Pride, continued
In honor of pride, I have been reflecting in micro moments, micro doses, micro images.
I can hardly believe that just a little over ten years ago, I told one of my friends in a study room at the law school (to ensure no fellow undergraduate would have had access to our conversation) that maybe, just maybe, I have a crush on a girl.
“Please keep this a secret, I’m trying to figure out what it all means.” I hear myself say in that dimly lit room, hoping nobody overheard us through those paper-thin walls.
A seemingly simple sentence feels like oversized, bulky check-in luggage exploding with my fears, worries, and anxieties. I can still feel the rush, the nerves, and the torment behind those words. Twelve words that took only five seconds for me to say, were a way for me to reach out, to share a piece of me that I felt like I could no longer hold onto by myself, to feel safe and held, and be seen all while being invisible. A plea to my friend that has been repeated by many others like me.
I had no idea what it would mean for me, I just knew that it was something that I needed to “figure out.” How would I confirm whether I like girls if I’ve never kissed one? Does this mean that I’m bi? What would my friends think about it all? Would they stop those sweet cozy nights of cuddles and movies in fear that I would be hitting on them? Would they no longer feel comfortable being physically close to me? These are only some of the hundreds of questions whipping through my mind, passing at 100 miles per hour, chasing for answers that I didn’t have at the time.
My coming out process dragged on, and to an extent, I feel like it is still going.
I ended up telling that person I had a crush on them. Without my consent, they told my roommate, our mutual friends, nearly our whole school. For days and weeks on end, I felt my throat burning, down to my esophagus, the fire reaching my stomach. I was highly alert, easily rattled, tossed and turned through countless sleepless nights. I walked through the campus in fear that people would have "discovered" me, and put labels on me that I wasn’t yet ready to own myself.
Why did I bother telling that person? Now, not only are we no longer friends and things are awkward, the whole school thinks I’m some kind of freak? We booked a whole week to be in Cancún together with our friends over spring break, what are we going to do now? What about the boys that I’ve liked and have been involved with? Will they no longer be interested because they assume that now I only like girls? What do I even identify as?
Soon enough, I had friends asking me if I were a lesbian now, people who I didn’t even know asking my friends if I were that girl who had a crush on that campus-famous person, all while feeling small and very uneasy in my own home because my roommate and I both liked the same person and I had the pleasure of watching them furiously eat face one night when we were both invited out to the same gay bar in DC.
Luckily, after that semester, I was off to Costa Rica for the summer and Argentina for the fall semester. I felt blessed to have the opportunity to walk away from that mess in DC all while being very aware that Pandora's box was open, and the only thing left in there was my big fat queerness that I had to face and "solve for."
I spent those 6 weeks in Costa Rica talking to my friends about other wlw couples and drama, believing in my core that it was not at all obvious that I am at least a little fruity, all while doing absolutely nothing about it other than having a huge crush on one of the girls on our trip. None of those friends ever said anything and embraced me talking about lesbians with open arms. If you are reading this, thank you, and I love you all so very much.
Two years later, I had my very first wlw heartbreak. One of my best friends from that Costa Rica trip, Lillie, and I confessed our deeply concealed feelings for each other and dated for a hot second (3 weeks) before she found out she got off the waitlist to a Fulbright scholarship for Mexico. Having lived through two long distance relationships at the crisp age of 22, Lillie wasn't going to go through it again, and due to my privilege as one of her closest friends and my disadvantage as her latest lover, I knew our fate. Our relationship essentially ended before it even had the chance to start. My queer little heart was shattered into millions of pieces, scattered all across our silly little college campus, and I couldn’t even bother picking them up. I was so lost, I didn’t think I could offer to visit or move to Mexico (I know, how very gay of me to even consider as a baby queer).
So I decided to call my mom. To preface this, my mother and I have a complicated relationship, so she isn’t usually on speed dial for this kind of emotional stuff. Yet I felt so broken that I hoped maybe mom could swoop in, because scaring Ah Niang, my more supportive, understanding, emotionally available paternal grandma with this was definitely not an option.
I sat on the toilet, naked physically and emotionally, with the hot water running in the shower as steam filled the bathroom one evening in late 2016, anxiously waiting for the dial tone to end so I could hopefully seek some comfort in my mother’s words.
“Hi mom, I’m really sad…” I begin to sob, I start heaving, through tears, I continued, “I don’t know how to talk about this but Lillie and I were dating and we broke up because she moved to Mexico for her Fulbright.”
Silence.
I feel the fire starting in my throat, moving down my esophagus as warm, salty tears paralleled the move down my face.
“I knew it. Just because somebody likes you, it doesn’t mean you have to get into a relationship with them. I could tell she was gay and dating that roommate of hers from the Facebook stalking that I did. That’s disgusting. I believe in God. I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this for the past two years from me, I feel like I don’t even know you. Why did you have to come to me with this? Why couldn’t you have gone straight to your grandma?”
My brain blocked out the rest of the conversation.
Between the reactions from my friends at school and my mom, venturing out into this world as who I am didn't feel like a safe option. If none of them could handle it with tenderness and grace, how do I expect everyone else to do it? So I turned it all inwards, kept all of this love for the whole womankind for myself, my Google search, and my Tumblr only.
A year later, back in Argentina, I met Ana. We had both recently arrived in Buenos Aires, we both love food, have similar mommy issues, and it felt right. This time, there was no deadline to our relationship. I finally had the chance to see what loving a woman was all about.
Yet, I also found myself in a workplace where everyone was or seemed to be part of a very conservative sect of Argentine society, especially because of their religion and social class.
So once again, I turned inward. But this time, I dragged Ana deep into the closet with me. I never talked about her as my partner, in fear that I would be ostracized by my colleagues.
On November 5th 2018, I joined Google.
Okay, maybe this is it. After all, the motto of Google is to "bring your best self to work" and "don't be evil." So surely, if there is a place where I can come out relatively safely, this is it?
Our office on Avenida Alicia Moreau de Justo 350 welcomed me with colorful containers turned into meeting rooms, fridges filled with soft drinks from Coca Cola and Pespi, drawers overflowing with locally famous snacks. Despite Disney-like settings, still, I tiptoed on eggshells.
As the only non-native Spanish speaker and person of color on the sales team, I felt like an ugly, foreign-looking, American sounding duckling among a herd of shiny feathered, gracefully long-necked porteño swans. Being queer added another layer of self-consciousness and my colleagues’ questions like “¿tenés novio?” felt like invitations for further isolation.
Naturally, this was compounded by crippling imposter syndrome. I felt like my Spanish wasn’t good enough for Smart Bidding pitches or handling objections. I had never touched Google Ads before and all of a sudden I was meant to sell it and hit revenue targets, in Spanish no less. And there I was, small, scruffy and gray feathered, sitting amongst the crème de la crème of Argentine society, everyone here fluent in English and I barely spoke their language…
I spent my time observing how my colleagues operated in their natural habitat, shadowing them as they advised locksmiths and e-commerce businesses, and listening as they chit chatted in Lunfardo across our open plan office. In my very scientific office-chair ethnographic research, I spotted a bright gay flag hanging off the walls of one of the cubes. Aha! Maybe this person is of the fruity tribe and would have ancestral knowledge and wisdom of the queers in Argentina.
That six-color pride flag was the beacon I needed to guide me toward Chelo, head of Gaylers Argentina (now Pride@Google). I was shy at first (I know, even I can be timid), having never socially or professionally dipped my toes into the colorful, rainbow, glitter-filled LGBTQIA+ waters. I pestered him about what the ERG was about, what activities they were planning, trying to really get all my shallow treading in before deep diving and declaring to the King of the Gays that I’m dating a woman myself.
After having caught a glimpse of my baby queer panic, Chelo scheduled a coffee to get to know me more, slowly and gently getting me involved in DEI events that weren’t so obviously gay, and eventually pulling me onto the Gaylers committee of 4 in Buenos Aires.
Five Prides have since come and gone, and Chelo has become one of my closest friends. The two of us have since flocked from our cozy office in Buenos Aires to our EMEA headquarters in Dublin. Chelo is yet again the Head of Pride@Google, now leading an executive committee of 10+, building communities and organizing activities impacting 500+ people both internal and external to Google. I’m so proud to have seen him grow as a person and continue to empower more and more people like he did with me half a decade ago.
And in the past five years, especially the last two years here in Dublin, I’m finally coming out of my shell, and my apparently invisible closet. I started dropping hints here and there about the people I was seeing, it started with a lot of gender neutral descriptions, then sometimes throwing a “she” in there as relevant, eventually using full names and sharing all of the funny and dramatic wlw moments with friends and colleagues alike. Fast forward to this pride month, I got on stage to tell a story about dating as queer woman in front of 70+ colleagues and sent an email to my team thanking them for celebrating me as I am. While these might seem like small details to some, they were some of my most public coming out to date.
My eyes well up as I furiously tap my two thumbs into this Notes app. If it weren’t for Chelo’s gentle reach out to me 5+ years ago, and many other friends near and far who have embraced me literally and metaphorically, I might still be in that glass (only slightly opaque?) closet of mine, hoping to be seen, celebrated, and loved for who I am.
So on this pride, I hope you’ll channel your biggest ally and supporter, spread the love in micro doses that some sad, anxious, chaotic baby queer might need, give them a hand and a huge hug to remind them that they’re okay, and no matter how hard it might be at first, they are brave for speaking their truth and being their full selves and they will be so, so loved by everyone on the other side of it.
Happy Pride everyone ! 🏳️🌈🏳️⚧️
Love,
Kath
Sem medo de ser
Sem medo de amar
Sem que nada possa nos machucar