Heteronormativity.
It is my enemy. It is nowhere near as aggressive, violent, or dangerous as homophobia. And yet.
Heteronormativity:
It means that I am constantly invisible. Because we conflate gender expression and sexual orientation as a rule, as a feminine cisgendered woman I am not usually read as Queer. Even those allies who espouse the cause from their very heterosexual localities, are often surprised to learn that I’m queer. And they haven’t all learned to disguise their surprise upon the discovery. They assume I’m one of them. I’m not. My defense of lgbtq equality is not theoretical. It is not an intellectual exercise in equality. It’s not because “if one of us ain’t free none of us is free” it’s because if I’m not free I’m not free. Subtle difference. Even in progressive circles where we’re all on the same page politically, I am invisible unless I am wearing rainbows from head to toe, talk about my imaginary partner (even if it means I have to make her up for this purpose because being single means I’m even more invisible and even less safe), or explicitly come out in uncompromising language, I am still not recognized as gay. I am persistently invisible.
And then…
When I am in the delicious queer spaces where I will be read as such, or even better seen as a femme, I am invisible as a Christian. Clearly this fierce femme couldn’t possibly be part of that mess. Clearly she wouldn’t be coreligionist with Westboro Baptists. Clearly.
Being in seminary has made me more poignantly aware of the intersections of marginality I embody.
My borderlands are bleeding into each other as I struggle to be seen, to be heard, to be wholly holy.
