Getting Out

So TL;DR:
I’m Bi! I have been for a while. Happy Pride, Y’all. 🏳️‍🌈

Writing this is an exploration of how I got to 35 without ever “coming out” in a public sense, and why I deliberately chose to do so now.

Part of what spurred this was I realized this year I’ll have explicitly known about my own sexuality for longer than I haven’t, as it was clear to me around 17/18. I’ve also lost count of the number of Pride months that have come and gone where I’ve thought “Does anyone actually care about my sexuality?” I’ve long and somewhat conveniently held that conversations around sexuality and sex are best held in discretion. Conversely, I’ve also spent most of my adult life learning to identify/correct limiting and negative self-talk that’s predominantly a response to the ridicule, ironic detachment, and straight up bullying I’ve been exposed to for most of my formative years.

First of all, growing up in the South is kind of a trip. I love my dad. We have a pretty good relationship. It’s also not perfect. As an adult in my 30s, my impetus for coming out to him was actually less than ideal: Bewilderment and outrage in response to him saying that “liking boys” was “something wrong” with some we knew, and implying it was a sickness. It also took my mom, more recently, sharing things I was too young to remember at the time, for me to realize my dad spent some of my youngest years yelling at and ridiculing me for being too effeminate. I grew up in a house where few emotions were celebrated so much as anger.

My life’s also not some trial by fire. I’m a white dude who spent grade school in an affluent Atlanta suburb, passing for straight, had a pretty stable and supportive family and access to good education. Still, High School to College in Rural Alabama was a bit of a hostile monoculture, and with love to my friends and family there I don’t exactly miss it. What can I say? 15+ years outside the south and I haven’t seen an actual fistfight since I moved, contrasted with literally losing count of the number of people there who’ve told me they didn’t like my face.

Moving to LA at 19 opened up my exposure to just about everything by an order of magnitude. . . . Different friends. Different coffee shops. Different cultures. Different career choices. Different opportunities to grow as an adult. The one thing I’ve most come to take for granted is people who are matter of fact, inquisitive, and above all respectful and celebratory about the differences between them and others.

The legacy of my upbringing was a brittle facade of masculinity and friendliness with a quick temper and a boatload of shame. It’s only by the grace of my friends and loved ones who saw better in me that I’ve grown from that.

I count myself lucky for a lot of things, but above all I feel lucky in my 14+ year relationship to my wife, Sarah. She’s been nothing but patient, honest, kind, and genuine with me. As I’ve come to measure success, I share most if not all of mine with her. She’s also been the person who’s most encouraged me, as the person who gets to see beyond my personas, to openly wear most of me that I otherwise keep hidden.

So why talk about this?

Beyond the conversation of actual sexuality is a meta-discussion of openness, identity, and acceptance. It’s been my experience, based on societal patterns of toxic masculinity and patriarchy, that men tend to have more open emotional relationships with women than other men; *especially* given where I grew up. (I think there’s also subsequently an undue burden on women for emotional labor, but that’s a whole other discussion :) I’ve always felt a disappointment in that. I can also point to a few relationships I’ve had with men, and not just in a romantic sense, where I felt permission and safety to not hide who I am. To not lie by omission. There’s a deep fraternal bond there. A true Joy and sense of freedom. It’s like upgrading from coach to first class in a “spiritual legroom” sense. Like realizing there was a whole world that didn’t exist before you discovered it.

My knee jerk to be discreet about my sexuality has long been from a fear of ridicule or just plain indifference. Given enough time and thought, I realize what I miss is the opportunity for more connection and growth…. and all because of people who likely just don’t have that. People don’t know what you don’t tell them. Nobody reads minds.

So this is that. As above, so below. I obviously didn’t have that encouragement, and hopefully this exists as encouragement to others. As I get older, the more life feels like a process of getting to know yourself. The longer I’ve been alive, the more respect and appreciation I have for people who are matter of factly, infectiously, and unapologetically themselves.

And what is it to have something if not to share it? ❤