On Finding Community

Is it like Sex and the City? Or like exposure therapy?

Photo by Helena Lopes on Unsplash

We all wear labels during the day. I’m not talking about designer clothes, although I’m into that. What I’m talking about is identities: Writer. Gay man. Son. Brother. Volleyball player. Singer. Artist. Photographer.

Recently, I’ve been thinking about what labels are most important to me - or rather, intrinsic.

Which parts make you feel most alive, most like you?

My two strongest intrinsic identities? Gay man, and writer - specifically children’s literature.

I once heard someone talk about community as a life force that you can plug into…a support system where you don’t have to explain yourself - others just “get you”. There’s rejuvenation and comfort in that, because you’re with your people.

I’m not sure about you - but I’ve spent my whole life avoiding these people. Those two communities.

Being gay (or anywhere on the sexuality spectrum) isn’t a choice…but it is a choice to live an open lifestyle. For some people that means expressing themselves through clothing, dance, the arts or movement. It’s in my DNA to be attracted to men, but it’s also in my DNA to express myself in a positive, bright, fun way. The same can be said about being a writer. It’s me - how I express myself and find out what I know and think. When I write, I’m more grounded, more clear, happier, and healthier.

Let me be clear - I have some great writing communities. Friends I’ve met through various writing classes and schools. These people have been a guiding force and sounding board for me over the past 7 years. It’s them, in fact, who have supported my move into children’s lit. It’s just that writing kid lit feels…well, it feels so close to being a kid. That scary, unsafe time and place.

So, for safety’s sake, I shut down both of those identities.

When I was a kid, that life force was natural. I was a happy light and wanted to share my creativity everywhere. Instead of having a crush on girls, I liked boys. But I immediately knew that wasn’t okay. Gay guys were effeminate and different, and people feared that. It meant getting bullied or gay bashed. Or even on the “lighter” side, being made fun of.

As for writing, ie being creative, that was feminine and empathic. I squashed down the writer part of me, especially anything fun, wacky and colourful. I tried to read “serious” stuff - hard cover. All literary, no genre stuff. Thinking I could win awards from straight white men in suits and ties. Something that would prove how straight and masculine I was. So when I embraced writing, I wrote adult fiction, flash fiction, and creative nonfiction. Not kid lit. That was too dangerous. Kid lit showed the world who I really was: vulnerable and sensitive.

As I grew up, while other guys were watching baseball or building stuff, I secretly watched Carrie Bradshaw on Sex and the City, and wondered if Victor and Nicki Newman would get back together on The Young and the Restless. Publicly, I shrouded myself in as much masculinity as I could. I enrolled in business classes – because left-brained life was the opposite of creativity. I joined the football team (ha, nice try). I stopped watching soap operas and girlie shows with my sister.

Here's the thing. That’s not cutting it anymore. It’s isolating, and damn, it is lonely.

Saying these words makes me want to run and hide. My reptilian brain is waiting for the other shoe to drop - waiting for the tiger to chase me in the shadows. Or, more specifically, waiting for someone to come up, rip up my writing, and say, “I always knew who you really are. Now you’re gonna die.”

Yet I’ve started reaching out to these specific communities – other kid writers (though my existing writing communities - thank you!) and my local LGBTQ+ community. When I see these people, my first thought is: I guess this is how it just goes for them, it just worked out. They easily found their puzzle piece – like how Carrie found her Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha. But what I’m learning is that finding community and integrating within it can mean putting yourself out there and being vulnerable. In some cases, it’s digging through your childhood garbage bin compost heap.

For example, I have OCD, and one of my compulsions is handwashing. My therapist taught me something called Exposure and Response Prevention (ERP). Think of having a garbage phobia and the “cure” is putting your hands in a dumpster and not washing your hands for as long as you can manage. Then you do that over and over again. It’s like you’re training your brain to be okay with anxiety. You do the exposure, then you prevent the response. Over time, your brain settles down…it just takes time, and a lot of practice.

That’s what joining these communities feels like right now. Like a big, fat exposure. My heart rate increases and my mouth goes dry. It’s unsafe isn’t it? It has to be based on how overactive my brain is. These people will turn on me. They’ll realize who I really am.

Or not.

Like exposure therapy, I have to train my brain, little by little, to meet these communities. To sit with the discomfort and uncertainty. I remind myself the reward can be great. The communities I’ve already joined have gotten me closer - now I just need to “peel back the onion” to go deeper. To meet these people face to face, and I guess, to face my demons. Funny, instead they may just have open arms like my existing communities have been.

So, Emily (therapist), if you’re reading this - I am committing to exposure therapy to meet these people. I will live alongside my anxiety and build these relationships, little by little. When I am fearing for the devil, I will wait, and maybe they will in fact be angels.

Here’s to being Carrie Bradshaw…to watching Victor Newman rekindle his romance with Nicki…and to following your passion of who you are. Here’s to embracing your DNA.

What communities do you want to be part of?

What are you craving, either as an adult of a kid?

What scares the hell out of you but you know you need to get there?

How are you doing the damn thing anyway?

Leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you.