Coming to a college like Bates, known for diversity and acceptance, from a rural and mostly conservative high school, I had thought things would be different. I came out as a lesbian to a small group of friends at 16, and that was it. My parents are extremely religious and we live in Trump country – I could never take the risk of coming out to more people. But maybe here, things could be better, right? 

I found a group of friends on campus really quickly, which seemed great at first, but soon there was a problem. They assumed I was straight, because they all were. They asked me if I had a boyfriend, what kind of guys I liked to date, on and on. I brushed it off – said I didn’t really have a type, that I had been on a few dates with “people” but nothing had ever really worked out. But I knew I had to tell them eventually, and a few weeks into the semester, I did. And I’m not saying it was bad, because it wasn’t. Things were awkward, but okay. I wasn’t hated, I wasn’t excluded, but I can’t really say I was accepted either. 

As time went on, and as we learned more about each other, I started to get questions from a “good” friend. Was I sure that I didn’t like men? Hadn’t I been on a few dates with guys (recall my use of the word “people” above)? Was I really sure that my parents wouldn’t accept me, that they would kick me out? They couldn’t do that, right? (They could.) I was appalled by the lack of care and willingness to accept and support me from someone who I considered to be my best friend on campus. 

As time went on, I told more people as it felt appropriate (as in when they directly asked me about men and I had no other out). People had overdramatic reactions of shock, asked me way too many questions about my relationship history, and acted as if queer people were strange and exotic, like they didn’t know that I wasn’t all that different from them. I’m really not that different. No one in the queer community is. Yet I was asked by a straight classmate if I could bring the person I was “talking” to to class so they could meet. It was demanded that I share the details of our relationship like it was vital information. Queer relationships are not for show and tell. We are not on display to be stared at like animals at the zoo, and yet, that is exactly what we are subjected to. There are many queer people on this campus that would agree with me: it is not easy to be queer here. We are seen as different, lesser, stranger. I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel fully comfortable at Bates during my time here, not as long as other students can’t understand that my queerness is not for them. It’s for me.