Social Change Made Me Gay

Crawling into bed later, I couldn’t stop thinking about where I was a couple of years before in my own struggle to come out. In 1990, I had just started a program called Common Ground that focused on “unlearning” oppressive behavior and building strong and diverse communities. The program provided hands‑on training for dismantling oppressive systems by creating an environment of trust and respect so that people could share their stories.

The framework of Common Ground was designed to explore the interconnectedness of various forms of oppression using strategies for examining and combating their root causes.

During the summer of 1991, I was using the model to help facilitate a workshop with participants from an Empty the Shelters (ETS) Summer of Social Action, an experiential training program for young activists concerned with issues of poverty and homelessness. It was my first real opportunity to work with a group of people for days and weeks, rather than a few hours.

After a half an hour of bland intellectualizing, one of the women in the circle began to share a very emotional story, surprising even herself with the words. In this small circle of peers, Sarah “came out.” Many of the participants were shocked, others were supportive, and some were just a little confused.

But Sarah’s story was her own, publicly claimed for the first time and impossible to deny. By allowing herself to be vulnerable, her actions created a space that was safe for other group members to find their own voices and face their own fears.

My heart pounding, I sat frozen. Hearing Sarah’s words raised questions that had haunted me for years. How had she summoned the courage and the strength to open up and risk losing so much? What was it about this process, this group of people, that made it possible for her to suddenly find the voice that escapes so many of us for so long? Why was I so afraid? Me, the one who does this for a living.

Even though I knew I was gay ten years before, I had never told anyone. As I listened, all of the emotions that I had bottled up inside — the fear, the frustration, the self‑loathing — began to push harder. I felt myself break into a cold sweat and I was scared that somehow Sarah or one of the others could see what I was hiding. But after 22 years of acting experience, I continued to fight it, and I finished the session without betraying my secret.

But I had changed.

Hearing Sarah’s beautiful, albeit painful story, signaled a turning point in my life. It affected how I thought of myself and pointed to a new consciousness in my vision of how social change happens. I could see the transformation in Sarah, her sense of relief, of calm. I wondered if I might be happier, even healthier, if I stopped fighting, and let myself be me.

Up until that point, I couldn’t see how the benefits could outweigh the risks; I couldn’t imagine my life as “one of those people.” My world had never shown me a good gay person — a positive role model. But Sarah’s “radicalizing” experience helped me to recognize my own power and discover the strength within me. It gave me the hope and courage I needed to personally, and then publicly, claim and honor my own experience, my own voice.

That night, for the first time, I told a friend that I was gay. I’m not sure that I have ever been more scared, or filled with more self‑doubt, but just saying the words aloud was a tremendously liberating experience. A day later. I told another friend, and then another. A few months later l told my family.

Growing up in a small mid-western town teaches you quickly that there are just some things you don’t talk about, regardless of how much you’re hurting, or how bad you feel about yourself. Even at twelve years old, I already thought that people like me were bad, and I vowed never to tell anyone. Through my adolescence, high school years, and even college, I fought the truth in every way possible. I worked hard to create the person that I thought could be “me.” I became popular—I made a lot of friends, was elected president of my class, made the honor role, played sports, went to a good college, was in all the cool clubs — always working harder, never giving myself even a minute to think about “the other stuff.”

Social change didn’t “make” me gay, but it has provided a means for discovering and nurturing my own identity. Sarah’s story helped me to create a space where I could learn to love myself, and then others. Through it, I have developed a respect for the coming out process that each of us goes through as we learn how to be ourselves — whether we are gay or not gay, rich or poor, black or white. It’s about a radical notion that each of us may contribute a part of ourselves to this world, and that through this process we gain respect for ourselves and each other. It’s only after we share and build mutual respect that we can find strength enough to change the world, making it a place that cherishes and celebrates difference. This is the essence of equality — the place where we find common ground.

As I discovered my voice, my life changed forever.

I began to understand the power of my story as a political tool for change. I realized that I could be all those things that I wanted to be in high school and be gay.

I can also be a role model, a leader, and an activist. But I’m not unique. Every one us has our own story and our own dreams and every one of us can be a powerful, positive agent of change.