A Family Portrait or, What Being Queer Looks Like

by Callum Lee

Somewhere across time and space, there is a father telling his son that he was terrified for years before he came out. He has told him many things over the years, clichés like “it’s just a phase,” and “your life will be so much more difficult now.” The mother parrots phrases like these, but in a more Biblical context: “you know this goes against what God says,” and “this is a sin.” But the thing is, the son knows what sin feels like. He knows what it’s like to be 5 years old, stealing a chocolate bar for the first time and understanding the criminal weight behind it, the burden of guilt and pleasure and panic. Sin feels like cheating on a test or taking money from a purse. Sin looks like suicide, like homosexuals, like tattoos on your body or hate in your heart. At 12 years old, he realized that his options were an early grave caused by self-hatred, denial, and shame, or that he could love himself and live.

The father tells him that nobody is meant to be happy. Happiness is fleeting, joy is forever, and joy is only found in God. This is the argument he gives the son when he says that being who he was meant to be makes him happy. Going back into the closet would mean certain death, absolute misery, total despair, but the father argues that life is discontent anyway. Why not soldier on normally? Being queer is only a hinderance to life’s chances, anyway.

The parents’ worst fears look like this: the child turned away from every opportunity, beaten down by the world, unloved by all except for them. Or maybe, their worst fears look like this: the child’s happiness found in a lifestyle they never wanted/approved of. Because each day that unfolds looks more like the latter. The son has flourished away from home.

He’s found friends that love him for who he is (none of them are perfect: there’s always the ones that ask weird questions or still have the same idea of toxic masculinity in their heads, but they’re trying, he’s teaching them). He’s discovered the space he needs to accept and appreciate himself, learning about the little joys in life and how to stay steady despite hardships. He’s remained strong through difficulties, realized more about himself in the past few years than any other. He has started to repair the damage his parents have done to his identity and to his heart, and he doesn’t ever regret coming out. They say it’s harder this way, that they’ve always wanted better for him, but he can’t change how he was made, what he wants. There’s a happiness inside him. It’s warm and content, and it looks like self-acceptance.

A Chat with My Therapist

by Callum Lee

Like many Generation Z’ers with emotional baggage, I see a therapist on the regular. It’s not like one of those movie scenes, where I’m sitting on a straight-backed leather couch or lying on an uncomfortable settee and my therapist is across from me, rapidly scratching out notes. We meet on Zoom these days, her at her office and me from the comfort of my home, and I just rant. For however much I pay her, I feel pretty comfortable spilling out all my deepest, darkest secrets, but it’s more than just that. I’ve been seeing her since my first year of college when I was a disordered mess of panic and rage, and she’s seen how I’ve grown out of that persona. She’s been with me through all the housekeeping, but I don’t know much about her.


So, when I was tasked to write about a healthcare professional, I thought about her. Why send cordial emails to a doctor I barely speak to (I rarely see my primary physician), when I could just shoot my therapist a text? Seeing the person I interviewed on the semi-regular made it a lot easier to ask questions, the first of which being; “What do you do and why do you do it?”


She’s a licensed psychologist that specializes with families, children, couples and gender and non-binary people. As for the why, she expressed an interest in psychology in high school, when she had the opportunity to take classes at the nearby university of Cal Poly Pomona. During her undergrad at UCSD, she wanted to pursue veterinary practices, but decided the exact sciences of chemistry weren’t for her. She then switched to psychology, which was when her cousin was diagnosed with schizophrenia, a mental disorder that affects a person’s ability to think. This diagnosis motivated her to research with a psychologist studying schizophrenia and health, where she fell in love with research and decided to pursue a PhD.

It’s been a long journey ever since of working with different practices, and when I asked her why specifically she decided to cater to LGBTQ+ clients, she had this to say.


“I had a friend that began to identify as transgender while we were in a faith community. The community indirectly did not feel safe for my friend and they were struggling with their mental health and living situation. They lived with us for a couple years.”
Over the call, I can hear her voice struggle with emotions when she exclaims: “The tears, the snot on my shirt and my shoulders are always there, and it always reminds me and gives me a deep well of empathy for gender and non-binary people.” When it comes down to it, there’s no better reason to be a therapist, and I can tell she takes pride in what she does. She’s been changing lives like mine ever since.