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This week I am lacking in interesting things to talk about so I’m going to revert to the standard topic of coming out. I know it’s a very much overdone topic, to the point where I’m sure some in this community want to burn the metaphorical closet from which they emerged and completely forget that it ever existed. The thing is, though, that this is impossible. Your coming out story will always be a part of who you are, and actually (the most frustrating thing) it never really comes to an end.
The first time I came out to anyone was over the internet to a few of my friends. They were all accepting people and I felt safe telling them pretty much anything. Until I came to write this post I hadn’t even thought of these conversations. They were really difficult at the time, especially the first one, but now I hardly even think of them. I suppose I’ve come a long way since those summer days when I was first thinking about my own sexuality and trying to work out what the hell was going on, because now they feel almost insignificant and certainly long ago. Almost like another time.
My mum was the first person I really think about coming out to. It was the first time I said it out loud to anyone, and she’s my mum, so that makes it significant. It was dark and cold and rainy. It was night time. It was October. I think I’d just finished one of my late night flute lessons because I was in the street by the cathedral. There was no one around but the quiet and the idea of someone walking along and overhearing was intimidating. I had to do it though; the need to get the words out was overwhelming.
I was on the phone to her and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I know some people talk about choosing the right time and waiting until they’re sure and finding the right words but I couldn’t. That didn’t feel like an option for me. Instead I came out over the phone, in tears, having walked ten minutes to find a spot where I thought no one would overhear the conversation. Her responses were some of the worst things I could have hoped for (maybe it’s just a phase) and some of the best (I’ll always love you no matter what). It’s funny how the bad things stick in your head more than the good things.
I still haven’t actually come out to my dad. Not in so many words anyway. He knows, though. None of the rest of my family does, however, apart from my cousins.
I think I expected that to be it, with regards to coming out, but it wasn’t. I never realised that coming out is an almost daily occurrence. There’s coming out on surveys where it asks for your sexuality (I enjoyed that one. It was a pretty proud moment), awkwardly coming out when you want to talk about your relationships, equally awkward comings out when you get overexcited to learn the word for your sexuality in another language, coming out on train platforms when you want to kiss your significant other goodbye.
Some are pretty hilarious. At my university we have an LGBT lounge where we can go to hang out and be safe. It’s down a corridor right next to the cash office and sometimes, when prospective students are being shown around, you can end up sidling through the door right in front of a whole gaggle of staring teenagers. The first time I had to do that I was with a friend and we only just made it through the door before dying laughing.
Every single day I discover a new kind of coming out story, and occasionally that makes things complicated. This week I was at a conference where I happened to run into an old teacher of mine. She was asking what I was doing with life and how things were going, and I was telling her that I write for this blog. Or at least I was trying to. I couldn’t remember whether I’d already come out to her or not, and if I hadn’t then I really didn’t want a potentially awkward conversation while in a room of random strangers. In the end I just called it a blog, not a QUILTBAG blog, just a blog. Of course I realised afterwards that I had come out to her before, and I could have said whatever I wanted.
And I guess that’s the thing. The coming out is fine, standard after a while. It’s the implications it has that are the difficult part. The odd looks, the slightly awkward conversations, the really difficult stuff, losing friends and family. It should also be said that, until everyone in the world knows your sexuality or gender (which is impossible) you can never escape from coming out. It’s frustrating but it’s one of those things. And it’s all because society considers us straight and cis gendered until proven otherwise. That won’t change (not in my life time at least) so all we can do for now is get on with it, try to enjoy the continuation of a difficult, frustrating yet often liberating story, and do our best to make sure that others can do the same when they’re ready.
The first time I came out to anyone was over the internet to a few of my friends. They were all accepting people and I felt safe telling them pretty much anything. Until I came to write this post I hadn’t even thought of these conversations. They were really difficult at the time, especially the first one, but now I hardly even think of them. I suppose I’ve come a long way since those summer days when I was first thinking about my own sexuality and trying to work out what the hell was going on, because now they feel almost insignificant and certainly long ago. Almost like another time.
My mum was the first person I really think about coming out to. It was the first time I said it out loud to anyone, and she’s my mum, so that makes it significant. It was dark and cold and rainy. It was night time. It was October. I think I’d just finished one of my late night flute lessons because I was in the street by the cathedral. There was no one around but the quiet and the idea of someone walking along and overhearing was intimidating. I had to do it though; the need to get the words out was overwhelming.
I was on the phone to her and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I know some people talk about choosing the right time and waiting until they’re sure and finding the right words but I couldn’t. That didn’t feel like an option for me. Instead I came out over the phone, in tears, having walked ten minutes to find a spot where I thought no one would overhear the conversation. Her responses were some of the worst things I could have hoped for (maybe it’s just a phase) and some of the best (I’ll always love you no matter what). It’s funny how the bad things stick in your head more than the good things.
I still haven’t actually come out to my dad. Not in so many words anyway. He knows, though. None of the rest of my family does, however, apart from my cousins.
I think I expected that to be it, with regards to coming out, but it wasn’t. I never realised that coming out is an almost daily occurrence. There’s coming out on surveys where it asks for your sexuality (I enjoyed that one. It was a pretty proud moment), awkwardly coming out when you want to talk about your relationships, equally awkward comings out when you get overexcited to learn the word for your sexuality in another language, coming out on train platforms when you want to kiss your significant other goodbye.
Some are pretty hilarious. At my university we have an LGBT lounge where we can go to hang out and be safe. It’s down a corridor right next to the cash office and sometimes, when prospective students are being shown around, you can end up sidling through the door right in front of a whole gaggle of staring teenagers. The first time I had to do that I was with a friend and we only just made it through the door before dying laughing.
Every single day I discover a new kind of coming out story, and occasionally that makes things complicated. This week I was at a conference where I happened to run into an old teacher of mine. She was asking what I was doing with life and how things were going, and I was telling her that I write for this blog. Or at least I was trying to. I couldn’t remember whether I’d already come out to her or not, and if I hadn’t then I really didn’t want a potentially awkward conversation while in a room of random strangers. In the end I just called it a blog, not a QUILTBAG blog, just a blog. Of course I realised afterwards that I had come out to her before, and I could have said whatever I wanted.
And I guess that’s the thing. The coming out is fine, standard after a while. It’s the implications it has that are the difficult part. The odd looks, the slightly awkward conversations, the really difficult stuff, losing friends and family. It should also be said that, until everyone in the world knows your sexuality or gender (which is impossible) you can never escape from coming out. It’s frustrating but it’s one of those things. And it’s all because society considers us straight and cis gendered until proven otherwise. That won’t change (not in my life time at least) so all we can do for now is get on with it, try to enjoy the continuation of a difficult, frustrating yet often liberating story, and do our best to make sure that others can do the same when they’re ready.
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