Coming out. Coming clean.
We sat together as a family, in the backyard, by a fire, on a warm January evening. The stars were visible in the sky — a beautiful and unusual view in a metropolis radiating with artificial light. The three of us were silent, looking into the flames, uttering short thoughts to one another as we each drank a glass of Malbec.
My heart was heavy. I would have believed that I didn’t have a voice because trying to raise it up felt impossible. The days leading up to this evening were tough, mentally and emotionally. I had been noticeably withdrawn; when I was present in the moment, I was irritable and cold.
The reality of flying back to California in the morning put this incredible time pinch on what I should do, and if I didn’t do it then, I wouldn’t have another opportunity to do it in-person for a long time. But how do you begin to tell a truth you’ve kept secret for 27 years from the two people you couldn’t live without?
- - -
As a son with no siblings, my parents are the only immediate family I have a close relationship with. Still, when I began to realize who I was attracted to and who I could potentially love, and how it might differ from their expectations of me, I did my best to suppress it for the sake of maintaining a strong relationship with them.
So, when feelings came up in the form of crushes, I shut them down. When kids threw personal insults in middle and high school for being “unusual,” calling me a faggot and queer, and suggesting that being gay was the equivalent of damnation, I ignored it — until I couldn’t anymore.
Eventually, I avoided friends, and lost them; I sought out places I knew I wouldn’t be found and bothered when I felt overwhelmed; and I did everything I could to switch schools in my junior year for the sake of my mental health, for fear of what I would do to myself if a line was crossed.
When I first experienced what I imagined to be love for another person, I let it tear me up inside rather than an express it out loud — even if it couldn’t be reciprocated.
As I continued to see those around me live and share their lives with others, through partnerships, through marriage, and through creating a family, it didn’t matter how much I personally had accomplished with my education, my career, and my financial independence — if I couldn’t accept who I am, and I couldn’t be honest with my parents, none of it mattered because no one can live fully without unconditional love.
- - -
So, with my pulse rising and forehead perspiring, I found the words to a question I wanted an honest answer to from my parents:
Is there anything that would make you stop loving me?
Their answer, not surprising in the least:
“Of course not.”
Then, my mom pressed me a bit in a kind, gentle tone that told me she already knew:
“Is there something you want to tell us?”
I hesitated, beating around the bush. I couldn’t say it, so I spoke in generalities — about how I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to live up to their expectations, both as a son and as an only child.
That I wouldn’t get married, have a family, and do all the things parents expect of a straight child on a linear trajectory through life.
What did surprise me was my dad and what he said next:
“There’s nothing you could do that would disappoint us. We will always love you, no matter what.”
I came clean. I opened up. And we had a heartfelt conversation about our relationship, confirming that no matter what happens, we will always have each other. Our love — father and son, mother and son — will never be contingent on anything.
The enormity of that conversation by the fire didn’t hit me right away. I went to bed and the next morning we had breakfast at a diner by the airport before catching my flight.
My dad, again to my surprise, reiterated both he and my mom’s love and acceptance for me, and that I should never doubt it.
Since then, our conversations on the phone are much more open and honest, and I hope they continue this way as we move forward in life.
- - -
Coming out is difficult. It’s a journey, and some never find a way to do it. I can’t tell you when to do it, but you shouldn’t suffer for something so beautiful as love for another human being which you have no control over. We all need love not just to survive, but to thrive.
I still have much to learn about, most important of which is how to give into love fearlessly and unapologetically.
In many ways, I feel that I’m having to go through that awkward time of puberty again — figuring how to express myself and letting go of control if it feels right.
To all my friends out there who are in pain, who are suffering, and who are wondering if it will ever be better:
Yes. Yes, it will. Because, as they say, there is strength in numbers.
And you’re not alone.
