Coming Out

The first time we come out can be memorable. However, we don’t just come out once in our lives, but many, many times.

A lot of people think that when you come out as LGBT etc that it’s only something you have to do once. Unfortunately, this isn’t quite true. Every time you start a new job, join a new team, join a new social group, register with a new doctor, apply for a job, fill in a health questionnaire etc you’re having to come out, again.

I came out at 26. I have continued to come out almost weekly ever since. Every hospital appointment, every hotel booking, every new job, every curious stranger… Each and every time, I feel anxious.

Care homes have a high turnover of staff which means we would have to constantly come out.

The risks involved in coming out can range from minimal to huge, with potential impact on important relationships (family, friends, colleagues, employers, service providers) and in extreme cases result in slurs, violence, further “outing” to other people, or long-term bullying.

I (gay man) came out to my daughters 25 years ago, and I haven’t seen them since. And one of them is married to a woman! When she got married, she invited me to her wedding. I asked if I could bring my partner and she said no, “It might upset mum.” I didn’t go in the end.

I’m out to everyone but not the doctor’s – it’s the power thing – what if they are homophobic?

When we know in advance that we might face a situation where we must decide whether or not to come out, this can cause worry and anxiety.

If I come out to workmen at my house, are they going to do an inferior job because they hate gay people? You hope that workmen from big companies like British Gas will have had training on it, but what about local contractors?

We (lesbian couple) went to barre class this afternoon. Bloke wandered over, stood a bit too close. I was dreading him asking if we’re sisters.

Even now, when I join a new group I think “OK, do I come out on day one? Do I manage this process? Do I let it evolve?” I have decisions I have to make all the time. It’s always hard and it’s continuous, even now when I join a new group, maybe take a new kind of volunteer work, I have to think – at what stage do I come out to these people? What kind of people are they? How are they going to take it? Even now today – which is kind of embarrassing but that’s the result.

In most situations, we are assumed to be heterosexual and cisgender[1], which can often lead to awkwardness (and sometimes humour!).

We (lesbian couple) went to the car showroom together to pick out a new car. The sales assistant said, “When are your husbands getting here?”

I (gay man) bought my partner some chocolates for Valentine’s Day. The checkout assistant asked if I wanted a receipt, and I said yes. He joked, “Yeah, bro, in case she doesn’t like them”. I could have corrected him, but I didn’t have the energy.

On my last visit to the sexual health clinic, […] I (gay man) was asked about recent sexual contact. The doctor asked “is she a regular or a casual partner?” despite him having just read my notes. This made me feel uncomfortable and again saw me coming out telling him that it was in fact with a man. “Oh” was the only reply I got.

[1] Cisgender: Identifying as having a gender that corresponds to the sex one has been assigned at birth; not transgender.

We don’t always know when and where we will be put into a situation where we must decide to come out. Sometimes, it can catch us off-guard.

I (lesbian) went to a concert at church. I got into a conversation with the woman next to me. She asked, “Have you got someone coming along?”. I didn’t want to get into it.

I (lesbian) was a volunteer gardener for Age UK. I missed a week with a regular client because I went on holiday. When I came back, the client asked about my holiday, and said: “Did you go with your husband?” In that moment, to avoid a complicated conversion, I just blurted out “Yes”, and immediately regretted it. I realised that I would either have to carry on lying, or I would have to contradict myself and explain.

I (gay man) work part-time at a language school, teaching English to adult students from all around the world. It was lunchtime, I was hungry, and I wanted to get my sandwiches from the communal fridge. A German woman was standing in front of the fridge, waiting for the kettle to boil. I wasn’t her regular teacher, and before I could tell her I just needed to get my sandwiches, she started asking questions – who are you, why don’t you teach full-time, where else do you work, etc? My other job is for an LGBT+ organisation, and so I had to make a decision whether or not to come out to her. By this point, other students had started filtering into the room, some from countries where being gay is punishable by death sentence, and in that moment I decided not to. Instead, I told her about my previous job at a local music venue – a simple white lie, or so I thought. But she continued asking questions: what do you do there, what kind of events do they have, I love jazz, can you get tickets for me? One of my colleagues joined in the conversation and said, “But I thought you quit that job ages ago. Have you gone back to it?” All I wanted was my sandwiches. What a mess!

The setting could be private (e.g. a friend’s kitchen) or public (e.g. an event or place of business).

I (gay man) went to the barber’s. Every time I go, she probes a bit further – nothing untoward, just the usual “getting to know” questions. The conversation came on to her husband and I had a chance to say something about my partner, but there were quite a few customers and their families sitting behind us, so I decided not to say anything.

We might react differently in situations where we come out. We might come across to others as graceful, charming, funny or matter-of-fact, or we might seem angry, bitter or evasive.

I (lesbian) was on the phone to the Co-op Bank about something, and the assistant said, “What about your husband?” I must have been feeling particularly brave or indignant in that moment, because I said, “Actually, it’s my civil partner.”

Trans people’s experiences are often different from lesbian, gay and bisexual people’s, although there is some overlap.

When people look at me (trans woman), they usually know I’m trans straight away, so I don’t need to come out. But I suppose when I’m on the phone, I’ll sometimes get “sirred”. I just try to make a joke of it.

Bisexual people’s experiences can be subtly different from lesbians’ and gay men’s.

I (bisexual woman) am married to a man now, but when I was younger, I had girlfriends. I treasure those memories, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about them with friends in the village.

We can experience all kinds of reactions from others when we come out. They might be positive, professional or accepting. They can also show well-intended curiosity, dismissiveness, microaggressions, or overt slurs or violence.

I (lesbian) worked in a charity shop. I went on holiday, and when I came back, one of my colleagues asked, “Did you go with your husband?” I said, “No, I went with my wife.” The woman said, “Oh, how exciting!” It was positive at least, but I still wasn’t sure how to respond.

It tends to stop conversations when you say, “I’ve got a husband” (gay man). They go off on a tangent to avoid talking about it. It’s like they’re saying, “Why are you bringing this up? Why are you rubbing my nose in it? Why do you want special treatment?”

Sometimes, consequences of coming out might not be immediate, but felt over a long period. Friendships can deepen or erode, or low-level bullying can start.

I (lesbian) had a friend at college. We always said we’d get back in touch after ten years, so when that time passed, I wrote to her. For a brief period, we exchanged letters, mainly about our jobs and professional lives. Then she asked if I was seeing anyone or married, and I wrote back and told her about my same-sex relationship. I never heard from her again.

I came out to a friend, and she was upset because I’d told other people before I’d told her. She stopped speaking to me after that.

We might be left feeling regret if we choose not to come out. There may be practical consequences, e.g. loss of trust, later awkwardness, or increased likelihood of loneliness and isolation. And quite often the longer we leave it, the harder it is to come out later.

When you’re evasive, people think you’re rude and not forthcoming. E.g. when I (lesbian) started a new job, colleagues asked:
“Are you married?”
“No”
“Have you got a boyfriend?”
“No”
They think, well, isn’t she rude?!

We can come out unintentionally, for example, through our clothes and possessions. Some LGBT+ people carefully edit their lives in order to control who knows about their sexuality or gender identity, particularly if they start needing to rely on others for care.

What is in my house that might upset and offend someone who came in to care for me? Which pictures and books should I put away?

Much of Shropshire, Telford & Wrekin is quite rural, and experiences of LGBT+ people who live in the county can be subtly different to those who live in more urban parts of the country. In these rural areas, transport is less available, communities tend to be smaller, and people are more at risk of loneliness and isolation. This can be compounded for LGBT+ people.

I (lesbian) am fairly new to the county. One day, I was out for a walk and I met my neighbours, a straight couple. The husband asks me: “What does your husband do?”. I say, “No, it’s a woman”. They’re embarrassed, I’m embarrassed, the wife tells the husband off. I HATE it! It’s like they build up a picture of you and it all collapses.

We might feel that coming out is an important duty as a representative of the “LGBT+ community”. Once one person comes out, it can make it easier for others.

I (lesbian) volunteer with older people and it has never occurred to me to come out – but maybe that might make it easier for them if they wanted to.

It might be easier to come out if we have support from someone. For example, lesbians, gay men and bisexual people might feel more confident about coming out if they can frame it around a relationship.

I (gay man) find it easier to come out if I have a partner.

Coming out again and again requires a lot of energy. It often gets easier, but it can also be exhausting.

All our lives we have to come out to people – to come out or drip it in – all that energy and each one makes my heart race.