The Monthly Theme Essays are a collection of essays written each month on a predetermined theme. These essays are always published during the last week of the month. To submit a Monthly Theme Essay check out our upcoming themes.
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I practice punching at the kitchen table. I practice on the couch. I practice in my sleep. I make a fist and see my life there. I make a fist and study the veins that press out against the skin of my forearms. Hating your hate of love, I practice punching at the kitchen table.
Read MoreI couldn’t make myself heard for fifty years. Not even the boy could hear me, the boy I lived inside. My vocal anatomy worked fine—larynx, mouth, lungs beneath my breasts—I just didn’t have the words. Nobody did, not in the sixties. I had to resort to signals. Most of them he missed.
Read MoreI was on my hands and knees trying to hide a twelve-piece dinner set under my single bed when I heard Mum calling from the bedroom next door. She’d been in bed for two days, suffering from either a bad back or codeine withdrawals. I pushed the crockery behind a box of stainless steel cutlery and some gingham tea towels I’d bought from Woolworth’s the day before.
Read MoreI lost count after the first ten, twenty, seventy-five, a thousand. I remember the first time. Driving with my sisters, one of them said, I’ve had sex with a woman. Stunned into revelation, I blurted, so have I. But she was kidding. Entrapment, and I fell for it.
Read MoreParis, City of Love, where we lay our scene of adventurous study abroad college students. Me and the girls were out in a little bar late at night. The lights were cool, a featured musician was playing acoustic, and my friends and I were ready for some dessert.
Read MoreThe day I came out? I’m sure it’s not uncommon to come out on multiple occasions. I expect the circumstances in which I came out are a bit unusual though. To understand that takes context: My girlfriend was once my neighbor—at a Southern Baptist Theological Seminary—where we lived with our husbands—who were studying to be pastors.
Read MoreThe first time that I really tell someone, the words belong to her, like me and everything else in the world around us. We are alone, and I don’t remember where the rest of our friends are or maybe we aren’t alone and all of our friends are with us but I can only ever think of her.
Read Morehen I was 14, I walked into a church youth lock-in and fell head-over-heels in love with the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I immediately knew four things:
1. I liked a girl. A lot.
2. I was a girl.
3. Girls couldn’t like girls.
4. This was an especially bad situation given that I was at church.
Read MoreI never really confided in my family about who I dated. My attitude towards dating was nothing like my parents'. I saw dating as a series of experiments that eventually lead to something amazing or absolutely nothing. My parents, on the other hand, moved in together on their second date and didn't approve of me dating anyone that wasn't a potential marriage prospect for me. SO to avoid conflict I just didn’t talk to them about who I was dating. I figured if my feelings for someone ever stuck then I would tell my parents. I don't like most people so I thought I was pretty safe from having that "I'm a lesbian talk.”
Read MoreI cannot recall how we even started chatting about lesbianism. We hadn’t known each other very long, maybe just a few months. I remember thinking how I would be kinda of nervous to bring up something like that with someone I barely knew, but really loved how open and comfortable Emma was in conversation.
Read MoreAfter shaving my head for the first time at 21, I suddenly, for the first time in my life, had game. That whole summer was a glorious festival of flirting with the brave and visible queer ladies of Ann Arbor, Michigan. We danced like goddesses at Necto nightclub on Pride night, leaving the straight males alone in their college-night shark tank.
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