How a lack of representation led to becoming a visibly LGBTQ+ educator
Written by: Jasmine L Wilson | She/They | IG: @jasminelwilson
Experiencing childhood and adolescence in the 2000s, I didn’t see much representation or discussion of the LGBTQ+ community. I didn’t grow up in a conservative household, but it would be a stretch to say it was progressive. The LGBTQ+ community was just never a topic of conversation in my house. So, without any real connections to this community, my understanding was informed by the media. The TV shows I watched were almost completely devoid of any LGBTQ+ representation, aside from the occasional stereotypical “flamboyant gay man”, “butch biker lesbian” or queer-baiting storyline. As such, these characters, their stories and struggles never particularly resonated with me, yet I was thoroughly drawn to media that was even slightly queer. I couldn’t explain why. Growing up, I simply thought that I cared deeply for the LGBTQ+ community and the issues they faced.
As I became a teenager, something started to shift. I was more and more drawn to LGBTQ+ storylines and found myself watching any media with queer relationships alone or in secret. By the time I was 16, I was slowly becoming conscious of the romantic and sexual nature of my thoughts about women. But, I had experienced crushes for the opposite gender growing up. Without any knowledge to help me understand what this could mean, I buried my emotions deep inside, afraid to confront it. For many years, I stayed in denial, in shame of my feelings. It was only in my early 20s, while in a relationship with a man, that I realised I could no longer ignore this part of my identity. So, I started to unpack my attraction to women. Reconciling this within myself was the most difficult part. My own internalised biphobia caused so much negative self-talk that it made me question the validity of my attractions. Was I really attracted to women? No, you’re just straight. Maybe I’m a lesbian? No, you like men. Am I just doing this for attention? How could it be for attention if no one knows? Amidst all this, trawling over past experiences and interrogating my feelings, I kept coming back to the same answer. I was bisexual.
Looking back, I laugh at how my mind desperately scrambled to come up with any other explanation besides the truth. I was so deeply confused, in denial and shrouded in shame. But, it makes sense. In all my adolescence, the depictions I’d seen of attraction were binary – straight or gay. There was no in-between, no spectrum. Without accurate representations of queer people as real, diverse and multifaceted, and with no meaningful connections to the LGBTQ+ community, I had no idea that attraction to multiple genders existed. Nor did I realise that being queer didn’t have a particular “look” or “dress code”. It’s only now, in my 20s, that I recognise how deeply this affected my experience in coming to terms with my sexuality and accepting myself.
That was almost five years ago and I’ve come a long way since then. But in my role as a teacher, I know that many of the young people that walk into my classroom are on their own journeys. No matter where in their journey, I always want my students to know that who they are is okay and feel supported. Some will have support systems and access to LGBTQ+ representation and role models, but this isn’t always a given. So, after seeing people online embrace their queerness and the positive effects it had, I knew what I wanted to do – be a visibly queer role model. Showing this part of myself, while continuing to be the teacher my students knew, I hoped could contribute to the normalisation of being LGBTQ+. By being visible, I hoped my LGBTQ+ students could feel safe, supported and respected for who they are.
Since openly identifying myself as bisexual, there have been countless positives effects and interactions with my students. These have ranged from students asking respectful questions and questioning stereotypes to helping students access school support and discussing shows with excellent representation. I also started to notice more subtle, gradual effects; students more comfortable to discuss the LGBTQ+ community and their connection to it, as well as a decrease in homophobic language used in the classroom.
Although I knew that representation and role models mattered, it was after seeing the extent of these impacts that it solidified just how much this matters and is needed.
When much of the representation we continue to see today still relies on outdated stereotypes, the need for representation and role models that reflect the diversity of our community is undeniable. Now, I’m not saying that my choice will make the biggest difference, but I know a teenage me could’ve benefitted from this, seeing someone else like me – not a stereotype, not a token character, but a real queer person going about their life. Every day, I see more and more students who are unapologetically embracing their sexual and gender identities and it fills me with pride. It gives me even more strength to show up as I am. Not just for them, but for me.
By Jasmine L Wilson (she/they)
Thumbnail photo credit: Flickr user jglsongs/Flickr Creative Commons