A Coming Out Letter - #NationalComingOutDay 🏳️🌈
I’ve always been a momma’s boy, in every sense of the term. My mother and I have spent countless nights sitting in front of the tv, hooked on a melodramatic lifetime movie about a divorcee who slept with a man way too young for her – and now has to deal with the consequences. Those Saturday mornings, running errands that my two brothers would sooner die than tag along for. She’s always been in my corner, and asking me to approve her outfits or hair choices, so ever since I moved a little over two hours away, her ‘weekly’ phone calls (which come more like 2-3 times per week) have kept me grounded, and remind me to never forget that I always have a home to return to. But being back in my hometown over the past few years always made my lungs tighten up, an intense pressure that wouldn’t release until I was unpacking after the stay. And at its core, my lack of comfortability had nothing to do with my parents, and more to do with the routines that had existed since I was young, that always remind me that a part of me still wasn’t free. The Saturday afternoons of going to choir rehearsal and hoping that no one would mention some “despicable homosexual activity” they witnessed that week in public or on tv. The Sunday mornings sitting in the pews of the church, trying not to scream as the preacher went on another homophobic rant. And, those personal life comments and questions that church members and family friends tend to ask when they haven’t seen you in a while – How’s school? How’s work? I bet the girls are running after you. Are you dating anyone?
My mother, however, was never explicitly one of those people. Her reactions to me never bringing home a ‘real girlfriend’, my lack of interest in participating in any typical hyper masculine activities, my sometimes gender fluid attire, and allegiance to Beyoncé, was always subtle. She never commented on what it meant for my sexuality until my college years.
To make a long, embarrassing story short - it all began while I was home for winter break, and I couldn’t find my wallet. Everyone in the packed house scrambled to find it, throwing around couch cushions and sheets - meanwhile, my mother decided to take a look in my luggage. Stumbling across loose condoms and a box of Fleet enemas, which by my own fault were not well hidden, she knocked me speechless by asking: “Are you letting men penetrate your body?” One swift denial, and a trip to the mall later, and we never addressed it again.
That is the moment when I knew I had to say something, for myself. There was so much I wanted to tell her about who I was dating, and who had broken my heart. I didn’t let her meet certain friends, and ignored her calls if I was with a boy. Holding this in made me overthink everything, and that’s no way to live.
I was probably around 12 years old when I first thought about what could possibly happen when I came out. I set up a variety of different scenarios in my head, most of them ending in homelessness. There were even moments when I had built up such much anger and frustration that I contemplated risking it all screaming “I’m gay” at my parents, regardless of the repercussions.
But this time, was the real time. Five months ago, I got fed up with not feeling like I could be my whole self around the woman who I've always been able to confide in about almost everything. I had returned home for a weekend visit, and while she was washing dishes, I knew the time had come. I stumbled over my words in the process and felt like I was about to cry the entire time. But the moment she told me that she already knew, and her only question was 'why didn't you tell me sooner' - I felt like I could let out a breath that I'd been holding in for twenty-three years.
I’ve had friends ask who else I feel like I need to sit down and ‘come out’ to, and I always reply, no one. My close relationship with my mother is what pushed me to tell her. I wanted to erase that awkward bubble that had invaded our relationship. There was a barrier between what we could and could not talk about - and it hurt. The coming out process is different for everyone, and it's also not for everyone. You do not have to announce it to everyone or anyone at all. Coming out is a personal choice, and not a ‘necessary’ part of queer life. Many are unable to, to protect their own safety and/or mental health. To me #NationalComingOutDay isn't all about who has had the 'courage' to come out, but working towards creating a world where coming out does not have to be a thing. Where our identities are considered valid without the need for explanation. Where queer and trans folks can just...be.
