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capri0mniI've said similar things, here, before, but this was a relatively fresh insight when a couple more puzzle pieces clicked into place (namely, the pan- and poly- bits)
One: Before the word had a specific connection to sexual orientation and/or gender identity, “Queer” meant “odd” or “askew from the conventional framework,” and was often used to refer to neurodiverse and disabled people.
I am physically disabled, from birth, with a neurologically-caused disability. During my time, growing up, disabled people were (and still are) perceived and treated as if we have no sexual agency or even any sexual aspect at all. This cultural context clouded my own perception of what my orientation actually is.
It is very likely that, even if I were born and grew up able-bodied and neurotypical, I still would have been “not Straight.” But that is a hypothetical that can never be tested. And I know for a fact that the manner of my “not Straightness” has been shaped by my experience as a disabled woman.
So I choose the label “queer” as a form of solidarity with all the ghosts of my disabled forebears, and to express pride in our shared experience of living skewed lives.
Two: Back when I assumed I was straight, and trying (very hard) to form a normal, romantic/sexual/potentially long term, committed, relationship with someone, it was always the men I was corresponding with who broke it off.
And the reasons they (about half a dozen, or so, over the course of many years) gave were nearly identical to each other: That I wasn’t exactly doing anything wrong, and we were compatible in many other ways, but there was just something missing between us, and they couldn’t tell me exactly how to find that missing thing.
(None of us knew the words “aromantic” or “asexual,” I don’t think. I don’t know how things would have gone differently if we had known)
So I accept the label “queer,” because Other People have noticed something odd about me that we couldn’t quite name, that goes beyond my merely having a disability (Which is invisible/irrelevant on the Internet).
Three: Now that I have the words for “Asexual,” “Aromantic.” and “Queer Platonic,” I’ve looked back over my life and recognized all the times I have been in love... But ...
Although I now have words for how I don’t feel attraction, I’m still lacking words for all the different forms of love I have felt, in a way that I can express it without semi-long form essays like this one.
So I use the word “queer” because I realize my experiences are skewed within the framework of my native language, and I don’t really have any other word that fits better.
One: Before the word had a specific connection to sexual orientation and/or gender identity, “Queer” meant “odd” or “askew from the conventional framework,” and was often used to refer to neurodiverse and disabled people.
I am physically disabled, from birth, with a neurologically-caused disability. During my time, growing up, disabled people were (and still are) perceived and treated as if we have no sexual agency or even any sexual aspect at all. This cultural context clouded my own perception of what my orientation actually is.
It is very likely that, even if I were born and grew up able-bodied and neurotypical, I still would have been “not Straight.” But that is a hypothetical that can never be tested. And I know for a fact that the manner of my “not Straightness” has been shaped by my experience as a disabled woman.
So I choose the label “queer” as a form of solidarity with all the ghosts of my disabled forebears, and to express pride in our shared experience of living skewed lives.
Two: Back when I assumed I was straight, and trying (very hard) to form a normal, romantic/sexual/potentially long term, committed, relationship with someone, it was always the men I was corresponding with who broke it off.
And the reasons they (about half a dozen, or so, over the course of many years) gave were nearly identical to each other: That I wasn’t exactly doing anything wrong, and we were compatible in many other ways, but there was just something missing between us, and they couldn’t tell me exactly how to find that missing thing.
(None of us knew the words “aromantic” or “asexual,” I don’t think. I don’t know how things would have gone differently if we had known)
So I accept the label “queer,” because Other People have noticed something odd about me that we couldn’t quite name, that goes beyond my merely having a disability (Which is invisible/irrelevant on the Internet).
Three: Now that I have the words for “Asexual,” “Aromantic.” and “Queer Platonic,” I’ve looked back over my life and recognized all the times I have been in love... But ...
Although I now have words for how I don’t feel attraction, I’m still lacking words for all the different forms of love I have felt, in a way that I can express it without semi-long form essays like this one.
So I use the word “queer” because I realize my experiences are skewed within the framework of my native language, and I don’t really have any other word that fits better.
