A Pride Month retrospective
Brought to you by my Reddit impersonator
Adding to the list of things I have to be worried about as a public-facing human on the internet, I was recently informed someone was attempting to impersonate me in r/latebloomerlesbians.
The 97,000-member subreddit is a forum for folks who are figuring out their sexuality “late” in the game (typically anyone past their teen years). The vast majority of posts are from women who think they might be lesbians and are married to or in long-term relationships with men.
I discovered the sub a few months after my divorce was finalized, and while I wish I had found it about a year sooner, it was still an extremely validating place to spend time as a stumbling fawn of a baby gay. These days, I find myself recommending the sub to others far more often than I actually peruse it, but it will always hold a special place in my heart.
So imagine my surprise when one of my Instagram followers messaged me a few weeks ago to let me know that someone in the sub was pretending to be me. I nervously clicked on the linked post they’d included in their DM, and there on my screen was a familiar photo of me sitting in the driver’s seat of a bus.
Three years earlier in 2021, I had posted that photo and a caption to go along with it in the subreddit during Pride Month. The imitator had reposted them in the present as if they were their own photo and words. Here’s a screenshot of the original post that was stolen:
I reported the fraudulent post and encouraged others to do the same. Thankfully, it was taken down within an hour by the sub’s mods and by Reddit for copyright infringement. However, the experience still threw me for a loop. Not only because it was disturbing to see an anonymous person acting like they were me, but also, I hadn’t thought about that early post-divorce version of myself in a long time.
Just as commenters had done on the original version of the post, people on the stolen version left sweet comments cheering “me” on. Reading through their encouragement took me right back to that vulnerable time.
“Congratulations 👏👏👏. I respect and envy your bravery.”
“Best wishes for the best life !! I just came out to my husband of 20 years. A divorce is coming and I am terrified! Hope this shit gets better. 🩷”
“So incredible! I admire your bravery, I feel like I'm so far away from that.”
“Awesome! I’m happy for you because I know the relief you feel, even though there are difficult feelings around all the happenings sometimes. Here’s to the start of the life you were supposed to live all along.”
“Congrats, enjoy your new happy existence.”
I’m three years out from writing the post they were all responding to, and I do have a new, happy existence. Shit has gotten better. And the lost, depressed, broken down version of me who was putting on a brave face back then has mostly faded away in favor of the more fierce and confident iteration of me you see today.
At the time, I assumed it would take me years to meet someone I could see a future with. Instead, I matched with Jessie on Hinge just weeks after putting up that photo on Reddit. I even used the same photo in my dating profile! And now we’re engaged, living in Colorado together, and our third dating anniversary is coming up in July.
Post-divorce, the future of my career felt murky for a long time. Now, my work largely consists of writing The Queer Agenda, making content for tens of thousands of mostly LGBTQ+ folks on social media, and working for PFLAG NYC—all jobs that allow me to make an impact on the lives of queer youth and adults. Plus, this year I got asked to do a paid Pride video for the Human Rights Campaign, and I’m writing a queer novel on the side.
I’m truly living so many of my dreams and working on making even more of them a reality.
For a long time, though, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to this point. The “straight” version of me from ten years ago couldn’t imagine she was a part of the LGBTQ+ community. The “bisexual” version of me from five years ago couldn’t imagine she would divorce her husband and come out as a lesbian. And similarly, the baby gay version of me from three years ago hoped things could be this good but couldn’t fully imagine it.
When it comes to huge life transitions like divorce, coming out, moving, having kids, etc., it’s often the case that things get worse before they get better. And while it’s a platitude at this point, it’s true that “the only way out is through.”
I’ll probably never know why someone decided to impersonate me on Reddit. Maybe for attention and validation. Maybe because it felt safer to use someone else’s face and words to express what they’ve been feeling. Or maybe to live vicariously through that version of me.
I hope whoever they are and whatever they’re going through, they find healthier ways to process their emotions and get through the shitty time they’re in. Because if I’ve learned anything from the hardest parts of my life, it’s that you can avoid things for as long as you like, but you’ll never be able to move forward until you’re willing to tackle the tough stuff head on and work your way through it, one trudging step at a time.
If I hadn’t forced myself to do that, I wouldn’t be this person—the loud, proud, nonbinary lesbian you know and love—this Pride. So if you’ve been facing down a shitstorm of your own, I’ll leave you with this: who could you be three years from now if you courageously wade into the muck and stop trying to sidestep it?
Queerly yours,
Shohreh
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