And of course, despite all that, she's still with them. Dumb dyke.
I knew I was conservative long before I knew I was queer. A natural contrarian, I always wanted to color outside the box. I had little respect for authority, and a deep desire to challenge mainstream thought and opinion. As an Obama-era kid, it was clear to me even as a child that there was an “approved” way of thinking—which was largely held by the Democratic Party and mainstream media.
Because of this, I knew the Democratic Party was not for me at the age of 12.
Even as a child, I believed in relentless freedom, American exceptionalism, and the promise of our country. That’s what drew me to the Republican Party. Growing up in New Hampshire, I was surrounded by politics, and our GOP leaders were traditionally moderate Republicans who cared little about social and culture war issues, despite the temptations of a rabid activist base.
When I was 18, I interned for New Hampshire Sen. Kelly Ayotte on Capitol Hill in the second-to-last year of her term, as she was beginning to position herself as a moderate voice on issues like LGBTQ rights. In 2014, the message appeared to be quite clear: Gay marriage is a dead issue and Republicans are moving on.
Perfect.
I later studied at Mount Holyoke, a women’s college with a majority queer and gay population. I didn’t consider myself queer then, likely due to my roots as a contrarian and a constant opponent of the collective. In fact, attending Mount Holyoke influenced me into become even more conservative—and I myopically connected queerness exclusively with leftism.
But barely a few months into my freshman year, I was launched into the political arena. A state representative seat had opened in my hometown and local GOP activists were encouraging me to run for it. I obliged and ran as a “liberty” Republican (something fairly unique to New Hampshire), promoting limited government, school choice, and opposing tax increases. To the surprise of many (including myself), I won—instantly becoming one of the youngest elected officials in the country at 19 years old.
I became increasingly and deeply involved in the GOP—as a state delegate, working on campaigns, and attending endless rubber chicken dinners. I allowed the GOP to become a large part of my personal identity.
And then at 20 years old, as an elected Republican politician, I came to realize that I was definitely not straight.
But I didn’t feel as though my association with my party would conflict with my sexual identity. In fact, as I continued to expand my network of queer people, I found that many shared a lot of my core political values. I found myself working to convince these people that they should be open to voting Republican.
Of course, most declined, due to the GOP’s fairly recent history of making opposition to gay marriage a campaign issue. But I tried to assure the skeptics that, as of June 2015, the Supreme Court had made permanently resolved the gay marriage issue—making it the law of the land.