Feminism or Lesbianism? My journey to owning the ‘L-word.’

Lauren Davies (she/her)

Hello, my name is Lauren, and I am a lesbian.

I came out of the closet recently. But, unfortunately, I did not find Narnia in all my 18 years of investigation.

Growing up, the L-word caused me to panic. The idea baffled me. Two women in love? Having *shudders* sex, and how?

I thought I was an all-in a fierce ally—LGBTQIA+ positive and a drag race stan. But I was distressed and downright dismissive of my own queerness and desire.

I genuinely thought every person was just repulsed by the idea of a penis, kissing boys, being his... girlfriend.

Turns out it is due to having a touch of something called lesbianism.

I found myself locked in a bathroom. I should have sex with him. I need to. Everyone else does it. Womanhood.

Though gagging over the toilet bowl, I decided then and there I had no obligation, want, or desire to sleep with this boy.

For a few years, I still pushed the gay down. I was told that I would know if I were gay. I didn’t even know myself. How was I supposed to understand my sexuality?

People looked at me, heard me talk, rolled their eyes, and muttered the word feminist like it was a bad thing. I shrugged it off, and probably said something like “down with the patriarchy” in response. Then they muttered the L-word. I froze.

I should be insulted. I should be repulsed. Then they whispered, and then they shouted. I was told that I look like a lesbian. A “Vegan Feminist Lesbian”. Well, I am still working on veganism, but they were not wrong.

Every straight girl listens to girl in red and is repulsed by the idea of heterosexual sex, right? I still counted the days, the weeks, the months of being untouched. Facing the facts, no one wanted me.

I blanketed my repulsion with the word feminism. I frankly just did not see myself to be loveable. I was a chronically ill, anxious wreck, constantly seeking validation to be told “good girl, good job”. I did not feel loved, but the audience clapped, the strangers loved me, and I told myself that was love, that was success.

Then I met her.

It is not always a person, but for me, it was. I felt unquestionably valid when she gave me her love. Then I accepted myself, and my world of monochrome turned into a beautiful rainbow.

I was determined to not label myself, scared of the truth. One day, I was driving, talking to myself in the car, as rational people do. Do I like kissing boys? Sex? Being with him? His girlfriend? His wife? No. 

Shit... I am a lesbian.

Marriage, to me, was a patriarchal construct and un-feminist. Now I envision myself standing next to my beautiful wife, maybe children, some poodles, and a ginger cat.

The challenge I am faced with now is deconstructing my own heteronormativity. A woman, owning her sexuality? Let alone a woman loving another woman!

I still muse about men. My parents would love to see me with him. My Nana would squeal! But, even if it takes time for them to re-route their idea of my future, they would rather see me happy. My happiness is to be a woman-loving, out-and-proud feminist lesbian. The other day I used the L-word. My lovely gentleman friend here is not my boyfriend.

I am, in fact, a Lesbian.