• Queerious Podcast


I don't know how to write this really. I've typed up a couple of paragraphs but then quickly deleted them in embarrassment. I'm going to type and see what comes up. URGH.

Why do I care what you think?

It is so frustrating. Of course I want people to read these blogs and to take something from them. Ultimately, that is why I am doing it, as well as expanding my capacity to write my thoughts out and to speak my truth in a more coherent form. But I can't stop thinking about what you will think about me.

It's unhealed trauma that needs to be explored and thrown up onto a page. The purging of shadow to bring in more sunlight.

I cared about what you thought of me on my first day of training. When we sat around in a huge circle. My heart was thudding in my chest. I was so aware of how many other beautiful people there were around me. It already felt like a competition. I already felt I had lost. I tried to look at the tutors who were sat together in the circle. Pale, stale and male. But I saw them as the Holy Grail. And I cared so much about them looking at me. About acknowledgement that I existed in that moment. No one looked.

I cared about what you thought of me when I invited you to my house. When you straightened my hair and I talked to you about music that I loved. It couldn't have been a more simple act of togetherness, but I didn't know what to do. I'd never had a friend like that before.

I cared about what you thought of me when I told you I was gay. When I looked in your eyes and saw fear and hurt there. When I felt that my whole world was crumbling because you couldn't in that moment accept that truth.

I cared about what you thought of me when I was stood in front of you singing some sack of shite song. I could hear it in its horrible airiness and you mocked it. I felt my heart sink, my hopes extinguish. I didn't challenge that for another 7 years. Because your face was always in my head.

I cared about what you thought of me when I logged on to Instagram. And I saw that you had watched that video. I forgot you were such a big part of my life for so long. Then I blushed and felt like a teenager again. I regress quicker than I like.

I cared about what you thought of me when I was doing the backstroke. Slowest person in the pool getting lapped by every other swimmer. A slow clap as I came in last. 'Well done Jenny', but all I heard was 'bless her.' Everyone else was out of the pool and I climbed out, bright red and humiliated.

I cared about what you thought of me when I was working a normal job. You asked me what acting work I was doing and lifted an eyebrow at my response. No words, but a look of disdain for my failure.

I cared about what you thought of me when I told you I wasn't well. But you were there. And you opened your heart up to me, even when it had been closed for so many years. You heard me when I told you I wanted to leave here.


The Jenny I know that cares so deeply is 5 years old. She is really freakin cute and has a great head of hair like her Grandad. All she wants is acknowledgement to begin her healing. The only thing is, you dear reader can't give me that. By all means, open your arms and give me a hug. Reach out and be there when I need a space to talk and cry. But the true healing starts within. I know that and I'm typing it out to embed it into my mind.

No more distractions. No more zapping of energy. No more self-loathing.

Sitting and feeling all this crap. Pushing myself way beyond my comfort zone. Growing in skills. Doing stuff I told myself I would never have the capacity to do. Travelling. Seeing more of the world. Being authentic to my feelings. Spending time with good people. Giving as much as I can without depleting my resources. Filling this world with light. Meditating. Loving. LOVING. LOVING.

This isn't cringe. This is growth. And I care about me. For the first time.