Drag helped me find myself and talk about gender with my son

This First Person column is the experience of Marisa Grant, who lives in Toronto. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ. This segment originally aired in March, 2023.

As a Black queer non-binary person who grew up in a Christian home and was highly involved in church and ministry, my journey toward self-discovery and acceptance has been far from easy. The intersection of race, gender and sexuality has often left me feeling like I didn't quite fit in anywhere. But in recent years, I've found a way to channel my innermost feelings and desires into a new persona — Buster Highman.

Buster Highman is my drag alter ego, a larger-than-life hypermasculine character who embodies all the confidence and self-assurance that I sometimes struggle to find in my everyday life. As I step into Buster's boxer briefs and don a five o'clock shadow, I feel a sense of liberation and freedom that I've never experienced before. 

Growing up in the church, I felt pressure to conform to traditional gender roles

When I turned 13, my curves finally settled in and gave me an hourglass figure that drew a lot of attention. Finding clothes to cover my hips or chest was no small feat. I grew ashamed of my body and covered up myself with layers to avoid unwanted attention and sexualization. 

Growing up in a Christian household, I was taught that my body was a temple and that any expression of sexuality outside of heterosexual marriage was a sin. These messages were reinforced at church, where I was active in ministry and often felt pressured to conform to traditional gender roles and expectations. As I grew older and went to university, I realized how much greener the grass was on the other side. I began to explore my identity and eventually discovered that I was queer and non-binary. The cherry on top that made finding myself even harder was the fact that I was also a single mother. Romeo has my whole heart, but I felt a lot of pressure to look more motherly and modest. I wore maternity clothes, big cardigans and baggy jeans to hide my curves, but it didn't feel like me. 

The way I dressed changed how I saw myself. I wore clothes to hide myself and it made me feel small. I felt like I was expected to only put energy into taking care of my child, and never myself.

I realize now that those were unrealistic expectations and standards, but at the time it made me feel like there was something fundamentally wrong with me for not consistently conforming. It was exhausting to suppress my feelings and fit into the mould of femininity. I felt isolated and unhappy. It wasn't until I discovered drag five years after Romeo's birth that I began to understand that my body and my gender expression could be sources of empowerment, joy and inspiration, rather than shame and guilt. 

Through Buster, I've been able to explore different facets of my personality and push the boundaries of what others might considered acceptable gender expression. As I strut down the runway or lip-sync to my favourite songs, I feel a sense of power and self-assurance that I never thought was possible. Of course, there are still moments when I struggle with accepting myself fully. The messages of shame and guilt that were ingrained in me from a young age are not easily erased. But with each performance, each costume change, each twirl and booty shake, I feel like I'm chipping away at those negative messages and reclaiming my own sense of self-worth.

Drag and parenting

But Buster Highman isn't just about me. As a parent, I also hope that my drag persona is teaching my son about gender and acceptance. I've had many conversations with Romeo about drag and what it means to challenge gender norms. He's now eight and has seen me get ready, rehearse and been to some of my shows. He loves lip-syncing with me during our car rides to school, and it's helped us bond. 

At first, I was worried about exposing him to drag at such a young age. I didn't want him to be confused or scared by what he saw. But the more we talked about it, I realized that he was actually incredibly accepting and open-minded. He understands that I was playing a character, and he loves the way I looked in my costumes and makeup. Sometimes, he even requests a mustache of his own.

Buster Highman has helped Romeo develop a more nuanced understanding of gender and identity. While he presents as a stereotypical "boy," he also knows that there are more than just two genders and he's comfortable with the idea that people can express themselves in different ways. I hope that this understanding will serve him well as he grows older and encounters more diverse perspectives on gender and sexuality.

My journey toward self-acceptance and gender liberation has been a long and difficult one, but through the art of drag, the support of the queer community and my son, I've found a sense of peace and wholeness that I never could have imagined. 

Now, as a black queer non-binary person, I continue to use my drag persona to challenge gender norms and promote acceptance and love for all. I know that there are many others out there who are struggling with similar issues around their gender and sexuality, and I hope that my story can inspire them to embrace their true selves and find the same sense of liberation and empowerment that I have found. For me, drag is more than just a fun hobby — it's a way of reclaiming my body and my gender expression on my own terms. It's a way of saying to the world, "I exist, and I'm not going to hide who I am anymore." 

Hailing from Brampton, Ont., also known as the Flower City, Marisa 'Rosa' Grant is a rose without thorns. This mother, event producer, DJ and drag artist juggles a handful of titles without breaking a sweat. Their work has been recognized by the Marsha P. Johnson Institute and their voice was nominated for best performance at the 2021 Ambie Awards. 

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For more stories about the experiences of Black Canadians — from anti-Black racism to success stories within the Black community — check out Being Black in Canada, a CBC project Black Canadians can be proud of. You can read more stories here.