I accidentally defined my queerness through toxic whiteness

“Well, there’s 50% chance you’ll marry a man huh?” 

Laughter.

I came out as bisexual in 2018 but since then identify as queer. I don’t find many cis heterosexual men bearable - it’s not their looks, I can appreciate an attractive person. I’m just not attracted to heteronormativity. So while I don’t completely avoid them, I don’t see myself in a situation where I will (quite frankly) tolerate them.

Nonetheless, as a queer person of colour, it wasn’t that easy to come out to my family and friends. A cloud of murmurs saying “hmmm are you really tho?” hung over me. I guess that’s expected when you come out in your mid-30s and are a hopeless romantic. I had a few relationships in my past, and many with cis heterosexual men, so I thought I could hear voices around me questioning every decision I made. 

I am queer, of course, but I wasn’t sure I was queer enough for everyone else.

When I fell for a person who wasn’t a cis heterosexual man and had a relationship with them, I could see the cloud begin to thin. People accepted my sexuality because I proved it to them. Like a table of judges, they all lifted placards with their scores on it. Some in the 10s; some still unsure, settling on 6 or 7. 

Many people in my family relied heavily on the 50% they perceived as their truth and so were angered with my new relationship. They wanted me to be straight, or at least appear it, like I did for most of my life. There was something in them that didn’t care about my happiness, but instead their own satisfaction.

And so I went into the relationship with my whole heart.

The naive romantic in me fell quick and hard. I didn’t care what others thought, because I proved them wrong, and so everything would be fine. But a queer Indian woman falling in love with a queer white person was not widely accepted. There was pushback and it made me fight harder.

What I didn’t realise is I was attempting to prove them wrong with the wrong person.

I fell into a toxic relationship, that came with infidelity and immaturity. I felt shame when the relationship didn’t turn out how I wanted, because people would think “there, she tried it and now she can go back to normal”. So I clung on, I tried to keep it going. I proved them wrong, I can’t back out now.

I spent two years attempting to ground myself in us, hoping we could move past mistakes and inaction, but instead I faced the privilege of white violence. As two white people colonised my body and mind, through carelessness, manipulation and selfish actions, I spiralled deep into depression. Yet again, a woman of colour was cast aside for the ease of whiteness. The amount of cruelty I experienced was unbearbale.

The pain from that relationship still shakes me. I have triggers that now live with me. There are things I have accepted will always be part of my anxiety as an outcome from it. I trust precariously. 

Queerness became shrouded in pain. Not because queerness itself is painful, but because I accidentally defined it within that relationship. Moving on has shown me that despite that, I can still be a hopeless romantic with others, it doesn’t end with that toxicity. But it leaves me, as a queer Indian woman, who was manipulated and physiologically abused by whiteness; with fear. Fear for the romantic in me. 

Although I have the ability to love again, I’m scared to do it.

Toxic whiteness became a big part of my romantic story and unfortunately, it partly defines me. Accepting that has allowed me to see it for what it was. Replaying moments in my head has helped me understand why my anxiety now attacks.

I’ve reached a place where I don’t want to have to prove anything to anyone. I don’t want the pressure to appear queer enough or straight enough to anyone. Although I am healing from what I experienced, I know some pressures will still sit with me - many people from certain cultures or backgrounds will understand that.

My queerness became a performance, so my culture could be silenced into acceptance. I learnt that was happening when it was over. Although I have shame, I don’t have regret. I’ve since understood what happened and what I really need. 

I now understand how to love. 

And it’s for myself.