Erin Ekins recounts her experience of being queer at Christmas

There are a lot of words you could use to describe Christmas: festive; jolly; joyful; and triumphant, but I think the word that best sums up Christmas is ÔÇô interesting.

How could it not be interesting? Family members, many of whom havenÔÇÖt been in the same room as one another since the same time last year, gathered together for a whole day in the spirit of festivity and celebration, sitting at the same dinner table and smiling weakly as they unwrap their ´¼ü fteenth pair of reindeer socks. In such circumstances, drama, and a certain degree of awkwardness, are adept at digging in their claws and settling in for the duration.

However, if you are LGBT+ or queer (a label that I use for myself, but which I know others do not like), this can add another helping of dif´¼ü culty to an admittedly already fraught season. With many LGBT+ youth still in the closet, and some out but faced with familial disapproval, large family gatherings, especially at Christmas, can bring pain, loneliness, or the suffocating reality of hiding.

I donÔÇÖt pretend to have a universal truth about being LGBT+ at Christmas: all I have is my own experience; and that experience is both awkward, at times painful, and at other times painfully funny.

Christmas was, before I came out to my grandparents and other extended family members, a time of great confusion for me. Every time I kissed someone on the cheek or shook their hand or put up with another ÔÇÿMy, hasnÔÇÖt she grownÔÇÖ, I was subconsciously and frantically ticking them off my mental list: am I out to you?; how would you take it if I came out to you?; do I have to be super-careful around you? I was out to my parents and my little brother at the time, as well as a few select others, so the road of conversation was bumpy and, as a result, I often made mistakes. The issue was particularly prescient around the main focus of most Christmases: my grandparents. I love my grandparents on my motherÔÇÖs side very dearly, and yet, for several Christmases after I came out to my immediate family, I was still locked ´¼ürmly in the closet; Christmas was therefore guaranteed to be a tightrope of awkwardness.

If there is one thing non-LGBT+ people struggle to realise, it is just how often you allude to your own sexuality or gender identity with every sentence you say ÔÇô it is not a case of merely glossing over who youÔÇÖve had/would like to have sex with.

Crushes, favourite actors/actresses, social groups, how you spend your time, hobbies, music, ´¼ülms, literature ÔÇô one or other of these is bound to come up in a conversation sooner or later, and, as an awful liar, I recall many bungled attempts at diverting attention away from my (probably rather obvious) queerness.

I still remember vividly my nan asking to take a look at my boxset of Tipping the Velvet and asking why those two women in corsets were sitting so closely to one another. Or that time when, while watching the Doctor Who Christmas Special, I automatically remarked on how I would very much like to have Katherine Jenkins as my very own, only to stutteringly add ÔÇÿas my duet partnerÔÇÖ as my mother frantically ´¼éapped her hands and my little brother guffawed mightily in the corner.

Last year was my very ´¼ürst Christmas after coming out to them. It was a relief, a freedom-filled joy, to be able to honestly answer ÔÇÿSo, what have you been up to?ÔÇÖ with the truth rather than dodging the question, to be able to speak without fear of something incriminating falling out of my mouth. They may not have been one hundred percent okay with the whole situation, but I wasnÔÇÖt lying any more ÔÇô and itÔÇÖs the lying that carries the weight.

[pullquote]I recall many bundled attempts at diverting attention away from my queerness.[/pullquote]

However, just when we feel that the closet doors have swung open for me and my family, never to close again ÔÇô a new twist to this Christmas tale: not long ago, my mother took me and my little brother out for coffee ÔÇô and told us that she is gay.

So, as my familyÔÇÖs queerness apparently grows, we are faced with a Christmas more interesting than perhaps any other faced before. My parents will, due to their living arrangements, be celebrating Christmas together yet separated; while my grandparents know about the separation, they do not know about my motherÔÇÖs coming out; and then thereÔÇÖs me, their out and openly bisexual granddaughter, who is no longer hiding behind my own closet door but helping my mother to come to terms with hers.

I hope that, while this Christmas is bound to throw up some difficulties, IÔÇÖll be able to help her road be a little less bumpy than my own was. I know that weÔÇÖll be okay in the end; not to draw upon clich├® (okay, maybe a little bit) but as the great poet Gloria Gaynor once said: ÔÇÿI will surviveÔÇÖ.

Because it will be an interesting time for us all, but, hey, it is Christmas.