When I came out, I lost all 34 members of my family to anti-gay hatred. They declared war on my life; ten years were lost to “ex-gay” ministry, and my place at the table of the heart of my family’s love was never recovered. After 12 of the greatest years of my life with my wonderful partner, I realized that I wasn’t the one with the “problem”; I’d do it all again even earlier; and the educational system and churches in this country are not nearly as honest about real people’s lives as they need to be.
When I came out to my uncle, he was more freaked out about me being a vegetarian than a lesbian.
When I came out in 1978 I worked up the courage to tell my Mom about it, and she said, “Oh I know that, Honey.” She finished by saying that her only regret was that she’d “never be able to dance at my wedding.” I thought about that all day on October 9, 2004, when I married my wonderful husband, Scott.
When I came out at 42, I was sitting at my dining room table with my parents. Before I even said a word, my Mom said, “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re going to break your father’s heart.” I turned to my much-loved Dad and said, “Dad, I’m gay. Does that break your heart?” We’re closer than ever, and they love my wife.
When I came out to my mother (after moving out) I told her that one of the reasons that I hadn’t told her earlier was because I didn’t want her to feel like she had to choose between her religion and her daughter. She said, “Why would I choose anything over my child? Thank you for finally feeling that you could be honest with me.”
When I came out, I was in the back of the car with my parents driving because I didn’t want to see the looks on their faces out of fear. It was an unjustified fear.
When I came out to my mom, she said she’d had a feeling since I was four years old. I told her she might have clued me in at some point. We laughed, cried, hugged, and were okay. A few years later, after I’d divorced my wife and had been in a relationship with my (now) husband, she said, “I like him so much better than your ex-wife.” Her last words, on her deathbed, were to him and me: “You guys are a godsend.”
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.