Gay People Come Out Every Single Day

When we have to tell strangers or new friends about our sexual orientation, we have to breach the closet doors all over again.

“That was a lovely eulogy you gave.”

I turned away from the buffet table to see two strangers, an older couple, a man and a woman, dressed entirely in black, “Such a sweet young man, your grandmother must be so proud,” the older woman cooed. Friends of hers, I supposed.

“Thank you,” I mumbled politely, trying to nab some hummus before the platter was empty. It was two hours into my grandmother’s wake and I hadn’t eaten all day. I felt empty inside — tired, and hungry.

The older couple continued to engage in small talk — where I lived, my job, my family — until they hit the most important question for nosy older folks. “So…do you have a girlfriend back home?” The man asked.

I paused.

“Uh, well,” I gripped my wine glass tightly. I was hoping a family member was nearby who could swoop in to intervene, but everyone was greeting mourners themselves. I cleared my throat. “Um, I actually have a boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

One word was all she needed to say. The woman pursed her lips and steered her husband’s elbow away from me.

I felt a pang of sadness, followed immediately by a pang of guilt for feeling this way. How on earth can I feel sorry for myself at my own grandmother’s funeral?

I scooped a dollop of hummus onto my plate, alone.

Gay people don’t come out of the closet just once

Of course, the first time is the most important: when we reveal to our friends and family who we are and who we love. It’s a unique and personal experience for every gay person, who face a varied spectrum of emotional reactions: love, support, backlash, hatred, or trepid acceptance.

Regardless of the reaction, any queer person can attest that it feels like a weight has been lifted off of our shoulders and we are free to move through the world like a new person.

I’m not here to talk about the first time someone comes out. Or even homophobia we endure in many instances. I’d like to discuss what I call ‘mini coming-outs’ — when an out individual has to reveal their sexual orientation or identity to new people.

‘Mini coming-outs’ are the countless times after that when we are forced to reveal our sexuality, sometimes in unpleasant ways. To strangers. To coworkers. To clients. To friends of friends.

Mini coming-outs in unsafe spaces

When gay people are forced to talk about our sexuality in places we aren’t comfortable in— foreign countries, the backs of taxi cabs, work-spaces — these mini coming-outs are stressful, to say the least.

I live and work as an educator in China, a country where pride parades end in shootings, and I regularly experience problems. From middle-aged bar owners who sneer at my boyfriend’s hand enclasped in mine, to the side eyes I get in elevators when they look at my feather earrings or feminine clothes.

Obviously, I am not new to the concept of homophobia, but discussing my sexuality for the first time is especially difficult in these places.

One time, on the way to the airport in Beijing, a cab driver asked me in Mandarin “Are you looking for a Chinese Měinu?” he asked. Are you looking for a beautiful woman?

I told him I prefer Shuàigē — gentlemen. He paused, taking his eyes off the road long enough to give me a heart attack. At the next red light, he started slapping his hands together in a graphic sexual demonstration — probably someone interpretation of what he thought gay people did in the bedroom. My friends in the backseat, all straight, guffawed with the cabbie. I forced a grimace and looked out the window.

But it goes further than unpleasant conversations at funerals in the American South or in the back of taxi cabs. These mini coming-outs can have profound impact on our daily lives.

I live in a state of subdued anxiety about my sexuality’s awareness. What if one of my students’ parents find out? They could pull my student from our tutoring sessions and cost me a lot of money. What if other parents follow suit?

Gay people like me often have it worse. Even if they are fully out of the closet, they never know if revealing their sexuality to someone — a boss, a cop, a religious leader — will result in consequences.

Of course, there is an easy antidote: lying. Whenever we’re in a space where we don’t know how people will respond, we could simply lie — pretend we have an invisible beard for a conversation. And many gay people are free to choose this. But I don’t.

It feels wrong to keep part of me inside the closet door, even if it’s just a pinky toe. I carried that weight for too long to put it back now.

Mini Coming-Outs in Safe Spaces

Of course, most of the time — on college campuses, my friend circles, most urban centers — it’s no problem at all. No jokes, no homophobic remarks, no grimaces, no awkward exits. No fanfare to speak of.

When my roommate’s work friend asks me about my personal life, it’s unlikely that he’ll call me a fag after finding out about my boyfriend.

Even so, every time I’m forced to say the word ‘gay’ out loud to someone for the first time, I scrutinize their face.

I don’t do it consciously. I’m looking for any subliminal emotions that can flit across a person’s face when they receive unpleasant news. Did my new client just looked a bit disgusted? Is my brother’s new girlfriend shocked? Did his brow furrow? Did she purse her lips?

I often feel guilty for examining people like this. I know the vast, vast majority of people in my friend and professional circles are young, liberal, diverse, and open-minded. The vast majority are loving and accepting.

It’s a defense mechanism that is hard to shake off. And I’m not sure that I would want to even if I could.

There are people who can cause great trouble for a gay person…if they so choose. It would only take one tantrum from one angry parent at my school before I’d face severe financial trouble.

But that’s not the problem. The problem is that gay people don’t know what’s on the other side of the closet door.

Every time a gay person comes out, to a stranger, a friend, or a family member — we don’t know how they will respond. It could be a message of tolerance or it could be a slur. We could be embraced or we could be fired. It could be an outstretched hand or it could be pitchforks.

Even if it’s not hatred, it could be something smaller. Condenscenion. Disgust. Annoyance. Stereotyping.

The problem arises when someone who I cannot easily cast out of my life reacts negatively. A family member’s fiancee. A manager. A client. A roommate.

What happens if I meet my manager who wrinkles their nose every time they see me wear a piece of feminine jewelry? What happens if my brother’s new girlfriend doesn’t want to see pictures of my boyfriend? What happens if a new member of my friend group wants me to be their gay best friend and nothing else?

These are all forms of homophobia and they all pop up in unexpected places.

The problem isn’t that these coming-outs result in hate crimes and cruelty (although, in a small but unfortunate number of cases, they do). The problem is that gay people never know the end result. And so, each one can cause us anxiety.

Straight allies can reduce this heteronormativity in a few ways. First, and most obvious, be mindful and accepting of queer people — especially in settings that we may not be used to. Secondly, use gender-neutral language whenever possible. Ask if we’re seeing someone, not if we have a girlfriend. Say ‘spouse’, not ‘wife’ or ‘husband’. My trans siblings will appreciate this language as well.

These language patterns help ease the transition. When conversations don’t begin with the premise that our sexuality is abnormal, it reduces our anxiety of having to break that norm.

It’s easier for us to feel accepted if we don’t feel like the exception.

By Björn Jóhann