Coming out is a simple concept. It’s a transition from “before everyone knew” to “after,” as quick and illuminating as stepping out of a shadow into the sunlight. Yet this concise, clear concept rarely takes shape in our lives without a jagged execution, messy details. Rarely are we prepared, able to come to the table with the skills needed to navigate coming out in a way that centers compassion for everyone involved.

In the summer before eighth grade I took a camping trip with my best friend Caleb. On the morning of the second day I woke up just before he did, watched the sun rise behind him. Seeing that, beside the sleeping form of a guy I was closer to and felt safer with than anyone else in my life, forced me to admit that I was in love with him. There was a serenity in that moment, “gay” wasn’t yet something I was afraid of. I got to just be a boy in love.

“My queer awakening was suddenly stopped short“

That changed when we got back. Once again I was submerged into a west-Texas conservative Christian ideology, again my social value was centered around my adherence to traditional values. In my home we had no access to cable, the internet, the library. My queer awakening was suddenly stopped short, left with no venue for exploration, no mirror to see myself in.

I remember I would brave punishment, stay up late into the night so that I could break into the office after my parents were asleep, then google “Statue of David” because it was the only thing I knew the porn filter wouldn’t bar me from. Those few rushed minutes of authenticity felt like windows, breaches in reality, ruby red slippers. Like they were all I need to keep going, and at the same time not enough. They fed inside of me a hunger to know more, to find room to stretch into new ways of existing in this life that felt as dangerous as they were.

Eventually my imagination took over and I was no longer satisfied with those stolen digital moments. I resolved to write down my own imaginings, dream up another world where I was a new thing, a thing of my own, loving on my own terms, living. I wrote fanfic of better versions of myself, paired myself up with Caleb, with friends, with guys I’d fabricated entirely. I needed to feel, by any means, that same serenity I’d had with Caleb. I needed to find my own peace, the calm in the storm.

I never chose to come out. Instead, I was discovered. I remember being in our garage one day when my father walked in, holding the notebook I was using to hold all of my writings. He was angry, confrontational. I could feel, instantly, that that moment was an ending. The “before everyone knew” was gone, passed, taken from me. I was in the “after.”

“I could decide, right there, that I was going to make a commitment to myself”

“What is this?” he asked, and I understood that I had a choice to make. I could try and deny it, buy some more time, claw and grasp at the anonymity before. I could tell him I was confused, tell him the writing wasn’t mine, tell him I’d found the notebook. Or I could decide, right there, that I was going to make a commitment to myself. Begin the jagged and messy process of learning what it looks like to champion my own needs, believe in my own experience, be true to the things that I feel.

I told him, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me.” I’d had disagreements with him before, varied perspectives, dysfunctionalities, but I’d never before told him that I thought he was wrong. Never picked myself over him.

He laughed at me, letting out a singular, dismissive scoff. Took my moment of miraculous courage and twisted it into shame, made me feel like being me was a small thing, a foolish thing. I’m still healing from that experience, still learning how I’ve internalized the idea that being me is a bad thing. Still extracting the way my father treated me from the way I want to treat myself. I think all of us are doing that.

I didn’t stay in Texas for very long after that. After a few years of reparative therapy and various Christian counseling programs, I managed to land here in California where I’ve been able to start building and contributing to remarkable communities, filled with people who know how important it is to make room for each other to explore, step into greater ways of existing in this life.

I am still coming out. It’s still messy, jagged, still has collateral damage. But I am better now at understanding how to have compassion for myself through those experiences, how to listen to what I’m feeling, adjust course accordingly. How to encourage others towards acceptance without taking responsibility for their education. How to be a part of a community that is learning and growing and healing. Working towards serenity.

Coming out stories