Coming Out Day

October 11, 2014
Day 164

Each year when this day arrived, I'd think about whether or not I was ready yet to tell the world my biggest secret, and year after year, I just wasn't.  Year after year, it arrived, it left, and I was left alone with this humongous truth about myself I feared I'd never be able to share.

According to the Wikipedia article on National Coming Out Day, it was created in 1988 by Robert Eichberg and Jean O'Leary, and gained national recognition in 1990.  The date was chosen because it was the anniversary of the National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights.

I didn't come out in 1990, and didn't in 1991 through 1996 either.  It took me until 1997, when I was 21 years old, to say the words out loud to another person, and myself, for the very first time.  And you'd think that 17 years later, things would be easier, that people would share their truth left and right all the time.  But it's not.  The amount of people still suffering silently with their true identity is staggering.  I hear from people all the time who are just stuck, scared, frightened of the ramifications in their personal life or work situation.

For the past two years, I shared the National Coming Out Day notice on my personal Facebook page, and I'll be doing it again this year too.  And in both of those past two years, after I reminded everyone I was a safe person to confide in, I received a private message from someone telling me their truth.  In neither case did I have any previous guess or assumption about the person other than 100% heterosexuality, but in both cases, I was trusted with a secret.

We all have our secrets, whether they're the silliest little things like habits we keep from the public, or bigger secrets like skeletons in our closets (hopefully not real ones!).  Keeping secrets is just something we learn to do over time.  We have trouble trusting other people, because we've just been totally burnt too many times.  It feels safer to keep a secret than to share a truth, no matter how treasured and special that truth is to us.

I don't say it often, because people make fun of me for it, but I'm technically bisexual.  I have an interest in both men and women.  Since I'm more like 95% homosexual, I don't even talk about it much.  It isn't something that changes who I really am, and the 5% bi-curious part of me isn't a big component of my identity.  To some degree, neither is the 95% homosexual part of me. 

Yet I share my truth here and elsewhere because I want my otherwise heterosexual loved ones to know that having this tiny bit of ourselves that's a little bit different is nothing to be ashamed of.  Neither does it mean you will ever act on it, or explore the curiosity in any way.  It just means you recognize it and own it, and when you share the truth with others, you'll find it's not such a crazy fact really, and certainly nothing worthy of shame.  Sharing it with loved ones who will keep your secret safe will make you feel a lot less alone, too.

So today, I wish you all a very happy National Coming Out Day. 

Maybe you're straight...great!  Maybe you're gay...yay!  Or maybe you're bi-curious or bi...hi! :)  No matter what your technicality on the spectrum is though, if you're anything other than 100% heterosexual, I hope you'll consider talking to others about it.  Don't be scared.  Talking about it doesn't mean you have to do anything about it, but with all secrets, it does certainly help to share yourself with trusted loved ones, people who will hear your truth, and love you no matter what!

Coming Out To My Parents

June 23, 2014
          Day 54/365

I can't recall the exact date I told my mom, but I'll never forget exactly when I told my dad. 

It'd already been seven or eight months since I first said the words "I'm gay" out loud to another human being.  And I'd since told my psychologist, my religious superiors, and a few close friends too.  So it was time to finally tell my mom. 

I was 22 years old, recently moved back home since leaving the religious life, and just starting to really think about what my new life would entail.  I had a brief three-month job as a clerk at GNC, and a freelance job helping a local businessman organize his files.  My first proofreading job in Manhattan was starting soon too at that point, and everything was slowly coming together.  My mother and I had always been very close, and she was as much my friend as she was my mom.  Keeping this secret from her just felt wrong.  Though I feared her reaction, I didn't doubt her ultimate acceptance.

So there we were, alone in the kitchen, my mom sitting at the table by the phone in her usual spot, and me pacing back and forth near the refrigerator.  Though I can't remember exactly what I said that day, I know it went something like this:

"There's something I need to tell you, and I hope you'll understand, and love me no matter what."

(Moms of GLBT kids today will tell you they always knew before their child told them, but I really don't think my mom suspected.  I'd been living as a monk for the past four years, had always been very "straight acting" as we say, and this was 1997, not 2014.  Yes, history watchers, things really have changed that much in the past 17 years.)

My mom sat up attentively, if not a little rigidly, waiting to hear what I might tell her, and noting how teary I had already become.  I was no longer ashamed of my sexuality at that time, but I was still very scared to reveal my secret each time I had to do so.

"I'm gay."

The silence that followed lasted for minutes, punctuated sharply by tears and even sobs.  I was crying, my mother was crying, and I imagine even the furniture around us started crying too.  The room was just crying, okay?  For crying out loud, the tears were frickin' everywhere!

When she finally spoke, she asked me if I was sure, and wanted to make sure my crushes weren't just that, attractions to other boys my age that would go away.  Though she didn't use the word "phase", it's what she was basically getting at.  But she wasn't asking me out of a desire to change me, only to help me be sure.  And then, once I assured her this is who I was, and that I was okay with it all, if not still scared, she stood up, walked over, and hugged me.  She planted a big kiss on my cheek and assured me she loved me no matter what. 

And then, a few moments later, she added, "I don't know if you should tell your father though."

Her words were different, I'm sure, but this was the general idea:  "I love you no matter what, it's okay, I'm here for you, but don't tell Dad." 

That was in the late summer or early fall of 1997.  A year or so later, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer, and we all knew early on that it was incurable.  He would suffer with this disease for another six months to a year maybe, and then it would kill him.

On August 26, 1999, my father died.  I had never told him.  I knew, especially in those last few weeks, that this was my last chance, but I chose not to take it. 

In the funeral parlor on the morning of his funeral and burial, we all lined up to say our farewells at the casket.  I knew this was my last chance to at least say it to his face.  When it was my turn, I leaned in close and whispered as softly as I could, "I'm gay".  I said my goodbyes as well, but I made sure to throw that statement in there too. 

Coming out to my mom was a day marked by many, many tears.  Coming out to my dad was likewise a day marked by many, many tears.  The experiences were very different, not least of all because in one case I was getting a hug and a kiss from my mom, and in the other, I was speaking to an inanimate corpse.  Different experiences, different settings, but both of them private, quiet, and real.  The tears that flowed on both occasions were tears of sadness.  Not tears of shame or of sorrow, just tears that honored the communication gap between a son and his parent.  They were tears shed for time forever lost, lies forever gone, and a relationship forever changed.