Growing up Queer in the South

A personal narrative about growing up in the South as an atheist and queer kid in a religious environment.

I grew up in the South, more specifically Austin, Texas, a small town located about 200 miles from the Gulf Coast. Austin is the “blue bubble” in Texas, it is home to the live music capital of the United States, a bunch of stoners and music lovers, and a vibrant nightlife.

The majority of Austinites would identify themselves as liberal activists dedicated to creating an inclusive environment for any and all individuals, which is rare to find in the South. My experience growing up in Austin as a queer individual was not perfect by any means, but much less tumultuous than my peers who grew up in smaller, more isolated cities in Texas.

I was raised in a progressive family, my Mom is openly queer and my Dad defies many patriarchal norms, they preached inclusivity and acceptance and made it a goal to surround me with diverse groups of people growing up. The older I get and the more I reflect on my childhood, I become more and more grateful for this experience, it helped me to develop a sense of awareness and taught me to be more aware of my privilege in America.

My extended family did not have the same goal. At a young age, I became aware that my extended family members from smaller cities in Texas were not exposed to anyone who defied the nuclear familial roles, identified themselves in the LGBTQ+ community, or understood the racism and prejudice that exists in the United States and around the world. They are die-hard Christians, and preach religion and the inevitable fate of those who don’t abide by the bible going to hell.

Spending extended periods of time with my extended family these days feels like a game: you hold your breath and walk in, you respect your elders, you censor your life to fit their narrative of you, you pray at the dinner table, you avoid the inevitable questions about when you’re going to get a boyfriend, and you leave.

Most of us wish it was different, but most of us have to accept it for what it is.

Being from a more progressive city in Texas, even if you weren’t religious, religion made a sizable impact on most people from the South in one way or another. For myself, I was forced to attend Christian summer and bible camps in the South of Arkansas and East Texas for 8+ years. These camps are one of the largest enterprises in Texas. They charge upwards of $5,000 per kid to attend for two weeks and pay their employees less than minimum wage, creating a business that makes an exorbitant amount of money per summer.

My experience at these camps is hard to encapsulate. I never believed in God and attending these camps felt like being in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language for weeks at a time. The owners almost always smelled like liquor, the organized prayer and bible studies were my version of hell, and the 16-year-old counselors were the first to tell you your Mom was going to hell for being gay. Being an 8-year-old atheist at these camps was an issue in itself, but struggling as a young queer already ashamed and confused about their sexuality was another.

I spent most of my time trying not to dissociate during prayer circles and attempting to count how many times Sue-Anne would refill her Yeti cup with God knows what in the back rooms.

Needless to say, I was very happy to see my parents at the end of the term and I wasn’t invited back to camp most years.

When I reached my teen years, my view of religion was skewed. Reversing the notions and beliefs that have been ingrained in your brain for years and disobeying people you trust is challenging. I attended these institutions every summer and returned to the antithesis of them, Austin, and felt more and more confused every time. It wasn’t until I reached high school that I was able to fully understand where I stood, and that there is an art to respecting others' decisions to be religious, but not participating or supporting it.

I’m aware of the impact these institutions and my extended family have had on me, but I’ve also come to realize the privilege I had being exposed to weird, queer, and diverse individuals who didn’t give a shit if they were going to hell one day. I often think about the other queer and atheist kids that were also subjected to going to those institutions and hope that they are able to find their path.

I still hate organized acitvity to this day.