I recently took a break from studying technology and the academic theory/philosophy on humanity. Instead, I travelled to an LGBTQIA+ conference to try and explore humanity "in real life" (something that's tough to do for an introvert like myself). I came away with some important themes that I think anyone, regardless of identity, can benefit from.
Remember Who You Are
Far from a trite aphorism, this concept seemed to permeate through the speakers and breakout sessions. Particularly in the sense of relationships with others, it's vital to remember who you are, and that you matter. I'm not even close to good at this, as I tend to yield to others' needs or wants, diminish my contribution to conversation, and assume that I don't matter even while affirming that everyone else absolutely does matter.
Perhaps that's why this idea seemed to stick out to me, but here are a couple of snippets that I heard:
- In response to the question of how to approach someone whose values conflict with yours: Values are different than personhood. If they want to deny you your personhood, that's not a value-based conflict. Remember who you are: you deserve dignity, respect. Removing those things from a person has nothing to do with "values" and everything to do with dehumanizing you.
- For the "yielders": Dare to say what's on your mind and reveal yourself. That's how you get stronger. Remember that who you are matters; your perspective; your needs; all of you.
- Sometimes it's hard to maintain your sense of self in a relationship. The struggle is remembering: who am I and who are you in our relationship? Failing to remember who you are, even in a very close relationship, like with a spouse, can become unhealthy and ultimately betrays both you and the relationship. (Please speak to a mental health professional to explore more about any of this—not a therapist, here, just a curious writer!)
We Are Starved For Love
A lesbian bishop was part of a conversation for one of the sessions. She mentioned that she noticed throughout her ministry that people are starved for love—everyone, not just marginalized groups.
We are so miserly with our love,
she emphasized.
My tech-sense is tingling, and I wonder how we might find a better balance between our personal relationships and the strange new "tribes" that social media has caused to emerge. Note that I'm using the word "tribe" sarcastically, since that's a term ill-suited for these bizarre identity-based political groups, even though that's how you see it used across the Internet. In fact, I wonder if these false tribes have contributed to the collapse of our in-person relationships and have caused us to hoard our love, preventing it from leaking out to real people in real life. In fact, Dr. Lisa Diamond mentioned this in reference to non-human forms of safety-signaling:
Our brains evolved to get our safety from actual people.
Not signs or flags (or, I would add, AI). You can make your life safer with just one or two connections. This is an act of resistance—the world wants you divided and isolated. Instead, increasing our in-person time with people we are safe to be ourselves with will help us reverse many of the negative effects we're seeing from our isolation.
We are all starved for love, so let's try to stop hoarding it and instead share it with the people in our lives.
Trust That I Know Myself
One of the under-represented groups within the LGBTQIA+ community are the asexual (often shortened to "Ace") and aromantic ("Aro") groups. People who identify as Ace don't experience sexual attraction, and those who identify as Aro don't experience romantic attraction. This isn't a tragedy, this isn't a problem to be fixed. This is yet another example of the beautiful diversity of human experience.
The presenter who spoke from this group happened to be both Ace and Aro (somewhat rare). Her remarks had a consistent theme: don't invalidate someone's identity. She has been constantly peppered with questions like, are you sure? Have you just not met the right person? Or receiving comments like, that's so sad I could never imagine not loving someone.
People don't see my identity as real or valid,
she summarized.
Thinking about how a person can have a vastly different experience than my own, it reminds me of how Ed Yong helped readers of his book, An Immense World, get used to the idea of understanding the experience of other animal species:
Our umwelt is still limited, it just doesn't feel that way. To us, it feels all-encompassing. It is all that we know, and so we easily mistake it for all there is to know. This is an illusion—and one that every animal shares.
Not only do we humans have a broad umwelt, we also have our own personal umwelts—based on our senses, our abilities, our experiences, and our identity. With such diversity just within our own species, we can't possibly understand someone else's experience, but that doesn't mean it isn't real. Our experience may seem complete, all-encompassing, and all there is to know, but that is truly an illusion.
It's hard enough to know thyself,
how do we ever dare to tell other people who they are (or who we think they should be)? Trust that I know myself, and work to know your "self." No need to steal that responsibility from someone else.
Human
I sat by myself in my introverted bubble for most of the conference, frequently weeping in silence. It's been quite the year of pain, isolation, and, most of all, feeling terrified that my neighbors might turn into persecutors. The rage and demonization expressed throughout the U.S. presidential campaign and new administration have set fire to my nervous system.
To take a break from that and sit in a room with 1,100 other queer people or allies was overwhelming. It was social safety, which, going back to Dr. Diamond again, is when you feel OK as you are with other people.
I knew no one there personally, but tears immediately blinded me just by stepping inside a building where I knew I could be myself: introverted, queer, and everything else in between. There's something special about our humanity, and it's so easy to fade into the background of my day-to-day life. But this was a much-needed reminder that there are still humans out there. There is still community to be had. There is still dignity to be shared.
You matter. I matter.