I grew up queer and terrified – moving to the UK changed everything
I remember from an early age struggling with my gender.
I felt very uncomfortable in girl’s clothes like dresses, skirts and (god forbid) tights.
I would always sit ‘like a boy’ with my legs spread, which, well, didn’t make anyone in my family happy.
Growing up queer in Russia made me feel apprehensive most of the time.
It’s only been since moving to London that I’ve felt calm.
The real drama with my identity began with the physical changes of puberty, which were especially distressing for 12-year-old me.
The growing discomfort with my body led to something, I believe, can now be described as a form of self harm. I vividly remember trying to flatten my chest with my fists.
But at the time I didn’t know any better. The term non-binary was non-existent and my only real education on the LGBTQIA+ community came when my family watched movies like Billy Elliot.
Even then, it was not something I thought about much as a kid.
As years went by, most social events often escalated into confrontations as I still resisted wearing dresses and rejected traditional feminine roles.
While I did like some ‘feminine’ things, like nail polish and playing with Barbie, I also kind of kept it a secret – which was probably internalised misogyny.
I remember I even pretended to like chocolate milkshakes at McDonalds, because boys liked it, and girls liked the strawberry one (my favourite is actually banana, but never mind).
During my teens, I adopted a male identity online, which compounded my internal conflicts and led to severe mental health crises – including depression and thoughts of suicide, especially when my friends outed me.
It was probably one of the hardest periods of my life: I remember how I would imagine that I’d just wake up one day as this guy who existed only in my head, suppress my other identity completely and what a happy life he (or me?) would live.
Later on, aged 24, I found myself in a heteronormative relationship that forced me into a hyper feminine era – make-up, dresses, and a demeanour far removed from my true self.
This relationship served as a constant reminder that I wasn’t living authentically.
I was trying to be a submissive feminine partner.
I learned how to cook his favourite dishes, and was probably trying to hold onto someone who loved and wanted me for me.
For me, a Black Russian queer person, London was like the Mecca of the most inclusive, multicultural, and queer-friendly atmosphere I’d ever seen
It wasn’t until I met my future wife, back in 2021, that I began to dismantle the layers of pretence – to truly rediscover and embrace my non-binary identity.
Her support and understanding was transformative. It helped me embrace myself and restart a journey towards self-acceptance.
I was alway curious about what gender is and what genders there are, however, the more I learned about what non-binary meant I felt like that it was something that fitted me just right.
Moving to London to study at Goldsmiths back in 2019, I encountered a supportive community that offered a stark contrast to my experiences in Russia.
My love for London had already been sparked by childhood visits, and before moving here I think I’d visited around 25 times.
For me, a Black Russian queer person, London was like the Mecca of the most inclusive, multicultural, and queer-friendly atmosphere I’d ever seen.
Of course, the challenges of adapting to a new culture were real: From bureaucracy to knowing that, if you have a pleasant and intimate conversation with someone, the next day they may not even say hi to you – while in Russia it meant you were friends now.
But I did find supportive networks at university, particularly among Black and queer students, who played a crucial role in my adjustment. I made a friend who was also Black and queer and I was so happy and excited to finally not be the only one.
In the UK, my non-binary identity is mostly met with acceptance – rather than adversity.
A particularly memorable moment was when a friend, upon reading about my identity in an Instagram post, just casually congratulated me.
This moment of simple, yet profound, acknowledgement highlighted the stark differences in societal attitudes between the UK and Russia.
Frankly speaking, I grew up different from others. I remember people screaming racist slurs at me in the streets of Moscow.
I remember how someone punched me in the eye on the train just because of the way I looked.
I remember how I had to explain to people that it’s not OK to say the n-word, and that queerphobic jokes are inappropriate.
I remember how I would hold my wife’s hand on the train and she’d move her hand away, saying: ‘What are you doing? They’re already staring at us because we’re Black, and now you want to attract more attention because we’re queer?’
Truthfully, I really don’t want any more attention because of the identities I have. I like living in a place where I am surrounded by people who look like me.
In London, I’ve discovered an environment where my non-binary identity didn’t necessitate a grand declaration. Unlike my past, where each disclosure of my identity was met with resistance, London offers a calm acceptance.
When I share my pronouns or experiences, the usual response is a simple nod – no further explanation required.
This unspoken acceptance is a big contrast to my previous life, and makes me feel like I can belong – at least sometimes.
Of course, London is far from Heaven. And while I do not know what the future holds for me here, as my residency ends in a year, I hope to figure it out and reside here and start a family.
For now it’s good enough for me. For once, I’m happy to feel normal.
