The Messiness of Coming Out

How the differences of each coming out experience shaped my queer life.

Coming out is such a pivotal moment in the life of a queer person. It has the ability to either make them grow and spread their wings or cower and continue to hide their true selves. Each coming out experience is different, though, and there isn’t one way to do it because we all have our own set of factors that help or hurt us in our development as a queer person. 

I’ve had many conversations with my queer friends on their coming-out stories, and I’ve been able to hear a wide variety of situations. From being exposed and having to confront it to plainly being asked if they were gay, I noticed how each story has one thing in common. They remember their coming out experience so clearly, as if it just happened the day before. Being able to be vulnerable and tell your truth to friends and family is such a special moment that, whether it went good or bad, it’s something that stays with you forever. From tears to laughter, I know one thing is for certain: coming out is not clean; it’s in fact very messy. But I’m getting ahead of myself; let’s start from the beginning.

I was born on June 1, 2005, and being a Gemini, my poor mother had a long road ahead of her in raising me. I was flamboyant from a very young age, but from my obsession with Hannah Montana and always carrying a purse, you wouldn’t be able to tell. When you’re that young, you never notice how your interests don’t align with society’s expectations of you, and like other young queer children, I never realized that my passions differed from the other boys. From preschool to third grade, I just liked what I liked and lived my life with no care as to how feminine I was being. 

Then came 4th grade, the year that changed my life. 2014 was a great year in itself; we had the highest job growth rate since 1999, “Shake It Off” by Taylor Swift was blasting on the radio, and the ice-bucket challenge was trending everywhere. Another huge thing happened — I was entering my first all-English class. You see, every class that I was in before was an English learners program, so I was surrounded with people from my culture who never batted an eye at my extraness. But that year I was with new kids who, let’s just say, weren’t used to me. Being around new people really opened my eyes to how different I was, because imagine my surprise when I realized that the other little boys didn’t put a pillowcase on their head and pretend it was a wig. 

Luckily, I found my tribe in a group of girls named Sienna, Julia, Leslie and Dominique. These four girls really made me feel comfortable with my differences and opened me up to a whole new world of “girliness” that I never got to experience before. Like I’ve said, prior to this year I never felt different or had an idea of what “gay” was. Just out of nowhere I figured out what my differences were called: homosexuality. And in true Diego fashion, in the back of the classroom I called each and every one of the girls and told them, “I’m gay.” I was met with nothing but love, acceptance and a whisper about how this doesn’t change anything. And I remember how warm it made me feel knowing that my friends loved me. They were the first people I ever told, and little me didn’t know just how freeing that experience truly was. But as I look back and remember us giggling as we walked to music class, I realize that those four girls gave me the courage to stand in my truth and feel comfortable being myself for that year and the next. I think that’s what makes what comes next unfortunate for little Diego.

My last two years of elementary school were so fundamental in my queer life because I was able to grow, experiment and truly live my life with no care. I performed in chorus, gossiped with girls and was having a gay old time –literally. Yet with sixth grade approaching, I knew things were going to be changing; I just didn’t know how much. My friend group was all over the place, and I was meeting people who clearly had a problem with my gayness. From trash being put in my hoodie to my feet getting stepped on, I had a huge realization that people didn’t like me just because of who I was attracted to. At first, it was hard to swallow, but after my mom told me, “It doesn’t matter what you are, Diego; you could be a Martian. You just have to be strong because it won’t be easy for you,” the sting of others quickly vanished. 

I wasn’t ready to come out to her just yet, but hearing that started to put a lot into perspective. You see, my mom and I have always had a close relationship. As a little kid, I remember sitting in her lap as she was getting her pedicure done, mimicking the massage they would give her hands. But I knew I had to come out to her first, though; she was (now my cat) the most important person in my life, and revealing my truth to her would liberate me in ways I could never imagine. She’s the type of woman that’ll give you the blunt truth even if it hurts and I’ve learned to respect it as I’ve gotten older. I just had to find the perfect moment to tell her, and I figured it out: right in the middle of our Christmas shopping. In my head it made so much sense because I would tell her, she would accept me, and then we would move on, but oh boy, was I wrong. 

We were in her car about to turn left on our way to the next store when I told her, “Ma, I like boys,” and by the look of her face she was shocked. Not shocked because I was gay, shocked because I chose that moment of all to tell her. I mean the first words she said were, “Really!? You tell me now when my mind is everywhere thinking about Christmas,” but then followed it up with, “What about it? That doesn’t change anything.” And to be honest, I don’t know what I was expecting when I told her, I think because my mom had always been soft with me in that moment it felt like anything but that was “bad.” In her mind she didn’t want to make it a big deal because it didn’t change anything but to me it just felt uncomfortable. 

Reflecting now, I think she was just scared, scared for me and scared for how the world would treat me. But I remember sitting in the Hallmark parking lot (ironic, I know) crying because although I was supposed to feel free, all I felt was uncertainty about what to do next. It didn’t go at all how I expected, and I left the conversation feeling confused. I knew that she didn’t not accept me, but I didn’t know where I stood, and I think that’s the reality with a lot of these coming out. On one hand, you feel free because you finally told someone your truth, but on the other hand, it’s like you’re waiting to see if something did change or for the other shoe to drop. At the time it just felt like a huge energy shift, and I don’t think my mom caused that shift intentionally, but no one tells you what to do or how to go about it. It’s not like I had some all-knowing gay Dumbledore to show me my path; I had to do that all myself and it’s very intimidating. 

To be honest, the messiness of it all is the information you remember and how you interpret that information. As I’ve talked with my mom about this recently, she told me a lot of supportive things, but I was just too in my head about the tone and wording that it didn’t come across like that. I now view the situation like this, though: I may have come out to my mother, but she let me come out to the world, and that’s something I’ll never be able to repay, besides the other years of schooling, house over my head, and food I eat, but regardless. As it stands now, my mom and I are closer than ever, and I think it was through her reaction I’ve been able to understand her more as a mother and a person, and I love her for that. 

After coming out to my mom, I walked with a pep in my step that allowed me to be unapologetically gay for the next couple of years. At that pointm everyone in middle school already knew, so I was comfortable in my body, no matter the opinions of others. I was outrageous, extra, dramatic and ultimately happy. 

I was on such a rush in eighth grade I had even come out to my older sister, Daniela, and stepdad, Ken. Although we weren’t close at the time, being vulnerable with my sister gave both of us the space to be ourselves with no judgment, and Ken had been in my life since I was six, so being honest with him made us feel like more of a father and son than we already are. But remember when I said that every coming out experience is different? Well, take that in as I tell you about how I came out to my biological dad, or more so how my dad came out to me. 

Like my mom, my dad had obviously noticed that I wasn’t like all the other little boys. I loved carrying a bag and would turn the most unconventional things into storage for all the random papers I carried with me. These “interests” didn’t upset my dad, but they weren’t something he would necessarily encourage. I remember being obsessed with a play-dough bag that was supposed to hold all the cans, but I obviously just used it as a purse, and one time before leaving the house, my dad firmly scolded me about leaving it at home. At the time I just thought he was being mean, but I definitely didn’t have the courage to speak up. 

In all honesty, I don’t think my dad had a problem with me being gay because he never gave me trouble with it; it was more so a personal thing of what he thought “gay” meant. While he may not have been open to it, my mom made it known he also wasn’t going to fight it, either. But as years progressed, my parents divorced, more people came out, and his ideas also started changing. 

I’m not sure what the “big” moment was, but it was around elementary school that I noticed that the dad from my childhood was different, yet that didn’t mean I was ready to come out to him. But there I was, 14 years old, feeling on top of the world. My close family and friends knew that I was gay, and I felt comfortable in that spot. I knew I had to come out to my dad; I just didn’t know how I wanted to, and I struggled with that the whole summer leading up to my freshman year. Although I knew it was time to tell him, I wasn’t mentally preparing for a declaration, so it caught me way off guard when he said, “I know you’re gay, Diego,” at one of our hangouts.

 On the car ride home from my half-brother telling my dad his girlfriend was expecting, my dad, ever the sentimental man, was talking about how happy he was in knowing that his children were doing well and that they lived the life they wanted. It was right next to the AutoZone on Mannheim Road that he dropped the bomb on me, and I was left to do the only thing I could: accept it. 

As someone who has been fighting my sister’s idea of “He already knows Diego,” him telling me that I was gay felt weird. That’s honestly the only word I could use to describe it because he was saying really accepting things, but in my head, I was too focused on being outed to my dad by my dad that I just wanted to get out of the car as soon as possible. I don’t remember how long we actually sat in his car, but it felt like an eternity for me as I just wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. 

I don’t view that moment as him robbing me telling him, but it switched the dynamics a lot. It was the closest thing I’ve had to being exposed, and it made me feel like I was being put on the spot because how could I respond to that? “Oh, yay, you finally figured it out.” I was fortunate to have him be supportive, but in the back of my head it hit me, at what cost? 

With time the weirdness I had been feeling vanished and my dad and I have been able to build a more honest and vulnerable relationship, something that I don’t think would have happened if he didn’t come out to me. 

As I wrap up, I want to leave you with a couple of things. First, if someone is ever coming out to you, don’t say “I already knew” because while it may seem accepting, it can actually invalidate the whole experience of coming out. I lived through many of these experiences, some that I didn’t even mention today, both good and bad, and anytime that I heard those words, it felt like I had to get defensive ,which is not how you’re supposed to feel. 

But each experience that I’ve shared with you holds a lot of importance to me because I was able to learn something about my queer identity. My fourth-grade girl group opened my eyes to new ideas about femininity, which allowed me to blossom in my homosexuality; my mom in her own special way set the foundation for my unwavering confidence; and my dad quite literally forced me to be open with him, which strengthened our relationship. Each person made me feel something that heightened my experience as a gay person, and that’s very privileged. I was fortunate to receive open arms from the people in my life, but others aren’t as lucky. That’s why it’s important as allies to be there as chosen family and fill the void. Like I’ve said before, coming out is not clean, both figuratively and literally, but that doesn’t mean it should stop us from being honest about who we are because at the end of the day, it’s okay to get a little messy here and there.

Header photo by Elliot Allison