I grew up knowing that I never really fit in in my hometown. I believe the first time I heard the word “fag” being used against me was when I was in 7th grade. I remember the shame and pain of that word and its association. I remember that for the next couple of years until I was a senior in high school I’d be taunted and harassed for being gay and I didn’t even know I was gay. I guess other kids are much more perceptive. School, though full of harassment, was gonna be my ticket out of there. I knew I needed good grades to get out of this small working class town. So I worked really hard and escape I did, I was accepted into a prestigious private liberal arts college where I traveled the world trying to escape who I was. I found refuge in the tropical forests of Cameroon, then to the warmth of the south of France and all across western Europe for almost two years. Always looking for something new and never confronting who I was dead on. It was easier to learn another language and culture than it was to dig deep inside and come out.
It took New York City to finally make me confront myself and to forge who I am today. It took an out lesbian to ask me at work, even before I knew her name, if I was gay and for me to just say yes before I realized it was okay. Sure I was basically out to my friends since senior year of college but not to my family or truly to myself for that matter. And now here I am living in New York, five years after graduating college, trying to be an artist which basically has meant waiting tables to a hard-to-please clientele in midtown. I’ve been out to my family for about the last three years and I’m still finding it hard to go back home. I was told that I wouldn’t be allowed to bring home my “male lovers.” I was asked if there was a pill I could take to make it better because it wasn’t natural. I was asked how that might affect me getting a job if I was gay. I understand that these questions weren’t meant to be hurtful or harmful, they just never thought they’d have to experience this in their small-town upbringing, but they still sting when they come from your parents.
Now I rarely call home and I have a sense that there’s still a lingering disappointment, both professionally and personally, in their voices when we talk. I talk to a therapist on a weekly basis and I think in my quest to find myself I’ve also not done such a great job at trying to talk with them about this, to bridge the dialogue about what it means to be gay and how it’s so far from their preconceived notions. They say things like this get easier over time and I’m sure that is true. But I wish that I could heal the wounds faster and to have a life with them that my brother and sister both of whom are married share with them.
Brandon,
As sad as it may be, you probably will never have that relationship with your family as your siblings. Then again, it says more about them and their rigid views of the world than about you. Parents/families come in all flavors. Mine didn’t come around until I stopped pushing them to accept me. Although surprised at first, the parents of a friend of mine opened their arms to me when he came out and we became a couple. Relationships change. Work on creating your own family of friends and making your life meaningful. It’s the only thing we have control of. Realize that the adversity you’ve encountered can help you to be stronger as a person. Being gay is a gift. It allows you to question things that others accept without thinking. It allows us to not be a cog, but to think for ourselves, decide what’s right for us, and thrive as caring, and hopefully, less judgmental individuals.
They need to realize this isn’t you now, but that this has always been you. Never ever, ever, give up…always flight the good fight. What better place to start than at home. The only way racism, bigotry, or any kind of oppression will ever be conquered is to keep fighting and to keep voicing how wrong it is! Being a martyr today makes it possible for someone in the future to have it better than you did. I am proud of you and I am just as good as any family member you have.
In the wise words of an LGBT advisor to me: “It took me 22 years to come out to my family and fully accept myself, to myself, for who I was. For me to expect them to do it any faster isn’t really fair.”
Time is the worst thing in the world–it never stops, never pauses, waits for no one, and is constantly ticking, constantly passing by, is ever present, yet is the one thing that can bring about real change. Yet, however long it took you from the moment you realized it (12?) to the moment you finally came out and accepted yourself for who you are is the least amount of time one can truly expect from others, especially those closest to them who likely are going through the same struggles to accept it as you yourself did.
Of course, I suppose I’m being somewhat hypocritical as I myself haven’t even come out to my family, or really fully accepted myself for who I am, but I’m working on it. It’s a process, and an unfortunately long and likely painful one…but don’t let the odds beat you! As difficult as it is, finding the friends who are there to support you throughout the ordeal is key, as they can give you the hugs and chocolate and love that will get you through this
You’ve overcome a lot, and it’s unfair that you (and many others) must keep on struggling. Hang tough, though. As the saying goes, “It’ll all work out in the end. If it hasn’t worked out yet, then it’s not the end.”
What your parents do is not in any way your fault. I’m sorry that they are so thoughtless about your feelings. There is always hope that they will learn.
I have pretty much the same story. I have been called fag a lot in the past. I moved to NYC where I belong to. I feel much better. It wasn’t easy but it was worth it. Never give up!