My coming out story is a bit different than everyone else’s. I’m older, so it wasn’t a trend, it wasn’t something you could get offended over if someone didn’t accept it. People in small towns had to hide this because the threat to their safety was very, very real. But me? I never realised I was different until I was older.

Before I come off sounding cocky, I assure you that’s not my tone here. But as far back as I can remember, I’ve always had an overwhelming amount of attention from other females. It wasn’t until I was older that I realised why the adults were having a bit of an anxiety attack.

You see, I went to Catholic school. And when I was in kindergarten, my very first crush told our kindergarten teacher we were getting married during nap time… and that resulted in a phone call and a parent-teacher conference.

Growing up, the boys were always allowed to spend the night, but not the girls. Which seemed a bit backwards to everyone except my mother. I suppose she knew I wasn’t going to grow out of wanting to ride dirt bikes and play football, but wasn’t going to make it easier.

Again, this never struck me as different. To me, I was just one of the boys. I was always one of the boys. I played on sports teams with all the boys my whole life, so it never dawned on me that I was any different than they were, until 5th grade.

“That’s the first time I remember my mother defending me for what I was”

Another classmate that had a harmless crush on me, took a photo of me after I had changed for the gym. All hell broke loose at school, and again a parent-teacher conference was called. That’s the first time I remember my mother defending me for what I was.

Why was she called in to see the principal, when the photo was taken of ME? The nuns at school and the principal thought it was particularly concerning and they were worried that I was, in fact, a lesbian.

“That’s when being different hit me like a slap in the face”

The amount of attention that I was getting from female classmates was particularly threatening and they felt I was corrupting my classmates. My mother cursed my 5th-grade teacher, who was a lesbian herself, for participating in the witch hunt instead of defending me, since I was her ‘own kind’. I was abruptly moved to public school. And then that’s when being different hit me like a slap in the face.

I had never heard the word ‘dyke’ before, other than when my mother screamed it at my teacher during that meeting. But there it was. I was thrown into a new school, where I knew no one, and was outed immediately before I even had the chance to get past 2nd period.

By lunch, I was ostracized, on top of being the new kid, and a mob of bullies had waited for me to exit the line with my tray before a group of about 6 of them confronted me ready to fight over it. “Are you a girl or a boy? Do you like boys or girls?” well I’m a girl, duh. And yeah, I thought Lisa Bonet was hot.

The big boy stepped forward, and threw a punch directly at my nose, and broke it. I was 11 at the time, he was 14. Both of my eyes teared up immediately blinding me, and I couldn’t see straight, no pun intended. What I could see, however, was the blood that was running down my face from the punch I had taken, dripping all over the floor and on the tops of my new shoes.

“Sometimes you have no choice because walking away isn’t always an option”

I kept my head down, and I tolerated about two more weeks of the bullying from this group of older boys, and one older girl, all 8th graders. The next time I was surrounded, the girl tried to pull my pants down. That’s where I drew the line. When I asked my mother for advice, she wasn’t of much help and it was my uncle that said, sometimes you have no choice because walking away isn’t always an option.

I was going to have to get the guts to fight back or it wasn’t going to stop. Calling the school just made it worse for me on Monday. I pushed her off of me, and the bigger boy, Mike, stepped up and punched me again in the face so hard it knocked me right on my ass.

Physical abuse was nothing new at home, but that was it. There was no way in hell I was going to get ganged up on in school anymore. So, I got back up on my feet immediately, and I said, “you know Mike, for someone that doesn’t like dykes, you sure hit like a pussy yourself.”

Mike hit me again, this time in the ear, only I didn’t fall that time. By then, everyone at lunch had stopped to watch. All I could think about was the kid that was in the news who was killed for being gay, and that’s why this was happening to me.

Childish imagination going way too far, I was scared that would happen to me. So, I hit him back. Mike hit the lunchroom floor, out cold. All 200 lbs. of him singing a lullaby. The rest of the sixth graders from the first four rows started clapping and cheering, and an older boy stepped in to defend me. But by then the group of Mike’s friends had slunk away, they were out.

Monday morning everything changed. There was no more being called “dyke” down the hall. Suddenly, I was insanely popular. The irony, right? You see, I never thought that I had to lie about whether I liked girls because at 11 years old, I didn’t’ realise that wasn’t considered normal. So, I never hid it.

But standing up for myself one time, meant I would never have to. Now I’m not saying go beat up everyone that calls you a name. But let’s be realistic, sometimes our physical safety is in jeopardy. I’ve learned from then on that it’s better to face adversity head-on, rather than let it sneak up behind you.

“I’m always largely praised for never giving a f*ck, and being true to who and what I am”

Since then, of course, I’ve been called a few names here and there underneath someone’s breath. But I’m always largely praised for never giving a f*ck, and being true to who and what I am. No need to pretend.