Shortly after moving to Seattle, I began seeing a therapist who specialized in work with the LGBTQ+ community. I moved across the country with the intention of coming out to my friends and family but needed some help to cross the finish line. Up to this point, I had been sneaking around, living through apps, and sharing coded social media posts. The secrecy of it all was exhausting. I needed to free myself from the shackles of a burden created both internally and by outside forces.
Sitting in the office of my therapist, we talked through my fears. We worked through my preconceived notions. More importantly, we made a plan. I needed to find small wins to work through those issues that scared me. In these wins, I would find my slice of community. With more confidence, I would work toward coming out to those I love and, eventually, the world.
First, I started dating. I used some of the more reputable dating apps to meet people, expand my network, and find comfort in those with shared experiences. Next, I began attending networking events focused on bringing together young professional members of the LGBTQ+ community. Here, I would meet people standing outside of “the scene” focused on advancing professionally while still being true to themselves. At these events, I met people who I still consider some of my best friends in Seattle.
As the weeks passed, I began constructing my ideal partner. Nothing reveals the truth like a bad date. I also expanded my network, built new friendships, and felt more confident walking around Capitol Hill. Soon, the weeks turned into months, and I decided it was time to begin telling friends. Instead of endless individual conversations, I wrote a letter and emailed it to 25 people who meant the most to me in this world. Overwhelmingly, the feedback was positive. All 25 people said they had my back and were happy to stand next to me throughout this journey.
With this monumental load lifted from my shoulders, I turned my attention to my family. My family was owed a face-to-face conversation, but I could not bring myself to do it. A lifetime of experiences was keeping me from taking the next step. In the end, I mailed my mom and dad a letter. It arrived in late October, and I did not hear from my parents for four weeks. Then, unexpectedly, I got a call asking if I was coming home for Christmas.
Back in Oklahoma, my mom and I finally had our face-to-face conversations. There were a lot of tears and even more questions, but more importantly, our love overcame the challenge. I knew my mother and father needed time to mourn the idea of who they thought I would become. In its place, they would need to build a different version of me.
The next year, the Supreme Court of the United States issued a ruling making marriage equality the law of the land. That same day, I shared the letter I had shared with friends and family. Finally, I was out. I was free. I was the truest version of myself. To this day, that letter remains the most read post I have ever shared.
But my battle was not yet won, not fully. My last battle was at the workplace.
In progressive Seattle, I should have known better. My co-workers would have supported me, but still, I could not shake the feeling. The thought of being out at work seemed like an impossibility. My friends could change because a new support group wrapped themselves around me. Telling my family felt like an impossible choice, but I was mentally prepared to lose something to build something else. But to mess with my workplace was dangerous. Coming out there could endanger my livelihood.
In fact, it was not until we decided to make the move to Los Angeles that I decided to reveal my relationship. Of course, I was wrong once again. My co-workers were amazing, supportive, and everything I hoped they would be.
In Los Angeles, I decided there would be no hiding. A picture of my partner and I together would sit on my desk. I would openly talk about Brandon in the same fashion as my colleagues when they discussed their partners, spouses, or significant others. My fears of being blackballed, spoken of in damning whispers, fired who I loved, not being afforded opportunities for professional growth, and developing as a leader were all replaced by pride. I am proud of who I am and who I love. Everything beyond that is out of my control.
My coming out story, both personally and professionally, is a story written by the fears and stories of others. I have met homeless kids kicked out of their homes because of their sexual orientation and/or gender identity. I have read stories of separated families and friendships suddenly ending. I know the suicide statistics for this population are born out of isolation, loneliness, and depression. For far too much of my life, I feared those stories would be mine. So, I hid my true self away in a closet until it became unbearable. I was forced to make a choice. It was either their feelings or me. I chose to live my truth. Fortunately for me, it was the greatest decision of my life and, more often than not, my family and friends defied my expectations.
