Writing

Telling my own story.

Most authors will agree that writing can truly be therapeutic. Sometimes we can work out our deep-seated issues with our characters. We can create the people we wish we were, and make the people we hate get their comeuppance. It’s a chance to explore a life that never will be, to embody a great hero, and to explore beautiful, diverse worlds. It’s a chance to tell our story. Which is why I chose to write about a woman who falls in love with another woman.

When I was around 11 years old I watched Titanic at the cinema, and realised that I liked watching Kate as much as I liked watching Leo. Of course, I was 11, and so were most of the other people I knew. “Lesbian” was used as an insult. So I kept quiet.

At 16 years old, a friend’s parent started a rumor in my school that I was lesbian. Kids threw stones at me.

Seven years later I went away to university, and people were way more understanding and diverse, and so I came out as bisexual to my uni friends. It wasn’t an issue, and I finally felt like I could be myself. Back at home, however, it took months of summoning the courage to tell my friends and family, and the resounding response I had, after all that soul searching and courage summoning was, “No you’re not,” and “It’s just a phase.”

I never discussed it with them again.

I’m now very happily married to a man. He knows about my sexuality and is supportive and amazing about it.

But, the reason I chose to write about a bisexual woman, is because I feel as though I never got the chance to be fully open and comfortable with my sexuality. I was scared of abandonment and rejection. Writing this down genuinely terrifies me. It shouldn’t, but my heart is pounding and my fingers are shaking.

I wrote my book for myself, for people like me, and people who see that all love between consenting adults is beautiful.

If I’m going to face criticism, then I need to accept myself the way I am, and the way I would anyone else who came out to me. I don’t feel as though I’m a good role-model, because I hide. I’m in awe of the people who are out and proud at any age.  I’m almost 32 years old, and I can’t keep being that 11 year old girl, terrified of her classmates. I’m a fully grown, bisexual woman, who wrote a story about another bisexual woman, a dragon, and a herd of murderous centaurs.

Thank you for reading, if you made it this far. It helped to write this down, hence the therapeutic nature of writing.

 

1 thought on “Telling my own story.”

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