Taking off the mask(s)

I guess this is my coming out story

I’ve done it again. I went all-in on an interest (Substack) only to dump it weeks in. To me my posts were reading a bit too much like www.Creedthoughts.gov. www/creedthoughts. Except with this I still find myself thinking about it, still writing poems and tidbits in my notes app and saving essay drafts here. I’ll only get better if I keep going, so here goes.

I was diagnosed with ADHD on my 30th birthday and for the past 2 1/2 years I’ve been unmasking this part of me. Allowing myself and those that I love, at least those I feel safest around, to see me. Masking, also called camouflaging among other things, is the act of hiding or overcompensating for symptoms, pretending as though you do not have the condition, making excuses for “odd” traits or suppressing stimming.

It has been within these last years that my understanding and relationship with my queerness and gender has transformed. I learned recently on the podcast Neuro Queering that this is actually a very common thing; as neurodivergent folks unmask, they often times unmask their sexuality, gender, and many other aspects of self. This goes even further for those Assigned Female at Birth (AFAB).

I went through my “am I gay?” phase early on. I was 7 years old when I was caught making out with the 10-year-old neighbor girl to No Doubt with the red plastic sheet slipped over my strobe light. It was here that I first faced this. My mother laughed at me, told everyone (family or friend) who came over, that I was caught kissing my girlfriend.

I think we can all see clearly that this is where the shame set in and I stuffed it deep down and left it for good. And if you’re thinking “Uh, Lu, this is far too young to be macking on anyone.” You are correct, and, these are often the realities of children who grow up in highly sexualized homes.

I never shared with anyone close to me that I was bisexual until I met my partner Mike, some 20 years later. He was accepting and caring and I thought maybe I could share with others. I shared with some other queer friends, all gay men. I was met with silence and a quick change of subject. I didn't hear later how they really felt until they freely shared opinions such as “bi people are only kidding themselves” either in front of me or Mike.

After this I found myself looking for any opportunity to validate myself to these people. Sharing stories out of context about women I had hooked up with to say “look at me, look at what I have done, am I queer enough for you now?” It took me far too long for the relationships to end with those that never came around and I am still living with the shame of it all as I slowly peel this mask from my face.

Since the jolted shock of moving out of my hometown, state and country to start a new life, the realisation that I could in fact be whoever I want to be settled in quickly. That no one here knows me, my past, or anything about me logically should be an exciting thing. Instead it whipped me into a paralysis and realisation that I have buried the person I am so far deep that I don’t know how to be anything else but an amalgamation of everything and everyone I have ever consumed. And to allow the things I have done in the name of this to be proof of my fraudulence. There is something so skin-crawlingly frightening about knowing who you are and not being able to find the ways or words to show yourself, let alone others.

Instead it whipped me into a paralysis and realisation that I have buried the person I am so far deep that I don’t know how to be anything else but an amalgamation of everything and everyone I have ever consumed.

My art and career have suffered greatly during these past two years; old customers sit idly by to see if I will ever create again while others unfollow or throw me on mute for why I can only assume is they can’t bear to watch the train wreck. But I am learning that it was already suffering under the person I was because it wasn’t a full representation of me. Suppressing my creativity, comparing my work and somtimes copying the work of others was the reality of my artistic career early on.

Since I’ve allowed myself the physical and mental distance from the people and places I used as reasons to hide, I have given myself permission to peel back the other masks and see what’s underneath. To perform a full, gruesome autopsy of all the lies I’ve told myself and the beliefs I’ve formed. Dissecting each one and placing it under the microscope to see which I will keep and which need to go.

The western world lives in a society where we are all considered neurotypical, heterosexual, and one of two genders assigned at birth based solely off our genitalia. We are forced from birth to perform cis-ness and straightness and neurotypical behaviors. Now living in a country with all of these same standards in place for their members of society, I find that there is another layer that has forced me to unmask the relationship with my gender.

To perform a full, gruesome autopsy of all the lies I’ve told myself and the beliefs I’ve formed. Dissecting each one and placing it under the microscope to see which I will keep and which need to go.

I’ve been learning Portuguese since moving here, a doozy of a language but one that I truly adore. Yet one of the most difficult parts of the language is the association with gender. Each person, each emotion, each inanimate object has a gender. I mean the goddamn croissant I’m eating right now is apparently masculine. As I’ve searched for language for myself I find that these words are screaming in my face. At the market or on the street, someone wants my attention or says “olá menina!” (hello girl). I find myself constantly misgendered and misgendering myself for the sake of conformity and ease.

The Portuguese government passed a Gender Identity Law in 2018, instating a new pronoun for não-binário (non-binary) folks. Elu. I haven’t heard the use of this word since I’ve moved here, but I also haven’t allowed myself the space to explore the queer and gender nonconforming spaces here in Porto. I will one day. There is still so much to unpack around my sense of belonging though.

The binary way of being here is loud, from neurodivergence to sexuality and gender, just as it is back in Idaho and the rest of the US and West. I still have space to grow and come into my new skin. There are bits of the mask still clinging on for dear life and very well may be here to stay, but I’ll keep working for the day I confidently respond, “eu não sou uma menina.”