In honor of National Coming Out Day, I wanted to share something that’s been on my mind: coming out isn’t a one-and-done kind of thing. It’s not like you declare it once, drop the mic, and walk off into the sunset. Nope. It’s more like this ongoing, sometimes awkward, sometimes empowering process that happens every time you meet someone new. Every introduction feels like this little mental calculation: “Do I mention it? Should I say it now? Are they going to assume? Should I correct them?”
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I’m 31 now, and while I’ve technically been “out” for a few years, I’ve realized that the most important part of coming out wasn’t telling other people. It was coming out to myself—and learning how to actually accept that. That’s where the real work started.
Here’s how it unfolded for me:
Stage One: Questioning (aka The Mental Ping-Pong Match)
At first, it was all about questioning—like this non-stop, internal ping-pong match. “Is this a phase? Am I just confused? Why do I feel this way? Wait… do I like them, or do I just think they’re cool? Or both?” Spoiler alert: it was both.
I overanalyzed everything—my friendships, my crushes, my reactions to movie characters. But weirdly, while I was dissecting every part of my life, I somehow managed to avoid directly confronting my sexuality. It’s like I was standing next to a giant, flashing neon sign that said, “Hey, maybe you’re gay!”—but I just kept looking everywhere else.
I didn’t talk to anyone about it. Not because I didn’t have people who would’ve listened, but because saying it out loud felt too real. So, I kept it tucked away in this little mental box labeled “Deal with later.”
Stage Two: Internal Acceptance (aka The “Oh, Sh*t… It’s True” Moment)
Eventually, I hit a point where I couldn’t ignore it anymore. That’s when the real shift happened—not when I told someone else, but when I admitted it to myself: “Yep… I’m gay.”
And let me tell you, that realization was both terrifying and liberating. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid, but the Band-Aid is your entire identity, and underneath it is this mix of fear, relief, and “Okay… so now what?”
Accepting it didn’t mean I was immediately proud or confident. Honestly, it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down at all the potential ways life could change. “Will my friends treat me differently? Will my family still love me? What if people don’t get it?” That fear was real. But even with all of that, there was this quiet sense of peace—because at least I wasn’t hiding from myself anymore.
Stage Three: Finding Support (aka The Scariest, Yet Best Thing I Did)
The first person I came out to wasn’t some big, dramatic moment. No heartfelt speech. No inspirational background music. It was more like blurting it out in a casual conversation because holding it in felt heavier than the fear of saying it.
Choosing who to tell first mattered. I picked someone I trusted, some
one I knew would hold space for me without judgment. Their reaction? “Oh, cool. Thanks for sharing.” That was it. No fireworks. No dramatic pause. Just simple acceptance. And honestly, that was perfect.
From there, it got easier. Not easy—but easier. Each person I told chipped away at the fear until it didn’t feel like this giant secret anymore. It’s wild how much lighter you feel when you stop carrying the weight of hiding.
Stage Four: Pride (aka Learning to Love That Part of Me)
Pride didn’t happen overnight. For a while, I thought, “Okay, I’m out. That’s enough, right?” But there’s a difference between acknowledging who you are and actually embracing it.
Pride showed up in small moments—like not correcting someone when they assumed I was straight, or wearing something that felt more “me,” or talking openly about my life without censoring it. It was in the little things that added up to a big shift: “Yes, I’m gay—and I love that about myself.”
I started to feel this freedom I didn’t even realize I was missing. It’s like I could finally exhale after holding my breath for years.
Stage Five: Relationships (aka Navigating Love, Awkward First Dates, and All That Jazz)
Dating after coming out felt like stepping into a whole new world. It was exciting and terrifying all at once. I had to unlearn so many things—like how to flirt (still working on that, honestly), how to communicate what I wanted, and how to be vulnerable in ways I’d never been before.
There were awkward first dates, heartbreaks, and lessons learned. But there were also moments of connection that made all the fear worth it. I realized that love doesn’t have to look a certain way to be real. It just has to feel honest.
Stage Six: Telling Family (aka The Conversation I Rehearsed 1,000 Times in My Head)
Coming out to family was the hardest part. I rehearsed it so many times in my head—imagining every possible reaction, from supportive hugs to dramatic disownment (spoiler: it wasn’t either of those extremes).
When I finally did it, their reactions were mixed. Some were supportive right away; others needed time. And that’s okay. People process things at their own pace. What mattered was that I was honest, and that honesty gave me the space to be my full self around them.
If you’re reading this and you’re not ready to come out to your family yet, that’s okay. Your safety and well-being come first. There’s no deadline. Do it when you’re ready, and not a moment before.
Stage Seven: Finding Balance (aka Just Living My Life)
Here’s where I’m at now: being gay isn’t the most interesting thing about me. It’s just a part of who I am—like my love for coffee, my terrible sense of direction, or my obsession with ’90s R&B playlists.
Coming out isn’t a straight line (pun intended). It’s messy, beautiful, scary, freeing, and deeply personal. There’s no right way to do it. No perfect timeline. Just your way, in your time.
You deserve that.
