Queer for the holidays

The more I live, the surer I am that my queerness is not an essence or a set of properties but a way of relating to others. I have been able to become myself because I share relationships, on every level of emotional and physical intimacy, with other queer people. My journey has been about finding recognition, support, and friendship–and offering the same in return. The mere presence of my friends living and growing their own queer existences around me has given me the confidence I need to exist. In short, I can’t do this alone. I can’t be me alone. I know my experience is not universal, but it is mine and I intend to live it fully.  

Winter break can be an isolating time for anyone. The structure provided by school or work or both falls away, the pressure of familial obligation mounts, and the cold weather doesn’t necessarily help. I don’t need to explain to you how being queer, in any sense of the word, complicates the situation further. Last year, I returned from the break feeling like a piece of me had been ripped out. I spent the break in restless languish, separated from all the people who form my community. I did not feel like myself until the next semester began. I know all my friends, all the people I care for, are potentially facing the same dilemma and a host of other dilemmas of which I don’t have experience. Thankfully, some have it better than me and unfortunately, some have it worse. Either way, I wanted this year to be different for all of us.  

I tried my best to make a difference. I took the time during my holidays to check in, keep in touch, ask after everyone who’d gone home for the break. I did this for my benefit too, because I hate to miss my friends. I’m not a therapist, that’s not what I aim to be, but I’ve figured out my own way of giving support to people after practicing the skill for years. My tools are listening, recognizing, and offering what guidance or comfort I can. Listening is an incredibly difficult skill to master. It requires being able to decenter yourself, show attention, and then ask useful questions. I am not always a good listener, but I know how important it is to be listened to because others listen to me. To recognize someone is to acknowledge their being; that they are truly who they are, despite everything. Being recognized makes you sure that you deserve the best, that your problems are real, and that you are valued. This is also a difficult thing to do because different people have varied needs of recognition. I find that students, myself included, often don’t realize how hard they work to stay afloat in this institution and need that effort recognized more than they know.  

The next step is to offer comfort and guidance. I think feeling recognized is a comfort in itself, but it is often insufficient to fully console someone. To comfort a person, I assure them that they are capable of handling the challenges they face and that I am confident in them, or I offer condolences if it seems appropriate. Guidance is always a tricky thing to offer. I have given some people the same advice for years, and it is difficult to know which part of the equation has failed to produce results. Ultimately, it is up to the person you are guiding to take your advice or not. Sometimes the best choice is not to guide at all and to trust your friend to make the right decisions on their own.  

You can support yourself if you know how, but I feel like the need for another person can never be removed. My friends have empathized with my own experiences while offering perspectives which remind me of my own limitations. Sometimes I simply cannot console myself alone, and I need another presence to support me. Finally, I feel most loved when I am criticized and shown how to be better in a way which affirms my own ability to change.  

Though digital technology made my efforts to reach out possible, through texting and social media, I have always felt like there was a distance I couldn’t collapse. The acts of listening, recognizing, and comforting are valuable but only go so far. I could offer my friends my voice and my ear but not my presence. As the break wore on, I felt the distance from my friends get to me more and more. I tried to keep myself from feeling isolated by reading and writing more, but that is no replacement from seeing the people who are important to me regularly. This year was better. I coped better and I helped more, but there are some things which just have to be endured. This season always reminds me of the relational nature of my queerness. If it were always winter, I could have never become myself. That I am healthy and whole is further testament to the strength of my queer relationships. So, when I reach out—when I try my best to help—I am making my being actual again, if only in a small way.