Last year, I began pursuing my master’s degree in social work, a decision I am grateful to have finally made. After teaching for a number of years, then moving into community engagement and legislative advocacy on a national level, I found myself without a job. I went from one non-profit to another, but the longer I stayed in administrative roles, the further away I felt from the work I had deeply enjoyed in the classroom.
I began reflecting upon my career path and the positions in which I had felt most alive. In my searches for other work opportunities, almost every job posting that aligned with my values and interests required an M.S.W. I vacillated for months on whether or not this was the right choice for me, but finally decided to apply just weeks before the deadline. Now, each day in my coursework, I am learning something new about a profession that makes me feel like I was made for this.
Most recently, I’ve begun an internship with the Trevor Project – a suicide prevention line for LGBTQ young people—and during each moment of my time there, I continue to learn more about myself, the world around me and how I want to exist in it.
To “come out” is a process rather than a single moment or event.
When I began my time at the project, I had to participate in various training sessions that covered many topics before I could start working with individuals. Through these sessions, thoughts surrounding my own sexuality came to mind and the journey of how I got to be where I am today. Though I’ve known since childhood that I was attracted to other women, I didn’t understand what that meant for me until more recent years in my life. I definitely didn’t know what that meant for me on a social level in terms of friendships and family, or on a societal level, when it came to public policy and opinions.
During one of my training sessions, we discussed what it means to “come out,” that to disclose how one identifies is a process rather than a single moment or event. This was the first time that I had heard of coming out in this way, especially since movies and media often portray a person coming out to their families as the one and only moment that catapults them into publicly living their identities. I recall one scene in which a young person came out to their father as he cooked in the kitchen. It was a tense yet quiet conversation, built on a rocky relationship between the two, but it was peaceful and offered a sense of relief for them and the audience. But as for my own experience, my coming out didn’t take place in a single moment, which is why the definition I came across in training really resonated with me.
I’m no expert on what it means to “come out,” but in my own life, it has truly been a process with a lot of stops and starts. I remember distinctly in elementary school that I thought it was normal to have a crush on my friends, until I was teased about it by the boys in my class. Sometimes, kids would point at me and the other girl and laugh. One time the teacher’s son shoved me up against a wall and got in my face. I was probably six years old. Naturally, I felt defeated and attacked, and it was during this time that I began to feel like I had to hide a part of myself.
In middle school, I tried extra hard to blend in and be just like my friends. I conjured up endless crushes on the boys in our class, but by high school, the effort to show everyone that I liked boys was a burden, especially when I began to see a handful of LGBTQ students on campus living their sexuality openly. Maybe that could be me too, I thought. They looked so relaxed, and I felt so restricted. Could I be relaxed like that, living as the person God made me to be? I attempted to come out to a friend by sharing with her my most recent crush on a girl in our class, but she sort of shrugged it off—whether it was because of unacceptance or indifference, I couldn’t tell—so I tried again with with another friend, hoping they would receive me more positively and with affirmation.
Could I be relaxed like that, living as the person God made me to be?
This second friend happened to be a fellow Christian of another denomination. She was one of my closest and oldest friends, so I thought she would be the person I could trust to offer a loving response. Instead I was met with judgement. We remained close friends, but it took nearly two decades before I could fully be myself with her again. The rejection by such a close friend at that time also left me with the feeling that I had to hide myself on a larger level, and I essentially went back into the closet.
By the time high school ended and I entered college, I was exhausted by the prospect of dating men, so I mostly stopped dating altogether. While I didn’t date women either, the crushes continued to bubble and rise, even as I remained trapped in my hiding. Thankfully, as many do, I found a new friend in college and became very close with her. After a huge amount of courage I came out to her as we sat in the car together. Though I prepared myself for condemnation and isolation, this friend met me with neither of those things. Instead, I was met with kindness and openness. She didn’t question my sexuality, didn’t judge me, nor did she let it change our friendship. Even more, she didn’t “out” me to anyone else. She held onto my trembling confession like it was hers to protect and hold sacred.
Despite this loving and welcoming acceptance, I would still not live my sexuality openly for another 13 years. Having learned that being gay was a “sin,” I thought my only choice was to enter religious life if I didn’t want to marry a man or remain single and on my own. So I became a religious sister and found myself back in the closet, thinking I was doing the “right” thing. It wasn’t until COVID-19 hit and I had extra time in solitude that I started to realize I was denying the whole person God made me to be.
At that same time I also became close with a religious sister from another community, and as that friendship grew deeper, I started to ask myself questions I had long been avoiding. Why did I enter religious life? Was my heart really in it? What if I truly believed God loved me no matter what? Would I still have chosen this life if I felt it was okay to be with another woman?
Whether you find yourself in hiding like I once was or living openly as your whole authentic self, I hope you can experience the love and tenderness we all deserve.
The answer to that last question ultimately led me to the decision to leave, even after having already made my final vows. The answer to that last question was no. No, I would not have entered religious life if I had let myself love and be loved in a way that was true to me.
I did not “come out” in the convent; but when I left, I felt more free to continue the coming out journey. The other woman religious whose friendship I cherished also left, and we dated long distance while I explored life for the first time as an independent woman.
You’ll be happy to know that the three friends I came out to in my youth were all bridesmaids in my wedding last year. Yet, even as I celebrate a year of marriage with my wife, the “coming out” continues. Every time I look someone in the eye at my place of work, the dentist’s office, the grocery store, the auto repair shop and have to say, “my wife” for the first time, it’s another coming out, with a different reaction to receive each time.
I share this story with you because maybe you are always coming out, too. Or maybe you haven’t yet found a safe space or person to receive your coming out. Either way, it’s a choice we are faced with every day, and every day another decision is made. Then again, maybe you are someone who’s never had to come out because you experience attraction to the opposite sex. If that’s you, and you happen to receive someone’s sacred coming out, please remember they’ll have to do this many times in their life. Be gentle with them, so they can be gentle with themselves.
Perhaps, eventually the process of “coming out” won’t need to exist, and it simply won’t be a big deal for someone to love another person of the same gender or even a non-gendered person. But for now, whether you find yourself in hiding like I once was or living openly as your whole authentic self, I hope you can experience the love and tenderness we all deserve.
