My Body Made Him Gay (and Other Myths) He did it on a Monday afternoon in late June. I had just gotten back the night before from a weekend Christian retreat which had left me in a wonderful mood. It had been nine months since we broke up; we had a short four-month relationship, but the friendship that we had for years before the relationship made it that much more meaningful, as well as the friendship that we continued after the breakup. He did it online while we were chatting (this may have been cowardly on his part, but it doesn’t matter anymore). We got into an argument and I accused him of it once again, which for months had been my principal insult. This time, though, he didn’t deny. He simply said yes, Jen, it’s true. And my world fell apart. I would then spend the next six months in a deep, dark self-hatred. The two of us went off to separate colleges and never really spoke or saw each other again. Even without him, I couldn’t let it go. I just couldn’t. No amount of counseling could make me consider moving on without figuring this all out, which there was no easy answer to. I took my first gender studies class the next semester after I had numbed myself up enough to know not to think too much or feel too much, especially when a topic like this came up. It was during this semester, though, that I learned how the system of homophobia worked. More questions came up in my head than I wanted to think about. In an email to my intro professor, I proposed my questions that were, and still are, unanswerable to some. Is it possible that racism affects more than just people of color? Isn’t it possible that xenophobia can have an effect on more than just undocumented workers? And most diligent in my mind, can homophobia affect more than just the LGBTQ community? And the answer is yes. Yes it can.
by Jennifer N. Smedley, Sophomore Student at IUPUI
I didn’t recognize it then, but when he told me that he was gay and in a relationship with another man, I had a message imbedded in me from this sick homophobic society, that it was my fault. I was brainwashed to think that being gay is a horrible illness, and since I made him that way, I should be punished with a profound self-hatred. My female body was just so disgusting that it “made him switch sides.” I’ve even been told, by straight men, that I specifically “turned him gay.” Something that I did, or rather the way my body looked, made him into a gay man and both of us should be punished. I’ve never felt so much shame in my entire life. Not only that, but this systemic homophobia I had for so long told me, if he’s gay, then there’s no way he could have loved you. Think about all those times that he saw your body and imagine what it did to him. Every time he touched you, or especially your body, he was sickened beyond belief and there’s no way any of what he ever said or did meant anything. He never loved you. He never loved you. He never loved you. I had no idea until I learned about systemic oppression how much homophobia and patriarchy had played into this. Why is it that straight men were the ones that told me that I turned him gay? Why is it that I believed them? Why is it that their opinion, although it was in fact wrong, made me repulsed by my own body? And every time I opened a magazine and saw stories and pictures about heterosexual couples, the fact that I had made the man that I love a homosexual man means there’s no way my body could ever be attractive to other men. No way. And that, my friends, is pretty screwed up. Now, at nineteen years old, I’ve realized that I’ve had to grow up faster than most of my peers. I relate more to older women who know what I’m talking about and have told me, reassured me, that someday a straight man will be deeply in love with both me and my body. Unfortunately, the myths of homophobia had played a huge part in my growing-up process. I now believe with all of my heart that the man I loved, did love me too. I know the way he looked at me. I know the way he touched me. And I know that he thought my body was beautiful, even if he preferred a man. Because we had been friends for so long before we dated, I knew that he loved me as a person. And I’ve felt his fingertips on my skin, and I know that for a short time, he did love my body. He loved making me feel good and telling me that I was beautiful. I know he did. The shame that I felt for “making him gay” only added to the shame that he felt because he is gay. I didn’t know, my dear. I didn’t know. While still rebuilding the six months that have turned into a blur, I’m proud to call myself an ally of the LGBTQ community. I’ll fight for them and then fight even more. Because darling, I’m not just fighting for them. I’m fighting for us.