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This is the first post I wrote for my own blog. The first piece of writing of my own coming out story, the first time I acknowledged in print that this was my new reality. It was written a few months ago, and a lot has happened since then, but it still means a great deal to me because of what a huge step it was at the time, so I wanted to share it today.

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Today I happened across the story of Sean William Kennedy, a 20 year old gay man who was killed in a brutal hate crime last spring. I’ve read far too many of these stories before. I’ve always reacted strongly; with sadness, confusion and anger that such hatred exists in this world. I’ve reacted strongly, and then gone about my day in the way that we are all able to do after reading of tragedy – with the blissful notion that it will never touch us.

This time it was different.

This time I had not even gotten through the first paragraph when my body began to shake, and tears came to my eyes. I felt dizzy, and like I was going to be sick. I couldn’t breathe for a moment, couldn’t see straight. It was a reaction so visceral and intense and for a few moments it overtook my whole body and mind. I was not prepared for it. I still don’t feel like I have fully recovered.

I was sad and confused and angry just like I have been before – but this time I also felt something that went far beyond those emotions. Today, as I read the story of how a young man was killed because of his sexual orientation, I felt solidarity and I also felt something akin to fear.

Why is it different this time? It is different because now these stories are not just about human rights and equality and right vs. wrong. Now they have become personal.

A few weeks ago, in the bathroom of a random bar, a stranger asked me the question, “Are you straight?’. I started to answer, and I don’t even know what I had been about to say, but I paused for a second, looked into her eyes and said quietly and firmly, “No, no I’m not”.

And in that one seemingly insignificant moment I forever changed how I identify myself to the world.

I’m not straight. I’m not now, I probably never really was, and I never will be again.

I have lived almost 32 years as a mainstream white, middle-class heterosexual woman. I have lived the last eight years as a mainstream white, middle-class, heterosexual, married woman, and the last six years as a mainstream white, middle-class, heterosexual, married mother. I’ve been a good girl, played by all the rules, the very picture of cultural conformity. I have never been a part of any minority or marginalized community, and I have enjoyed all the privilege and comfort that comes with fitting so neatly into the cultural norm.

As I move more and more into a place of honesty within myself and in the life I live, all that is about to change. The last three months have altered so much of what (I thought) I knew to be true about myself and shaken all my assumptions to the core. I cannot go back now, only forward.

In this new space that I find myself, the tragedy of Sean Kennedy’s death hits me on so many different levels. As I sit here writing this blog post, I suddenly realize that at some point I will be the target of prejudice and hatred. Perhaps – if I’m lucky – not directly, but certainly indirectly. Maybe it won’t happen to me personally, but certainly it will happen to someone I know and care about. I might be blessed and never have anyone say anything to my face, I might not lose any friends, and I might not alienate my beloved family.

But I will know – because I cannot avoid this knowledge – that there are people who will hate me simply because I am being true to myself. People who will stare, and whisper and turn me into a thing of curiosity if they get a chance. People who will work hard to exclude me, to limit me, to marginalize me; politically and socially and personally. People whose bigotry and ignorance are so strong that they are sometimes moved to commit unspeakable acts of cruelty and violence. People who cannot see through their own bias to catch a glimpse of the humanity that connects us all.

There are people all around me who already hate me (they just don’t know yet that it’s me that they hate) simply because I no longer align myself with the prevailing cultural notion of exclusive heterosexuality. Doesn’t matter that I don’t exactly know how I do define myself – all it matters is that I’m no longer a part of that club. Although there are no outward signs of this inward transformation – I am already ‘other’. I feel this in a profound way.

If I continue this journey of truth (and really, there is no choice but to continue) there is almost a guarantee that this will become a part of my experience. It might be up close and personal, or it might be at a distance, but it will be.

I live, for the most part, in this liberal utopia – where it is easy for me to forget that much of the world is filled with intolerance and narrow-mindedness. I have chosen to surround myself with people who understand that true equality can know no exception, and who believe, as Ghandi said, that “we must become the change we want to see in the world”. I have, over time, distanced myself from individuals who have rationalized their prejudice with convoluted “truths” taught to them through their religion and education and upbringing.

My little corner of the world is my safe haven. And that’s all well and good as long as I stay in this corner. It’s also nice and easy when I’m not doing a damn thing to rock the boat. But now I’m ready to break free, to own myself, and my truth. As I prepare to step out of my little corner I ask myself, what now?

I guess on some levels my path might be easier because of my physical appearance. Physically speaking, gender conformity plays a big role in the label we assign someone based on first impressions. No matter how I define myself sexually, I can still ‘pass’ – my appearance does not automatically brand me with a big ole’ scarlet “Q” for queer. But what of the friendships I make within this community? What of the women I am attracted to and want to be with? I can already tell that most of those women fall somewhere outside of traditionally assigned cultural notions of femininity. And by being with them, by embracing them and loving them for who they are – I will be outing myself to the world.

I already know I’m ready for that. I want to own this, publicly. I need to do that, first and foremost, for myself. I am not willing to hide, or cower, or cover up who I am. I’m not afraid of encountering prejudice and hatred. I think a part of me almost welcomes the opportunity to counter that hatred with my own self-acceptance. I want to stand and say for the first time in my life, without hint of apology or shame;

“This is who I am – take it or leave it.”

Visit Me: awakenings: navigating the spaces between in and out