Zoey’s Story
For me, “coming out” started from the moment I could form my own opinions. I always wanted to wear my brother's clothes and dress in more masculine presenting clothing. I remember getting home from preschool and tearing off my dress because it made me uncomfortable. Though I was too young to explain and understand why, I felt the discomfort surrounding me and seep deep inside me. As I grew up, I would sneak wearing my brother's clothes when I was home alone and be happy every time I was allowed to wear his clothes. Now wearing my brother’s clothes didn’t make me gay or decide my gender however for me they were a way in which I could express myself without knowing what I was expressing.
As I got older, I started to drift away from my brother’s clothes as I had “aged out” of gender neutral clothing and it was not considered “cute” to wear my brother’s clothes anymore. I felt like I needed to grasp onto safety and wear the clothes my mom picked out for me on the H&M racks. The same feelings of discomfort surrounded me as when I would rip off my dress everyday after school, except this time I was older and understood why the discomfort was there, but had no one to grasp and tell. Throughout sixth grade, I would come home from school and write pages and pages of feelings displaying the amount of sadness, discomfort, and self lack of acceptance I felt because I knew I was gay. Pages and pages where covered in my tears and blue ink about how awful I was and how I disappointed everyone by being gay. I wrote how I could never share my secret and that I must live in misery forever. Not only was I telling myself this, but I was also trapped with it sounding through my home. At night, I would hear conservative beliefs projected throughout my home, as I fell asleep to a lack of acceptance. As I write this now, I wish I could hug 11 year old me. I felt so dirty for being me.
In seventh grade, I dissociated from my identity I knew was faith and reverted back to being straight. I became a character in a movie that was my life. I had costumes and script lines that I would practice over and over again. However, to me, this was better than being myself. Anything was better than being myself.
As eighth grade came, I ran from my identity even more. Though I still was playing my character, everyone around me saw through my bad acting. School became a test of my character as people saw through and called me gay slurs and assumed I was gay. Had my acting not been good enough, I wondered. At the end of everyday, exhaustion filled my eyes as it took energy to simply be. In sports, rumors spread that I was gay which made some people reluctant to be my partner for drills. This “rumor” controlled my life in all aspects. As quarantine hit, I finally got the break I needed to think and reflect on who I knew I was. Within three weeks, I had come to the same conclusion I had in sixth grade. The difference was that this time I wasn’t surrounded by the hate I had been with before. My dad had moved out and so had his conservative views surrounding my bedroom walls. I was able to accept myself within a few months this time. I was able to dress how I wanted. I was able to simply be without being my character.
A few months later I was able to tell someone and finally do what is considered “coming out.’’ As my breath got heavier, I picked up the phone and called my best friend. She answered and before I could get the words out I hung up with anxiety. I did this again and again until I finally texted her knowing I could never look someone in the eyes and say my deepest secret. Her response was filled with acceptance; something I wish my 11 year old self could have witnessed. This pocket of being able to be myself opened in my life as when I was with her I was not playing a role. This pocket soon grew as I told another friend. Then it grew again as I told someone else. This pocket soon became more of my life when I told all my friends. So far I had mostly been met with acceptance and felt myself able to exhale more and more. Finally, months later, I told my mom. For me, this was my final step. My hardest step. I wrote her a letter, left it on the counter, and walked outside until she texted me anything. After an hour with no response, I came home filled with fear. When I got home, I was met with acceptance however it took time before there was comfort between us. My actual coming out never ended as I still do it today. However, when I do it now, I do not feel the need to ask for someone’s acceptance. To me, that is the major difference between the first time you tell someone and coming out throughout life. Now, I am comfortable enough with myself that I do not feel like someone needs to give me acceptance. After my initial coming out, I was able to explore gender identity. My gender identity was different from my coming out, as I personally didn’t feel as obligated as I did before to need to tell others.
Coming out was a necessary process for me, however, for many others it is not that way or not as simple. Coming out felt like the exhale I had been waiting for my entire life. It was probably one of the best decisions of my life. Coming out is a luxury that some are not able to be met with and recognizing that I hope that anyone in those difficult situations reaches out to whatever resources are appropriate for their situation. I also want to recognize that clothing does not determine gender/sexuality, however, for me, they were a way that I could express my own gender and sexuality. If you feel similar to how I used to now, I want you to know that you are accepted, valued, and loved. For more information on my story please send me a question through the IUY website.
