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.