Seeing as people seem to have thoughtful and pertinent titles to these blogs so far, I thought I'd continue the trend. I find the idea of "beginning" troubling and exciting at the same time. How many times have you thought back upon an incredibly important time in your life and found that you can't really pinpoint when it began? Beginnings are so sly and stealthy that way, sneaking into our lives and altering them forever before we're even aware that anything has changed. That's kind of what it felt like coming out to myself, trying to figure out when I'd started thinking about other girls that way, when things had changed. The process of coming to terms with my sexuality was slow, hesitant, and if nothing else, reliably confusing. But I don't really want to talk about that right now, because this is a blog about us at Duke. And unlike the process of coming to terms with myself, my life at Duke, my queer life, had a very tangible beginning. It began with a flyer. I don't remember where I saw it, but I do remember looking over the list of events planned for the LGBT Center, seeing the Chocolate Fountain freshman Welcome event, and knowing that I had to go. Knowing that I had to go, and actually getting up the courage to go were two completely different things. I was in a new school, with new people, none of whom I had ever met before, and I was just trying to settle in. Trying to also deal with my struggle to find a comfortability with my lesbian identity on top of everything else was daunting and frightening. I wasn't out to anyone at home, and I certainly didn't know anyone at Duke yet that I would entrust with such important knowledge about my personal identity. Being a bit shy and introverted around those I don't know well anyways, my sexuality was hardly going to become a topic of conversation anytime soon. And as I walked across the lawn to the Marketplace that evening, I remember getting just within reach of the stairs and almost turning around and going back to my dorm, with a handy lie about the library on my tongue to explain my excursion. But, chastising myself for being so concerned with what anyone would think of me, I entered Trinity Cafe, dove for a drink, quickly introduced myself to a few people, grabbed a flyer announcing future events, and bolted. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
After that, it took a long while before I even went to the Center. This is not to say that I avoided all of the Center's events, but rather I avoided the Center itself like the plague, not really worried anymore that anyone would notice me going in, but more worried about what would greet me when I entered, whether I'd be judged, the what ifs. Especially frightening was the thought that I wouldn't fit in at the Center either, leaving me without any space, no where to go. And in a sense, my fears were not completely unfounded. Before I had even seriously considered engaging the Center's LGBT community, I had been warned of the unfortunately lacking nature of the community with regards to gay women. I had hardly had the courage to go the the Welcome Reception, and I had no desire whatsoever to be the token lesbian, the odd one out at the Center, should I choose to go. I was frightened that within the ostracized community, I would be ostracized. And so, I didn't go to the Center until the very end of my freshman year, not until I had finally met someone already involved in the LGBT community and who offered to accompany me to events as moral support.
Part of my motivation to contribute to this blog is not only to allow a portal for understanding the lives and struggles of queer students on Duke campus, but also to create visibility, especially a greater visibility for queer women on Duke campus. I know that, had there been a blog like this my freshman year, I would have eagerly read it, glad for even the smallest proof of a queer female identity functioning within the Duke undergraduate community.
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