Lesbian Resilience
"There is no undoing the damage this world has caused us, but there is repairing, and it must start from radical self-acceptance."
Dear lesbian reader,
It’s easy to focus on the gloom and doom — after all, our society, as well as the media, is full of it. Negative messages about being a lesbian persecute us wherever we go, no matter how “progressive” and advanced the cultures we reside in may be. Our lives are so chaotic and stressful. Everything is happening at once; everything is loud. Constantly overwhelmed by all sorts of signals, we are expected to promptly follow them.
But that’s not how I want to live. I want to be restful, peaceful. I want to be present. I want to notice the beauty in my life, in those around me, and not let it escape my grasp.
It took me years to be able to call myself a lesbian; to admit to myself the inescapable nature of homosexuality. ‘Pride’, how the LGBTQ+ sphere understands it, was not a thing where I originally come from. But I have grown proud, and not in an exhibitionist way. In a quiet, resilient way, I have grown proud of who I am.
Today I feel like showing it to the world, whoever might be on the other end of the receiving line. I want to talk about the beauty of being a lesbian. Not as something outer-worldly, which must be captured, analyzed and scrutinized under the lens of a microscope. But as something materially earthly, intrinsically tied to my humanness.
Here are some things I love about being a lesbian (in no particular order):
Hugging my lover and breathing-in the scent of her scalp; the pheromones that radiate from every cell of her body, drawing me to her.
Walking down the street with my freshly gelled, crispy-short haircut; button down spritzed in cologne, Carhartt trousers and Timberland boots. All knowing damn well only lesbians will find me attractive and that’s how I like it. I love it when my femme pulls me closer, locking her fingers with mine, making sure everybody knows I’m with her.
Getting to share my home with another lesbian — a connection so deep it’s hard to describe. There is no subject that is too embarrassing or taboo between us. She understands me; she sees me for who I am and loves me exactly as I am made, and I her.
Spotting another lesbian on the street and exchanging that ‘I see you’ look. Or finding lesbian friendship — regardless of how young or old, far or near, different or similar we may be.
Waking up in the morning with my beautiful femme by my side, sleeping peacefully after we’ve made love; her long locks floating on the pillowcase. Or pulling her closer; the two of us slow dancing in the middle of the room even though there’s no music.
Loving femaleness unconditionally. Learning to accept and love myself within — even with my ‘defects’, and the echoing sound of all the expectations I fail to meet. I love women and thus beloved by them in return… so why wouldn’t I love myself as the woman I am?
Living in a household where we are different but equal. Task division is based on natural talents and preferences, not on one’s personhood and worth. I clean whilst my lover walks the dog. She makes us dinner whilst I fix the loose screws in the vitrine cabinet. I love making coffee or food for her; I love fixing her bike because she’s been busy lately and she needs it to get somewhere and I want to be of service, not because I don’t think she can fix it herself.
Those silly moments my lover and I tease each other about women we’ve spotted on tv, on a picture, or in a book character that either I or she fancy; and the little playful, innocently jealous remarks that end up drawing us closer.
Remarkably sweaty, creative love-making sessions that last several hours. And that familiar “you want some water?” right after.
Being visible, none assumes I am heterosexual. In the rare case they do, we have a laugh about it and move on. I no longer feel threatened by other’s assumptions of me as a lesbian — it is what I am, after all, so why would I pretend otherwise? So what if I am the walking “stereotype” of a dyke?
At the start of my life and for a long while after, I lived in survival mode. I lived in defense — or offense — trying to spot the ways others could hurt me and prevent them before the thought could even form in their minds. Yet, that hasn’t always worked. I have been followed and yelled “dyke” at in the streets. I have had men spit on the floor, hiss at me as I passed by, contemptuous looks cast across their faces. But I keep my head held high and continue taking up the space that I rightfully deserve, because I am a human being. Before female, or lesbian, I am human. Being a female and a lesbian has then shaped my experience walking this world, but it has never diminished my worth as a human being. I refuse that notion.
Every single lesbian I have met or seen in passing over the years had something distinct about her. Something beautiful, and not in a conventional way. It’s an air, an aura of nonchalance; of being openly oneself without hiding, without trying to fit into a mold that isn’t shaped from our own clay. And yes, even the Femmes — especially the Femmes.
Most days I don’t think about it. I just am. I just let myself be. I am not special or different. Then I remember all the times the world has tried to drag me down for who I am, and how I’ve had to rebuild myself up. In those moments, I have to remind myself that being a lesbian is beautiful.
If the world, religion, society, hadn’t tried to made me think otherwise, I wouldn’t be here preaching this. If this were the standard, and every lesbian woman or girl was able to accept and love herself, well then… but it isn’t. So I must stress how important this is.
There is an innate beauty in simply being yourself.
I applaud any lesbian, past or present, who’s been courageous enough to own herself unapologetically. I stand in solidarity with any lesbian who’s been told she is not good enough, that she’s an incorrect woman: you are not. I stand with the lesbian who knows herself as a homosexual deeply, although her environment does not allow her to be openly lesbian, for she could face threats or worse. I hold space for those lesbians who have not yet found themselves, even if they reside in a supposedly “accepting” society. I love lesbians, and I will fight even for those who don’t love themselves or who antagonize me for being unapologetically myself and speaking my damn mind.
And to young lesbians: you deserve to feel loved and encouraged to be yourselves. We owe it to the generations of lesbians to come to build a sense of resilience. I owe it to my younger self to actively seek out the good in my life, and to appreciate it.
Let me tell you: I am here and I am not queer. When I say lesbian, I say it with my whole damn chest. When you say lesbian, say it with your whole damn chest. Mean it.
There is no undoing the damage this world has caused us, but there is repairing, and it must start from radical self-acceptance.
And you, dear reader — how has being a lesbian shaped your experience? What do you love about being a lesbian? Let me know in the comments, or don’t… go and tell your friends or your lover, if you prefer. But fill your heart with it, every once in a while.
- The Critical Butch
Note: this is an extract of my personal thoughts and reflections. Most sections of this essay have been drawn from my own private writings and adapted for publishing.
Beautiful! 👏🏼 I need this. I often get lesbians bristling for saying this but I like being a lesbian because that means I don’t have to deal with men. I would hate to be attracted to men and have that struggle of all the patriarchal crap come with that attraction or love.
I like the fact that me and my wife share in all the experiences that being a woman means. She understands me and I understand her.
We make each other laugh every day.
This reads like a gentle, strong, lesbian manifesto. Kudos, CB. Inspiring and brave, even in 2024, and even though I've been happily out since 1975. :-)