Two weeks ago on October 11th, the LGBTQ+ community celebrated the 28th anniversary of National Coming Out Day. I had originally planned to write this article and release it the day before, but I experienced a huge block. Every time I went to write I found myself getting inexplicably emotional about something that, at the time, seemed so simple. I've taken some time to process those feelings and I think I finally came to an answer.
You see, growing up in a small, rural community I always felt extremely out of place. You could say it was my incurable social awkwardness, but it wasn't just that. I understood that. No, there was always a suffocating sense of otherness that I just couldn't put my finger on. It was only during my junior year of high school while I was dating my best friend that I even suspected that I was gay. When my friends urged me to ask her out I thought, "Why not? This is what you do right? Find a girl you really like and date her?" So I did. I dated her for six months and eventually, rather than love, I developed the feeling of being trapped, of suffocating. So when summer rolled around, I distanced myself and eventually broke up with her (in the worst way possible I might add, by text). I still didn't know for sure what was wrong, but the truth was beginning to bleed its way in slowly.
Looking back now, I can clearly see why it took so long to finally figure it out; I never even met an openly gay man until that summer. Sure, I had heard about this person's gay uncle or that person's lesbian neighbors; I think I even saw one or two queer people in movies or TV shows. However, I never actually met or knew an out-and-proud queer individual until that very summer, just after I broke up with my girlfriend. Right after that, I headed out to work at the summer camp that I grew up at, and that's where I met John*.
John* was nothing like the stereotype of gay men that had come to be etched in my mind by the media and my own rural upbringing. He was athletic and outdoorsy with the mouth of a sailor and certified as a firefighter and EMT. However, at the same time, he was also the sassiest person in any room and could throw out a killer gay joke at the drop of a hat. He was authentically and unapologetically himself. And within hours of meeting him, it was as if I had a little voice inside me yelling "This is it! This is what you are!" Not long afterward, I came out to him and a few other co-workers and the rest is history. I went home, came out to my friends and family, and began my feverish journey to learn more about my newfound community and how I fit into it.
The moral of this story is that I spent seventeen years suffering, and all it took was one person. One person being their authentic self and living out in the open to flip on the light in a closet I wasn't entirely aware I was in. So that is why long ago I made the decision to live as loudly as possible. I choose to be my authentic self without apology or concession because there are so many others out there like me who need a beacon of hope. I choose to live loudly because that is the only way to dispel the hate and ignorance that perpetuates the violence towards my community.
I say all this as if it's a choice when truly it isn't. I removed the other option long ago because as someone with the privilege of being able to be out, it is my responsibility to elevate others who cannot. It is my responsibility to help make the world a better, more accepting place so they can take their places beside me and the rest of the community. So every day, to every person I meet, I come out. I allow them to see me as I am and I give them the chance to open their minds and change their hearts.
Two quotes by Harvey Milk sum this all up quite nicely:
"Coming out is the most political thing you can do." and "Hope will never be silent."
*Names were changed to protect privacy.
