The first time I realized girls were beautiful was when I was ten years old. I grew up in Texas, stuck in a sometimes-liberal family. It was horrible. If I had an abortion, they would have supported me, but being gay? That was just too much. I couldn’t tell them. My sister was the worst. She went around the world introducing me as “This is Lena. She’s a lesbian. Lena-Lesbian-Tits McGee.” She didn’t even know. She just pulled this shit out of her ass, and god, I wish I had said something.

I was liberal. Real liberal. I never said anything about it. The rumors got really bad. Really bad. The parents asked me if I was having “sexual relations” with the best friend ever. I wasn’t. I said as much. They didn’t believe me.

I wanted to die, to change who I was. It didn’t help that a person I’d rather forget was there, holding things over my head. I was in denial until I was fourteen. At a sleepover, I met a girl. She was beautiful, seventeen, and bi. We talked about Harry Potter porn and didn’t sleep. I confessed that I was Lesbisexual, not quite sure which. She said she was bi, and that I was hot. I told her, thank god. you’re beautiful. three days later, we were dating.

it was the best time of my life. we never said anything, but sent eachother gifts and long emails. She was my first kiss.

We broke up. We were getting too close. She was turning eighteen in three months.

As of now, I still have my back to the closet. Thankfully, things have gotten better. My parents/family don’t know, but my friends do. My life is back to normalish, I can laugh off the comments, and no one has tried to pull anything. I’m lucky.

Categories: Coming Out Story
No Comments »

I know entire point of this website is for coming out stories. Meaning, if you’ve come out, this is where you tell you story. I’ll let you know right now I am not fully out of the closet.

I have been “out” for eight years to everyone but my parents. Here’s my story.

In a urban town on a peninsula in a sweaty Virginia summer between seventh and eighth grade I came to find myself. I remember riding bikes with a new friend thinking about this girl I had met. She was something I’ve never seen before. It struck me that I was attracted to her because the more I thought about her the more I felt that tingling sensation that I knew wasn’t coming from my bike seat. I asked my fellow rider if she’d hate me if I was bi and she laughed. “Of course not!” she exclamed not understanding my amazement that a 12 year old girl could accept me. I went to a new school because my parents noticed a change in me, not spurred by my new found sexual identity, but coming of age in an environement where my best friend was a german speaking d-boy and my crush was a pill popping wiccan fully adorned in a celebration of the colour of her soul, black. My new school provided a haven of sheltered white middle class moldable minds. I came out to my friends immediately who just happened to be the popular people at that very junior high. It was exciting, being able to be who I was, sleep with whom I please, and go through a heternormative lifestyle with out haveing to confront who I was and the burden that comes with being gay in the USA.

I graduated high school with a 2.4 average, honors diploma (dont ask, I dont know), and a gay boy that has sworn his life to holding me through hard times and telling me if my outfit looks bad. A few days after the grad party him and I moved up to the capital to start a new life and find more ways to fuck it up. I was sitting with an old friend out on the back porch drinking a beer and it struck me. I am gay. There is no going back from here. I am a lesbian and there’s nothing I can do about it. I had been living a double life for so long that it never hit me that I can just put down the bottle, put out the joint, throw away the pills, but not shit out the gay. I’ve come out to my parents 3 times before once actually telling them and two others when they were snooping where they ought not to.

Every time they had refused to speak to me, my father wouldn’t even look at me. I was trapped in my home - grounded - and was forced to throw out my cds my vinyl, my posters, writing, and everything that made my space me. It was a nightmare and even now, after I have woken up, cannot face them.

I’m not sure if the zodiac is a valid testimony but it will help me emphisize my love, unconditional loyalty, to my family. I am not always with them, calling them every night, I dont know my brother’s crushes, or where they are all the time - but i love them more than life. Here is my dilema. It is getting so painful to even talk to them on the phone because I need them to know that I’m in love with a girl, we have been together for a year, we are living together currently, and I plan on being with her for a very long time. I need them to know that I am voulenteering at a gay youth center, that I am a member of a campus queer action organization and that my girlfriend works at Equality Virginia. I know they’d hate me. I couldn’t live without them, or at least some sort of family, I don’t know what to do.

Categories: Coming Out Story
2 Comments »

So I’m 23 and 6 months ago I acknowledged I was bi. Though I think I was for a year before that, I hadn’t considered it fully.

I’ve always been open to the lifestyle and been okay with thinking other men were attractive. If a gay relationship came along, I necessarily wouldn’t opposed.

It’s been an interesting experience coming out, not necessarily the hardest in comparison to others’ stories, but interesting still. Some friends are appalled, some are intrigued, while others enjoy it (mostly my gay friends).

It’s all about who the person is, not what they are.

So as a journalist, I wrote an op/ed piece for my college paper on the topic.

Enjoy.

GOING INTO THE CLOSET
BY NIC COURY

The few nights during the month when I go out to the bars or a friend’s house party, I make sure to get my hair did and look good, in a manner of speaking. When it comes to sexuality, I’m pretty much your average straight guy, but for some reason I have been picked up and flirted with by more gay guys than straight girls. I am curious about this odd phenomenon.

Recently, at a friend’s birthday party, I left feeling that I was hit on by her gay friends. Very comfortable with myself, I was flattered and admitted to my friend that the guy was cute. This is one of many examples of my flirtation with the same sex. Being very much straight, I find it funny and I am OK with it happening. If anything, it’s an opportunity to make a new friend: a platonic friend.

I’m just a very open person and whatever people choose to do with their sexuality is OK with me..

Some of my favorite music artists are those who have a lesbian following, such as Tegan and Sara, KT Tunstall and Melissa Etheridge. My friend, a lesbian folk musician, and I listen to similar artists. She cleared up my sexuality for me. “You’re a straight guy, but I’m attracted to you.” She made me an honorary lesbian.

I love short hair and like a girl who wears sweaters and glasses. Some people may call this look a bit masculine, but hey, I like it. People should be able to dress however they want and feel comfortable being who they really are.

On another note, I also realized that I do not really have a crush on many actresses or female musicians. I would, however, marry Johnny Depp if he was OK with it and am I love with Jack White.

To my credibility, I do like girls and cannot wait to have sex with one (read my old Velvet Rope for more on that). I like the finer things in life; jazz music, good wine, cooking and scrabble. Except for hockey, I’m not much into sports.

I may be more in touch with my feminine side and I am OK with that. In my opinion, more people need to be open to not following societal norms and be themselves, regardless of how others may percieve them.

I’m totally flattered with anyone finding me attractive enough to flirt with me. So girls, and guys for that matter, see you around campus.

~ nic

Categories: Coming Out Story
No Comments »

okay, not really, but that’s how things worked out.

when i was twelve i realized that i liked girls. it was a really rough period for me. i grew up in a suffocating christian atmosphere and i battled with god on this subject every night. i cried myself to sleep with shame and prayers. eventually i became very angry with god. he’d done nothing to calm my nerves or show any kind of compassion. in fact he hadn’t responded in any way at all. i stopped praying for the most part after that.

i told a few of my friends at school that i thought i was bi, though in my heart i knew i was gay. surprisingly they all accepted it without another thought. it soon got around at school that i was bi. some people didn’t like it and made fun of me, but most people just ignored it. a rumor started that my friend betsy and i were going out. we laughed about it quite a bit.

i continued to battle with my sexual identity until i was sixteen. i had tried to continue on with my christian upbringing until that time, when i couldn’t take it any longer. i just pushed it all behind me and never looked back. however, how i came out to my mom is not how i planned. a friend of mine, sam, had let me borrow a book of lesbian short stories. it had a blank cover over it, but it was ripped, and was falling off. and when i set my bag down in the living room it fell out and i didn’t notice. but my mom found it and all hell broke loose.

sam was there that night sleeping over. we had never gone out, thought about it before, but it was just too complicated. but we were, and still are, best friends. my mom came knocking on the door once she found the book and we opened the door and she just held the book out and asked, “who’s is this?” in the most grim and disturbing voice i’d ever heard from her. frozen in fear i replied, “it’s sam’s.” she looked at sam and told her never to bring something like that in her house again. sam agreed and when my mom left she asked, “what’d you say that for? now your mom hates me!” but what was i supposed to do, let my mom hate me?

later my mom returned and called us both out into the living room. she had gotten it into her head that we were going out. she sat us down in the living room and pretty much forced it out of me. i never really uttered the words, “i’m a lesbian.” but i did say quite strongly that i’d asked to borrow the book and i think she got the message. after interrogating us until two thirty in the morning she allowed us to go to sleep, but not in the same room. we were forced to sleep separately because she was convinced we were going to do “inappropriate” things to each other. at three in the morning i was falling asleep and i got this knock on my door. i was so frustrated with the whole night and i groggily opened the door. sam was there and she told me my mom was forcing her to go home. furious i got out of bed and as they were walking out the door i yelled, “what do you think you’re doing? this isn’t going to help anything!” she just looked at me and then continued out the door.

the next few weeks after that were, needless to say, fucking hell. she told my father, my sisters, and my brother already knew and could care less. i got phone calls from my two sisters. one was supportive but surprised, the other said she couldn’t support who i was, but loved me all the same. my father was strangely supportive as well. the one who had the biggest problem with it was my mom.

she had violent outbursts of anger and tears and made me feel like the worst person on the planet. i wanted to run away and never come back. i wanted to take it all back. our relationship stayed strained for the next year. then it became neutral. now i’ve just turned twenty and our relationship is still not the same. i don’t think it ever will be. she looks at me with sadness in her eyes sometimes. like i’m someone she never knew. and then sometimes it feels like i am a little girl again and everything is alright. i never tell her if i am dating anyone, i never tell her if i’ve had my heart crushed. i dread the day i tell her i am getting married. i dread the day i tell her i am going to have children.

our relationship is better than it was when i first came out, yes. but it’s not something that just happens over night. it’s been four years and we’re still not the same, we never will be. sometimes it just happens like that. it sucks, but it’s the truth. but remember, when you lose someone important, you will always gain another. i have a group of five friends right now that i could not live without. they are my family now.

Categories: Coming Out Story
1 Comment »

Ashley* was the my best friend. My sister from another mister. My second half, my right arm… we were two halves of the same whole. Separated after a year of pre-school together, only to reuinite in sixth grade English. I thought that nothing could break the bond between us.

I also didn’t think I was gay.

I remember quite distinctly the moment I realized I had “unnatural” feelings for other girls. It came in the form of a crush on an acquaintance of mine from school. I didn’t know her, I’d never spoken more than three words to her, but I watched her bounce down the hallway with that smile on her face and I thought the only thing I wanted to do was hold her in my arms.

This struck me funny. Why did I suddenly this overwhelming urge to hug strangers? I was certainly never the huggable type. All of my touchy-feely-hair-braiding friends knew better than to try and play with my hair or hang all over me. So why the sudden change? But then I realized, it was more specific than that. It wasn’t just strangers; it was strange girls.

More importantly, cute girls.

I came home from school at some point that week and I just sat in my room. Curled up on my bed with the radio on, I mulled over all my thoughts. I was certainly not a uncultured child, and my mind finally settled on the unavoidable truth: I was bisexual.

I couldn’t be gay because I’d been attracted to boys before. True, I’d never really had a crush on any in my school, but hey, I didn’t exactly attend Male Model High.

So what. I liked boys and girls. No big deal. I never went through the denial stage, I never thought of myself as disgusting or immoral, I never wanted to try and “fix” myself. I just accepted it for what it was. But I knew it was a big change in my life, and I had to tell someone. I grabbed my laptop and booted up my internet, dropping an e-mail to Ashley (I did, and still to this day, loathe talking on the phone). It said, simply, “Go on AIM as soon as you get this. I need to tell you something.”

I didn’t want to be so cryptic, but I also didn’t want to blurt it out right there and be nauseous with anxiety until I heard her reaction. An hour or so later, her screenname appeared on my buddy list. My heart pounded in my chest. I felt as though I might vomit, and as crude an image as that paints, it was exactly how I felt. I waited for a moment, hoping she’d check her mail. I was in luck, because she IMed me shortly after, ready to get into conversation: “Hey, what do you need to tell me?”

‘Well, here goes nothing,’ I thought to myself as my fingers froze above the keys. I typed in a long speech of exposition, asking her not to freak out or tell anyone what I was about to say. She agreed she wouldn’t, and I trusted her. What was a best friend for if you couldn’t trust them.

“I think I’m bisexual.” There. Seeing it on the screen made it all too real, and I think it was this moment that broguht it to reality for me. I felt slightly light-headed and lied down as I awaited her response. Still, the feelings of guilt and disgust never came; just surprise and, stunningly, relief.

My (cement block-sized) cell phone rang and I looked at the screen. No response. Not surprisingly, I saw Ashley’s name on the ID. Warily, I picked up the phone and answered.

“So… you’re bi now?” Her voice was quiet, as though she was whispering, and I wondered, almost panicked, if she was alone. I said yes. She was silent.

“Are you freaked out?” Still, no response. Now I was the one freaking out. Then,

“Hold on a second.” I heard the phone placed onto the floor and feet shuffling, and then… wretching? “Okay, I’m back.”

“…did you just throw up?” Silence.

“Yeah.” My eyes couldn’t have gotten any wider. “I’m sorry, dude, but… it’s weird.” My heart sank and tears stung my tennis ball-sized eyes. “You’ve never… liked me, have you?” I almost laughed.

“No!” I cried, not caring if the detestable tone of my voice was apparent to her. “Never! God. And even if I did, I wouldn’t, like, rape you.” A nervous chuckle hit my ears and I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. After a bit more awkward silence, we talked about it civilly. She rattled off the names of girls in our class, inquiring if I ever liked them, and constantly reminded me that she wasn’t like me. If I didn’t know any better, by how vehemently she denied it, I might have believed the opposite.

When I saw her at school the next day, things were better. Still slightly awkward at times, but we were laughing and talking nonetheless. Over time, however, it became blindingly obvious that she was not comfortable with me discussing things about my personal life. She prattled on about which boys on the baseball team she liked, and which one she wanted to go to the dances with, but as soon as I said one thing about the one girl I was madly in love with, she would make a face and change the subject. She made completely inappropriate comments about me in front of other girls; asking me, blatantly, if I wanted to sleep with them, right in front of them. And if I ever pointed out that a girl was attractive, her method of deterring my behavior was like that of a dog owner: grab my head and rub my face into the nearest wall. And if you’re getting the mental image of Ashley being a petite girl, erase that from your mind immediately.

After a while, I confronted her about what was going on. She admitted to me that she was “sick” of hearing about the girls I liked, especially the one in particular that I was head over heels for at the time. We fought, and finally, our friendship was over.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quite surprisingly, my 72 year old grandmother took the news better than my best friend. In fact, she took it better than anyone. Even better yet… she saw it coming.

I was bursting at the seams with the news I had. The girl I had been dreaming about all through 7th grade, the one that had ruined my friendship with the only person I trusted with the information I’d given her, the one that was causing me to nearly fail half my classes because I couldn’t take my eyes off her… she admitted to liking me back. I was ecstatic (unable to foresee the future: fast forward one year, she admitted she only dated me to get me off her back and I, admittedly, was slightly stalker-esque, and to this day we are best friends, BUT that’s beside the point of this story). I was nearly skipping around the house, humming and smiling and just generally being insufferably cheerful.

My grandma sat at the table, doing a crossword puzzle or some other such grandmother-ish activity. I stopped in front of her and stood, waiting for her to look up. She peered at me over the colourful rim of her reading glasses and smiled.

“Nanny,” I began warily. I couldn’t sit down, I was so nervous. I could deal with losing my best friend; to be honest, it was probably a blessing. But losing the trust, respect, and affection of my grandma… I didn’t think I could repair myself after that. But I was ready to explode with the news, and she was my other best friend. I felt almost obligated to tell her. She knew something was up, and she dropped the paper to the table, folding her hands under her chin. “I… need to tell you something.” Her smile never wavered, her eyes never leaving my face. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat.

“You know that girl that’s here sometimes, Bridget*?” She nodded. “Well… she and I… well… I…” I was stumbling on words to say, and Nanny almost began laughing. I was probably as red as the tomatoes she had laid out for dinner. “I like her. And… she just told me she likes me. So… I think we’re gonna be dating soon.” I winced, waiting for her smile to fade and the frown to form; the eyes to narrow and the fists to clench. But no such outburst occurred. Instead,

“No shit.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I didn’t come out to my mother until well after I’d told my grandmother. Bridget and I were well past over, and we’d actually become the best of friends; like Ashley and I had been, except actually friends. I made the decision to come out to my mom at a New Year’s Eve party at a friend’s house. We were sitting up at some ungodly hour of the morning like typical teenagers on such a night, the lights off, in a circle, talking about our problems. They all complained about some boy that didn’t like them back or a boyfriend that was a deadbeat or just plain stupid. By this time, all of them knew about me; I’d never actually formally come out to any of them. Somehow, they just figured it out, whether it was the change from “Straight” to “Lesbian” on Myspace (by halfway through 8th grade I realized that I was absolutely uninterested in men) or from a casual slip of the words “Ooh, she’s cute” in some conversation, they all knew it, and unlike my previous experience with my peers, they all accepted it.

While sob stories of oblivious jocks and negligent boytoys circulated the room, it appeared it was my turn. I was dating a girl, Dana*, who I was very certain I was to fall in love with. We’d met through a community theater musical and they all knew how wonderful our relationship was (again, unable to see into the future: fast forward 8 months, when she decides the “gay thing isn’t working out” for her). As all eyes fell on me, I sighed.

“I really need to tell my mom,” I said, and hearing the words from my lips made them real, just as seeing the confession on the computer screen made them real two years prior. I began crying, and my amazing group of friends began opening their doors to me. If I got kicked out, I was welcome at any of their houses. Some even offered their parents to come get me from a street corner if that was where I ended up. This made me cry even harder, realizing what phenomenal people I was lucky enough to be graced with.

When I got home that morning, after a night of restless sleep, I waited until my father was gone and my mother was idle and not angry. She was sitting at her computer, checking her email, when I asked if I could talk to her. In private.

We went into my parents’ bedroom and I shut the door, incase my father decided to come home unexpectedly. My mother sat on the bed while I paced around and fought tears for nearly 15 minutes. “What is it?” she finally demanded, and I could feel her patience waning. Finally, I stopped moving and locked eyes with her from across the bed.

“You know that girl from the show, Dana?” Wow, this seemed fairly familiar. She nodded. “Well… she told me that she likes me. Like… she has a crush on me.” I scanned my mother’s facial expression, but found nothing, so I continued. “And… I think I have one on her, too.” Again, no change. Full speed ahead. “So, I want to ask her out. But I wanted to make sure it was okay with you first.” This, I realize, was a blatant lie, as we’d already been dating for just over two months. But I certainly couldn’t tell my mom that I’d been having an illicit affair behind her back. That would not help my case. So I stuck with that story and waited for her response.

“Are you sure?” Well. Definitely not what I expected, but nothing to frown about.

“Totally,” I replied. “I really like her.” My mother frowned. Uh oh.

“Well, you don’t have to decide right now,” she said. “You’re a little young to be closing your doors so soon. Nothing is set in stone.” I realized that she wasn’t talking about my relationship, but rather, my sexuality in general.

“Right,” I said, humoring her for the sake of her good mood. “But, I definitely like this girl.” My mom nodded.

“Fine. But don’t tell your father.” Well, duh. “And don’t tell Nanny, she won’t understand.” It took every muscle in my body not to fall over laughing at this second warning, which was obviously a far cry from the brutal honesty of the first.

After this, my mother and I went on to have many more awkward conversations about my preference. “Why don’t you like boys?” “What’s wrong with boys?” “Why can’t you just be normal?” “I’m not so crazy about this girl.” The last one was understandable; my girlfriend was a complete headcase. But the more we talked, the more I got the impression that my mother was expecting my gayness to leave when Dana did. And when Dana up and left and The Gay didn’t, my mother was quite taken aback.

Recently, an article in the local newspaper was published about my high school’s Gay-Straight Alliance. I had a couple quotes in the article, as well as my picture, which was captioned as follows: “Jess, 17, the only lesbian member of the GSA.”

A couple nights later, my mom came in complaining about something awful that my cousin did to my uncle. With a sigh, she flopped herself down on the couch and ran her fingers through her hair. “At least you’re normal.” I laughed; surely, she couldn’t be serious.

“No, really,” she repeated, looking me straight in the eyes. “I thank God that you’re normal.”

Categories: Coming Out Story
1 Comment »

It all happened on a boring day at work. My girlfriend was coming from Brazil, but none of my friends really knew I had a girlfriend so I figured that was a good time to tell them. I IM’ed my friend Vanessa, and kind of beat around the bush like “I have something to tell you… not sure how you’re gonna take it, yadda yadda yadda”; basically that’s how the conversation went. Finally I was like “I like girls”. She said “Yeah, what’s your point?” She basically knew, and she was fine with it, which was amazing. I was worried she wouldn’t want to be friends anymore, and she told me I was an idiot. We then proceeded to get coffee and nothing has changed. That same friend is now gonna be a witness at my wedding.
With my other friend Chantal, we were at dinner and I told her, and she was like “Good for you”. She couldn’t care less who I was with.
My sister was living in Hallifax when I told her, so I had to call her to tell her. Her reaction I found the most interesting. Conversation went something like this: “Amber, I like girls.” “Yeah, me and my friends knew since you were 12”. This blew me away because I thought I was the only person who knew this at the time. She then proceeded to make fun of me for playing softball as kid… classic lesbian sport.
I told my parents I was bi when I was drunk. Needless to say I had forgotten I told them this when my mom casually brought it up in a conversation a few days later. I was shocked that she knew. My sister says she’s blind, and all the L Word memorabilia kind of gave it away. A little while later I told both my parents I was actually gay. My mom didn’t take it very well, but surprisingly my dad was fine with it. He just wants me to be happy. Things were a little rough when my girlfriend and I were living at my parent’s, but since we’ve moved out my mom seems to be a lot cooler with it.
That’s my coming out story… I could go into detail about everyone I ever told but that would be boring and these are the main people.

Categories: Coming Out Story
No Comments »

Like the first entry here stated, every person has more than one coming out story… or at least most do, and I’m in that category… but for my first one, I’ll focus on the hardest. Mostly because it has turned out more than okay, and I just want people to know that even if it starts out bad, it can and will get better. Just hang it there

Now on to the story

“Simone said Hannah told her about you telling her you were bi and that you loved a girl and she hopes that Hannah won’t be getting any ideas from you because you know how prejudiced people can be”.

I was speachless. This came from my dad at the very end of a long drawn-out argument with his wife, Simone. Hearing him say this to me was like watching my my whole world fall apart right in front of me.

I didn’t say anything.

After a long while of us staring at each other I told my dad it was
true; that I was in fact bi. He just said okay and walked away and I couldn’t do or say anything other than “Dad….”

He paced around for what seemed like an eternity, until he finally
decided to sit and listen to me. At that point, I was sobbing so much and I just wanted him to hug me, but that didn’t happen. I couldn’t face him, I couldn’t look at his eyes. He just stood there.

“I’m more different than you may think,” he said when I asked him if
he loved me any less. He went on further to say he would never love me
any less no matter what, but his words did not leave me comforted.

Then I started ranting. I just went on and on about how I couln’t believe my step-sister had told her mom about what I confided in her and how many people would crucify me if they knew. I told him how afraid I was. Dad told me I had it coming for trusting a teenager, that I’d have to learn how to live with that and that I shouldn’t tell anyone.

Later that day, while my dad and his family were away at my grandpa’s, I decided to call Hannah. She claimed she didn’t tell her mom; that
Simone had suspected all along because I had never been with a boy and
because she saw my ‘The L Word’ wallpaper on my computer. Hannah went
on further to explain that Simone was afraid I would do something to Hannah. Like I’d try and “convert” her or something (it would be funny to see her face if she ever found out that Hannah used to say she didn’t know whether she liked boys or girls).

Honestly? I had no idea what to think. I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone anymore. I couldn’t trust my step-sister, I couldn’t trust Simone and I didn’t know what to think about dad because he was acting so strangely. I dreaded the thought of facing them again. It felt like my life was over as I knew it and it’s not even the fact that they knew, it’s just that I wanted to tell people on my own terms; when I was ready and I had been robbed of that. I was outed by force. And it hurt.

That was about two to three years ago. So much has changed since then.
One of the funny things is the fact that I thought that by being bi, it wouldn’t be as bad, and more acceptable than being gay but over time, I realized that I’m in fact gay and it doesnt matter.

Simone eventually kicked me out of the house, which led to the divorce
of her and my dad. My dad’s come around to fully supporting me and he’s just great about everything. He helped me move in with my fiancee and has even requested that we name one of our children after him, as he says he has such great first and middle names, that a little boy should be so lucky to carry them. He’s modest, my dad.

Now like I said… it’s hard for everyone… or at least for most; but just hang in there. It does get better.

Hope this could be of help.

ps. Thanks Tabby and Meghan for all the help!!!

Categories: Coming Out Story
No Comments »

This is like the dollar bill that should be framed in a restaurant, it seems; the first coming out story on ComingOutSupport.com.

I’ve only recently officially come to realize that I’m a lesbian, and I was lucky to reside in Los Angeles when the truth finally sunk in to my dear sweet little religious head. Have such luck, it’s not been a very challenging road for me to actually be gay and be proud of said gay-ness. Most people in this city don’t care, and there’s a select few who have embraced me and helped support me in ways beyond what I would have ever imagined, regarding me being gay.

Despite the support here, I still, personally, find the hardest part of it all is talking to people from my past. “You don’t need to tell everyone” echoes through my head with each conversation I have when someone asks if I’m dating any new guys or anything along those lines. Some people, though, I feel like I shouldn’t be dishonest to and have tried to make the “coming out” to them a strategic thing. There’s always going to be people that you come out to that are story-worthy; multiple people, multiple stories. I’ll focus on one for now, and share more later.

I was going to give you all the easiest experience I had, but then I remembered that this is a support site, so I’ll share my hardest, which happens to be my most current, experience.

The Mother
Over the last three years, my mother would sporadically ask me if I’m a lesbian. For the first year, I was fairly certain I wasn’t (denial). The second year, something happened that changed my feelings on my orientation, and the question was harder to deny. The third year, she seemed to step up her questioning to nearly every conversation we had. Well, the problem was, by the third year–this year, I knew I was gay.

My mother is a liberal woman trapped inside of a conservative Christian mindframe. She lives liberally, but thinks conservatively. So, in other words… talk is fancy; a fancy talk belonging to someone I just happen to love dearly. Over the last few months, every time she talked about my orientation, I tried to change the subject and move on. I hated lying to her. I’m generally not a very good liar, and I feel that every time I had to lie to her about being gay, it made my self esteem in the issue plummet. I don’t want to have a low self esteem, so I realized recently that honesty is my only option with her.

So, finally, during another conversation about feminism and gays and lesbians, I asked her, rather abruptly, “Why do you always suspect that I’m a lesbian?” “Well,” she paused, “I don’t think you are.”

“What would be so bad if I was.?”

Mom’s pauses grew longer as she tried to process where the discussion was going. “…I’m just worried that people might have influenced you to lean a certain way and try to destroy your life, like they tried with me.”

A little bit of back-story here; mom is diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. She believes “they” were going to “turn” me gay, which, as it stands, is why she kept asking me if I was gay for the last three years.

Back from the side-bar, now. My response was probably as eloquent as it was going to get with a, “Well, I guess now is as good of a time as any to tell you, but yes… I’m a lesbian.” It slid downhill from there. Two questions that I’ll probably never forget her asking me, “Are you seeing someone?” and “Are you going down on her?” came next, and after I answered the first one and grunted an answer to the second one, the click followed by silence afterward should not have been such a shock to me.

But it was. I wasn’t upset that she hung up on me. I was upset that I hurt her. Deeply.

She called again about an hour later, crying. She expressed how much I hurt her and wanted to know more details. Her questioning became denial, as it often does. “Is it because…” was the next set of questions I had to answer. “No, mom… there’s no reason or explanation for this.” One of the more heart-breaking moments for me was when I assured her that it wasn’t her, or anything she did wrong. The temporary relief in her voice really just about broke me.

Her denial turned from pure “it can’t be true” to “it can’t be true and now I’m angry” which is the last state she and I left off in. She’s always liked to use hanging up as a mechanism to end conversations. It works, but its just so frustrating. I’m currently in the “give her time to come around” stage, and trying not to let it bother me. It’s just difficult because she’s my mother, and she’s fragile at times. I want to be supportive to her, but I couldn’t lie to her any longer.

So, that’s my first “coming out” story to share. I encourage you all to share your stories with us either to get support or to show support, or to get the courage to come out to those you love. The wonderful thing about being gay is that you’ve got a lot of support both from gays and straights, and thousands of people are willing to lend and ear and some wisdom to you if you need it.

There’s only a few rules to posting, which involve posting nothing that breaks US law (details on child pornography being the first thing that comes to mind). We have a list of rules in the menu for you to consider as you tell your story. They’re not too restricting, but we do ask you keep them in mind if you want your story approved. Each story is read by a volunteer moderator and if it passes the approval process (chances are very very very high that it will), you’ll be notified via email when we publish the story, so please use an accurate email. We don’t publish the email addresses or contact info as each story gets published under a generic user.

Categories: Coming Out Story
1 Comment »