Guest post

Guest post: the elusive queer bar

When I worked in renovations (I know, I know, a lesbian in Carhartt) there was a bar where trades people met after work. We would discuss the day’s problems over a cold pint, rant about customers, and make connections within the industry. It helped relieve the stress of a hard day, and garnered a sense of comradery. As a 40-year-old, single, non-binary lesbian, meeting other queers in the tri-city area has proved to be a kind of queer quest of the Holy Grail: awkward, elusive, and futile. I feel a similar need for a space to exist with like-minded folks – a gay bar to call our own.

I’m imagining a place where we can freely discuss the topics affecting the LGBTQQIP2SAA community without always having to tip-toe or explain, which can happen in mainly straight spaces. A spot where queer haircuts are the norm and suspenders glisten, where everybody knows your pronouns (or politely ask if they don’t), and Sam the pansexual bartender is a retired women’s softball pitcher who flirts with genders across the spectrum. No womanizing here, folks! Sober peeps welcome! (Sam can make a great mocktail).

Of course, the queer world isn’t always a perfect utopia, and violence, misogyny, trans-hate, and bad drunks can be found under the rainbow, too – but, having spaces to connect with other queers can provide a safety net and help alleviate the stress that individuals experience. The baby gays, late-to-lesbians, and “queeretirees” (yes, I just coined that) need somewhere to have that first date, or the one they’ve been waiting for their whole lives.

I remember going to my first lesbian dance party in Toronto years ago, and dancing with a girl for the first time. She kissed me as I twirled her around the crowded bar, and we were safe to be ourselves. While I crave that kind of experience again, I also just want a place to grab a bite with friends, or somewhere to play trivia at. A place for the local drag queens and kings to showcase their talent, for the next generation of Tegan and Sara’s to play, or for local showings of Drag Race instead of having to drive to Toronto to find some semblance of queer fun and community.

And while I’d be happy with a gay bar in Kitchener, there’s an even greater need for lesbian bars at the moment. They tend to be more inclusive, especially for trans and non-binary folx, whereas “gay bars” cater mainly to cisgender gay men, and can be intimidating to other queer sexualities and identities. There are currently no lesbian bars in Canada, and only 21 in the States compared to around 200 in the 80s. This is not a COVID-19 problem. Head over to the big smoke and you can find Crews and Tangos, Woody’s, and a number of other male-centric establishments. The nearest lesbian bar is the Cubbyhole in New York City. I don’t want to have to dig out my passport every time I want to hang out with my people.

This guest post was written by Emily Gleeson.

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Guest post

Guest post: Finding the sport that fit for me – the struggle as a POC Lesbian woman

This guest post is by Lakisha Hoover.

People often joke to me about how I navigate through the world as a triple threat: bi-racial, a woman and a lesbian.  I never really thought of these things until I got older and realized the community I grew up in lacked resources and spaces that felt comfortable. 

Attending Catholic schools all of my life, I knew I was always part of the minority –  especially within sports. There was a clear lack of BIPOC and LGBTQ+ representation in my city’s sport leagues, and not many people were out. I never felt safe enough to engage in the conversations everyone else had about dating and who they found to be “hot”, which meant missing out on chances to connect to my teammates when we travelled together.

Eventually I lost my passion for basketball after playing for many years and I feeling I was never going to get anywhere with it as a woman. So I slowly disconnected myself from the sport I have always loved and began playing rugby. 

Starting rugby, I was a bit worried about how I would be treated; I loved the chance it gave me to feel strong and empowered, but I was worried about how people would see me. I have heard people joke before in my small group of 2SLGBTQ+ friends  that rugby is a “gay persons dream”. Though it was a joke, I was very worried my teammates would get the wrong idea if they knew I was a lesbian. I was already fearful of being labelled as the aggressive black girl. These fears meant I never felt comfortable or good enough, and I eventually disconnected from rugby as I had with basketball and stopped playing altogether. 

Fast forward to 2021 when I found a rugby league in my city. Though it was coed and non-contact, I thought it could be a great way to build connections. However, I struggled with not knowing anyone. It was dominated by mainly men who were vocal about not wanting to play with women. Being one of three BIPOC there made me feel even more out of place. I attended a few sessions and eventually quit. I spent the rest of the summer looking into Leagues elsewhere that had a space that I could be myself. 

Recently I have signed up for the JAM sport league for co-ed basketball. Typically, co-ed leagues require two women to be on the field at all times. However, in this league there are no minimum gender requirements when playing, which means people who aren’t men are put in the vulnerable position of potentially being benched. 

Luckily, places such as Toronto offer great resources and spaces for BIPOC and the LGBTQ+ community. With the help of my amazing partner, I found an inclusive rugby club called The Rainbow Griffins. (More information can be found on Pride Toronto’s Instagram page.) And I am still

I am still hopeful for more small or medium sized cities to create the spaces bigger cities already have.

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Guest post

Guest post: straight with a twist

This guest post was written by Marci Warhaft.

“Straight with a twist!”

That’s how I order my vodka and, coincidentally, how I used to describe my sexuality until very recently. While I stand by my drink order, it turns out that I was very wrong about the second part. 

Who would have thought that at 50 years old I would realize that I was a lesbian? Certainly not the man I had been married to for 22 years or my children! Luckily, by the time I experienced my epiphany I was divorced and my kids were old enough to process it at their own paces.

Truth be told, until I was in my early 30s I considered myself 100% straight. That changed when during my marriage I developed a strong and surprising attraction for a female friend. The friendship became intimate. Our relationship was brief yet impactful. Despite a curiosity to explore what I was feeling, I didn’t believe it was the right time. Instead, I convinced myself that it was “just a phase” and stuck with that theory for fifteen more years. Even after my marriage ended, I still wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge who I was and continued to (unsuccessfully) date men. 

“Maybe I’m just lousy at love”, I’d wonder every time I ended a potential relationship. “Or terrified of commitment.”

 Last year as I was turning 50, I finally understood that neither was true. My inability to sustain a relationship didn’t mean I was incapable of love, just that I was looking for it in the wrong direction. I had reached a point in my life when I couldn’t fight my feelings any longer and more importantly, I didn’t want to. My decision was made: I was going to come out as a lesbian.

Coming out at 50 years old is tough; add a worldwide pandemic into the mix and it can feel virtually impossible! Meeting people in person wasn’t an option. I was basically starting my gay life in the privacy of my own apartment! 

All I had was social media, so I used it. “Outing” myself felt important. I suppose I felt like I needed to make up for lost time. I joined LGBTQ+ social media groups and posted a noticeable amount of gay content. A lesbian friend agreed to be my “Sappho sensei” and has supported me along the way.

 I am so grateful to be in this place of self -acceptance but did have some concerns that I know are common for women in this situation:

1.Will women I meet judge me for my experiences with men?

Some will, but those aren’t your people. You’ll find your community.

2. Is it too late?

 Absolutely not. There is no expiry date on living your truth and finding happiness.

3. Will I know what do when it comes to physical intimacy?

Don’t worry, when the connection is real, nature takes over in the most enjoyable of ways.

Regardless of how long it took to get here, you’re here now, so enjoy every second!

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Guest post

Guest post: my most memorable magical day

The day started off frantically, waking up on what would normally have been an idyllic Sunday morning sipping coffee and grabbing brunch with friends. Instead, it was a mad rush to be up at 7am, showered and presentable by 8 am, to dare the journey East toward the glistening lights, endless traffic and colossal glass buildings of Downtown Toronto. 

I once read a greeting card that said, “I love you enough to get on the 401 at 5pm for you”. Truer words of affection have never been written, and anyone who has had to endure that test of driving patience, will understand me when I say, that I was grateful that this was a Sunday and not Monday morning. 

As we drove towards my Toronto destination, I felt excitement and uncertainty. I had been asked to teach a group of women and non-binary people from an LGBTQ2A+ meetup group a dance routine for fun during their 2-hour weekly picnic in the park. It would be my first time teaching people who weren’t trained dancers, . I had no idea how the day would turn out, especially since I had only learned the steps the night before. But I live my life as an adventure and so regardless of the outcome, I was up for the challenge.

The song the meetup organizer chose was the viral Jerusalema song; back in 2020 you would be hard pressed to open any social media platform and not see or hear a version of the song played at least once.  I mean the song was everywhere, and for good reason. The Afro beats, the voice of the singer, the meaning behind the words – it was a masterpiece. To me, the Jerusalama song feels like I am tapping into my ancestral DNA, with the beats, rhythm, and melody touching the deepest part of longing in my soul. Jerusalema was also a movement, unifying the world and offering light during months of silence as we waited through the first waves of our world pandemic. 

It was a perfect choice. If a song could have colour, this one would be a brilliant rainbow projecting many colours in one beautiful representation, much like the people who attended the picnic that day = who were of different nationalities, economic backgrounds, different genders, brought together by  their need for connection and their desire to try something new. 

And dance we did. Within 10 minutes we learned our routine and the true Magic of our day began. As the Jerusalema song played from our speaker on repeat, we laughed and moved, and danced, raising our collective energies until it felt like a ball of light was growing, moving over the park, filling it, and then reaching higher than a tower. I have never experienced anything like it.

Maybe it was the day, which was bright, sunny, and unusually warm for September. Maybe it was because we were all craving human connection. Maybe because it just felt so good to be outside, among our community. Or maybe it was all these things. But every moment was magical. Even now as I recall the day I feel a sense of euphoria and an understanding that this is what it feels like when we let go of all worry, fear, and differences and see each other for why we really are: beautiful souls who just want to dance, laugh, and feel love and connection. 

It was a feeling that none of us wanted to let go of, so we continued the day by eating together at a nearby pub, having random photoshoots among the muralled side streets of the Toronto neighbourhood, and sharing more tales. And laughing, oh so much laughter, until we finally though reluctantly (covid be damned) hugged and said goodbye. 

By the time I made the journey back to Waterloo my face was stretched wide from laughing, my heart overflowing with joy, and my camera filled with memories of the day. Later I compiled in a video from this footage to remind me and all who were there of this incredible experience. Our homemade Jerusalema video is a priceless treasure that I hold dear, because now whenever I need to feel connected to the Universe I play this video and know that Life will always surprise us with Magic if we allow ourselves the opportunity to be open to it.

Guest post by Tammie of Tea Time with Tammie; Jerusalema Video Link

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Awareness, Guest post

Guest post: the importance of substitute decision makers

This guest column was written by Meghan Macmillan.

For many people it is uncomfortable thinking about mortality. What does it mean to grow old, to become ill or to die? These are not easy questions to wrestle with, but they are important for each of us to look at. 

Being queer, trans, or any identity outside of the cis-hetero norms of our society makes this even more important. Our doctors, nurses, caregivers are starting to get more training in diversity and how not to make assumptions about the patients they treat, but anyone who is 2SLGBTQ+ has all seen bias (both conscious and unconscious) impact the healthcare experiences of ourselves or our loved ones.   

As someone who works with those experiencing serious illness and end-of-life, I get to see the difference it makes to have these difficult conversations ahead of time. The end-of-life needs of the 2SLGBTQ+ community are similar to the general population in that it’s important to talk about what kind of care we want. However, because our community often does not fit neatly into the medical boxes of “family”, there are some additional decisions that need to be looked at to ensure our safety, dignity and comfort

When a person is incapacitated, the medical system looks to their “Substitute Decision Maker” or SDM to make decisions on their behalf. There is a legal standard that health providers go by in emergencies, unless a person has previously legally appointed someone to act for them. Depending on a person’s situation their SDM will be assumed to be their spouse, parent, child, sibling, or other relative (generally in that order). But this framework does not take into account that 2SLGBTQ+ people are often estranged from their families and may prefer that decisions be made by a friend or partners that are not legally recognized as a “spouse”.

There are many reasons that those in our community may not feel that their legal family will best represent their health decisions. Your SDM advocates for things including: medical decisions, who may visit you, who receives information about you, and the type of intimate care you receive. If you feel that a friend or chosen non-immediate family member may better represent you than the person the law assumes would care for you, then it is important to have these conversations with your chosen person and fill out the forms to legally make them your Power of Attorney. While this may sound intimidating, once your decisions are made it is not a difficult process to go through and the forms are free online.

Our health can change at any time, accidents and disease don’t recognize age. We all deserve to be surrounded by the people we love and care about in times of need. While this kind of conversation may feel uncomfortable it is definitely one worth having. Take this as the sign to add it to your “to do” list, get it done, and then congratulate yourself on some definite self care.  

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