‘I came out to my sister, and she said, “You’d better not tell our parents.”’ 

Human geography and planning student Sam Ďurkáč (21) had finally built up the courage to confide in her, only to be disappointed. ‘I emotionally opened up a part of myself, and she just downplayed it.’ That’s when Sam realised she doesn’t feel safe being herself in front of her family. ‘Me being myself and existing within that environment wasn’t an option.’

But Sam can’t live a lie. ‘I think, feel, and behave in ways that gender as a construct doesn’t apply to’, she explains, swivelling in a chair in her student room near the Noorderplantsoen. The walls are decorated with mirrors, anarchist posters, and flags: the rainbow flag, trans flag, and the flag of the Church of Satan, which for the Slovak native represents the rejection of God as top of a hierarchy.

She’s are an identity abolitionist, meaning she opposes the notion of fitting herself into boxes predetermined by societal constructs. Sam embraced her queerness as a means of escaping these boxes. ‘When I wear a skirt, that’s just me. It’s nothing to do with girliness or femininity.’

But she doesn’t consider labels to be completely useless. She uses labels such as non-binary and transgender to refer to the shared experiences in the queer community. ‘When I say I’m trans, it means I identify with the trans experience of not adhering to the gender that society has assigned me at birth.’

Out of place

When Sam moved out of her parents’ house to study in Groningen, she didn’t yet realise how life-changing it would be. 

Looking back at her childhood, she never conformed to societal norms, cross-dressing in her sister’s room and obsessing over My Little Pony. Sam grew up having long golden hair and felt secretly happy when someone mistook her for a pretty girl.

But Sam’s mom wanted to cut that hair and her brother teased her for liking ‘girly’ TV shows. ‘I felt out of place, like I was doing something wrong.’

Always being looked at as a weirdo, Sam went through a phase in high school where she repressed her identity; cutting her hair, getting a girlfriend, and embracing masculinity. ‘I fell into the stereotype of a cute guy and I felt validated as a man.’ 

Confused

For a long time, Sam was in denial about her crush on a male classmate, because it made her feel out of place again. ‘It felt like uncharted territory, I was confused.’ But when that first relationship with a girl didn’t work out, Sam felt a need to reclaim her independence by admitting to herself that she’s bisexual.

Although Sam’s sexuality was never an issue for her friends, she didn’t have the space to explore her queerness, to talk to someone who shared her experience. At the same time, her parents’ hostile attitude towards the queer community made Sam feel unsafe being herself in her own home. ‘They would always say, “We will love you no matter who you are”, but at the same time be openly queerphobic.’

During high school, Sam started to develop a serious depression: ‘I didn’t know who I was trying to be and who I wanted to be.’

Accepted

All that changed after coming to the Netherlands. Sam finally felt accepted for who she was. The exploration of her queerness went hand in hand with an ADHD diagnosis: ‘I think different and I am different. Authenticity is the driving value that I embraced.’

But being unapologetically yourself is easier said than done. Sam remembers being anxious when interacting with the queer community in a gay bar for the first time. Coming from a smaller town in Slovakia, wearing a skirt made her feel nervous and afraid of being judged. ‘But all of my worries were unfounded.’

Instead, Sam found an understanding and accepting environment in Groningen. Now, she has good friends to share her experiences with: ‘It’s like a mutual development of our craziness.’

But the Netherlands isn’t perfect, either. After coming out as non-binary and trans, Sam has been harassed on the streets. ‘I’ve never been physically assaulted, but I don’t think I was far from it either.’ It’s not uncommon, she says, to be called slurs or get catcalled in Groningen.

Proud

In the three years Sam has lived here, she’s only gone back twice to visit her family, both times heavily masking to appear straight. But when her family travelled to Groningen earlier this year, and her mother confronted her about the pride flag on the wall, she no longer wanted to lie. 

‘I said I’m proud of who I am’, Sam recalls. When her mother started talking about queer people being mentally ill, she refused to continue the conversation. ‘You can either be respectful or get out of my home’, Sam said. She got up and left.

Sam’s sister was heartbroken and couldn’t stop crying. They comforted each other: ‘It made me feel like I, as a person, was more important to her than whatever tradition.’ 

Sam was upset with her mother, but even more disappointed with her father, who told her to be tolerant of her mother’s opinion: ‘If we tolerate intolerance, then we’re intolerant. That’s the paradox.’ 

After the situation was de-escalated, Sam never talked to her parents about it again. ‘What’s the point if they don’t want to listen to you?’

Not safe

This summer, Sam hasn’t returned to Slovakia. Because she doesn’t want to see her parents, but also because it doesn’t feel safe there anymore. ‘I keep hearing about people being discriminated against, assaulted, and even killed. People want to murder you just because you exist as yourself.’

The attitude towards the queer community remains negative in Slovakia, which Sam finds exhausting. ‘It is draining to be talked about so openly and hatefully, with such vigour and determination by people who know nothing about the trans experience.’ 

Going back there, Sam says, would be a threat to both her mental and physical health. ‘That’s not my home. There’s nothing for me there.’ She only wishes she could see her sister. ‘It’s not like I don’t want to go, but it’s not even my choice.’