experts, please be advised that the United States Government will not accept or allow Transgender individuals to serve in any capacity in the U.S. Military. Our military must be focused on decisive and overwhelming victory and cannot be burdened with the tremendous medical costs and disruption that transgender in the military would entail.” After nearly two years of dealing with lawsuits, the transgender military ban would officially go into place in April of 2019.

In support of this stated reason that transgender personnel would burden the military with “tremendous medical costs,” Missouri Representative Vicky Hartzler said that “this policy hurts our military’s readiness and will take over a billion dollars from the Department of Defense’s budget. However, a 2016 study by the Rand Corporation debunked this claim, finding that “related health care coverage to transgender personnel indicated that active-component health care costs would increase by between $2.4 million and $8.4 million annually, representing a 0.04 to 0.13 percent increase in active-component health care expenditures.” In other words, transgender related health care would cost millions rather than billions as stated by Hartzler. Furthermore, the study states that “even upper-bound estimates indicate that less than 0.1 percent of the total force would seek transition-related care that could disrupt their ability to deploy.” Finally, the 2014 fiscal year showed that the Department of Defense spent $49.3 billion on all health care costs for military personnel, which was 586,804% greater than transition related care in the military.

These findings show that the 2017 transgender military ban was unjustified, and transgender folk were denied a right that other Americans had due to false premises. Despite these findings, the transgender military ban would still be in place for a couple of years.

Fortunately, this ban was revoked earlier this year. On January 5, 2021, just five days after being inaugurated as the President of the U.S., “Joe Biden signed an executive order to repeal a Trump-era ban on most transgender Americans joining the military.”

With Biden’s recent decision in reallowing transgender personnel in the U.S. military, transgender people are one step closer towards achieving equal rights when it comes to serving our country. Cloud Dancers wholly supports this decision and we hope that this policy remains in effect indefinitely. 

According to the NCTE, “It’s estimated that over 134,000 American veterans are transgender, and over 15,000 trans people are serving in military today.” Today on Veterans Day 2021, we salute all our current and former military members, including our late founder, Robina Asti, who served in World War II. Robina was a pioneer of the LGBTQ+ community, who fought against transgender discrimination after her time serving in the military. Here is a video by ABC News highlighting Robina’s story. 

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Discrimination Against Hopeful Parents

By Meghan Serceki 

November is National Adoption Month in the United States, a time for us to grow an understanding and appreciation of the adoption process and for those who have been impacted by adoption. Adoption is an important practice for the LGBTQ+ community, as it allows couples who may not be able to conceive traditionally to start a family and provide a good and fulfilling life to their child. Unfortunately, these individuals face many barriers to accessing this resource.

Adoption comes in many forms, be it through the child welfare system, second-parent adoption, private adoption, international adoption, or the like. Each of these comes with its own set of challenges and obstacles for LGBTQ+ couples. This article focuses ondomestic adoption through agencies — that is, the adoption of infants or children within the United States through state-licensed adoption agencies. These agencies receive public funds and are therefore subject to state and federal laws. In a sense, they are representations of what parental rights the government sees fit to protect.

LGBTQ+ individuals throughout the country were rejected from adoption applications solely because of their homosexuality until 1978, when New York was the first state to stop this discrimination. However, the last state to do so, Florida,  only put it into law in 2010, demonstrating this great battle that was only the beginning of the fight for the parental rights of same-sex couples. 

Still, loopholes to these protections existed, and there was very little focus on the rights of trans* individuals, a term which encompasses all gender identities. Family Equality states that adoption agencies still could require prospective parents be married, effectively excluding same-sex couples in certain states from consideration up until the federal legalization of gay marriage in 2015. It was not until 2017 that both same-sex parents earned the right to be legally recognized as parents. According to Family Equality’s guest writer, Dana Rudolph, the impacts of this “goes doubly for transgender parents, about whom much less has been written.”

Still, with all these laws and protections, and all the progress that has been made, adoption agencies in many states can claim religious freedom as a reason to reject hopeful parents simply for being LGBTQ+. In the argument for religious freedom, it is important to note that the agencies in question are state-licensed, that they are funded by the state and receive special benefits because of this status. They are not private religious companies but essentially extensions of public programs.

The Movement Advancement Project tracks protections against discrimination in the adoption process state-by-state. Their most recent data finds that the majority of states do not provide full protections, some with no explicit state statutes against discrimination, others allowing agencies to make decisions based on their religious affiliations, and more providing protections for same-sex couples but not limiting discrimination based on gender identity. 

Adopting a child is not a decision one makes lightly. It is done out of a deep desire to care for a child, to start a family, and to provide for that family emotionally, physically, and financially. LGBTQ+ individuals have fought for the right to even be considered as parents and to take on this responsibility. The discrimination did not end in 1978 when New York passed the first statute. It did not end in 2017 when same-sex couples were both able to be recognized as parents. And in the 43 years since this legal battle began, trans* individuals have not been made a priority in this important discussion. We must continue this fight not only for those in same-sex relationships but for all those with identities which challenge the heteronormative system.