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“Why I don’t celebrate National Coming Out Day”

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National Coming Out Day is October 11th and it means many things to different people. For some, it’s an invitation to announce your LGBTQ+ identity online with pride. I view the day as a chance to reflect on one’s own coming-out journey. As someone who overthinks more than not, I used to find a paralyzing fear in this holiday. The fear stems from years of neglecting this side of myself and worrying about the vultures who would tear my proclamation post apart. 

Social media feels like everybody is the judge and jury on your life. It’s your choice to accept or reject their verdict. Everyone has something to say about everything- especially if it’s mean. Through group chats or in-person roastings, your online life is being dissected like a frog in biology class. 

“Did you see Donna got bangs? In what world did she think she could pull that off.”

“Well Jackie just had another kid. A different baby dad… again.”

“Did you see Jonny’s coming out day post? So ridiculous. Like anyone ever thought he was straight?”

Growing up, I was petrified of being sniffed out as the gay kid. Though my Jersey suburbs were liberal and my parents open-minded, the fear of change suppressed so much of my queer identity. I lived so long feeling unready to ask myself the big questions. Afraid that everything would change. I focused solely on branding myself as anything but queer. I worked hard to be the class clown, then class president, always giving people something to talk about that wasn’t my sexuality. Why was I so content lying to myself and others? Something National Coming Out Day brings, like the Jewish holiday Yom Kippur or a freshly cleaned mirror, is self reflection. Introspection on something so serious was painful, nobody likes taking an excavator to their past. But this year, I want to share what I am learning (and unlearning).

We all grew up brainwashed, hoping to be like the heterosexual heroes from TV and movies. To win the day and get the girl became the standard aspiration for our role models, and that transferred to my impressionable little mind. I absorbed straight-laced media as society’s guidebook to an ideal life, the correct path. The alternative was to become a flamboyant villain, always set up to be the oddball, offender, and the butt of the joke. Jafar and Ursala beckoned me to their side of misfits, but I never felt ready. Did I want to be the hero or the villain in my own story? My middle school brain suppressed those urges (a la Book Of Mormon) and soon I was living a straight facade. 

National Coming Out Day can be used to reflect on how far you’ve come. I identified as queer before gay, not because I vibed more with the reclaimed label but because I incorrectly viewed ‘GAY’ as the deep end of the metaphorical LGBTQ+ pool. The point of no return, the daunting lane with ‘no outlet’, a severance from those picture-perfect lives I always wanted from my screens. It was, to me, a death sentence for the fairytales I longed to live my life like. I held shiva for what was, a years-long procession of self-discovery. What I failed to realize was that one door closing meant a more wonderful, gayer one was opening. 

Since sexuality is fluid, let’s view mine as a dam: the cracks finally gave way in college. Talking with older gay friends, a resource I never had back home, helped me believe in a future where being gay was possible. Or when I watched Steven Universe or the finale of The Legend of Korra, and saw same sex love represented positively on-screen. Perhaps National Coming Out Day is for remembering the moments that made us realize who we are and why we’re special.

When I did come out a few years back, my worst fear never came true. My friends never treated me differently for being gay. And opening up to them, then eventually my family, brought more validation and comfort than any social post could bring. My debilitating fear, the huge soul-sucking darkness that had been draining me for so long, was so quickly defeated. Like when a rainy day somehow finds a pocket of sunshine. But the light stayed, the weather in my mind shifted, and I’m living out and proud as f*ck. I have a pride flag hanging in my room, I’m writing for So.Gay, and I work through my fears and doubts. Because no matter where I am, I will never be back in that closet. 

Ironically and iconically, Climb Every Mountain from The Sound of Music came on to inspire this analogy. Coming out isn’t standing on the mountaintop, shouting to the world below that you’re gay. It’s every moment leading up to, and after, that terrifying climb. A treacherous journey of self-doubt and tumultuous indecision. Passing pitstops of procrastination and avoidance, finally getting to a place where you feel safe enough to ask yourself big life-altering questions. And being brave enough to withstand whatever answers come your way. 

I know now that the closet was likely glass for a lot of my life. I never really hid my obsession with Kesha or red carpet dresses. So I’m grateful to my loved ones for giving me the space and time to figure it out. That’s all anybody really wants- to not feel like The Truman Show. With all eyes on you for something out of your control. I’ve learned the only perception of gayness I can truly shape is my own, and that’s why I’ve dedicated my career to embracing my gay AF voice. It’s why I’m thrilled to be writing for So.Gay, the fastest-growing new gay media brand. 

I come out to inspire hope for the little gay kid who may find the courage to ask himself the tough questions before they’re college-bound. Maybe he can find somewhere safe to spread his wings before he clips them himself. 

I’m still unsure if I’ll ever post a rainbow-clad slide deck for National Coming Out Day, but that doesn’t take away how loud and proud I will always be. Holidays come and go, my f*ggotry is forever. 

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