Pride Month Stories:'My Coming Out'

“To thine own self be true,

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man” - Hamlet

When speaking to other ERG members about how we could use the celebration of Pride month to help educate others about the lived experience as a member of the LGBTQIA+ community, we wanted to pick subjects that were almost unique to our community, and help shine a light. We happened upon the idea of the ‘coming out’ story.

Everyone knows what ‘coming out’ is, many people have potentially had someone ‘come out’ to them, but in my opinion rarely do we stop as a society to think about what’s happening in the moment that someone utters those words… so I’m hoping to share a little of my experience here.

Firstly, every ‘coming out’ story is unique. Secondly, ‘coming out’ is not a single action that happens once in time, it’s often an ongoing process and it changes depending on the audience and the individual's circumstances. So often society at large takes broad terms such as ‘coming out’ and applies a socially acceptable narrative to them. This means often, even the pain endured by members of the LGBTQIA+ community, cannot be owned by us - it has to be diluted and watered-down to make it palatable for conventional society to ‘accept’ meaning they can feel good about their own ‘tolerance’.?

For many, when they hear ‘coming out’, they immediately picture someone sitting down with their parents and having an emotional breakdown. This is one scenario, for sure. For others, however, before even getting to this stage, the first time they need to ‘come out’ is to themselves.?

Growing up in 80s and 90s Britain, there were certain stereotypes of what it was to be gay. I didn’t identify with any of the accepted tropes - I wasn’t camp, I wasn’t white and I had no interest in ‘dragging up’. I just liked boys. For me, I was fortunate, there was no moment where the penny dropped and I suddenly had to confront my feelings - I was always aware of my feelings and for that, I feel pretty lucky. Often, this is the hardest, darkest and most destabilising form of ‘coming out’.

Over the years, I’ve spoken to a number of friends who actually did have a moment where they had to stop and recognise the thing they had spent so long ignoring or denying about themselves. And therefore, that moment of accepting themselves can often be considered the first ‘coming out’ moment. It’s sad, because to deny something you feel or ignore something you feel, you have to feel it and this is the internal battle that leads so many people to difficult places.??

For me, there were 3 major ‘coming out’ moments (and a million little ones).

Coming out #1

The first person I ever told was a friend, and actually, it was less ‘coming out’ and more slipping out… dropping (not-so-subtle) hints, making throwaway comments - I didn’t want to create a situation where I had to ‘tell’ them, I just wanted them to ‘get it’... and they did. If I’m honest, I have never stopped to reflect on this, but the idea of saying the words ‘I’m gay’ was just too much at this point in my life. To say those words out loud meant taking a different route in life. I felt the words were so packed with painful history, with negative meaning, with shame-inducing connotations and presumptions, saying it out loud didn’t feel like an option. I may have known the truth and I may have realised that at some point, if I were to ever be true to myself, I would have to say them - but I didn’t want to, not then. It was admitting I was different, it was believing I was letting people down, it was confirming my life, my family and my future would never be what was expected of me. So instead, I chose to leave the breadcrumbs and I was so grateful that someone picked them up and never blinked, stopped or questioned me, she just carried on being my friend. And it felt electric.?

By being able to finally live my truth a little more openly with another human being, it meant I was finally able to start exploring more. I remember logging into an AOL gay chat room, too scared to write anything, but just watching and reading as people discussed living the life I wanted to, openly… (Do chat rooms even exist anymore?!).

As I write this, I am so aware this is the first time I have ever reflected on this part of my life - it’s almost like the thing that had to happen, but the fear and anticipation I felt at the time still makes the pit of my stomach turn. But now, over 20 years later, let me finally take a moment to acknowledge and say thank you to my friend, Laura - the first person who truly knew me.

So there I was, able to live a partly gay life in the presence of one or two people. I met my friends Charlie and later Oliver and together we explored with intrigue what this world looked like - and had fun finding out. But these moments were lived in darkness, both metaphorically and literally. Sneaking around town in the evenings, checking no one saw as I quickly darted into a bar on Charing Cross Road (IYKYK). Throughout all the fun of these years, guilt and shame were still the overwhelming feelings associated with my sexuality.??

Over teenage years I consciously lost friends. It was easier to drift apart than to tell the people I was closest to the truth, I had a reputation and whatever it was - it wasn’t gay. The idea that I would disappoint them and the fear of rejection made it easier to blame our drifting apart on ‘distance’ and ‘growing up’. To these friends, I’m sorry. It just felt as though to truly live an open life, I had to shed the image I’d cultivated and nurtured, and embrace my truth. I have no doubt now, you would have steered me through this - I just didn’t feel I could risk it at the time. Charlie and Oliver, without who you were then, I would not be who I am now. Forever my boys!?

Coming out #2

University was a seminal moment. From day one, there was never ‘straight Chris’- I was ‘of no fixed decision, Chris’ - I guess this was a step closer to uttering those words ‘I’m gay’, but not quite having to say them either. A half way house, a manageable resting spot whilst I started to stretch the limbs of a new found freedom.?

This, as for so many, led to my second real ‘coming out’ moment - University (Shout out to RHUL). Only ever living my truth in the darkness of bars and clubs meant that I never took my ‘gayness’ home. That was until my first year at university when I moved in with two remarkable young women, Rachel and Lucy. It’s super funny to reflect on now; they were from parts of the country that meant they could probably count the number of black or gay people that had met on one hand, and yet, they were the most open minded people I had met, with hearts full of love and unbridled acceptance. They provided me a space to be able to not just live my ‘gayness’ at the edges of my life or in specific moments, but to allow me to bring it home and to be myself at home. If truth be told,? I never exactly came out to them either, they saw someone ‘heading out’ of the front door one morning and got the message. But this could have been ignored, they could have pretended not to notice, instead they asked me about it, we spoke about it and then we cooked dinner (Followed by the pub if I remember rightly)… and there I was, in my own home, not lying to anyone, gay.?

Lu & Rach, I never told you this before, but you changed my life by giving me my life. I can never thank you both enough.?

Coming out #3

I had friends, an active social life, a boyfriend and I was happy and living my authentic life… whilst I was at university. But some weekends I would go home, holidays would come around and as I packed my bag getting ready to leave my uni digs, it felt like I had to also pack away my university life, that is to say, I had to pack away who I was. As well as the associated shame of managing my sexuality, when I was living a dual life (which is in effect what it was), I was constantly living in fear of my family finding out and feeling like I had to endlessly hide any potential part of me that would give the game away. This wasn’t a case of dropping breadcrumbs until someone found out - absolutely not. It was an utterly different me, and yet, it also wasn’t.?

I still loved being with my family, singing along to reggae songs at the dinner table after Mum’s Sunday dinner, watching football on the sofa and cheering my beloved Arsenal… but it was a dull, muted version of me. It was me hiding who I was and lying to those I loved. Looking back now, I am not sure who I was protecting - myself from the potential rejection, or my family, from their broken dreams of my future - maybe it was both.?

One night, I had spoken to my partner and I decided that I couldn’t do it anymore. The weight of carrying this deceit was too much to bear. It was insufferable, every moment at my family home felt like I was gasping for air, and slowly feeling the lights around me darken. I hated lying, more accurately, I hated lying to my Mum. We had been through everything together throughout my childhood, often, it was just the two of us. She had made so many sacrifices in life to provide me with as best a future as she could, and it felt like I was ungratefully throwing it all away.

So one evening, I sat on the edge of her bed, and told her that my ‘friend’ wasn’t just my friend. On the upside, she thought I was going to tell her I’d gotten someone pregnant, so at least it wasn’t that conversation! Now, I’d been living a happy and open life with friends for so long, this should have felt easier. But it didn’t. I thought there were two possible outcomes: Either not tell her, and be overwhelmed by the pain of self-rejection; or tell her and deal with the rejection of the person you care about the most. This is how it felt ‘coming out’ - the two words seem so simple, but for me, they held so much weight. It was pain. It was fear. It was shame. It was embarrassment. It was years of mental self-harm. It was suffocation.?

It didn’t go well. We didn’t speak for some time. It was difficult for her to accept and understand. But eventually, she did. But more importantly, so did I. I was 19 and finally living my fullest, truest and most authentic life. After some time, we spoke again, but it took me 19 years to say the first words to my Mum that were truly all of me - and I felt elated. It was a freedom I cannot explain. Like being stood in nature with no one else around and the cool breath of rarefied morning air filling your lungs - it was lifegiving . The weight of lying and worrying about every picture someone posted on facebook, every receipt that fell from my pocket from a bar with a dubious name, gone.

It was truly the best thing I have ever done for myself. Or at least, it became the best thing.?

But this isn’t where it stopped. When I meet someone for the first time, or am in a meeting with someone new or join a new company, almost every time, I have to come out again. People just assume - they reference my wife or girlfriend, when I mention my partner they identify them with the pronouns ‘she’ or ‘her’. People, stop it. Even though all these years on I couldn’t care less what other people think, it doesn’t mean that I want to trawl through the shadows of the pain previously felt so deeply. So, stop it. If it’s relevant, ask someone whether their partner is ‘he’, ‘she’ or ‘they’ - if it feels too uncomfortable to ask, you probably don’t need to know, so, stop it!

Finally, as I said at the very beginning, everyone has their own coming out story, and not everyone has the happy ending that I was afforded. To everyone reading this that wasn’t as fortunate - I cannot imagine how difficult that was, I hope your chosen family continues to support and lift you up. To everyone reading wondering if they should come out, only you will know what is right for you, but take faith from the fact that I am an example that the freedom felt afterwards, outweighs the risk and fears I felt at the time. And for those of you who never have the need to ‘come out’, please support those who do by being thoughtful enough not to make them have to do it every day!

I used to wish I was different… and now I am delighted that I am!