A time I was outted

I was forced out by a cousin who decided to turn my deepest secret into an opportunity to gossip and seem momentarily relevant to his family. Said cousin read through his sister’s phone, uncovered some incriminating texts, and told his parents about what he had uncovered; thereby informing a group of people who I had hoped would never hear about me.

Out of fear that my parents would hear my story from the mouth of someone else, I carried our house phone around for days just in case a relative decided to call and inform my parents of their nefariously obtained revelations. When I say ‘parents’, I was really only concerned about my dad. Up to that point, my dad would periodically utter homophobic remarks about effeminate designers on HGTV, so I could only imagine how he would react if his eldest son came out to him. With a great sense of urgency, I realized that I needed to find a way to talk to my mom privately about something I was very ill-prepared to discuss. The only way to ensure my dad wouldn’t overhear us was to wait until he was going off to work. Luckily for me, he had an evening shift scheduled a couple of days after my extended relatives were briefed on my sexuality by a treacherous fucker.

That evening, my mom had a phone call with one of her best friends, so I waited in the living room with a nervous smile on my face while she finished up her phone call. There was a fashion magazine sitting on the table that I decided would be a great thing to pretend to glance through as my heart raced. She hung up the phone, smiled over at me, and asked what was going on.

The details of what exactly was said between us during that conversation are difficult for me to recall. My mind and heart were sprinting at a pace they hadn’t before. From what I can recall, I calmly put down the magazine and provided the classic “Mom, I have something to tell you and I wanted you to hear it from me.” I quickly blurted out a brief “I’m gay” and then sat there. Any glimpse of a smile she had on her face rapidly fell and crashed into an expression of sadness, confusion, and pain. She asked how I knew, what made me choose this, and, again, how I could possibly know. She threw some stereotypes at me, questioning how, if I didn’t fit them, I could possibly be gay. And then she just sat there in silence, looking down at her lap, indicating that she was done talking about this matter. I left to walk upstairs, but first asked that she keep this conversation to herself. After all, if my mother reacted this way, my father’s reaction would certainly be far worse than I could have possibly imagined.

I walked upstairs to my brother who was wondering how it had all gone. I told him “not well” and proceeded to crawl into bed. I may not remember everything from that night, but I do know with certainty that I did not cry.

In the days that followed, my mother didn’t talk much. When she did speak, it was in quick sharp tones directing me to do something. I came home a couple of times from school to find her crying. When I asked her what was going on, she would ask me repeatedly why I chose to make my life harder for myself, despite everything that my parents had sacrificed to make my life as easy as posibile.

Even worse, she told my dad. I wasn’t aware she did this ahead of time so when he walked into my room a few days later and said, “So… I hear you like men,” I was shocked. I stammered back, “umm.. Yes.” All he did was nod and tell me that dinner would be ready shortly and that I should come downstairs to set the table.

After those few weeks towards the end of my high school career, my sexuality was rarely discussed. During my sophomore year of college, I reaffirmed to my dad that I was sure of who I was and he acknowledged me with relative indifference.

I didn’t discuss my sexuality with my mother again until much later, right before I left the house to start my post-college job. I brought it up in the car on the way back from moving in my furniture. She responded “I know. But are you going to use that as your primary identifier? Or are you going to wave the flag? You should be careful about waving the flag.” Her implication that it’s okay to be queer as long as you’re not expressing pride in your identity has stuck with me. However, once I was dating someone she knew and approved of, my mom became a lot more willing to discuss queer issues and identities.