One of the biggest things holding people back from announcing their orientation is the knowledge that the people they tell will never truly understand the depth and nuance of the experience. My feelings were real, valid, and shared.
For the first time, it made sense to accept the inevitable. That feeling I refused to let bubble to the surface was rising all around me. My old anxiety over identity felt like a lifetime ago. Suddenly that intangible concept of desire and longing was real and smiling at me from a dozen faces. My first night at a gay club (masquerading as the token straight friend) was a transformative experience.I was surrounded by all different kinds of guys-reserved barflies, neon-haired flirts, drag performers, more than a few pole dancers-but if they were united by anything, it was the simple fact that they just did not care what anyone else thought of them. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but gravitate towards their complete comfort with themselves and each other. I didn’t come out to them then, that was an insidious process of letting down walls that would take much more time. Within a couple months I had fallen in with an out and proud group of guys that quickly became some of the best friends I’d ever had. In my first week I walked by a Pride Student Union display, excitedly supported by throng of students. Friend groups shifted, styles changed, and fantastic personalities emerged. The social strictures of high school seemed to (mostly) fade away. Maybe it’s the clean slate, or the familial distance, or the first real gulps of alcohol, but somehow we newly-unleashed-burgeoning-adults were finally able to find authenticity away from home. I wanted to get away from everyone that knew me so I could hit reset and start living honestly. I felt like I was lying all the time, to my friends, my family, and of course, myself. I had accepted that I wasn’t living a whole life-no matter how many little moments of happiness I found when I was younger, they always fell just short of the threshold that would bring contentedness. It was difficult to ignore, but impossible to embrace. There was nothing grounding the insidious feeling of difference in reality. I was only vaguely aware that other people like me existed. I had never met a gay person before in my life, at least not that I knew of. Okay, I was actually terrified of drag queens back then, but now I can’t get enough. There didn’t seem to be any point in accepting that I was gay if I didn’t have anyone to “be gay” with-gay friends, a boyfriend, a drag mother. Growing up, I never really let myself confront that sinking feeling in the back of my mind. For most of us, it inevitably brings the ceaseless search for love - a journey that turns out to be more about self-discovery than actual match making. It’s like breaking out of a glass coffin.Ĭollege is often referred to as our “formative years,” and there is real truth to that. You can feel the eyes lifting off of your back. Things change when you start living on your own.
We spend a lot of time believing that there is no real way to “be yourself.” We try to draw lines separating our family’s values from our own opinions, society’s gaze from the reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t my identity, but it still managed to shift the sands beneath my feet whenever I thought I had found stable footing.įor a lot of LGBT* folks, identity is a constant negotiation between the way we see ourselves and they way we feel we’re supposed to be perceived. I didn’t have the vocabulary to understand it at the time it was always some puzzle that I put off unraveling. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when we become “ourselves.”