What am I made of?

By Tatyanna Wills

Discussed: homophobia

This piece showcases not only the hardships I faced as a queer girl in a Christian household but how I overcame my self-doubt and learned to accept myself as I am.

What am I made of? That’s a hard question. I am made of sandy beaches and oceans so calming you can fall asleep just listening to them. I am made of festivals and soca. I am made of lights and parades. I am made of music, the kind that fills the void in your heart and gives you a purpose. But I am also made of questions. My body is what Christian men and godly women call a waste. To them my love is corrupting, sinful, a disgrace, a horror story that mothers tell their daughters when they start preferring cars over Barbies, a cautionary tale on what your kids could become if you allow them to stray from God’s path. But I can be fixed, right?    

This is only a disease that can be cured with prayer and baptism and a god that seemingly loves me but doesn’t love me enough to accept me as I am, right? Bullshit. But still, I prayed, I stayed awake at night crying, begging God to rid me of this curse that the devil had laid upon me the day I was born. Longing that one day Jehovah will strike me down before the age of seven so that I can enter heaven with no questions asked. To no avail.

Her voice is a symphony and my heart is the metronome.

You see, this is what I’m made of. I am made of fear. I am made of prayer. I am made in the image of the Lord himself, crafted with vigorous detail, made with a path that was set in stone as soon as I was placed in the womb. A path that I foolishly refuse to follow. If this isn’t the path I’m supposed to take then why does it feel right? Why does my stomach drop every time I see her? Why does the world stop when I hear her call my name? When she tells me she loves me everything just feels right. Her voice is a symphony and my heart is the metronome. Her soul is like a galaxy and I am merely an astronaut trying to uncover it all. The stars envy her because they too know that they cannot hold a candle to her beauty. I swear I’ve never loved someone more in my life.

However, according to the church, this isn’t what I was made for, this isn’t what God planned for me. If this isn’t my destiny, what is? What am I supposed to do? What am I made of? That’s a hard question. According to the world, I am made of sin. To the Christian men and godly women who once played a significant role in my life, I am a lost cause. But I am made of hope. I am made of questions. I am made of answers. I was made to succeed against all odds no matter how “sinful” I may be. I was made to follow my heart’s path whether that path was looked upon with scorn or delight. It does not matter what the world thinks I’m made of. It does not matter if they believe that I was made to burn in the fiery pits of hell and be tortured for all eternity. Their approval holds no significance to me. Because if there is a god, I am made in his image with this path in mind, with her by my side. 

Process

I was inspired to write this piece when I re-read my old diary from middle school and during this I learned that I have come far in learning to accept myself. Even if I still have a long way to go.