I hoped that feeling of internal hatred and shame would finally leave me for good. When I began attending college at the age of 17, I hoped things would be different. The answer, instead, was to purge myself of any and all possessions that reminded me of the girl, and girls in general, frankly.
When they found out I had a girlfriend two years later, I was asked if I felt like I needed to go back to therapy. It was a simple room with one man who held a Bible and prayed that God would make this "sin leave my heart".Īfter a few months I was able to convince my family that I was "healed" and stopped going. It wasn't the sort of Cameron Post therapy where you get sent off to camp with fellow gays, or showed images of penises in hopes of making you want one.
I was first sent to conversion therapy at the age of 14 when it was discovered I had been watching a new show called. I grew up in a Christian home and I am still proud to call myself a Christian, though the road to that place of comfort and acceptance was a rough one for sure. If there was any feeling I was familiar with for most of my life, it was that one.
I held it for a moment, feeling the printing raised off the slick, shiny paper and breathed a low, deep breath. Instead, it was a tiny sticker hidden in a basket full of stickers with a single phrase printed in black ink - "Pride: The opposite of shame." Yet it wasn't the massive portrait of RBG that stuck out to me. Inside the shelves were filled with wonderful paintings, books, buttons, pins, and t shirts all about bold, empowering women, diversity, equality, justice, the list goes on and on. This past weekend I, along with about 5,000 other lesbians, was walking the streets of Provincetown for Memorial Day weekend when I came upon a little shop called Womanscraft.
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