“So I hear you're queer." an older family member recently commented out of the blue, once we were alone in the car. His consideration for my privacy was touching, though unnecessary, as I’m in the habit of publicly self-disclosing my sexuality, or rather, I am ‘out of the closet’, in conventional terms.
You may wonder, how can I really be 'out' if some family members are still learning about me being queer? This is because coming out is a never ending process. That is, unless you walk around waving a rainbow flag there will always be people in your life who don’t know, especially so long as you continue to make new connections.
"Yep, I am." I confirmed, wondering where he would take the conversation. I didn't feel the need to say anything more, explain or defend myself. And as this isn’t fiction, I won’t pretend to remember what his initial response to my confirmation was. Something appropriate, I’m sure, like ‘That’s cool.’ or ‘How long have you known for?’.
But I can remember what he said shortly after, and that’s what has stuck with me.
“I just think it's strange that I didn't know," he continued. It quickly became apparent he saw my sexuality as somewhat of a big deal. I fell silent, feeling conflicted.
On the one hand I agree with him. My sexuality is an important aspect of my identity, obviously impacting many areas of my life such as my self-expression and relationships. But on the other
hand, I feel like it's not a big deal at all, my queerness being just as much a part of me as my favourite song or my eye colour. I am a complex person, my sexuality does not define me, and I certainly don't consciously align my actions to fit any labels.
"I guess it just never came up in conversation." I replied after some thought. Years ago I had come out the more formal, stereotypical way, by sitting people down and solemnly sharing my secret. Nowadays, however, I am so accustomed to being openly queer that I frequently assume the people around me know, forget to tell them until they ask.
"It's odd that your mum never told us," he added, referring to other family members. "She could have said something in the group chat."
I understood that these comments were coming from a place of love. He wanted to know my sexuality because he cared about me, and I can only assume that if he expected my mum to share this information via text he would also expect her to share things like my plans for the future, my new job or my relationship status. But still, whilst they were well meaning, the words grated on me. Coming from somebody else, from a place of intolerance or hate, they could take on a completely different meaning.
"Why should my mum have told you?" I asked, while trying to locate the source of my defensiveness. And after a beat I added "Would you have behaved any different if you'd known earlier? Why do you feel like it's important to know?"
And if knowing my sexuality is so important, I thought to myself, why hadn't you simply asked me about it earlier?
I'm proud to be queer and happy for people to know so, but why is it my responsibility to announce myself? Or even my mum's, in this case. And why shouldn't straight people also assume this responsibility, also have to experience the difficulty of coming out? The typical ‘coming out’ process, that classic scene where you gather your loved ones and tell them in one definitive statement, can be daunting, awkward and feel performative. And that’s not to mention it’s often downright terrifying or dangerous, depending on your experience. I believe that wherever possible, coming out should occur naturally in conversation.*
I say this is what I believe, but when my aunts recently enquired whether I had a boyfriend I never made the effort to suggest that it was more likely I’d find a female partner. Surely that would have been the perfect point in conversation to come out? But something about the situation still bothered me, and I found myself letting the opportunity pass. Upon reflection, I felt that if I had chosen such a moment to come out it could’ve created tension. I'd be disagreeing with their expectation, subverting an established norm. I don't want to have to correct people anymore, have them apologise in turn. I'm tired of feeling like the odd one out, the exception to the rule, and I wish for coming out to become a more fluid process so that less queer people will experience this alienation.
In my admittedly idealistic vision, I should never have to take the first step in telling people. Instead, they would ask me if I have a partner, if I’m seeing anyone, or enquire about my dating preferences. This is just as easy as asking me if I have a boyfriend, but by using gender neutral
language signals that it's safe to speak openly, rather than simply assuming I'm straight and verbalising a prejudice for me to contradict.
This is what I truly desire when I say I want the topic to 'come up in conversation.' I'm asking for a shift towards the widespread use of more inclusive language. A shift that lifts a pressure from queer people and creates an accepting environment where we can all speak freely and comfortably about sexuality. No more burden to find the perfect words for that one weighted moment. And at the core of it all, the dissolution of heteronormativity.
*I do not wish to shame anyone who publicly announces their sexuality. How people choose to share and celebrate their queer identity is entirely up to them, and I am inspired when people speak openly and unashamedly on the topic. All I am trying to say is that this sharing should be their choice, uninformed by societal expectation or perceived obligation.
Further food for thought
“Why Do I Need to Come Out if Straight People Don’t Have To?”- Divergent Perspectives on the Necessity of Self-Disclosure Among Bisexual Women
“I’ve been thinking about why I haven’t come out yet. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t seem fair that only gay people have to come out. Why is straight the default?” - Love Simon
“I never said I was gay because guess what I didn’t have to.... I can be gay and not say something… You can be whatever you want without having to make a declaration.’’ - Damon Dominique
such an interesting post. until recently i thought my distaste for coming out was really just a shield i could hide under - i wasn’t ‘brave’ enough to come out; so i hid behind ‘why should gay people have to come out?’. Now I’m at uni and visibly queer - almost everyone assumes I’m gay, I mention my girlfriend and no one raises an eyebrow, in fact people are shocked to learn that I am attracted to men. But being assumed queer, everyone knowing i’m queer, even my extended family knowing, doesn’t bother me the same way the weight of ‘coming out’ did. It’s so much easier to come out by bringing your girlfriend to the function than by sitting your family down and saying ‘i’m gay’. It doesn’t welcome uncomfortable questions, or ask for approval in the same way ‘coming out’ does. it’s matter of fact - it says ‘this is how I am, and I am sure of it, and if you don’t know - maybe it’s because you never asked’. Anyway my suggestion is not that all ‘’’closeted’’’ gay people show up in a gay relationship, but that ‘coming out’ becomes as casual, as matter of fact, and as no questions asked as I know it can be - if straight people can just change their understanding of what ‘coming out’ means