Everyone has a coming out story. Coming out is not reserved strictly for people “coming out of the closet” by talking about their sexual orientation; it is a day for all of us who at some time in our lives have chosen to reveal some previously hidden or unknown truth about ourselves to at least one other person. I rarely use words like “all, every, always, never,” but I feel pretty comfortable stepping out to say that we have all come out in one way or another. That said, I want to express my gratitude for coming out as more and more of who I am. We all have a coming out story. On National Coming Out Day 2011, I want to share one of mine.
In October of 2004 I suddenly came to the conclusion that it was time tell my family that I was a lesbian. After working in the “diversity” field for over 20 years, a role that required me to support, include, and celebrate people for their uniqueness and the cultural differences they add to campus communities, it felt out of integrity for me to not be able to reveal this part of myself to the most important people in my life. At that time I had really only been “out” to myself for a few years–it had been quite an interesting journey to get to that place–so I realized that it was finally time to share this part of myself with my immediate family.
It took me a while to figure out how I wanted to do this, finally settling on writing a letter–well, an e-mail–to my dad (my mother was already gone), each of my siblings and their partners, and my best friend. Later I was chided by one of my in-laws for not calling and telling each person individually. My rationale in writing had three important parts to it: first, it gave each person the opportunity to react to it in some privacy without having to provide an immediate response to me; second, there were people in the family who were almost always the last to know anything–this way everybody had the opportunity to learn about it at the same time; and third, writing protected me from having to endure any immediate negative reaction from anyone. In short, it protected me. And as an introvert, I find that I express myself much more clearly and articulately in writing when I’ve had time to sit, think, and compose a coherent, meaningful piece. I am not a big fan of revealing things “live,” particularly over the phone (I’ve only recently overcome my aversion to the phone.)
Here is an excerpt of my October 9, 2004 message:
Life is too short for me to set up barriers—real or imagined—that keep me from connecting with you all—my family. Over the years we’ve had many opportunities or occasions where we’ve hurt one another. I carry scars from experiences that I can now measure in decades rather than years…wounds inflicted early on in my life. I can choose to harbor resentments, anger, disappointments, fears, etc. Or I can make (and have made and am making) decisions to forgive you and/or myself, and move on. And if I am clueless about ways in which I have hurt any of you over our lives together, I sincerely ask your forgiveness.
No, I am not dying from some dread disease—at least not that I know of. What’s prompting this letter is my recognition of some of my “stuff” (baggage, etc.) that I have allowed to weigh me down and keep me from living as fully as I could. And it is part of my self examination, self exploration that is prompting me to work toward my own healing and living with more integrity—not just in terms of being honest but integrity as in wholeness. Living a fragmented life no longer.
As part of my decision to continue to move toward living a life of integrity there is something I need for each of you to know. Over the past few years as I have become clearer with myself about who I am and what I want out of life, I have finally been able to look honestly at myself and acknowledge a part of me that I have denied for most of my life. I am a lesbian. And though I have lived most of my life as a “straight” person, as I looked back, I realize that I have always been gay, but had never been willing to acknowledge it to myself and certainly not to any of you. And so, decades in denial to myself came to an end a few years ago, and years of silence and keeping secrets from you all are also now ended.
So, on a Friday afternoon, I sent the message to my family and then sat back to wait. Slowly the responses came back, person by person, and they all carried the same basic message: we love you, we’ve always loved you, and nothing you said in your message changes that. We will always love you. My father replied, “I loved you 15 minutes before I got this message, and I love you after I’ve received it.” One of my siblings responded, “You already told me this years ago, and over the years I’ve been surprised at some of the life choices you made.” Yep, life choices like getting married (to a man) and having children and living the “straight” life that I believe was expected of me, certainly by most of society and by my family.
Coming out is not easy; for some of us who are coming out about sexual orientation, revealing that part of ourselves can put us at serious risk–financially (people have been fired from their jobs for being gay), mentally and emotionally (from stress, abuse, ill-treatment, etc.) and physically (being verbally and physically assaulted, even killed.) Depending on where one lives or works, there is less risk. But what is the risk of remaining closeted, of keeping silent about who we are and who we love?
I am still coming out. Every day. For those of us who are still “young” in our experiences as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning people it can still be a bumpy process, we’re still not good at it. Perhaps we’re not as practiced as the “veterans.” Like everyone else, I want to live my life being judged by how I walk in the world, by what I contribute to the well being of others, by living a life of integrity and truth. God speed the day when I am celebrated for all of who I am.
In honor of National Coming Out Day today, October 11, 2011, I offer a song. The Ones Who Aren’t Here (I apologize for the places where the video is a bit crinkly–like right at the beginning.)
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