I'm a Queer Man Who's Scared of Teens. Now I'm Starting a Book Club For Them.

Like many queer people, I was tormented by my peers as a young person. Bullied for being effeminate and for preferring to hang out with girls, kids at school made my life hell. I was mocked and ridiculed, made to feel like I was a worthless piece of crap, as though all that mattered was the way others perceived me—which was something “other,” a freak.

Now, I'm a proud queer man in my late thirties and I no longer recognize that boy. I'm married, vocal about speaking up for myself and for the LGBTQ+ community, and taking positive steps to deal with my trauma through therapy.

It’s taken a lot of hard work to get to where I am today and to feel more comfortable and content with who I am. Like most other people, I had to face and overcome many obstacles, as though I were competing in some sort of life Olympics.

When you’re part of the LGBTQ+ community though, it feels—at least for me and others I speak to—as though you never truly overcome those obstacles and you never really leave your trauma behind. Because there are triggers everywhere and the abuse doesn’t stop when you reach adulthood. Someone can shout something hateful and discriminatory at you because they perceive you as less, and instantly you are transported back to those childhood days. A couple of weeks ago, I was walking around my city, minding my own business, when a group of young people started shouting and mocking my queerness. Fortunately, it didn’t escalate into violence, but if I hadn’t walked off quickly with my head down, I think it might have.

I'm terrified of young people—partly because of the childhood PTSD, and partly because they have so much bravado and arrogance.

Up until that point, I felt positive and energetic and happy, but the experience immediately cast a dark cloud over everything. For days afterwards, I felt hyper-aware of the way I looked, of the way I walked and talked. I’m aware of the dangers I face as a queer person, but I  normalize them and try to get on with my life. Experiences like this put that danger to the forefront of your mind. Plus, I pride myself on being strong and outspoken, things I couldn’t be in that moment. I despised feeling so powerless. 

I’m still terrified of young people, and teenagers specifically. My heart feels as though it’s going to burst out of my chest, like I’m John Hurt in Alien, if I see a group of them walking towards me on the street. Partly it’s the childhood PTSD, partly it’s the fact they have so much bravado and arrogance. Yes, they’re part of a comparatively queer-friendly generation, but as a general rule and from my personal experience, many teenagers still do not respect their elders and fail to see the consequences of their actions.

So why, if I’m so fearful of young people, am I starting a book club just for them?  

I've been the manager of my local library for two years and have been running an adult LGBTQ+ book club for almost that long. I've formed a strong community of like-minded people, with a vast array of different ages and backgrounds and I really feel like I'm making a difference in people's lives. There's been mention of us doing an LGBTQ+ book club for younger people, and until now, the idea of running it myself has been too scary. 

But something happened recently that changed my mind. We were reading Alice Oseman’s graphic novel Heartstopper for book club, and two girls aged 10 and 11 turned up. This group is marketed quite clearly as being 18+ so I was shocked to see them, but after speaking to others in the club and agreeing we’d keep the conversation PG-13, I decided to just embrace it and see what happened. Plus, one of their moms was with them.

It ended up being pretty amazing. Though she wasn’t massively forthcoming about it, it sounded like one of the girls identified as queer and we relished in asking her questions—albeit in an empathetic, respectful way. She seemed to really come out of her shell, which was wonderful to see. I wish I’d had a group of LGBTQ+ adults and peers to speak to at that age. 

Running an LGBTQ+ book club isn’t just about reading. For me, it’s about forming a community, about having open, honest conversations with others like you. It’s about creating a safe space. At the end of that Heartstopper session, I felt fired up and inspired. Young people need this, too, I realized. I have the opportunity to put young LGBTQ+ people in a room together, away from whatever hostility they may face outside. I have the opportunity to impart something on to them. I can educate and support. 

You could argue that the young people in this new book club will be LGBTQ+, so why should I be scared of them abusing me for my sexuality? But I can’t stress enough how anxious any teen makes me; it’s just so deeply ingrained. 

I’m having a meeting with a colleague who works solely with young people to get some advice, but this will mostly be about structuring a book club when it’s not for adults. I’m going to start planning what we’ll read, a mix of fiction and non-fiction, and some graphic novels too. I love programming and curating, so I’m very excited about this part.

I still don’t entirely know what I’m getting myself into, and maybe that’s a good thing. I’m working through childhood trauma with my therapist, so I’m hoping this will help me cope with running the book club and if I find it too much, I can always stop. But my focus has to be on the main reason I’m doing this and that’s to give young LGBTQ+ people the space and support that I never had. Plus, if I don’t run this thing, then nobody else will and it not existing at all is just not an option for me. Not now.

Wish me luck.