I don’t want to hear about how homophobic your uncle is. I don’t want to hear about how your totally out-of-touch cousin still says “fag.” I don’t want to hear a cis-heterosexual person talk about how uncomfortable they are about somebody else’s bigotry.

I remember sitting in my friend’s dorm room: we were probably eating lunch or talking shit or watching Girls for the umpteenth time. By this time I was out to all of my friends and family. To be honest, I had probably had a boyfriend or three by the time. I was comfortable with my sexuality, I was comfortable being my sexuality. Something that had not come easy.

I remember my friend telling me, “You need to watch this. It made me feel sick to my stomach.” I thought, maybe it’s one of those sneezing panda videos or maybe it’s some video of some girl sharting in some jacuzzi. Maybe it’s a conspiracy video about how birds don’t actually exist. “I just don’t get how people can still be homophobic like this.”

I remember them then turning on John Quiñones’s What Would You Do? A reality show that places ordinary people into not-so-unordinary positions. The show is simple: a few actors act out a scene and wait to see how the bystanders react. Often times it can be heartwarming, seeing an elderly person help a lost child or watching a man giving food to a person living with homelessness. I suppose the show is supposed to restore some faith in humanity. See! There are some good people out there! But along with the good, there are always some bad. You see people turn a blind eye to those in need and sometimes you even see people get downright nasty.

In this episode, two actors portrayed a queer couple who were then denied service because of their sexuality. A few patrons quickly defended the couple by stating the obvious, everyone has the right to love whoever they want. A lot of people just ignored it until pressed further on. And a few too many people seemed comfortable with the harassment.

I remember a large family laughing at the couple. Joking at the couple. Staring at the couple.

And I remember in that moment feeling so small. Feeling swallowed by the room. Feeling as if I was swimming towards a surface that was never in reach.

And it’s the same feeling I get when I find out that one my mom’s co-workers doesn’t believe in marriage equality. It’s the same feeling I get when one my friends talks about their douchebag employer calling queer people faggots.

And this doesn’t apply when I’m talking to other queer people. With them, I feel comfortable. I feel safe. I feel equal. My discomfort comes when it’s discussed with people outside of the community. When it comes from allies and friends.

Because with them, it feels like they are trying to prove something. As if they are saying, See! I’m not like one of those guys. I’m progressive. I’m cool. I’m one of you. Almost as if they are trying to overcompensate. That maybe they should awarded brownie points for not being a bigot. It’s like expecting a reward for something that is the bare minimum.

Because with them it feels as if they are trying to reestablish dominance, trying to flex their power over us. See this! This is something that I will never have to experience. This is something I will never have to fear. And in that moment, we are reminded of our status. We are reminded of their status. We are reminded that they will never be discriminated against because of their sexuality or gender expression. We are reminded that in that situation, we are near powerless.

And when the conversation drops and trauma ends, the allies are the ones who get to leave unscathed. To them it was just another talking point. To them it was just another reason as to why society is going to shit. Because to them, it doesn’t mean life or death. But for us, when the conversation ends we still feel empty. We are still left with the trauma. We are still scared.

And I understand that when these conversations arise it is never out of malice. And I’m sure that allies don’t discuss these topics with intention to hurt us. And to be frank, I’m sure that this pain has never even crossed their minds. But that is not what matters. What matters is that we do feel this way. What matters is that we should have control.

Because at the end of the day, this is not their trauma. This is pain that they will never have to face. This is something that they will never have to feel. So why should they be able to bring it up whenever they please? Why should they have the right to make us feel so small?

So to my allies. I am not mad. I am not hurt. And to be honest, I don’t even want an apology. What I want is change. Allyship is something learned. It’s a growing, ever-changing thing. And I don’t know if there’s such thing as the perfect ally. And if there is, I’m sure it wasn’t achieved overnight. This is just something that will help your queer comrades feel a bit more comfortable when around you.