When I came out to my family, over the phone, my dad said he still loved me. My brother said, “Good, more p**sy for me!”
When I came out to my dad he told me he was sad, because “lesbians are alcoholics more often.” I found this ironic coming from an alcoholic from a family of alcoholics. He’s become supportive since then, and I’ve added my own Gay Family to my biological one, for times when I want to be with (not-alcoholic) people who accept and understand.
When I came out, my mom was confused because she thought I’d already done so, in a hypothetical conversation TWO YEARS EARLIER when a classmate had come out and been rejected by his parents. Now she is helping me and my partner pick out our wedding dresses.
When I came out to my mom it was only because I’d just been released from the hospital and I was high on painkillers. She held my hand as she drove me home.
When I came out to my parents at 17, my mother said, “Oh, we’ve always known that.”
When I came out at the age of 36, I would regularly catch myself giggling at how silly it had been that I hadn’t done it sooner.
When I came out in the ’80s, I thought I would finally have some place to belong. Turns out I wasn’t the right kind of gay, either. I’m still alone, without a tribe.
When I came out, I felt a very heavy load lifted off my shoulders. Years of depression and self-hate went away. I abandoned 37 years at a church that couldn’t accept me and went to one that does.