In the run-up to #NationalComingOutDay
tomorrow, I’m thinking about how “When did you come out?” is complicated.
It took 14 years from the time I told anyone about my sexuality until I changed my byline for the newspaper and wrote in my farewell column about my gender identity.

It took 14 years from the time I told anyone about my sexuality until I changed my byline for the newspaper and wrote in my farewell column about my gender identity.
A *lot* happened in the years between. I was afraid of disappointing my family above all but I was also afraid of being picked on. and only being seen for being queer before anything else, like being funny or into metal or whatever.
I was afraid of what that label meant.
I was afraid of what that label meant.
I can’t tell you I don’t have regrets for not coming out sooner. I do. I missed out on too much and spent too many years going to bed broken-hearted every night, wishing I could just live as “her.”
Yet the timeline of my transition led me to stop letting fear dictate my life.
Yet the timeline of my transition led me to stop letting fear dictate my life.
My gender dysphoria peaked in 2012 when I couldn’t keep going on living a lie by presenting as male.
I didn’t want to go into my 30s feeling hopeless.
I needed hope, knowing that confronting the fear of the unknown was preferable to an unsustainable existence of doing nothing.
I didn’t want to go into my 30s feeling hopeless.
I needed hope, knowing that confronting the fear of the unknown was preferable to an unsustainable existence of doing nothing.
So often, what keeps us closeted isn’t ourselves as much as a fear of how others will perceive us, react to us, judge us or accept/reject us.
But why should someone else get to judge us while being themselves when we can’t?
It’s our lives, our identity and our truth - not theirs.
But why should someone else get to judge us while being themselves when we can’t?
It’s our lives, our identity and our truth - not theirs.