Not So Straight Expectations

Barriers Against Queerness

Growing up, many of us were given an idea of what was expected of us as we entered adulthood. These expectations typically centered around developing a career you were passionate about, owning a house, and/or starting a family of your own. Different variations of these expectations were thrown about, but, overall, as a kid I thought that’s what my life would look like: career, house, and a wife and kids of my own, in no particular order.

That is, of course, a very heteronormative view of what your life is supposed to develop into. That’s not to say there aren’t people who simply do not want to have kids or struggle to live up to these expectations with the less than desirable housing and job markets. For members of the LGBTQ+ community, however, these expectations are thrust behind even more barriers, whether we wanted them or not.

Starting with Massachusetts in 2004, a majority of states legalized same-sex marriage over the next 10 years – prior to it being federally legalized in 2015. I hadn’t even considered the possibility of marrying a man until that 2015 ruling passed. Growing up, I didn’t see many, if any, examples of same-sex culture in the popular media.

When I started going out of my way to find media featuring same-sex couples, I began to develop an idea of what that could look like. Many depictions of LGTBQ people, however, tended to lean towards the journey of suffering or loss that was a staple of the queer experience. The late 2000s to 2010s offered more media with positive, mainstream depictions of LGBTQ people, which allowed me to develop an idea of what long-term relationships as a LGBTQ person could be. By that point, I was a teenager starting to reformat my ideas of what marriage and a wedding would look like for me compared to my heterosexual peers who, for some, had plenty of formative years to slowly craft what they would want from marriage. 

For members of certain Native American tribes, same-sex marriage is still outlawed and unaccessible. Over 100 other countries do not recognize same-sex marriages, and over 65 criminalize it by threat of jail or even death. This makes the heteronormative expectation of “marrying the love of your life” an arduous, and in many cases impossible, thing to achieve. I am thankfully not in such a position where I need to literally fear for my life by being with the person  I love. However, I do need to be aware of where I live, where I travel, and where I publicly show affection to my husband. To this day, my husband and I very rarely hold hands in public simply because we never got in the habit of it out of fear of being accosted or attacked for it. Whenever I drive through potential neighborhoods to live in, I keep an eye out for flags and lawn decorations to see if we would face scrutiny and prejudice if we moved there. When planning vacations, there are countries I never even consider visiting because I’m aware of the potential danger my husband and I would be in. I’m not asking to receive the red carpet treatment wherever I go, I simply want to be able to hold my husband’s hand without the fear of it putting us in a dangerous situation. 

Similar to my thoughts on marriage, I had assumed the societal default of marrying an opposite-sex partner and having kids of my own one day. Once I realized that entering a heterosexual marriage was simply not my reality, the thoughts of having children slowly but surely faded away. The financial hurdle of either adopting or attempting surrogacy to this day gives me anxiety, not to mention the potential prejudice we could face during the process. The mumblings of family members telling me that I had to have kids to be happy in life did not help at all, steering me even further away from the idea of having children for a very long time. 

The fear of what challenges or prejudice my hypothetical child could face because of my status as a man married to a man also gives me pause. Even now, as a man in a loving marriage to another man, as much as I would love for us to have children of our own, the financial and societal burdens that come along with that make me hesitant to pursue having children. A heterosexual couple doesn’t need to worry about their child being bullied in school for having two dads, or a fellow parent not allowing their kid to take part in a sleepover at my house because they do not approve of my “lifestyle.” 

Many LGBTQ+ individuals have also found themselves in that fun scenario where they come out to their parents and one of the first guilt trips they get in return is “But I want grandkids.” Regardless of whether they do or do not want children, there will likely be obstacles they have to overcome.

Navigating the Workforce as an LGBTQ+ Person

That leads us to the achievement many people in our capitalist society define ourselves by: our careers. In nearly any conversation you have as an adult, whether that be with a stranger or your great-aunt once removed, the topic of what you do for a living is almost always bound to come up. For many members of the LGTBQ+ community, our career paths face obstacles that our heterosexual counterparts do not. 

Many LGTBQ+ teachers can likely attest to the difficulties they’ve faced in their workspaces, especially in the changing political tide of America. Most of my past jobs have involved working directly with children, and I’ve gotten in the habit of making sure never to address my husband as “my husband,” instead simply referring to him as my partner or by his gender neutral sounding name. 

Kids have outright asked me if I am married with no provocation on my part, simply noticing my wedding ring or just doing what kids do: ask a lot of questions. While my co-workers in traditional marriages can openly talk about their spouses and show off photos of vacations or their weddings, I keep that part of my life to myself out of fear of how a vindictive or disapproving parent might react should their child innocently mention my same-sex marriage to them. 

My husband faces similar issues in his own place of work. Without diving into personal details, he works in a field with typically more conservative-leaning individuals. He, too, uses that double-edged sword word, “partner,” when referring to me. As much as I appreciate the normalization of the word “partner,” and how some heterosexual people have begun using it, it feels like a consolation prize. Referring to your significant other as “partner,” to me, is equivalent to slapping a Pride flag tattoo on your forehead. It almost immediately raises a stranger’s suspicion of you not being in a heteronormative relationship, or not conforming to heteronormative society. I want to be able to say the word “husband” without fear of retaliation. I don’t want to think twice about being allowed to speak about my husband the way a heterosexual person can speak about their significant other. 

In the years to come, I hope to see more avenues opened up for LGBTQ people to achieve the expectations that heteronormative society places on us, but also learn from the non-traditional lifestyles of queer people: marrying for love on our own terms, not needing to have kids to find fulfillment, not punishing those who want to publicly share their same-sex partner. Only when we are able to move past societal expectations and not be held down by those that want to shackle us, will society as a whole truly benefit and develop into something truly amazing.