Pete | 21 | Leeds, England | Radio Presenter
Firstly, a bit of a disclaimer: I know not everyone’s greeted with a blanket of positive responses from their friends and family when they come out. I’m a lucky boy and if there’s one thing that the whole process showed me, it’s that I’m fortunate to have some incredible people in my life.
My problem was myself.
I’m a bit of a work in progress.
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It’s almost a year since I told my parents that I’m gay. I tried to deny how I felt, box it up and ignore it, but not a day went by when it wasn’t on my mind. The misery I felt started to seep through into other aspects of my life. I’d become wound up by trivial things, snapping at people and being kept awake by thoughts churning over and over in my head.
I was irrational. I thought that because I couldn’t identify with any stereotypes or media representations of gay men that it meant I wasn’t one of them. Because I didn’t have anything in common with the handful of gay people I knew of, it became very lonely. Now I’ve realised that stereotypes are exactly that – they’re types of gay people, but they’re not unquestionable definitions. There’s not a rulebook. “It’s just a phase”, I told myself and I was ready and willing to live the life of a straight man. I was going to find myself a girlfriend and it was all going to be fine. But gradually I started to realise how miserable a life that would be and months later, in the April of my second year at university, I woke up one morning and felt different. "I’d started to understand and accept the fact that I was gay.
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As term ended, I went back to spend my summer months at a radio station in Leeds. It was my distraction. My hours busying myself in those studios enabled me to hide away from the grim inevitability of what I was going to have to go through in the near future. I’d made a brilliant friend at work and I was able to confide in him. Before then, there had been no gay people in my life that I felt similar too. I looked at what he had – a brilliant job, a long-term relationship - all these components that made me realise for the first time that there was a positive side to being a gay man.
"He had a life that wasn’t defined by his sexuality. He was normal."
I wanted that. I wanted to be open about who I was and to start my life properly. I began to tell a small number of close friends, but knew that I had to tackle ‘the big one’ of telling my parents. I was back to having sleepless nights, to being insecure and I was angry. I was angry that coming out was something that I had to do. Why did I have to go through this dark, horrible process while my friends had none of it? It wasn’t fair.
And one afternoon, it all came crashing down.
I was working in one of the studios. A windowless box of a room – soundproofed, self-contained and I was completely alone.
And I… well… broke.
I don’t know why it was that moment, but years of anxiety, of being desperately sad and depressed came crashing down in one big heap and I was a goner. The safe haven of that building had been breached and all that unhappiness had trickled through into this box-like room and I had to get out.
And I got in my car and drove, bawling my eyes out, falling to pieces. All that suppressed fear and worry came tumbling out and I couldn’t stop it. It was then that I knew I had to do something about how I felt. I had to tell my parents, bite the bullet and move on because if I had allowed myself to be consumed by it for any longer, I dread to think what depths I’d have sunk to.
And one afternoon, it all came crashing down.
I was working in one of the studios. A windowless box of a room – soundproofed, self-contained and I was completely alone.
And I… well… broke.
I don’t know why it was that moment, but years of anxiety, of being desperately sad and depressed came crashing down in one big heap and I was a goner. The safe haven of that building had been breached and all that unhappiness had trickled through into this box-like room and I had to get out.
And I got in my car and drove, bawling my eyes out, falling to pieces. All that suppressed fear and worry came tumbling out and I couldn’t stop it. It was then that I knew I had to do something about how I felt. I had to tell my parents, bite the bullet and move on because if I had allowed myself to be consumed by it for any longer, I dread to think what depths I’d have sunk to.
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I felt guilty. I have fantastic parents and an equally brilliant sister. We’re run of the mill and we’re conventional, yet here I was throwing a big gay spanner in the well-oiled machine that was our family life and I hated that I was potentially jeopardising my relationship with them.
I knew that if I were to tell my parents face to face, I’d fall to bits. I wouldn’t explain things properly and I’d say the wrong thing. I couldn’t bare the thought of seeing their faces as they tried to digest it all within seconds, desperately scrambling for the words so that they could say the right thing to me. So I wrote it down. I bought a card with a funny-looking monkey on the front of it. Not sure why I opted for a monkey. Maybe I thought that if my parents were angry or upset about having a gay son they’d think. ‘Oh well, at least we’ve got the monkey’ and everything would be fine… I wrote everything I wanted to say. I apologised for not being able to tell them in person, for if I’d disappointed them and for if they were embarrassed. |
"But I didn’t apologise for being gay because it wasn’t something I’d chosen."
I woke up on that Friday just knowing that I was going to tell my parents that day. I’d been waiting for the right time, but I don’t think ‘the right time’ to come out really exists. No amount of preparation can ready you for it.
I lingered in my bedroom, feeling sick. I was numb. All those years of imagining what this moment would be like and now here I was, on the brink of doing it. I was shaking, but not once did I consider backing out. It was like some sort of over-drive mode had kicked in and all of a sudden, I was doing it. Walking down the stairs. The card in my hand. My Mum standing in the hall, my Dad visible through the living room door, sat in his chair.
“I’m going to give you this,” I said, holding out the card. My voice was cracking. I was sweating.
“I’m going to give you this and you don’t need to worry about me, because I’m fine. But I’m going to go out and I’ll be back soon.”
I wasn’t in control. It didn’t feel like me doing this. I reached out and gave the card to my Mum and I can still picture her looking at me now. She knew what was happening.
And that was it. She had the card now; it was out of my hands. And I was gone, walking out the front door towards my car, shaking and feeling sick and panicky and deadened.
I lingered in my bedroom, feeling sick. I was numb. All those years of imagining what this moment would be like and now here I was, on the brink of doing it. I was shaking, but not once did I consider backing out. It was like some sort of over-drive mode had kicked in and all of a sudden, I was doing it. Walking down the stairs. The card in my hand. My Mum standing in the hall, my Dad visible through the living room door, sat in his chair.
“I’m going to give you this,” I said, holding out the card. My voice was cracking. I was sweating.
“I’m going to give you this and you don’t need to worry about me, because I’m fine. But I’m going to go out and I’ll be back soon.”
I wasn’t in control. It didn’t feel like me doing this. I reached out and gave the card to my Mum and I can still picture her looking at me now. She knew what was happening.
And that was it. She had the card now; it was out of my hands. And I was gone, walking out the front door towards my car, shaking and feeling sick and panicky and deadened.
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You could have screamed in my ear an inch from my face and I wouldn’t have flinched. My head was spinning as the reality of what I’d just done started to dawn on me and I was suddenly terrified. And I found myself driving. Foster the People, Call It What You Want was playing on my car radio and before it reached the first verse, my phone buzzed noisily and there’s a text from my Mum. I pulled in and opened the message. She’s telling me it’s fine. She’s telling me to please come home.
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I don’t need to share the conversation we had after I walked in through my front door, but there was one thing I wanted to ask my parents.
I asked whether they’d already known. My Mum said she’d wondered why I’d never had a girlfriend, while my Dad said he knew. I’ve never asked how. Perhaps I failed to clear the Internet history one time or made a passing comment about how nice a footballer’s hair was… |
I cancelled my plans for that weekend. I felt like I had to be at home, make sure they were okay, answer any questions they had and show them that I wanted to talk about it. I didn’t want it to be taboo or for there to be flinching at the dinner table if ‘the G word’ came up in conversation and after a few weeks of my parents adjusting to things, I began to realise that they really were willing to accept that I was gay.
But it’s difficult to snap out of years worth of anxiety and fear. I started looking for non-existent cracks in my parents and sister. I’d accuse them of not being accepting simply because doing so made me feel at ease in comparison. It’s only now that I can look back at those months and see that the person who wasn’t okay with me being gay was myself. I’d spent so long consumed by thinking about other people’s possible reactions that I’d totally overlooked my own insecurity. I’d built myself up to expect problems and arguments, but when the dust settled, it took time for me to realise that my friends and family had accepted it. I was naïve at first. “Life’s easy now!” I thought, “I can do anything I like! I can change my desktop wallpaper to a photo of Tom Hardy and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”
There was a honeymoon period of me thinking I’d been fixed after the weight of having to tell my parents had been lifted, but once that had passed I soon realised I was stuck in a post-coming out hangover of trying to work out who I really was.
But it’s difficult to snap out of years worth of anxiety and fear. I started looking for non-existent cracks in my parents and sister. I’d accuse them of not being accepting simply because doing so made me feel at ease in comparison. It’s only now that I can look back at those months and see that the person who wasn’t okay with me being gay was myself. I’d spent so long consumed by thinking about other people’s possible reactions that I’d totally overlooked my own insecurity. I’d built myself up to expect problems and arguments, but when the dust settled, it took time for me to realise that my friends and family had accepted it. I was naïve at first. “Life’s easy now!” I thought, “I can do anything I like! I can change my desktop wallpaper to a photo of Tom Hardy and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”
There was a honeymoon period of me thinking I’d been fixed after the weight of having to tell my parents had been lifted, but once that had passed I soon realised I was stuck in a post-coming out hangover of trying to work out who I really was.
"My process of coming out didn’t end the day I told my parents.
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They knew I was gay, because they knew me. And they didn’t judge me for it; they’d accepted it before I’d told them. I think on some subconscious level, I’d surrounded myself with tolerant, good people who recognised what I was going through and joined me in my relief. As long as the people I loved could accept me, nothing else mattered.
A few weeks ago, my Mum’s side of the family had a gathering. We’re a big family. Cousins, cousins’ other halves, uncles and aunties, all packed into one room and it was to be the first time I’d seen everybody since they’d learnt that I was gay.
I was arriving late, travelling down on my own after finishing work. I knew I’d be walking into this room alone. I’d parked up outside and was psyching myself up to go in when my Dad came walking out of the hotel.
“I saw you arrive through the window,” he said. “Thought you might like me to walk in with you, because… well. You know.”
He thought little of what he was doing, but to me it meant the world because I had him by my side and that made it all seem doable.
I’ve spent the past few months living a life that seemed a million miles away from me a year ago. The little things that used to wind me up and cause me to snap wash over me. While I do, of course, still have my own insecurities, when I look at photos of the person I was before, it feels like I’m looking at someone I’ve left behind and moved on from.
I’ve been asked by friends whether I regret not coming out sooner. I wasn’t ready. I can remember thinking at the age of 13 that I might be gay, but never fully realised or understood what that meant until much further down the line. There were horrible days of feeling completely and desperately sad. There were days of fearing that I may lose my friends and family. And there were days of feeling as if I would never really be happy with who I was. But it’s those dreadful days that make me so grateful and happy with what I have now, in comparison.
A few weeks ago, my Mum’s side of the family had a gathering. We’re a big family. Cousins, cousins’ other halves, uncles and aunties, all packed into one room and it was to be the first time I’d seen everybody since they’d learnt that I was gay.
I was arriving late, travelling down on my own after finishing work. I knew I’d be walking into this room alone. I’d parked up outside and was psyching myself up to go in when my Dad came walking out of the hotel.
“I saw you arrive through the window,” he said. “Thought you might like me to walk in with you, because… well. You know.”
He thought little of what he was doing, but to me it meant the world because I had him by my side and that made it all seem doable.
I’ve spent the past few months living a life that seemed a million miles away from me a year ago. The little things that used to wind me up and cause me to snap wash over me. While I do, of course, still have my own insecurities, when I look at photos of the person I was before, it feels like I’m looking at someone I’ve left behind and moved on from.
I’ve been asked by friends whether I regret not coming out sooner. I wasn’t ready. I can remember thinking at the age of 13 that I might be gay, but never fully realised or understood what that meant until much further down the line. There were horrible days of feeling completely and desperately sad. There were days of fearing that I may lose my friends and family. And there were days of feeling as if I would never really be happy with who I was. But it’s those dreadful days that make me so grateful and happy with what I have now, in comparison.
"There’s a line in a Patrick Wolf song that goes:
“’cause if you never lose, how you gonna know when you won?
And if it’s never dark, how you gonna know the sun when it shines?”
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