The Words We Use to Find Ourselves

MTSE intern Aleeyaa Alam is a public health professional and advocate passionate about sexual health, youth advocacy, and meaningful communication. Throughout her work, she has seen how powerful language can be in helping people understand themselves and communicate their experiences to others. Knowing the right words for who we are can be empowering, especially for young people navigating questions of identity and belonging. But just as language evolves, so too can our understanding of ourselves. In recognition of Pride Month, this piece invites parents and young people to explore identity beyond the confines of labels while still recognizing the important role labels can play in self-discovery, belonging, and connection.

The first time I heard the word “queer,” I was fourteen years old, sitting in my English teacher’s crowded classroom, which also doubled as both the high school's Gay-Straight Alliance and the Speech and Debate homebase. During lunch, both these wildly differing groups joined forces and completely overtook the twenty-some desks lining the room.

Queer. A new word to add to my toolbox of different identities, none of which quite fit right, but were the closest thing to comprehensible words I could share with others when the dreaded question of “So, what’s your type?”

The function of labeling our sexuality attempts to precariously capture the spectrum of humanity into one singular word: a label.

“Sexuality is fluid.”

I hear the words fall out of my mouth before I process them. The same phrase I have repeated, with due diligence, since I learned it at fifteen. A statement meant to truly encompass the essence of queerness and serve as a safety blanket for all and change in a person’s expression of their identity.

And yet, despite repeating those words for years, I am not always sure I fully believed them.

Despite my own hesitancy towards labels, I understand the beauty in them. At fourteen, I was unable to identify my own feelings (or lack of) towards certain individuals, and at twenty-two, I sometimes still revert to using the label I chose for myself one fateful day in high school. If sexuality is fluid, why do I still cling to a label chosen by a younger version of myself? Why does a word selected at fourteen continue to feel safer than the uncertainty of not having one at all?

Peeling away at the flattening of my sexuality into a box, something perfectly shaped to fit into the hands of others, a label serves a function. It provides language where there was once confusion. It offers a community where there was once isolation. For many young people, a label can be the first indication that they are not alone.

But labels are often treated as destinations rather than snapshots. When a young person shares a label, adults can unintentionally hear a permanent declaration rather than a description of how that young person understands themselves in that moment. We ask children to explore their interests, beliefs, and aspirations without expecting certainty, yet identity is often treated differently.

Perhaps this is why the phrase “sexuality is fluid” is easier to say than it is to practice. To truly believe it requires making room for change. It requires accepting that a label can be meaningful without being permanent, and that changing labels does not mean someone was wrong before. It simply means they have learned something new about themselves.

Looking back, I am grateful for the labels that helped me make sense of myself when I was fourteen. They gave me words when I needed them most. But I am equally grateful for the reminder that I am not obligated to remain exactly who I was at fourteen. Labels can help us understand ourselves, but they should never become walls that prevent us from continuing to grow.