I come from a family where children are pampered. I have always been close to my parents, and in particular my mother, who stopped working at the birth of my first brother. She was a cleaning lady in a hospital, but the conditions became more and more complicated, and my father, railway worker, worked a lot. Together, we played video games – or rather I watched her play. When I was in high school, I stuck it a little. On weekends and Wednesdays when she visited my brother’s godmother, I joined her and she gently laughed at me. She nicknamed me “the backpack”. The relationship with my father was more distant, because he was angry and me too, but we still had good reports.
I joined the values of my parents. I do not remember fundamental discord. I had frank discussions with them, sometimes arguments, but they would not alter our link. Things started to change when their couple was denied. I was in the final year, I saw that they were not happy. My mother wanted to go back to work. She found a job as a saleswoman in which she quickly flourished. They ended up separating and selling the house.
coming out
For my part, I was very involved in high school, I loved math, which satisfied my parents: they always wanted us to study. They already saw me a doctor! After the bac, I made a preparation, and I was admitted to an engineering school in Paris. It was this summer that I came out, first with my mother. She took it pretty well, even if I think she was afraid of not having grandchildren. She is a very maternal woman.
From the moment I left my city for Paris, I confided in it less, because I returned little often and because tensions were emerging between us. I remember a conversation where she told me that she had not had a happy life. I told him in return that, too, I felt unhappy at certain times of my childhood. She took it very badly. She spoke, as if I accused her, when this was not the case. She found me ungrateful. I received messages from my family to ask myself to be nice to her, not to make her suffer.
In Paris, I got involved in the LGBT asso of my school. Frankly, we were not hooligans: when I arrived, the association was not very active. When I spoke to my mother, at Easter holidays, she worried, she feared that I had trouble. “Be careful not to proselytize,” she told me. It breaks people. “I got on my big horses and she removed her words. This is a break for me: before, we had never had an ideological opposition. During these same holidays, during a meal, one of my cousins spoke of provocative outfits of the girls, suggesting that this could constitute an incentive to rape. My mother has a little abundant in her sense. For the first time, I felt like I was surrounded by people who did not have the same apprehension of the world as me. The impression, too, that the tensions between my mother and me took a new political dimension.
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