Ally Week: Three Queer Students Share Their Story

As told to Kristen Andonie ’17 and Jessica Shi ’17. Interviews condensed and edited.

Danielle Young

Danielle Young ’17 is a four-year senior from Redford, Mich.

Photo courtesy of Kristen Andonie

Photo courtesy of Kristen Andonie

Middle school was consciousness — knowing that I was some form of “other” in terms of sexuality. People’s hormones were raging, and mine were seemingly delayed or misdirected.

I came out to my parents in seventh grade. I take that back. I didn’t come out to my parents. My mom kind of sat me down, and was like, “Hey.” I was so nervous. I expected the worst to happen.

I didn’t have anything to worry about. My mom has been a tremendous, tremendous support. My dad just kind of keeps quiet, like, “Alright, it is what it is.”

That’s sexuality; gender identity came later. Ninth grade of Choate, I began to understand there is a possibility to identify as something other than “cis-.” It made me see that there’s more to identifying, but there’s also the possibility of not identifying.

Parents’ Weekend of last year, my mom and I were in Lyman Orchards parking lot. We were sitting in the car, and my mom was like, “What’s up?”

I told her what I identified with at the time — to me, that changes frequently as my understanding evolves. I remember saying it really quickly: “a-gender, a-romantic, a-sexual.” I could tell she didn’t understand, so I had to explain a bit to her.

I found out later that she ended up talking to my brother, who is into a lot of social justice work. She talked to him about researching to better support me. I’m so grateful, for him being there, but also for her being willing to reach out.

I haven’t told my dad yet. He has this idea of me as his daughter; he’s so proud of me. I have this feeling that I disappointed him in some way. I feel that, but honestly I don’t think it’s true. I think I’ll be fine; he’ll be fine.

Choate has been a pretty decent community. On Diversity Day during my freshman year, I went on stage, and was like, “Hey, I’m queer.” I remember looking down and seeing everyone out there. I was freaking out.

But afterward, people came up to me and said, “Good job” and “Thank you.” My roommate was mad chill about it. She even gave me a hug — for me, hugs are very special things — and so I was like, “Whoa. This is cool.”

I have seen how much power an individual has just by sharing and being candid about one’s own story. I know that I’m Danielle, and that’s what I’m comfortable with identifying as. I’m shifting away from labels, because I don’t think it allows for flexibility for people’s identities to evolve.

I’m Danielle. That’s it.

Elena Turner

Elena Turner ’17 is a four-year senior from Queens, N.Y.

Photo courtesy of Sabrina Xie

Photo courtesy of Sabrina Xie

In February of freshman year, I saw an infographic with the prefixes “a-,” “bi-,” “pan-,” along with their definitions. I remember saying, “Hey, I think one of these things applies to me.” I felt a warm, fuzzy feeling. Things just made more sense. I was really, really happy.

I told a bunch of people: some here, some from back home. Nobody understood what it was. When I told my boyfriend, he said, “Does this mean you don’t like me?” Now, he understands way better than anyone I’ve ever met and he’s my biggest advocate, but at the time, he was like, “How is this supposed to make me feel?”

I told my closest friend since middle school. She said, “Um, I think you’re too young to decide something that drastic, especially something like that. You’re just jumping to conclusions.”

I told my family. My mom said that I was trying to ruin the family; my sister said that I was doing it for attention.

I had panic attacks freshman year, so I was required to see a counselor. I came out to her. And then she started referring to my boyfriend as my friend. She had been with me a year and had called him my boyfriend the whole time. She asked, “Don’t you think it’s a little selfish of you to say that you’re dating but you call yourself this? Is that really dating?”

This guy saw my Tumblr, which disclosed my sexuality. He started finding me every day. He’d ask about my sex life, my relationship, if I wanted to have kids, if there’s something wrong with my hormones: all things that he had no right to ask.

He was in a dorm next to me, and one of the first nights of junior year, there was a dorm mixer. Out of nowhere, he looked at me in the eye, and he asked, “Hey, how’s being —,” and then he said my sexuality in front of everyone. I freaked out.

There are a lot of bad stories. I really haven’t had a good story.

At the point of life where I am now, I don’t understand why anyone would accept who I am. If they do, they’re just making it up. Everyone has questions; everyone has theories; everyone has weird, disgusted looks that they give you.

Honestly, I don’t feel safe being open about it. The bad reactions from my closest friends left scars. Even now I still hate — I still can’t even say the word. I’m that broken about it. I’ve resolved to never say it again.

Rebecca Lilenbaum

Rebecca Lilenbaum ’17 is a four-year senior from Woodbridge, Conn.

Photo courtesy of Rebecca Llienbaum

Photo courtesy of Rebecca Llienbaum

Freshman year I did not know I was queer. Sophomore year I did not know either, but I was questioning. I continue to question. It was really the summer between sophomore and junior year that confirmed it for me. Once I came back junior year, I was open about it.

I never thought I could find out at Choate because there isn’t an emphasis on discovering your sexuality. It’s more like, “This is what you are so we’re going to be open about it.” These are formative years in our development — this is when we’re wondering who we are. So while we’re accepting, we aren’t really questioning ourselves as much.

There’s no class here on gender and queer studies. There’s women studies, but that’s more about women and the world, and the adversities women have faced globally. We can educate. We can talk about sexuality and the science behind that and how most people aren’t fully heterosexual although they might believe it.

I always thought women were attractive, but I never thought they were for me. You know, like, “You can be gay, that’s cool, but I’m not gay. That’s not me. I’m like everyone else.”

But then I thought, ‘Why am I holding myself back? Why am I trying to keep this safety net? Why am I trying to keep myself safe and say that I’m straight when I could be experiencing things that I would enjoy?’ I met someone, and then I ended up really liking her.

It hurts me when I see girls who are closeted — girls who are probably queer or lesbian or bisexual, but are afraid to admit it because they have been “normal” their whole lives and then they’re like ‘Oh, wait, I’m not.’

There is a stigma against being different biologically. People could be like, “Oh, yeah, it’s totally fine that you’re queer,” but then they’ll be afraid to change in front of you, or they’ll be afraid to talk about boys in front of you.

But that’s just a normal thing. Everyone holds biases whether that person will admit it or not.

I think we should just remind kids at this school to continue challenging themselves and continue to empathize with other people, sympathize with other people, and try not to hold their bigoted views.

My friends are very open and loving, and most of us are queer in some way or another. I think it’s made us stronger because we can bond over that. When you have people that are outsiders, they are closer, and it has also helped me become more confident in my sexuality.

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