Rebuilding Myself

This is an updated version of this article, originally posted on February 13, 2020. 

“My daughter won’t ever have to question her sexuality, because she won’t be raised thinking it is a choice.”

No, this is not something my parents said to me (thank God, and thank you mom and dad). It’s something an old friend from my hometown posted on Facebook in response to an article about Veronica Ivy, a professional cyclist formerly known as Rachel McKinnon. She was dominating the cycling world at the time and set a world record in 2019 for the two hundred meter sprint within her age group. But it wasn’t the records Ivy set that made my friend so frustrated—it was the fact that she was even allowed to compete at all.

Veronica Ivy is a trans woman.

That was enough for this (former) friend of mine to share the article with a caption: “I don’t wanna be on this Earth anymore.”

Well then! There is a lot going on there and—not to quote John Mulaney but—we don’t have time to unpack all of that. Beyond the grave implications on trans rights, the post got me thinking about something that I’ve spent months trying to find the words for. I have always supported and been completely enthralled by the LGBTQ+ community and it took me until I was twenty-one to admit a truth that I had subconsciously known for years—that I was a part of that community.

I’ve always thought of myself as a very fluid person in all senses of the word—I am a water sign, after all! So in true indecisive Pisces fashion, one of the things I’ve always hated was the writing prompt that college essays and job applications have beaten to death: “What’s one word you’d use to describe yourself?” That’s probably the toughest question you could ask me, and I guarantee I’d have a different answer for every day of the year. I could use a lot of words to label myself and my personality—dramatic, loud, charming, amazing, hilarious—but the idea of choosing just one descriptive word about myself to share with the world has always seemed way too finite for my liking.

So I’ve decided to use that brilliant logic to come out in the best way I know how: using a one thousand word essay to explain something that can be boiled down to just three.

I’m not straight!

So now that we’ve cleared that up, let me explain—not because I feel like I have to, but because I want to.

College really changes a person.

Actually, scratch that—college helps foster change within a person. Moving away from your home and your family will do that. Living on your own in a big city for the first time, surrounded by new opportunities, pushes you to learn who you really are and can help you figure out who you want to be.

I’ve had my fair share of relationships: the good, the bad, the whatever. I was in an abusive relationship that drowned out my last two years of high school, and that experience changed me forever—in ways that I’m still learning how to deal with. But it also forced me to face a lot of meaningful truths about myself, my life, my relationships, and most importantly, my happiness. And in a way, it feels like it changed me entirely because when it was over, I had no choice but to reevaluate, heal, and start over again.

I left for Australia a month after high school ended as part of Northeastern’s NUin program, living there until Thanksgiving. I left what felt like everything I knew from my old life in the rearview and threw myself into the midst of a new country, a new era of my life surrounded by all new people—all while still figuring out how to exist on my own for the first time. Trying to heal and find myself again in the wake of trauma was a long, painful process and probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But I wouldn’t change it for the world. It helped me grow, evolve, discover new things about myself, and experience the world in ways I wouldn’t have had if I never left my hometown.

The most important thing was that I came out the other side stronger, more confident, and unapologetically myself. For instance, I still love sports, but I prefer writing about them instead of playing. The idea of tattoos and putting something on your body forever used to freak me out, but here I am today with seven tattoos and counting. I used to be scared of being home alone, but now living alone is the most serene part of my life. I love taking daily naps. Black coffee is very good. And, you know, I like women.

If you introduced 2021 me to circa-2014 me, she would probably faint or do something equally as dramatic, but probably only because of how different I look. Once the two Calli’s started talking, I think the old me would be pretty dang proud of where I ended up and what I overcame to get here. A devout feminist and successful journalist who’s been published in the Boston Globe, interviewed professional athletes, and served on the executive board of her sorority and countless other campus organizations? Not bad for a twenty-two year old, eh?

The biggest part of that self-discovery for me wasn’t about my sexuality—I think I figured that out in third grade when I had a crush on my best friend—but when I realized that I was ready to embrace this part of my identity. Women had always been beautiful and breathtaking to me, but the problem was boys were kinda cute too! I was overwhelmed and didn’t understand how I could possibly appreciate and be attracted to both. I wasn’t ready to deal with that in middle or high school, and I ultimately decided that it was better to stick with what I knew (boys) and not make waves—because if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?

I never even entertained the idea of actually liking girls. It was too much, too complicated. And honestly, I thought that it was pretty normal for straight girls, like myself, to have massive girl crushes like I did—until a few months ago, when I was telling my three best friends from home about a girl that I had been talking to and was starting to have feelings for. This wasn’t super out of the ordinary; I’ve never been a stranger to calling it like I see it when talking about a boy or girl who I think has blessed genes. But my moment of reckoning came when that conversation turned to my friends, who all agreed that they have never and probably will never be romantically or sexually interested in women in the same way they are with men. And that’s when it hit me—wow, maybe I’m not fully straight?!?! A concept.

There’s a reason I say I’m not straight, instead of calling myself bisexual or a lesbian or pansexual or another identity used to classify sexualities. The reason is: I don’t know which one I am, and I don’t want to pick a word to describe something as complex as love and feelings and sex. I like boys, I like girls, I like people. I can meet someone of either gender, and if I find them physically attractive, vibe well with them, and think they’re a good, fun person, then sure, pencil me in for a date! Because I don’t care what I am and that’s okay. It’s okay to be unsure; it’s okay to not know how to boil yourself down to just a few descriptive words so people can try and define you. I’m being me to the fullest extent in the most authentic way I know how, and I’m gayer than I’ve ever been (in all senses of the word!).

Over the past few months, I’ve been able to fully embrace, explore, and express who I am, and that has changed everything for me. I’ve been able to be honest with myself and the world about who I like and want to kiss and get butterflies for. I’ve made amazing new connections—romantically and otherwise—and have been on dates with girls who have made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, the way you read about. I have felt more comfortable and at home in my own skin than I ever have before. It’s not that I was uncomfortable before or living some kind of lie, but I was limiting myself to only experiencing half of my life. I was too wrapped up in my own head about what admitting I liked girls would change for me. But I’ve been able to rewrite my story, and this time, reinventing a version of Calli that I’m truly, honestly, down-to-the-core happy with. And now it’s time to share her with the world: my friends, co-workers, classmates, followers, but most importantly, my family. So consider this my coming-out story; because my life up until now has been some kind of perfect storm of hits and misses and ups and downs that have somehow led me right to where I am now, which is right where I should be.