It’s one of those afternoons where I can actually hear myself think. I’m sitting on my bed in sweats that have seen better days, scrolling through pictures of myself from a few years ago. I look at the way I held my shoulders, the way I tried to make myself smaller in every shot. I remember how much work it took to even let my face show up in a photo. Sometimes I still catch myself doing it, shrinking down, even if I’m the only one in the room.
There’s something about being Black and queer that keeps you on your toes. Like, I’m always aware of how I’m moving, how I’m taking up space. Sometimes I laugh at myself for it, like, who exactly am I hiding from in my own apartment? The only witness is my dying snake plant and maybe the neighbor’s cat if I leave the blinds open. But old habits are stubborn. I’m learning that just because I built these shields doesn’t mean I have to wear them all the time.
Today, I notice the way my body feels a little softer, a little more mine. I let my stomach relax, let my shoulders drop. No one’s grading me here. There’s a quiet relief in that. I don’t have to perform anything, not masculinity, not femininity, not even confidence. Just breathing is enough right now.
I think about how queerness shows up for me in these small ways. It’s not always rainbows or big declarations. Sometimes it’s just me letting myself take up space on my own couch, not worrying if I look “right.” Sometimes it’s the gentle reminder that I’m allowed to exist, even on the days when I don’t feel brave or beautiful or anything special.
I’m still figuring out what it means to love this body, to hold it like it belongs to me. Some days it feels like a small victory just to be comfortable in my skin, even for a few moments. I’ll take that, honestly. That’s enough for today.