All the “Feels” in My Ally Heart

I didn’t realize that I would experience so many emotions receiving the stories of the young men I have interviewed who identify as one of the letters in the LGBTQIA+ acronym: gay, bisexual, transgender, queer/questioning, intersexual, or asexual. Though untrained, I thought I could be a journalist and hear the stories without judgment or emotion. Because I am an empathetic and emotional person, I thought it would serve me best to remain professional, take accurate notes, and let my interviewees speak their truth.

After my first interviews with these young men all along the queer spectrum, I knew that I would only be an audience, a receiver of the stories and the pain and the grief. And that it would be impossible not to feel deep emotions.

There was one moment in particular when I became fully aware that I could not be the author of their book. The awareness arrived when I read the stories aloud to my writer’s group. Tears interrupted my reading. Sometimes I wept uncontrollably . . . until another person would have to take over and read for me. These stories had belonged to my students, nephews, grandchildren, friends, and to complete strangers. And now they were mine forever.

These young men have been bullied and ridiculed. They have been abused and raped by older men who took advantage of them. They have sometimes turned to alcohol and drugs to numb their pain and their shame. They have been questioned and sometimes abandoned by their friends and families. They have tried to end their lives; some of their queer friends succeeded.

The ”A” in LGBTQIA+ stands for Asexual or Ally. The only word that applies to me is Ally, the one who holds the pain for those who have not previously had a voice. When I write the Ally chapter, I will tell my story. It will not be a story about any of the experiences of people who identify as LGBTQIA+. Their stories are not mine to tell. I am humbled to have received them. My story will be a story about the relationships I have developed with incredible individuals who will always remain a part of me.

To be an Ally, first, I open my heart. Then I listen. As an interviewer, I have the advantage of really listening without the need to form a rebuttal or opinion. Maybe I ask a clarifying question. Maybe I try to learn more about their experience. I ask myself how I can be more supportive in the future, to all people who identify as queer, to all people who come into my life from this day forward. I watch myself closely and feel my body’s responses to the words I am hearing. I ask myself why I am feeling that way. Often, I realize that my love cannot comprehend the hate these resilient people have experienced. I don’t have to understand or agree with them in order to have compassion for them.

How can I . . . how can we . . . do better to be Allies to anyone different than us? We need to do better.