As a queer woman, moving to Texas was daunting. That is an understatement. Moving to Texas as a queer woman was terrifying. Being from Georgia, I knew what it was like to have my local governments not particularly care about LGBTQIA+ communities, but Texas felt like a whole new ball game. It seemed like Texas and Governor Abbott was the spearhead of every movement I read about that was fighting against people like me being able to love who we wanted to. In the past year, more than 30 bills were introduced into the Texas house that are directly attacking LGBTQIA+ rights. One of which was the anti-trans bill that made all gender affirming medical care for trans youth against the law. Although much of the enforcement was blocked, seeing this kind of hatred in 2022 is very scary.
I immediately took the defense. Not knowing what the people or the city would be like kept me from sharing my queer identity with others. For many, this is a sadly familiar feeling. My partner and I had to have serious conversations before I left about safety plans, lies, and wishes if need be. I am privileged that I am heterosexual passing and I found myself playing that part like I had done for most of my youth. Being forced back into a mask I had broken through hurt immensely, and it made the first month or so of grad school extremely hard. I had finally been able to express my true self at home, and it was back to ground zero here in Texas. Why did I decide to come all the way over here when I was able to love my partner in public back at home?
Additionally, in my first semester I experienced a Texas midterm election. I watched the men, who put all the 30 plus anti-LGBTQ bills into motion, earn back their seats at the table. Not just that, more than half of the voters in the state I now call home voted for these men. I prayed that their vote was of ignorance or an extension of family tradition rather than believing the more painful alternative: that they truly don’t care if I get to love in a way that feels right and safe. This felt like a huge step backwards for Texas. The people I had met at the GCSW mourned with me, allowing me to lean on them when I needed support. I am so thankful for them. Because of their empathy and orientation towards justice, they were able to care for me and others in the ways we needed in that moment. That brings me to my next point which is that the truth is Texas is not a land of hatred. Like anywhere, there are bigoted individuals and unsafe spaces, but because of that, there are also so many beautiful affirming communities just below the surface. With every law created to weaken us, the queer community’s bond with each other grows stronger, and that has been so sweet to experience. I believe the GCSW at the University of Houston to be a spotlight into those spaces with its own incredible diversity and pride. I have met people through my social work classes that have made me feel like my full self is worth being known and being loved. That part of my move here has been beyond priceless. Every queer Houstonian has stories and unique ways to live out their incredible joy and I want to hear them all. It has been a privilege to be a part of that even just a little bit.
Grad school is a time to start over, and the only way that is fulfilling is if you are your full and complete self, even in Texas. The GCSW and the city of Houston is better because we all decided to be here and be ourselves. I choose to be brave. As social workers, this lifestyle is part of our calling. The NASW Code of Ethics, which I am sure you are all too familiar with, states “social workers pursue social change, particularly with and on behalf of vulnerable and oppressed individuals and groups of people.” No matter what local and federal laws are trending to say, we have a duty to stand up for the vulnerable and love the communities that are going overlooked.
Being gay is part of who I am and for right now, so is being a Texas resident. It is okay to mourn the pains of your people; everyday queer lives are at stake because of laws the current Texas legislature pushes through. It is more than understandable to make decisions that protect yourself from danger. It is powerful to know, though, that your presence here makes it just a little bit easier for the other queer people in the room to feel at home. And THAT is a feeling I was desperate to know just a mere month ago.
Moving to Houston for graduate school is an enormous decision for a number of reasons including: being away from your support system, accommodating to a new city and culture, and, of course, the heat. Even being from Georgia the weather was an adjustment (my mother says Houston must be closer to hell). I had a really hard time adjusting. I hadn’t had to make new friends in years and I was certain I didn’t know how to anymore. I memorized the way to Kroger and all my favorite restaurants in Georgia, but in Houston, Google Maps was my life line. I was states away from my partner for the first time in our relationship. It would also be a lie to say that packing up my life and living in a new city wasn’t also exhilarating. The city skyline that emerged after a 12 hour long drive would become my everyday view! I would meet all new people and could decorate my new room just the way I wanted to. Forgive me for using every cliche in the book to describe moving to a new city, but they are cliches for a reason. They are all real layers of the transplant story and yours will likely feel similar.
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