- Growing up, I struggled with my sexuality and did my best to hide it from others.
- In my freshman year of college I finally acknowledged I'm gay and started dressing more masculine.
I enrolled in Central Piedmont Community College in 2019. When I walked through the doors on the first day, I felt like I was stuck in purgatory.
For starters, I was embarrassed to have "failed" the task of getting into a four-year college. But most alarmingly, I had a crush on a girl in my history class. I couldn't muster up the courage to say more than hello or compliment her outfit. I wore oversized flannels and kept my crush a secret from everyone.
When I graduated from college four years later, I was finally able to celebrate my queerness.
At the start of my freshman year of college, I didn't know who I was
In the second semester of my freshman year, I transferred to Queens University of Charlotte. That was right when the pandemic started.
As I sat in quarantine, I thought a lot about my sexuality. I remembered attending a creative-writing camp when I was younger. I'd blushed while listening to the other girls read slam poetry about liking girls. I envied the pride flags they hung on their doors. I also remembered the struggle I had when I tried to sign up for the Gay Straight Alliance in middle school.
In Hebrew school I liked a girl from class who loved art and marine biology. The only time I got to speak to her beyond small talk was during Yom Kippur. When our parents prayed for the dead, we went outside to gossip. But we were starving from fasting, so I couldn't tell what was hunger and what were butterflies in my stomach.
I took countless quizzes online to see if I was straight or gay. Eventually my friends sent me the "Am I a Lesbian" Masterdoc on social media, and everything clicked. I finally admitted to myself in my freshman year of college that I'm gay.
Both my parents were thrilled I'd found myself. My mom even got me lesbian-flag shirts.
Once I realized I'm a lesbian, I became more comfortable with my identity
I started by cutting my hair short. I did this in increments: first shoulder length and then a crew cut. Years of pain fell to the floor and got swept away by the barber's broom. I started to wear masculine clothes to synagogue and received stares from the congregation. I never felt so comfortable in my life.
While researching the Holocaust for a class project, I stumbled upon black-and-white photos of Jewish lesbians dancing and smiling in queer bars in Berlin, where my grandfather lived before the war. Finding out there were others like me in the past helped me build my self-love in the present. They didn't hide any part of who they were at a time when their identities were oppressed by society. Why should I?
In my senior year I participated in my university's first lavender graduation
A lavender graduation is a queer-only ceremony held at universities across the country each year, designed to celebrate the contributions of LGBTQ seniors. At my ceremony I learned about Ronni Sanlo, a Jewish lesbian who started lavender graduation in 1995 at the University of Michigan.
Before attending, I'd never thought about my queerness as a quality to be honored. I viewed it as a heterosexual test I'd failed — but here I received an A-plus.
A guest speaker told us to continue to shine our light in our professions and to never be ashamed of who we are. He talked about wearing nail polish despite initial pushback from his coworkers and inspired us to embrace what made us unique. I felt empowered as a queer person.
The lavender graduation made me proud to be gay and helped me realize how far I'd come
I'd started college with my head hanging low and my shoulders hunched. I internalized society's stigmatization of lesbians and could barely say the L-word without embarrassment.
On my graduation day, I finally had the courage to wear a suit as I walked across the stage at commencement. Over my suit, I wore a lavender cord — a promise that I'd never hide again.