I still remember the first time that someone asked if I was gay.
This is not a coming out post. I’ve always been here, visible even when people have refused to see, acknowledge, or accept.
I still remember the first time of many that I would be told that I would go to hell.
This is not a coming out post because the shadows formed around the hidden—they did not choose to dim their own lights. No matter the circumstances, there is hatred to blame. Bigotry. Transphobia. Trans-misogynoir. Homophobia.
I still remember the first time that I was called a dyke.
This is not a coming out post because I didn’t choose to be afraid.
I still remember the first time when someone asked if I was family. Staring into the eyes of another Black queer person, I immediately knew.
This is not a coming out post because there is another 12-year-old wondering if bulldagger describes her and why she finds comfort in a term so ugly.
I still remember the joy that I felt when I realized I had a choice: go away or try my hardest to live authentically.
I wouldn’t be who I am without my queerness, without warmth of community and kinship, or without the feeling that I can take on the world—whether or not I want to, I have to.
But none of us are as alone as bigots would like for us to believe. Happy Coming Out Day from a Queer/Bisexual Black feminist and non-binary parent 🏳️🌈
This is an introduction. A reminder. A revelation. A promise: we’ll always be here.