no one told me there’d be small talk: Finding lesbian community as an anxious newcomer

pt. 1 :going it alone

I want to start this off with the disclaimer that I give everyone—I’m not actually new to being openly Queer, having Queer friends, or even attending Queer events.

The first memory of Queer attraction that I can recall was when I was four years old—rather, it was the first memory of attraction that I’d experienced at all. Which should have told me something sooner, but I digress.

I’d been proudly out as Bisexual since I was at least thirteen, because at the time, that’s the only thing that made sense in a world where heterosexuality was the norm. I couldn’t ignore my attraction to Sapphic people, but I was also conditioned to think if a guy was not completely terrible, he must be worth trying out.

And as I grew older, the young Sapphic in me only got stronger. I dated girls in high school, even falling in love with a best friend or two. I also, ironically, spent a year or two as a fully out Lesbian, coming out for a second time, until insecurity, shame, trauma, and the ever-persistent teenage boy suffocated me with the slimy grips of Compulsory Heterosexuality. But I wasn’t heterosexual, and I knew that. I wouldn’t let go of my Queerness, no matter how desperately I wanted to be a “normal” girl.

But yet, I trapped myself in a cycle of craving Queer love but settling for something that I thought I could want. But it just never seemed … right.

Here's the timeline for anyone confused:

-Was attracted to women and Sapphic people as early as four years old.

-Came out as Bisexual in early high school or eighth grade

-Came out again as a Lesbian for a short time in my mid-late teens

-Got confused, dated men seriously until my thirties

-Came out as Gender Fluid at 31

-Came out another damn time as a Lesbian in 2024 at 34 years old.

-Spent a year unpacking my entire identity and crying like, every day.

And that brings us to today …

But this isn’t about my coming out story, or the many coming out stories I’ve collected over the years.

This is about finding community, finding people that understand the aching longing that comes with being a Lesbian who’s stopped themselves from getting what they really want, for one reason or another.

Or maybe it’s about finding people who’ve always known what they wanted. The people I’d longed to be.

I wanted it so, so badly.

And at 35, I don’t have the energy to spend on things that I don’t want anymore.

So where does that leave me?

I made a decision: 2025 is the year of me finding Lesbian community. Going to events in my city. Participating in things I’d never participated in before. Taking my Queerness beyond just the Pride Parade and falling in love with practically every friend I ever had.

But there was a problem …

I am disabled. I am 35 years old. I am newly out, even with my years of out and proud Queerness lurking behind me.

I stopped drinking altogether a few years ago. Another story for another day.

I recently had to walk away from my entire friend group of 20+ years. Also another story for another day.

But the point is, things in my life have drastically changed, and I am in this on my own. No support, no encouragement, no one to fall back on if things don’t work out.

I am anxious, introverted, awkward—vulnerable in a new way, and scared.

So, so scared.

But this is something I have to do on my own.

So this is where it all begins …

[Note: I will be mentioning an event that happened recently in my city, a place many people are aware that I’m from, but I will be trying my best not to give away any identifying information about what the event was or who was running it. However, if you know what event I’m referring to, please do me a favor and not reach out to anyone or mention names! Anything I mention here is purely my experience, and to no fault of anyone organizing or attending. The event itself was a success, and I’m happy for everyone involved. But this is a story about my awkward experiences, after all, so take what I say next with a grain of salt!]

Ok, back to the story …

After many failed attempts (over the whole year that I was officially out) at going to events, buying tickets, but then chickening out last minute—including Lesbian speed dating events, a Lesbian Valentines Day party, and many a craft night (maybe I’ll write about those experiences, or non-experiences, one day too?)—I had finally signed up for something that I wasn’t going to back out of.

It was a free event, so if I failed to participate, at least I wouldn’t waste yet another ticket.

It was also intended for people to come alone, for them to meet new people.

It wasn’t a dating thing, it was strictly a platonic thing, meant for folks who had previously expressed anxiety coming to events without knowing anybody.

People who sounded a lot like me …

It was low stakes, but with the potential for making lasting friendships.

It sounded perfect for this (sometimes) extroverted introvert—a way to make friends, build community, and all with a group of people who may be, potentially, just as awkward as I am.

It was almost too good to be true. It had to be too good to be true.

But maybe that’s just me foreshadowing.

I arrived a few minutes late, rationalizing the act of not being exactly on time for fear of being the first one there, lonely and awkward as ever.

But then traffic ended up being a nightmare, more than what I’d even expected during rush hour. I was a few minutes later than I even intended to be. Still, not severely late, but definitely not on time. I had assumed there to be people there already, but walking up to a circle of 50+ people who had already established their “groups” and had already begun meaningful conversations with their new peers, was not exactly what I assumed to be the case, either.

I guess Lesbians in my city are on time. Good to know. Jot that down.

My lateness plan, birthed from the nineties and early aughts, built by television and movies from the time convincing us that every phone call, every hang out, every interaction with other humans had to be carefully planned out so as not to seem too desperate, too eager, too much … well it was okay in theory, I guess. But in practice it had failed me deeply.

And in retrospect, that conditioning I’d had from youth, the one that told me to not appear too wanting of something, was also built on misogyny and heteronormativity—which in all its essence was the exact opposite of how I was trying to live my life.  

So, although nervous, I continued on to them anyway, the giant lesbian flag waving in the wind the perfect reminder that I was in the right place.

Trembling, weak MS legs and all, I made my way over, but with no mobility device in sight, might I add—another instance of my internalized biases biting me in the ass.

Bring your damn walker next time. Jot that down, too.

Walking up to the large group of other local Sapphics, I was immediately welcomed, the entire group clapping and cheering for my arrival like they’d been waiting for me the whole time. Another unexpected part of the evening; I was incredibly aware of my existence, uncomfortable as ever, but at least this time it was in a positive way.

But sitting down amongst the chatting folks was a completely different story.

I want to reiterate:

None of this is the fault of the event itself, the organizers of the event, or the people attending the event. I can’t put blame onto other for my own social shortcomings. People were friendly, inviting, even helping me get adjusted into my spot in the crowd.

I even talked a bit with the people around me, at least for a little while.

But, as I’ve come accustomed to in large groups, conversations faded away with glares off into the distance, or quick glances behind shoulders to find someone else in the crowd that matched their vibe a little more. Group chats become one-on-ones, me being the oddball out.

It felt like school all over again: like I was that little kid who never felt like I fit in. Like I couldn’t connect even with several people around me. Like I was an alien, and everybody knew it.

And I get it, I do. The whole point of the event was to find your people, and without searching the crowd, talking to multiple groups of people, or not walking away to call your safe person to avoid awkward interactions with people who didn’t seem to be interested in … whatever it is you have to offer—not much is going to happen in regards to building community.

These things are my fault, I know this. I know what I could’ve done better. I know that I didn’t fully immerse myself into the experience. I know that I could’ve found my people if I would’ve just moved from the spot I was in.

And, of course, it’s not just because I didn’t want to move. I can talk about inaccessibility and ableism in the Queer community for days, but I’ll spare you those thoughts. For now.

In that moment, feeling more isolated than ever while surrounded by nearly a hundred other people enjoying their time, the only thing I could think of was to run away.

And so, I did.

After calling my safe person so it didn’t seem like I was just some quiet mystery floating away from the crowd (or worse: that they could tell I felt isolated and pitied me), I grabbed my stuff and casually walked away without saying a word.

An Irish Goodbye without the alcohol but full of all the same regret.

And it’s not that I regretted going to the event. It was a great event, for everyone else. I’m just a ball of anxiety, past pain, and a history of clinging on to things and people that weren’t good for me, so understandably I may be a little jaded. A little anxious. A little unwelcoming myself.

I’m not super young and outgoing anymore, even though I’ve put myself out there in so much scarier ways in my thirties than I ever had in my twenties. I don’t drink anymore, which helped me to take off the mask for a little while. I’m not the same as I used to be, and my life isn’t the same, either.

But, to give myself grace, I’ve also never had to start anew again with the circumstances that I’ve had land in my lap the last few years. I’ve never had to expose myself like this without any of the other aids that used to carry me through.

Hell, I didn’t even have my actual mobility aid, to physical help me through the event.

The point is, there are a lot of factors to why this didn’t work out for me. None of which have to do with the event itself, or with my own personality or “vibe.”

Not all things can be for everyone, and that’s something I have to learn.

Just because one event didn’t work out, doesn’t mean the next one won’t.

It doesn’t mean that there’s something fundamentally wrong with me either.

It doesn’t mean I’m an alien.

So … I’m gonna keep trying. Maybe there will be more awkward events. Or maybe I’ll actually find people to connect with. I won’t know unless I try, so I’m going to do just that.

That being said, stay tuned for pt. 2!

Until then, let’s remember together that it’s okay to be scared of doing things.

But let’s do them anyway.

Xoxo,

Mo Medusa