The Belonging Wound

For a long time, I thought my struggle was about belonging with others. What I see now is that it was about belonging with myself.

Growing up in a small country town in the 80s and 90s, there were no visible queer relationships, no language for non-binary identity, no models for gender expression beyond the binary. I learned very early that parts of me were “too much,” “wrong,” or unsafe to show.

So I masked and hid my weirdness and wildness. I judged myself before anyone else could. ADHD taught me how to adapt and shame taught me how to disappear. I spent years trying to fit into what I thought was “normal” including performing femininity in ways that didn’t really feel like me, believing that if I could just be desirable enough, acceptable enough, I’d earn love and belonging.

What finally changed everything wasn’t external validation and approval, which I had been seeking and grasping for my whole life. It was stopping the self-abandonment, the rejection and judgement of myself. Real, true, authentic belonging didn’t arrive when others accepted me, it arrived when I accepted all of these beautiful, unique, magical parts of myself that I now look at with reverence. It was when I belonged in my own skin that I started belonging in connection with others.