… And Stay Out
A year ago, I tried to write an essay about why coming out is pretty much a never-ending process and it was really fucking hard to write[1]. I’ve found myself re-sharing it a few times since: During pride, on bisexual visibility day and, again, today on National Coming Out Day — each time, hitting send with a deep breath. Doing it all over again.
Much like the process of coming out, writing about the process of coming out involves not just getting your thoughts and feelings out there but also dealing with the ways your family and friends and peripheral connections might react. You never really know the hand you’re dealt until you get a rando “like” from a family member you’ve never talked to about this or a cutting, uninformed comment from a friend you thought was cool.
I know I’m lucky — and immensely privileged in a myriad of ways on this front — as I’ve reached a point in my life where an overwhelming majority of my friends and family and extended network consists of wonderful, accepting folks who I’m unafraid to be a loud, angry bisexual monster around.
And that shit matters. Knowing that the majority of the time your identity isn’t going to be belittled, demeaned or questioned while you try to live, work and play is a privilege— a privilege I’d give everything to extend to the kids who remain closeted (especially those who aren’t on the more forgiving coasts). There’s not a single day that I’m not thankful for those people.
“And that shit matters.”
No matter how many times I’ve shared that first essay and talked about these issues, I’ve never felt like I fully tapped into all the complex weird feelings about coming out and staying out: the pressure to present a part of yourself publicly (often giving a vulnerable piece of yourself to people who haven’t earned it; how you become the tour guide/tutor/myth-buster for all things relating to your identity (S/O to all my non-monosexual friends here for the work you do); how it feels to hold the hands of family members as they learn and how it feels to live with their growing pains as they overcome some biases of their own; and how sometimes you learn to quiet down and nurse that pain until those people are ready. Those parts are still hard too.
Unless I’m constantly wearing a button, sign or T-shirt that says “I fuck and love and-sometimes-both all genders” or travel only in packs of other LGBT folks, a femme-presenting bi girl like me is never going to exist in a world where I’m permanently out and never erased. [1]
But, like most things, perpetually coming out gets easier to manage with practice and the knowledge that there’s people who have your back. And, of course, there’s a chance you might even find peace in the repetition.
[1] It didn’t help that, for a lot of people who hadn’t had the one-on-one talk with me, it served as my most explicit coming-out notice to date.
[2] While the end of the heteronormative patriarchy would probably do wonders for that cause, I’m not holding my breath on that for the near-future.
