For as long as I can remember, the idea of ‘family’ has been an entanglement of comfort and tension — years of feeling torn between what I thought a family should be and what it actually felt like.
There are those bound to me by blood, but those relationships come with unspoken rules, judgements and limitations. My worth is conditional to how well I fulfill my role in the family. And I’ve spent the better part of my life perfecting my form to fit that role; learning to speak the way I was “supposed to,” dress the way I was “meant to” and act the way I “ought to.”
I had to be the perfect son — one that embodied the ideals and traditions of a cisgender, heterosexual, Bengali, Muslim family.
There couldn’t be any cracks. I had to be perfect at all times, at all costs. I had to hide my true being beneath layers of clothing I never felt comfortable in and beneath layers of masks that never quite fit my face. Because deep down, underneath it all, the truth was undeniably clear: my Queerness would never be welcome.
“It isn’t our way.”
“That’s not who we are.”
“We did not raise you to be that way.”
“What will everyone think when they hear about this?”
I had heard versions of these statements from each of my family members, always used to describe those who had chosen the ‘other’ life. I have always feared the day they would be used on me.
I don’t blame my family for any of it. When I moved to Canada, I began to understand the differences in culture and community, and how it is a privilege to be accepted. I began to better understand the odds my parents faced. Having a Queer son was a death sentence for my family in our country. Their rules were intended to protect me from my religion, my community and my country. That is the burden my family would have to bear, and that is why I hide my truth.
My way of loving my family is to carry this burden alone.
Like any budding international student, I came to Canada with the hope of a new start. I looked forward to everything being different. More importantly, I looked forward to finally being unmasked and free, so the burden I carried could feel at least somewhat lighter.
I realized almost immediately that I had spent so long hiding behind masks that I didn’t know how to be anything without them. The fear of my Queerness being discovered persisted, even after travelling thousands of miles away from home. I struggled to make any meaningful connections and my fear of coming out kept holding me back.
Through all of it, I started taking my first steps.
I made my first meaningful connection with someone I now call my partner. It wasn’t easy, of course, being so open and vulnerable about my sexuality — it felt alien.
But he made it easy.
I remember the first time I met my partner’s mother. Meeting your partner’s family for the first time is a daunting experience for anyone, and the fear and apprehension of whether or not they will like you can be overwhelming. But as I walked into my partner’s home for the first time and was greeted by his mother, there was no question in my mind — I felt right at home.
For the first time I knew love that came with no conditions. Through my partner, I was blessed with a family that showed me kindness and acceptance. I received love from a mother with whom I felt comfortable being myself. I could be everything I wanted to be and be loved for it, not in spite of it. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t left questioning my place. His presence in my life and his family’s acceptance helped me realize the burden was not mine to bear alone.
It made me question everything I thought I knew about family. To receive the love and acceptance I have from my partner and his family was a gift I felt unworthy of. And the love and comfort without any of the tension was a strange feeling.
Being bound to someone by love and care felt liberating. As otherworldly as all of it felt to me, it has made all the difference in my life.
Do I wish my relationship with my own family was the same? I think anyone in my position would. A part of me is hopeful my family would readily change their views and accept me if I came out to them, that their love for me would be stronger than their beliefs.
But there’s another part of me that feels selfish to want this. How could I expect my family to abandon everything they know and believe, or have been conditioned to believe, simply because I am different? Who am I to say they were wrong to believe otherwise?
And then there’s a part of me that is angry — at myself for failing to be everything that everyone wants me to be and still be true to myself, and at the world for making all of it seem impossible.
But most importantly, there’s a part of me that feels happy and content — to have a partner who is loving, to have a second mother who is kind and accepting of my Queerness and to have a family who, despite their limitations, love and support me in their own way. I’m thankful for all of it.
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