Coming Out

My brothers. I love them to death, but they can be quite problematic. I can be a confrontational person, so when they do things that aren’t okay, I tell them. For instance, using the word gay as an insult.

Lots of people do it. Someone does something stupid and someone will inevitably say, “Dude, that’s so gay.” Then they laugh about it because it’s funny, right? Not really. One day he used the word in that context, and of course I said something. I begin to argue with my older brother about the word, in that specific context. I’m telling him how it’s homophobic, how it perpetuates internalized homophobia and hatred against the LGBTQ+ community—all the things I usually say. He’s arguing back, saying that it isn’t homophobic, it’s just a word, I’m overreacting. 

Then my mom gets involved. She comes into the room and gets between us, which is honestly a good thing, because at this point I am extremely emotional and I’m sobbing and screaming because nobody’s listening to me and my brother just keeps yelling over and over at me about how he doesn’t care if he’s homophobic or not, which really hurts. My mom gets between us and tells me that I can’t dictate whether or not someone else is homophobic, that I can’t read his mind, and that I can’t control what words he uses. I’m crying even harder. I’m screaming and cursing and I’m so emotional and I can’t stop crying and I feel hopeless.

I then just go to my room and proceed to cry my eyes out because I feel incredibly hopeless and misunderstood and just gross.

My mom comes into my room and begins to talk to me. She asks me why I feel the way I feel, and tells me that getting emotional and screaming isn’t really going to fix anything, which is correct. I tell her my side of the story, and she tells me she still doesn’t understand certain things. I tell her she’ll never understand because she isn’t gay. She then asks me if I am, to which I say yes.

In my head, I’m screaming. Like, wow, I cannot believe I just said that. I am so reckless. I’ve completely ruined my perfect plan of not coming out until I was moved out of my parents house, and now I’m going to be hated by my family. She’s going to tell my dad, who’s going to tell my grandmother, who’s going to tell her whole church, and that’s definitely not what I need in my life right now.

And I’m watching my mother’s face so carefully, because I am so scared. My mother’s never been openly homophobic. Ever. She’s actually been pretty good about trying to educate us on acceptance and telling us that being different is okay. But it’s still so scary, and ever since I was twelve I’ve been terrified of her ever finding out because there are so many horror stories about people getting kicked out of their homes, beaten, killed. That’s the reality, and it’s all too real and all too scary and I never wanted to take the chance that it would be me. Even people with the most accepting parents can still be absolutely terrified that their parents won’t accept them, and it’s so valid to feel that way. I did, and still do. 

Anyway, my mom then asks all the routine questions. She asks me when and how I knew, if any of my friends knew. I answered her questions. She then told me that she loved me unconditionally and that she would never think of me any differently, and that being gay was how I was born and she would never hate me because of it. That made me cry even harder because I could not believe how lucky I was to have a mother so accepting of me and my sexuality. It’s almost unfair to the people who get murdered because of their sexualities and gender identities, and I felt like four years of closeted anxiety was for nothing. I thought back on my seventh grade self, who was so confused and cried a whole lot and tried to pray away the romantic thoughts that I’d been having about a girl who went to my school. I thought about my eighth grade self, who came out as bisexual to my friends and then took it back, told them I was kidding because, of course I was straight, that’s what I’m supposed to be. I thought about how I came out again a few months later anyway because I should really stop kidding myself because I had the biggest crush on my best friend and it didn’t seem to be going away. I thought about my ninth grade self, who talked to way too many guys and felt no feelings for any of them, who said that I was bi, but I would never actually marry a girl, because it still didn’t really seem like an option to me. I thought about my tenth grade self, who finally realized that I was really freaking gay and that I should really stop kidding myself because denial isn’t a cute look on me. I thought about all these things and just cried some more.

I’ve watched my fair share of coming out stories on YouTube, and I always wondered why people cried so much. Like, you already knew you were gay, stop crying! But in that moment I literally sobbed my whole heart out and I didn’t know why, because my mother was accepting me! Isn’t this what I wanted? Why cry?

Worrying for so long about what someone would think of you, especially someone so close to my life like my mom, and then finding out that they don’t hate you, is just very emotional. I can’t even find a good enough metaphor for it, and I really had no idea it would go down that way. I thought for sure my mother would tell me it was just a phase, or that I wasn’t actually gay, I just thought I was. Even though my mother isn’t a homophobic person, it’s still so scary to come out because of the way society has always looked at the LGBTQ+ community. And when you start questioning your sexuality and then look at all the LGBTQ+ people who have literally lost their lives simply for loving who they love, it’s absolutely terrifying to even think about coming out. 

I’m not sure if I was even ready to come out to my mother. I did it in a burst of emotional anger and it was honestly an accident, but I don’t regret it. It took quite a huge weight off my shoulders, and while it didn’t solve all of my issues, it was a start, and I am very proud of myself.