Being Out
I am a pretty open person about myself. Ask me about anything, and I will generally share that information freely. Part of that includes information about the nature of my sexuality, gender, lifestyle, or anything else. I am generally very open, and even wear the pansexual pride flag as part of my profile photo. This is, however, my curated online life. I curate who sees into my life and who doesn’t, beyond the publicly available information on Facebook. I remove or permit intruders at will, and generally speaking, have created an environment where it is safe and healthy for me to be out and open for myself. There’s nothing wrong with that, nor is it an ‘echo chamber’.
Another of the things I am out about is where in the country I live. I live in North Carolina as of this writing, and North Carolina is a decently conservative venue. Around here, I have to be a little more careful about my lifestyle. Despite what my cousin claimed in comments on a previous post, this country is not yet at the point where homosexual couples can be in public without facing consequences. This is especially true in the south. In the south, by definition, my very lifestyle and lovelife is a political statement. If I were to come out and say, “I want to be married to a boyfriend” (which is legal now), it is going to inherently be considered a political statement. My very life is politicized, and always up for critique where heterosexual couples do not face that. Then there’s having a transgender girlfriend, which can further complicate this. Many people refuse to acknowledge modern research and societal trends, instead clinging to outdated models that tell them they should be vocal and judgmental of others.
This context is important in where I am going with this. I have students I know are LGBTQ+. I have students I suspect are LGBTQ+. It is not my place to inquire in their lives, nor to ask them. They have a right to their privacy, as I have a right to mine. However, one thing I have realized, is that I have a choice and a voice. I have a choice. As a cisgender white male, I can keep quiet about my life experiences, and maintain what NC considers to be a “normal” and “wholesome” (even typing that out makes me feel dirty) lifestyle. This is a privilege I have, the ability to be perceived as cisgender heterosexual, and get on with my life without fear of repercussion. My other choice is to be out, to let students know about my lifestyle, and simply be honest. This is the path that fills me with nervousness. The backlash against being non-heterosexual is not as bad as the backlash from conservative groups against transgender people, but it does exist. Being open with my students about having a boyfriend, being pansexual, etc., puts me in a very real risk of being fired. But I cannot support those students without being out, which puts me between a rock and a hard place.
Ultimately, I gave up that privilege, and took that risk. Students have asked about my relationships, and I have elected, at personal risk, to tell them I have (or had, as of this writing) a boyfriend. Some have even inquired as to why I also mention a girlfriend. It makes me a little anxious, being out at work, because I have coworkers who have gone on anti-LGBTQ+ rants at work, in earshot of students. It makes me nervous, because I could very well lose my job in a state that recently suspended a teacher who showed a anti-bullying video about LGBTQ+ issues in class. When somebody talks to me about how I should just be myself, I largely agree, it is liberating, but that person also rarely realizes what a privilege it is to simply be heterosexual and not have to worry about those things. The conversation that prompted this was brought up in first period today. I had a student ask if I had Valentine’s Day plans tonight, to go out on a date. I told her I did not, and that my ex boyfriend and I had broken up in the past. She instantly kept asking “Boyfriend?” as I elaborated. I intentionally ignored her implication that there was anything unusual about that statement.
However, even admitting this to a student, especially in the south, carries great risk and loss of privilege. As previously stated, for some reason, my love life is inherently political. To some people, it is inherently some “liberal agenda” (or worse: The Big Gay Agenda, cue spooky sound) that I might want to date a man, non-binary person, or some other individual other than a cisgender woman. It is a terminable offense in North Carolina and most places for a teacher to push a political agenda in class, and, I would argue, that is justified to a degree. It should not be a school’s place to push a moral or political agenda. However, that viewpoint is also a position or privilege that comes from a place where a person’s life isn’t inherently political. A heterosexually married couple can discuss their significant other at any time, almost anywhere, and not have to worry about their job or well-being. Being “out” about my sexuality carries with it the stigma that a student or parent might see me with somebody, make comments to their parents, and have me suspended from my job.
This loss of privilege also comes with a consequence for me from the perspective of classroom management. For students who perceive, due to taught intolerance, my sexuality as a negative, they may attempt to cause classroom disruptions based on that. It has happened in the hallways at work. This inherently makes my classroom job much harder. Now, one could argue that I should just not tell students, but that’s the entire point of this essay. There are people who would argue that I’m simply looking for something to be a victim about, and that’s not the case. There are very real consequences for a LGBTQ+ individual to be “out” in the south, and even more of them for a teacher.
The reason I bring up that I am white and cisgender, is because not everyone has those privileges. The potential loss of privilege for a trans individual (or trans person of color) is even greater than the privilege I’ve given up. For both of us, there is a risk of physical harm or verbal abuse, but for me, that risk is made much less by my gender and skin color. When I see people talk about how we just want to have special treatment, I have seen for myself that this is a falsehood meant to invalidate our aims and goals as American citizens. All we want is to not have to face the constant fight to not be fired, abused, or yelled at by others. To be able to hold a job, and not have to worry that our date will cost us our livelihood and, possibly, our home. When I see somebody comment that we already have those things, I have to wonder if this person and I even live in the same country.
For me, “being out” also means constant questions. I don’t mind, to be honest. I’m an educator, and I see most questions as an opportunity to educate. However, some questions are not asked with an intent to learn but with an intent to accuse and incriminate. A heterosexual person has the privilege of not always having people ask them questions like, “When did you know you were heterosexual?” “Was it a decision or were you born this way?” I realize some people do ask questions like, “Are you sure you’ve never been attracted to the same gender?” and “How can you be sure?”, but it is to a much lesser degree than non-heterosexual people face. As a homosexual person, you have privileges over bisexual and pansexual people. Bi and pan people face accusatory statements and questions like “You’re just being greedy.” “Have you decided to be straight/gay, then?” Things like this. As a cisgender person, I have privileges over transgender or nonbinary people. I have never had someone ask me, “Are you sure you’re a man?” “When did you know you were a man?” “What have you got in your pants?” And yet, trans people I know face these questions all the time (insert term above instead of “man” as appropriate), and cannot get away from them.
This doesn’t even begin to cover the privilege loss of being openly polyamorous. That carries a whole separate set of privilege losses and problems with it, and both in my case and others, has had even more trouble associated with it than coming out as LGBTQ+. I realize that this statement isn’t true in all cases, but I have spoken to others who felt the same way as I. Being poly in some cases is a bigger loss of privilege than being LGBTQ+.
Being “out” means having to face these as consequences of my actions, being aware of them, and being ready for them. It means little nagging anxieties all day, every day, that I have to be concerned about to a greater or smaller degree that others don’t have to. It means constant self checking, internal checks and balances, and a constant concern that somehow I might come across as political to a parent and lose my job. Being “out” is liberating, but it also means losing privileges other people never have to even think about. I have never been happier than I have been in the last year since I came out, but I also didn’t realize the small, constant anxieties that would come with it. That being said…
Being out has other benefits, not for myself, but for others. Being out allows conversations to happen in various contexts in which I can normalize homosexual or other types of relationships. I get the chance to have conversations with people about what it means to be pansexual, to have a boyfriend, to date a trans person, and to be polyamorous. If I was in the closet about these things, I could not have these conversations. Students can ask me what I did for the weekend and, anxiety be damned, I can respond, “I had a great time with my boyfriend.” Or in one case, they were asking me why I was stressed, and I explained some of the stresses facing trans people and my girlfriend. If you’re reading this and thinking, “Did he just out his girlfriend?”, do not worry, her and I have discussed it many times. Being out lets me have these conversations with people who simply don’t know, but can be educated because they are not minds clouded with hate or malice.
Being out lets me normalize my relationships with other people for LGBTQ+ youth as well. They can see an adult being out and not living in fear, defending and being supportive of their lifestyle. They can see that not all adults are bullies and judgmental types who will tell them how wrong they are. It lets me be a role model where they don’t have many role models in their lives. It lets me openly defend their lifestyles when other students or adults might attack it, and also, on occasion, give small bits of appreciated advice, such as a girl unsure of how to ask out another girl.
Being out lets me openly defend and stand alongside my fellow LGBTQ+ people, and support them in their struggles, and help them support me. Sure, it might cause me hundreds of tiny little anxieties… But the rewards and benefits are so vast that it is worth every bit of them. Sure, sometimes, the ignorant people and malicious people seeking to use the law to destroy us, using comments sections to try to ridicule us, it becomes too much for me. But I’d rather be out, and strong and open about it, than hiding in a closet and fearful. And even if it gets to be too much… I have no regrets.
Originally published via Facebook on 2017–02–14