Tuesday 22 April 2014
Sunday 6 April 2014
Coming out [again]
I was 19 when I told my sister, one late drunk night, that I was in love with my best friend and had been for 2 years. I held that secret tight for such a long time that one of the very last to know, when it just didn't matter any longer, was actually my best friend. Holding those feelings inside for so long damaged me, it threw me into an emotional paralysis that defined the next 28 years of my living, and along the way nurtured some very bad habits. The inner world I carried so protectively became heavier with each year passing, as I struggled to live in two very separate spaces – 1 private, the other public. Reconciling the two has been a life long struggle, and although I am not a famous person (twitter followers: 128), I understand something of the battle to hold a private and a public self in one, juggling the two incoherently, dropping balls and ricocheting into tabloid headlines - I 'drank too much, said too much, and there's nowhere to go - but down.' (The Smiths – Disappointed).
My sister was not only not shocked by my revelation, she was also largely disinterested, ‘Is that all?’ were her exact words - she was spending many of her nights out in Auckland’s infamous Alfie’s Nightclub, a safe haven for gay boys and their friends. Since that night I have been telling friends, family, acquaintances, boyfriends (sorry) and sundry strangers about my unrequited love(s), and by association my sexual preference. Passing on this piece of information has generally been done with fierce heart palpations, a pale face, compressed speech and wild unfocused eyes, so that my friends’ response to ‘I have something I have to tell you’ is huge relief that I’m ‘only’ gay and not facing cancer or seconds away from cardiac arrest.
It would be funny. If it it wasn't. I've been coming out for 28 years, and, after all this time, its still as difficult as it was and sometimes just as shocking as the day I realised how I felt about my best friend. A couple of weeks ago I took my partner to a work function and effectively outed myself to my work colleagues who didn't know (a) I had a partner, (b) she was a woman and therefore by deduction that (c), I must be gay. My close friends at work knew but I certainly avoided going into detail about my weekends, my internet dating escapades, standing in the kitchen where others might overhear. Six months ago I popped a framed photo of my partner on my desk at work, she, in stark contrast to me, after 28 years in hetrosexual relationships came out with what I can only describe as a bang. She told pretty much everyone she knew in the space of 3 months. I was alarmed at the speed of this coming out and cautioned her, quite a few times, to slow down. But I looked at my own life and felt inadequate in comparison - no area more so than at work. In an era that embraces diversity, mandates it even in certain sectors, I realised looking at my friends who are very much out and proud in every aspect of their lives, that I was letting them, letting all of us down. So, with nervousness, much trepidation, wishing I had never accepted the invite to drinks, thinking up excuses to explain non attendance at the last minute, I took my partner to 'the ball', and, had a great time (after a few steadying champagnes). The next day one of my work colleagues said to me, 'You play your cards close to your chest!'
Coming out is an inside out operation, ultimately it hurts ourselves more than the people we resist the telling.
My sister was not only not shocked by my revelation, she was also largely disinterested, ‘Is that all?’ were her exact words - she was spending many of her nights out in Auckland’s infamous Alfie’s Nightclub, a safe haven for gay boys and their friends. Since that night I have been telling friends, family, acquaintances, boyfriends (sorry) and sundry strangers about my unrequited love(s), and by association my sexual preference. Passing on this piece of information has generally been done with fierce heart palpations, a pale face, compressed speech and wild unfocused eyes, so that my friends’ response to ‘I have something I have to tell you’ is huge relief that I’m ‘only’ gay and not facing cancer or seconds away from cardiac arrest.
It would be funny. If it it wasn't. I've been coming out for 28 years, and, after all this time, its still as difficult as it was and sometimes just as shocking as the day I realised how I felt about my best friend. A couple of weeks ago I took my partner to a work function and effectively outed myself to my work colleagues who didn't know (a) I had a partner, (b) she was a woman and therefore by deduction that (c), I must be gay. My close friends at work knew but I certainly avoided going into detail about my weekends, my internet dating escapades, standing in the kitchen where others might overhear. Six months ago I popped a framed photo of my partner on my desk at work, she, in stark contrast to me, after 28 years in hetrosexual relationships came out with what I can only describe as a bang. She told pretty much everyone she knew in the space of 3 months. I was alarmed at the speed of this coming out and cautioned her, quite a few times, to slow down. But I looked at my own life and felt inadequate in comparison - no area more so than at work. In an era that embraces diversity, mandates it even in certain sectors, I realised looking at my friends who are very much out and proud in every aspect of their lives, that I was letting them, letting all of us down. So, with nervousness, much trepidation, wishing I had never accepted the invite to drinks, thinking up excuses to explain non attendance at the last minute, I took my partner to 'the ball', and, had a great time (after a few steadying champagnes). The next day one of my work colleagues said to me, 'You play your cards close to your chest!'
Coming out is an inside out operation, ultimately it hurts ourselves more than the people we resist the telling.
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