Coming out to me is a bit more complex than just pinpointing one particular date. The first person I ever came out to, was a close friend when I was 16. I’m 29 now and I still find myself coming out when I meet new people.

I realised that I was attracted to the same sex in my early teens. At first, I didn’t really think too much about it. However, as time went on, the realisation dawned on me that I wouldn’t be able to live as authentically as I would like.

Growing up in a Black, African AND Christian household, there was this unspoken rule that homosexuality is a big no-no. It was told in communities, in churches, in music and in conversations with extended family.

“Something must have been wrong with me”

I didn’t know of any other Black LGBT+ people. I didn’t see anyone in the media, we weren’t represented in books and we most definitely were not spoken about in schools – I felt as though something must have been wrong with me.

I’ve always been such a “daddy’s girl”. My mother passed away when I was baby, so my dad was left to sail the ship (He was a pretty good captain if I do say so myself!) I felt like I owed him, I felt like all I wanted to do was to make him proud and I knew that if he found out who I really was, he would be extremely disappointed. 

I told my brother I had a girlfriend when I was 21. He was completely unbothered, which was such a relief, but he did say “… but just don’t tell Dad”. My stomach dropped. At that very moment, he just reiterated what I always knew I couldn’t do.

I didn’t want to keep living what felt like a double life – so I kept trying to find the “right time” to tell him. At first, I thought “ok, I’ll tell him when I move out, at least then, if he does decide to disown me, I won’t be financially dependent on him.” I moved out for the first time at 23, but I still couldn’t bring myself to telling him the truth. There were countless times that I would go back home to visit my dad, I had all these plans to tell him, but I just couldn’t.

I was 25 when I felt like my whole world had been exposed. An extended family member found out that I was gay via social media. They didn’t waste time in telling me that it was wrong and that I should have confided in them because “we could have prayed and healed you”.

I didn’t care that they knew – because, at this point, I was out to everyone who knew me – I was just worried that they would tell my Dad. I begged them not to say anything to him, I felt it was something that he shouldn’t hear from anybody else. They reassured me that they wouldn’t say anything until I did.

I was riddled with anxiety and worry daily after that moment.

“Does he know yet?”
“Have they told him”
“Why hasn’t he called me?”
“He seemed a bit short on the phone earlier, maybe he knows”

A few months later, I couldn’t take it anymore. I sent him a text! After years and years of planning to sit him down and explain everything – I couldn’t believe I ended up just sending him a text. It was the only way I could do it. It was the only way that felt safe to do so. I told him I was attracted to women, I was extremely apologetic and I asked for his forgiveness.

His response was far from what I had expected. He told me that he already knew (said an extended family member told him before I did) and that my happiness is paramount to him. I couldn’t believe it. I cried tears of happiness, tears of relief.’

“Not everyone deserves to know you”

I feel extremely lucky and grateful that my dad was so accepting, I know that this isn’t always the case for a lot of people. Ultimately, I hate the term coming out. I hate that Cis-hetero is seen as the norm and anything that deviates away from that must be explained. If I was to give my younger self advice about coming out, it would be that not everyone deserves to know you. Live as authentically as you can without feeling like you must explain yourself.

Coming out stories