Privilege

I was recently listening to a book titled “Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man” by Emmanuel Acho in preparation for book club night. There’s a chapter about white privilege and while I won’t say it’s a perfect comparison or anything, I found myself emoting with what he was saying, but in the context of how I feel as someone who identifies as gay. 

Statements like these:

“Privilege is the power of feeling normal”

“It’s the silent reinforcement of being able to walk into a store and see its main display show products that cater to you”

“It’s the ability to turn on the TV and see people who look like you represented in all walks of life”

“Privilege is the omnipresent benefit of the doubt”

“It’s the safety of moving through the world without being profiled”

“Imagine having to avert your eyes so you don’t make a [woman] uncomfortable”

“Imagine always having to be on guard to gauge whether you are being perceived as a threat or are in some way playing into some [person’s] negative image or idea of you”

These are all things I emote with. I relate to feeling this way. The thought that I had was that anyone who is in a minority, especially a minority that the majority historically holds some kind of bias against, can relate to. 

Something I hear straight people say A LOT is that they don’t spend very much time thinking about their sexuality and that it’s not a part of their daily experience. This is said as a way to express their confusion and frustration with gay people who seemingly “over-focus” on this aspect of their lives. Honestly it comes across as a bit patronizing. Like “I am better than you because I don’t waste my time with things like that.” Not to say that everyone means it that way, but sometimes that’s how it hits. And while I understand the attitude, I also believe that this attitude comes from a place of privilege. There is less need to weigh and evaluate your actions, thoughts and feelings when you are surrounded by people like you and the belief that you are normal. 

It can be something as simple as sitting down to watch a chic-flic with a group of girls and knowing someone is going to comment on how attractive the male character is, and that person can trust that most everyone will nod and agree, but yourself knowing or feeling like if you said the same thing about the female lead, all that would follow is awkward silence. And maybe a pity comment from someone trying to support you but you know they don’t feel the same way. That’s the kind of moment that makes you feel isolated, alone, taboo.

I am still trying to figure myself out. I am still trying to feel comfortable in my skin. I am still trying to feel like who I am and how I feel doesn’t change how people feel about me. In some ways I still feel like that awkward middle school girl that I thought I had outgrown. 

One question I am occasionally presented with is “Why do you have to talk about this?” For this question I like something from Meghan Decker’s book “Tender Leaves of Hope: Finding Belonging as LGBTQ Latter-day Saint Women,” 

“Generally, ‘coming out’ is more about healing and trust than advocacy.”

I am trying to heal from years of shame. I am trying to trust you. I am trying to trust myself.