For National Coming Out Day, my story of coming out as atheist

Editor’s note: This story first appeared October 13, 2015, on my now-defunct blog (one of many!).

Sunday marked National Coming Out Day, an annual observance that began in the 80s to celebrate living authentically and combating homophobia. I came out of the closet almost 14 years ago, an event that changed my life (and affected the lives of my loved ones). For me, coming out was about becoming honest with myself and with others about a part of me that is integral to my experience as a human being. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, and I’ve never regretted it for a second.

Today, being “out” is so much easier than it was 14 years ago. And it’s enormously easier than it was for LGBT people like my uncles who bravely came out decades ago, when a vast majority of Americans still saw us as evil, sick, depraved, perverted, or worse. Now we enjoy nationally recognized marriage equality, increasing legal protections, and a societal majority who believe we deserve equal rights and respect alongside our straight brothers and sisters.

But it’s still not “easy,” in the most perfect sense of the word. Even in the relatively liberal and tolerant life in which I’ve surrounded myself, I don’t feel I walk with the same comfort that I imagine heterosexual people experience — a comfort they probably don’t even realize they’ve got.

I hold my boyfriend’s hand in public. I don’t feel unsafe doing so, but I’m constantly vigilant of other’s reactions — just in case.

I’m careful about how to bring up the fact that I have a boyfriend, always trying to discern if this information might make a situation uncomfortable for anyone involved.

My immediately family is phenomenally supportive of me and my past and current relationships. It’s been a journey — for all of us — but I have never felt anything but unconditional love and a desire for me to be happy. Many extended relatives are supportive, too, but large functions can be awkward because my “lifestyle” means that I don’t have much in common with many family members. And my grandparents’ staunch Mormonism leaves a distance between us that I know will never close.

I don’t worry about whether my employment or job satisfaction could be in jeopardy because of my sexual orientation. I’m lucky to work in an organization with amazing people of various political beliefs, who I couldn’t imagine would think that a gay or lesbian person deserved less in the workplace. Would most think the same of a transgender person? That I’m not as sure about, but I’ve never seen the opportunity arise.

Again, I want to stress that things are SO much better than they used to be, and my life is pretty damn great. I’m grateful for the support I have and that I live in an area of the country where I can be out without fear for my own life. I am also aware of the privileges I have because I am a white, cisgender (not trans), middle-class male. Altogether, I probably gain more from those qualities than I might lose from being gay.

But there’s one more aspect of myself that I’ve only recently become (nearly) 100 percent comfortable with. It’s something that I have understood was true for a few years but have only rarely admitted fully to loved ones. So today, I come out again — as an atheist.

I’m imagining the sounds of people reading this saying, “Big surprise.” I doubt this is a shock to anyone because I’ve publicly called myself an agnostic for some time, and I commonly profess my complaints about organized religion (and certain religious people) online and in personal conversations. Yet I clung to the thread of presenting myself as someone who at least believes in “some kind of higher power,” even as my rational brain let go of those beliefs.

I’m “coming out” today as an atheist mostly because I recognize how important it was for me at age 17 to be honest with myself personally and publicly. I could never be a whole person if I hid something as important as who I am attracted to. And I can’t be a whole person now if I hide something as important as my beliefs about the world, life, and creation itself.

But I’m also doing this because I believe it is important for people like me who do not believe in god or “higher power” to have a voice and to be known. As there continues to be ignorance, stigma, and discrimination for LGBT people, the same is true for “non-believers.” More Americans — 43 percent — say they would not vote for an atheist president than for any other category, including Muslims, gays and lesbians, and Mormons (according to a recent Gallup poll).

This is just one example of why I think it’s important for atheists, agnostics, and other non-believers to come out and talk about their beliefs and experiences. For one, people don’t even understand the differences between an atheist and an agnostic. And many carry prejudices against people who don’t believe in god. An often uttered question is something like, “If she doesn’t believe in God, what does she believe in?” As if without thinking there is a physical higher being who has influence over all creation we must just shrivel into amoral, unfeeling, nihilistic anarchists.

I’m not going to go into the weeds today about my personal journey to atheism or try to explain exactly what it means to me and what my beliefs are. I’m also not a religious (or nonreligious) scholar, nor a devotee to Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens (though I’ve read several of their writings). But I’m happy to talk to you in person, and I’ll probably be writing more about the subject in the near future.

What I will say is that letting go of “god” has been immensely freeing. After years of trying out everything from agnostic Christianity to Taoism and dabbling with chakras and Wiccan spells, I’m done with it all. I still find spirituality and religious belief fascinating and I appreciate what good they can bring to others’ lives, but it’s not for me. I rely, if not perfectly, on reason, rational thought, empirical evidence, and the scientific method to guide my beliefs. And I use emotion, experience, and the power of the mind to make those beliefs personal and “check in” to make sure they comport with the truth.

I know that having an atheist son isn’t easy for my parents, just as it isn’t easy to have a gay son. As I may experience rejection or prejudice in the world for my beliefs, so too they may experience the same for a perceived “failure” to pass on their genealogical religion. But I’m thankful that I already know I can count on my family for support and love. My parents raised me to trust in myself, to make decisions that are right for me, and that love and the family bond — whether divinely granted or the result of evolutionary and chemical forces — are some of the most important realities of our existence.

If you’ve read this and you have any questions, please ask me. I’m an open book. If you’ve struggled with or even lost a belief in god — welcome to the club! I encourage you to first be honest with yourself, let go of preconceived and irrational beliefs, and, when you’re ready, talk to others about it. Trust me, coming out can feel SO good.