My Coming Out Story: The Write-Up

Just over a month ago, I released a premium episode of my podcast that covered something I'd written and circulated at work for LGBTQ+ History Month. That episode can be found here - it will remain as a premium episode.

In this episode, I read out my coming out story. I had written it up and shared it around for LGTBQ+ History Month. A group of us did this because we wanted to convey what the reality is like for LGTBQ+ people. So often the true difficulty and experience of coming out is missed and it is seen as the end of something; I believe it is just the start of something.

Now it is Pride Month. So, in honour of that, I've decided to share the story I wrote here, as it was originally a written piece. However, if you want to hear me read it out, you can find the podcast episode on any podcast streaming platform.

From Gay-Boyhood to Gay-Manhood: The Complete Truth

When I came out, I made a promise to myself to never hide who I am and always live out in the open. Have I always abided by that promise? Of course not. Have I always tried? Most definitely.

A few weeks ago, I read a seminal and impactful book called ‘The Velvet Rage: Overcoming the Pain of Growing Up Gay in a Straight Man’s World’ by Alan Downs, a clinical psychiatrist. In the book, he talks about the phenomenon of toxic shame seen in all men but specifically discusses how he’s seen that manifest and multiply in gay men. He does this through relating to specific stories of his clients. In the book, he states “Virtually all of the gay men I work with agree on one thing: no matter how accepting society becomes, it is still very hard to be a gay man and a truly happy person. We have gained so much, but something critical is still missing” (p.20). What he is referring to there is the journey that all gay and queer people are on; a journey I started before I even knew what ‘gay’ was.

At the age of around 5-8, I knew something was different. I remember having specific thoughts about how I felt somewhat unlike the other kids. I even remember my 5-year-old ego telling me it was because I was ‘special’. What I didn’t know was that I’d grow up and be able to put a finger on what that difference was. What I especially didn’t know was that I was right that it was there.

When I was 11 or 12, I obviously started secondary school. I went to a very religious Catholic college. I had been brought up by an Irish Catholic mother who was so headstrong she told my British Atheist father “He’s not having a British passport; he’s only ever having an Irish one”. This meant I’d spent most Sunday mornings being dragged to service and every Christmas Eve stuck in a church for hours knowing that Santa was literally waiting for me to go to bed. However, unluckily for me, what it also meant was that I internalised a lot of teachings; some of them good, some of them not so. Around the time I started Year 7, I located the label to what I was and identified that difference. The difference that, for so many years, I had been aware of but had since buried. One of the teachings I had internalised told me that this new discovery, this new label, was wrong. And I believed it. In my child mind, I remember picturing God above me, looking down on me and being disgusted, disappointed and disregarding me as a sinner. I believed he was right wholeheartedly. As a 12-year-old child, like God, I looked at myself and was disgusted.

I remember this time was quite dark. I remember my inner monologue bullying myself for every little thing I did that was ‘sinful’. I was trying so hard to blend in and assimilate with my peers that I critiqued every little behaviour. I taught myself to be anxious because I taught myself to question and assess everything I did. A great example is the way I walked. People at school said swaying your butt was a telltale sign, so I ensured mine didn’t sway, physically altering the way that I walked.

From the ages of 12-16, I hid in this character I had created, but inside I was going through all sorts of turmoil. My plan for my life started as never telling anyone and moving away to live alone. Then I thought that’d be too suspicious and it would make my Mum sad, so I planned to marry a woman when I got older and have two kids. Then my plan changed because I knew I couldn’t live like that, so I planned to keep it a secret but live my private life in private. As my plans evolved, what was really happening was a very gradual and slow internal process of coming to terms. Eventually at age 16, though my plan remained to never tell anyone, something had shifted in me and subconsciously I was trying to accept it within myself. I remember vividly for months, whenever my family were all out of the house, I would go to the mirror and stare at myself and try to utter the words to myself. I cannot explain nor describe the feeling of being physically unable to speak, but for those months I stood at that mirror whenever I had the chance and just stared at my reflection with the thoughts in my head and the words on my tongue. After I had turned 17 was the first time I ever managed to. With my heart pounding and panic rising, I looked at myself and said, “I’m gay”. Though I felt the release, I also felt fear. It was all too real.

The next year, leading up to turning 18, was pivotal for me. After saying it to myself, I began to accept the reality, not necessarily accept myself, but that I was who I was, and it wasn’t going to change. Social media and YouTube became a safe-haven for me. I spent several secret hours a day watching gay YouTubers come out to their families or talk about their experiences or, crucially, give advice and stories about topics my Catholic school refused to, like dating, relationships, sexual health, sex itself and homophobia/bullying. Throughout my school years, I had been picked on for being more effeminate and I remember people laughing at me in conversations I wasn’t a part of (even a teacher of mine!). I didn’t receive the worst of the bullying though, because there was another boy in my year who was more feminine than me and as school goes, it was him who received the worst of it. In the background, the YouTube videos I was watching built up my confidence and allowed me to start to understand what I needed to do; come out. I say need and not want because at least for me, it was a need. I also found Ru Paul’s Drag Race through YouTube and my obsession began. I started secretly watching it then at Season 5 and haven’t stopped to this day at Season 16. It is a beacon of hope for queer people and a brilliant reality competition show.

I first came out when I was 18 to a group of 4 friends in the woods behind one of their houses. We would often go out there with cider, a disposable BBQ and hang out for hours. Most, if not all, of my friends from school were guys and what I see now is that these friends, that I first came out to, were my low-risk friends. I wasn’t that close to them and so had they reacted negatively losing them wouldn’t have hurt as much. I realise now I was a bit logical and pragmatic in my coming out process. I did not plan to come out to them, but I remember we were sat around the BBQ, a few ciders in and the question of “Who’s your crush?” came up. I sidestepped the question like usual, saying some random girl that I was friendly with. But the cogs in my brain started turning and the confidence, that I had built up to then, rose. One of them walked over elsewhere, far enough away from the rest of the group. I said to him “I have something to tell you”, and he replied “Yeah?”, I said “I’m gay”, my voice shaking. “No you’re not”, he was laughing, looking at me. I nodded. And he hugged me. Then one by one, I took the group aside and told them. Afterwards, we walked down the road towards my friend’s house, and I sobbed. I wasn’t sad, but I just couldn’t stop the emotion pouring out. From there, I began coming out to friends. One of them in my car. One of them at a friend’s birthday party. And so on. I always found that I never planned it. It was always just a spur-of-the-moment thing where something came up, and I decided to set the record straight.

As expected, people started talking. I remember being sat at the pub with friends, and there was another table of people from school. I went up to say hey and somehow it came up. I now knew they knew, but I hadn’t told them. The fear and panic in me of everyone knowing had never gone away, I had just learnt to tolerate it. But in that moment, I panicked. My family did not know yet.

It was around Easter 2017; I was planning on telling my sister first. Plans to tell my parents had been delayed by my consistent failed attempts to walk into their bedroom at night where instead I stood with my fist ready to knock, unable to move. I always returned to my bedroom, tears flowing. My sister was at university, so Easter had to be it because she’d be home. What I didn’t account for was that she’d broken up with her boyfriend a few months ago and he turned out to be a right nutcase. Amongst the myriad of awful things, he did to her post-breakup, he found out about me through people. That Easter, before I’d had the chance, he decided to call her up and tell her in a way that was as if he had ammunition against her. He also told a whole bunch of other people I didn’t even know. Regardless, my sister sat me down whilst my parents were out and asked me if it was true. My heart thumped and my brain accelerated in that moment – say no, say no, say no, say no. I sighed. I couldn’t do it anymore; I couldn’t keep lying and I’d already planned to tell her. “Yes”, I said. She responded very positively and expressed that it didn’t matter, nor did she care, plus that her ex was an ars- not nice guy.

I went to university months later and had not come out to my parents yet. University was a huge exploration experience for me as I was finally able to be 100% myself, starting completely afresh. Living as a gay man but also as myself for the first time meant I began learning who I was, discovering a lot of the things my peers had been discovering at secondary school. I joined the LGBTQ+ Society and became the Vice President in second year. We did trips to London which solidified my desire to live there ASAP. I also joined the student newspaper and wrote all about my experiences in multiple articles.

In February 2018, one night out, I drunkenly fled the club to the smoking area and called my mum at 2AM. For 1 hour I sobbed down the phone to her, saying things like “There’s something I want to tell you, but I can’t”. I don’t remember what motivated me to do that, but I think it was likely to do with seeing all my friends in the club having a good time and getting checked out, flirted with, and danced with. My mum told me it was okay and to call her tomorrow. When I called her the next morning, she said “I feel that there is something you want to tell us about your sexuality and I want you to know that it is okay, it doesn’t change anything”. That morning, hungover in bed, I cried. What I didn’t know was there was a whole process for my Irish Catholic mother behind the scenes where she, herself, had accepted it. For her, there was an unpacking and letting go of the narratives of who her son would be that she had to go through. It wasn’t easy for her because our Irish Catholic family have some distasteful histories. After that and to this day, we often have conversations about it all and I had to inform her of what my life was really like the whole time I was in the closet. All the experiences, feelings, and thoughts that I’d had and hidden, I revealed to her because it was important to me for her to know what my reality was. She felt guilty but I assured her that, though it was hard, I don’t regret or hold negativity about anything that happened because it made me who I am, and I can’t change it so wishing it was different would be futile. I’m proud of who I am and what I’ve overcome, I’m focused on the future and what the world for me, and others, could be or should be.

To close that chapter in my life, I felt I had to do one more thing. I wrote a short paragraph and posted it to my Instagram. I felt I needed it to be out there completely. I hated the idea that people were whispering about me and wanted there to be no doubt in how I felt about it. I wanted to show pride and I wanted to show acceptance. Posting that meant no one would whisper about me because there was no secret to whisper about. And it meant there was no doubt in their heads about how I felt about myself. Since then, I’ve tried my best to keep that mindset and that promise that I made to myself.

That journey I mentioned at the start isn’t over for me. I don’t think it ever ends. Coming out is seen as the destination, but I disagree. Coming out isn’t the end goal, but the shifting of a very personal journey from internal to external. From enduring to enjoying. Joy is the goal and maximising happiness through authenticity is the path. I have come leaps and bounds though. I began reading another book recently called ‘Straight Jacket: Overcoming Society’s Legacy of Gay Shame’ by former editor of Attitude magazine, Matthew Todd. In that book, he states “Like many millions, at ten years of age (and for good many years after) I would have done anything to be like everybody else rather than endure the years of isolation I suffered” (p.32) and though that is concretely true, I can wholeheartedly say that now, at age 25, I cannot think of anything better than being gay and I wouldn’t change it for anything.

Thanks for reading!

~Luke