When I first came out, I didn’t use the words “lesbian” or “butch”, both of which I now identify with. Instead, I described myself as “gay”. And that is true: I am a gay woman. But there was a deeper meaning behind my choice. The word “gay” has always felt easier for me to say. 

There is still a stigma surrounding the word “gay” and the phrase “that’s so gay” was commonplace throughout my school years. But for me – and my personal experiences – the word “gay” didn’t sting so viscerally in the way that “lesbian” did. I didn’t find myself tip-toeing around it, or avoiding eye contact when I said it. It felt less personal to me, perhaps because there wasn’t so much misogyny attached to it. 

In avoiding the word “lesbian”, I could bypass those memories of school boys fetishising “girl-on-girl” porn, as if those women were just objects. Or the way the kids laughed behind the back of our P.E. teacher, who was assumed to be a lesbian. And even the way that you could be accused of being a lesbian just for playing football, with the implication being that this was a bad thing. (I actually love how many lesbians play football.)

I didn’t dare go near the word “butch” either, even though I felt intrinsically masculine. I knew that butch lesbians, with their short hair and menswear, reflected how I felt inside, but what about the way people spoke about butch lesbians? They were such low currency. To be butch was to be unattractive, intimidating and, essentially, not worthy of love. 

As LGBTQIA+ people, we absorb the meanings of words, not only from their literal definitions, but also from the way they’re used around us. For many of us, that also means absorbing the shame attached to the language that comes our way. At one point or another, we’ve experienced that familiar sinking feeling: when we realise that the way we feel directly conflicts with the social expectations being voiced around about us. 

Even after I came out, I succumbed to those pressures. I stuck to the word “gay”, leaving out the “butch” part altogether. I distanced myself from certain labels – I wore a dress, straightened my hair and make-up to my graduation. When people said things like, “See, you don’t have to look like a man to be a lesbian”, I kept quiet. I was, for them, an acceptable feminine presenting level of gay.

But shame is persistent and if you don’t try to shake it loose, it eats away at you, and sticks by you. Deep down, I knew exactly who I was. I loved the idea of being butch: putting gel in my hair, holding the lapels of my suit, wearing a checked shirt for a morning of DIY. When Netflix released Orange Is the New Black in 2013, it struck a chord with many queer women, trans and non-binary people because of its representation. And it gave me something I’d never seen before: Lea DeLaria’s Big Boo, a butch character being portrayed in a positive way, and who the other characters actually liked.