Ade Leader | 25 | Nottingham, England | Copywriter
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When I was 9 years old I watched Batman Forever for the first time. At the time I thought it was great. I loved the gadgets, I loved the Batmobile, I loved the special effects and I loved Batman. Scrap that - I loved Val Kilmer. I wanted him to be my big brother and to take me out for the day so that I could show him off. As time has passed I’ve realised that those feelings were the beginnings of an attraction to men and that Val Kilmer was always destined to be a haggard middle-aged man. In August my boyfriend Lee posted his story on this site. (You can read it by clicking on that purple link). I obviously knew it already, but reading it again and seeing the comments below made me realise how different myself and him are. His coming out story is full of drama (if you know him, you’ll know that is just the way he rolls) whereas mine hardly even exists. Here's my Coming Out story . . . |
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I didn’t really know that I was gay at school, which is surprising considering that everyone else there seemed to have cottoned on. While I knew that I was attracted to men, I managed to convince myself not that it was a phase, but rather that it was one tiny part of me that didn’t matter and that I could ignore. I wanted to grow up, to have a gorgeous wife and 2.4 children. I was jealous of the guys who were confident enough that all the girls flocked to be around them (you know the ones - they’re all fat and ugly now and have 4.2 children that they can’t afford to look after).
Things changed in sixth form. I realised that I was trying to fight my real feelings. I knew I had university coming up and as someone who was shy with new people and who found it hard to make friends, I wanted to make sure that I was as true to myself as possible. The problem was that I also knew I wasn’t ready to come out; the thought of it terrified me. I couldn’t imagine having the courage to stand in front of my family and friends and tell them that I liked boys. I had only just admitted it to myself. I was also living in Lincolnshire at the time and, as a county, it isn't known for its liberal views
I decided that I would be openly gay at uni and to hide it from everyone back home. This would be my transitionary period which would let me be myself, but at the same time cling on to the nice life I had at home. What if my parents rejected me? Me and my parents have always had a good relationship, and while I’ve always been a bit of a closed book around them, they’ve known the important things and been there for me when I’ve needed them. But just before uni, my Dad and I were constantly having arguments and I was worried that coming out would affect that even more. We're the kind of people who don't back down in confrontation which would often lead to us not talking for days at a time - much to the dismay of my Mum (sorry about that...).
Things changed in sixth form. I realised that I was trying to fight my real feelings. I knew I had university coming up and as someone who was shy with new people and who found it hard to make friends, I wanted to make sure that I was as true to myself as possible. The problem was that I also knew I wasn’t ready to come out; the thought of it terrified me. I couldn’t imagine having the courage to stand in front of my family and friends and tell them that I liked boys. I had only just admitted it to myself. I was also living in Lincolnshire at the time and, as a county, it isn't known for its liberal views
I decided that I would be openly gay at uni and to hide it from everyone back home. This would be my transitionary period which would let me be myself, but at the same time cling on to the nice life I had at home. What if my parents rejected me? Me and my parents have always had a good relationship, and while I’ve always been a bit of a closed book around them, they’ve known the important things and been there for me when I’ve needed them. But just before uni, my Dad and I were constantly having arguments and I was worried that coming out would affect that even more. We're the kind of people who don't back down in confrontation which would often lead to us not talking for days at a time - much to the dismay of my Mum (sorry about that...).
"I was worried that Coming Out would make the situation even worse."
Despite my plans, I was my same old self at uni. For much of the first year, while I wasn’t a total loner, I kept myself to myself. I had ended up in perhaps the most laddish of the halls, and it was a difficult environment to be in when you’d spent much of school wondering why you weren’t like that. I rarely went out and I ate to my heart’s content because it gave me something to do. The problem was that the poor diet made me rather podgy and irritated my acne, and my self-confidence plummeted (I’ve also ended up with an uncontrollable addiction to cookies).
In my second and third year, I lived with a group of three girls and two guys in a shared house. I already knew one of the girls, KJ, because she was on my course, but the others were total strangers. Thankfully, we got on like a house on fire and, after a shy few first days, we became good friends. We went out together all the time, I had something to distract me from the sweets and crisps (for the most part), and I began to feel very comfortable in myself. Still, no one knew I was gay. Now I’m sure my housemates had suspicions, but it didn’t matter to them or to me.
In my second and third year, I lived with a group of three girls and two guys in a shared house. I already knew one of the girls, KJ, because she was on my course, but the others were total strangers. Thankfully, we got on like a house on fire and, after a shy few first days, we became good friends. We went out together all the time, I had something to distract me from the sweets and crisps (for the most part), and I began to feel very comfortable in myself. Still, no one knew I was gay. Now I’m sure my housemates had suspicions, but it didn’t matter to them or to me.
Me and my sister
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"The important thing was that I now knew I
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By October, I'd started seeing my first boyfriend, Dermot. True to form, I hadn't really made the situation easy on myself; he lived in Ireland and I was still in the UK, and neither of us had any intention of moving. Something about the whole situation made me realise that I was done with people not knowing about me. I was going to have to travel frequently to Ireland and I wasn't prepared to lie to my family about why I was going. And so, the day I returned from Ireland, I sent a message on Facebook to my housemates from uni and to my closest friends that read:
“I'm gay, guys. No this is not a joke and nor have I been Facebook raped. I just think it's time that you guys knew. I seriously, seriously regret that I’m not telling you all to your faces and having to do it over Facebook. I came close to doing so last weekend but something was stopping me. Honestly, I have known for ages now, just wasn’t quite ready to let people know, which is why none of you guys were told - really wanted to though. I don't really want to waffle on about it because don't really want to make an issue but felt I should give you a little bit of an explanation. Fam don't know yet so would appreciate if you could keep it all on the hush on the old facebookage though. Not sure when they'll find out but for now, kind of needs to stay that way. Again, sorry telling you all on here guys! Love you all xxx”
Part of me regrets that I told my friends before my sister (who will always be my best friend) and my parents. Looking back, I know it was because I wanted to test the water, and to see if any of them responded badly to it. They didn’t. A few weeks later, I was arranging my next trip to Ireland. I had been talking about Dermot a lot to my family but never referred to him as being my boyfriend. I didn’t really care anymore if they guessed. It was obvious that my sister and Mum had caught on to the fact that something wasn’t quite right, but I still wasn’t sure how Dad would take it.
One day at work, I was sitting, beavering away on a project when I got a text: “Hi Ade, just wanted to ask if Dermot is more than a friend. Doesn’t matter if he is - will love you all the same.” My reply: “He is. Love you x”. The message was from my dad.
So where am I now?
As I walked into the supermarket the other day with my parents, my mum suddenly decided to tell me that she feels sorry for me. It came out of nowhere. (In fact, the previous conversation had been about whether or not any of us had a pound coin to get a trolley...) Taken aback, I asked her why. She told me that a couple of weekends before, she’d watched my sister and her bf walk down the street arm-in-arm, and then looked at me and Lee walking a little further back - we were walking separately, and she was sad that we couldn’t be as close.
One day at work, I was sitting, beavering away on a project when I got a text: “Hi Ade, just wanted to ask if Dermot is more than a friend. Doesn’t matter if he is - will love you all the same.” My reply: “He is. Love you x”. The message was from my dad.
So where am I now?
As I walked into the supermarket the other day with my parents, my mum suddenly decided to tell me that she feels sorry for me. It came out of nowhere. (In fact, the previous conversation had been about whether or not any of us had a pound coin to get a trolley...) Taken aback, I asked her why. She told me that a couple of weekends before, she’d watched my sister and her bf walk down the street arm-in-arm, and then looked at me and Lee walking a little further back - we were walking separately, and she was sad that we couldn’t be as close.
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The thing is, I’m now at a place where I have no issue with being affectionate towards him in public. When I say goodbye to him in a morning before heading to work, I kiss him in the street. When we get the train together, we sit holding hands. When I’m with my family, I’ll happily have my arm around him. No one will ever tell me that I can’t show that kind of affection in public. And, so far, no one ever has. I’ve often joked that everyone in my life gets to see one part of me, and I don’t allow anyone the full picture. I’ve now found someone who gets to see the whole (including the less-than-attractive morning face) and makes me feel more comfortable than I’ve ever been, bringing out my best side. I think that’s why I’m so offended when I’m referred to as ‘a gay’ rather than ‘a gay man’. To be called ‘a gay’ implies that in coming out I progressed from the person that I was into a member of some exclusive group. It’s a label that lumps me into a mass and takes away any individuality that I have. As ‘a gay man’ I’m the same person that I have always been; the only difference is that everyone else now knows who that person is. |
Follow Ade on Twitter - @AdeJohnLeader
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