Oscar Wilde once noted, “be yourself. Everyone else is taken.” He was right. Life offers only one chance to be true to who you are. It took me 36 years to discover my authentic self, and when I finally did, it filled me with fear and loneliness.
Allow me to elaborate. I wear many hats: I’m a wife, a woman, a mother, a runner, and a writer. My days are spent advocating for mental health, while my nights are devoted to raising two wonderful kids who are the joy of my life. Despite these blessings, I’ve always felt a void—a gap in my heart and soul that I tried to ignore. However, this past summer, on a particularly hot day, I mustered the courage to tell my husband, “I think… I think I’m gay.”
His reaction was one of shock. As we sat together on the porch that evening, I could see the pain in his eyes, mirroring my own fears about our shared future. He felt deceived, and while I understand his hurt, I was left feeling even more isolated. I had been honest and authentic, yet the loneliness was suffocating.
Loneliness is a universal human experience, but for many in the LGBTQ community, it can be especially pronounced. The struggle to hide one’s true self from family and friends before coming out can create a profound sense of isolation, and that feeling can linger long after the truth is revealed.
I began to step out of the closet in July, but I didn’t feel the anticipated relief. In fact, I often wish I could retreat back into the safety of my previous identity. Living a lie seemed easier—no discomfort, no anger, no tears. The status quo would remain undisturbed, and I wouldn’t have to worry about how my revelation might impact my seven-year-old daughter and my 21-month-old son. The weight of that concern is heavy.
Moreover, I dread the potential loss of my extended family. With my father gone since childhood and my mother passing in 2020, my husband’s family is all I have left. The thought of losing them terrifies me. While my husband jokes about a grand parade for my public coming out, I can’t help but remember friends who have faced rejection for being themselves. They’ve lost connections and faced hatred for embracing their identities. Many of them express gratitude for coming out, but they also acknowledge the challenges that accompany it.
In many places, LGBTQ protections are still lacking. The truth is, I don’t yearn for the proverbial parade; I crave genuine connection. Right now, I feel as if I’m standing alone on a fragile, frozen lake—cold air surrounds me, the ice is thin, and I fear I will fall through at any moment. But I stand, still, waiting and breathing. Here I am, queer and alone, yet I stand—and that is something.
Through it all, I’m standing—and that is everything. To learn more about the complexities of coming out, check out this insightful post here. For those considering home insemination options, Cryobaby offers excellent resources. Additionally, Facts About Fertility provides valuable information for those looking into pregnancy and home insemination.
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