2008 Woodie Awards
Thinking Dangerously: On Oct. 11, summon your strength - there's power in numbers
Kitty Campbell
Issue date: 10/10/06 Section: Opinions
National Coming Out Day is Oct. 11, and just like last year, I can't let the day slip by without talking about it - why it's important, and why you should care even if you're straight, already out, or convinced that it's just not worth the risks to come out.
Except this year is a little different. Last year, I was criticized for writing about NCOD and encouraging others to come out, when I couldn't possibly know what it was like, and would never have to face the very real consequences of making that choice. Though I disagree that only LGBT people are allowed to talk about gay issues, the criticisms still stung. They made me feel like a hypocrite. I felt like a hypocrite because I was writing as a straight woman in support of 'coming out,' when the truth is - I'm bisexual.
Saying those two words now isn't much easier than when I first admitted it to my boyfriend a few months ago: I'm bisexual. It's not easy because I know that, for some people in my life, this is their first time hearing the news (hi, Mom). I count myself lucky in knowing my family will still love me and support me even after this, and you would think that would make the choice to come out a lot less stressful. But it's still not easy. Fear isn't rational.
It's no wonder I feel like a hypocrite for hiding this for so long. I grew up in a family that encouraged tolerance and kindness toward all people. Even before I was old enough to really understand what "homosexuality" was, I knew that some men loved other men and some women loved other women, and that was okay. I supported gay rights from the time I learned such a cause existed. So why on Earth wouldn't I tell my family when I figured out I was bi?
Never have I been afraid to be honest about who I am in every other way. Maybe my sexual orientation was a different story because it took me so long to be sure of it. In a way, it would have been easier if I were a lesbian - at least it would have been concrete.
I didn't have crushes on other girls when I was a kid. The idea of being attracted to women never entered my mind until at least middle school, and then it was kind of a passing thought. Even in high school, when my friends were in the midst of an "experimental" stage, I wasn't interested. But at some point, the seed was planted: when I noticed a pretty girl, was it an objective observation, or was I attracted to her? I started asking myself that question, but not coming to a clear answer. And I had no intention of labeling myself as bisexual when I had no clue whether that was true or not.
It wasn't until college that I slowly came to realize that the passing attractions I had to other women were not mere curiosity or some sort of "phase" -and that realization terrified me. I was in a serious relationship with a guy, I had already established myself as straight-what if I told the truth, and my boyfriend couldn't deal with it? What would happen when I came out to my friends and family? They wouldn't turn their backs on me, but sexual orientation is a pretty big part of who a person is. In a way, I would be revealing myself to be a different person than they thought they knew. How would I deal with the potentially embarrassing questions such a revelation would inspire? And would the people who I trusted to treat me the same as always, actually be able to do so? Would their acceptance of diversity extend from the hypothetical to reality?
Those nagging questions are why I kept my orientation a secret even after I was certain. I finally came out to my boyfriend of five years this February - and once the initial shock wore off, he loved me just the same. A while later, I came out to some of my friends, and their reaction was pretty anti-climactic. "Oh, really? Cool."
But I still haven't told my family. Some of them know now, others...well, maybe some of them don't need to know. It's not that I'm ashamed to be who I am, but some more distant family members would not be as tolerant as those closer to me-and then there are some who might find the idea confusing more than anything.
The strangest thing about coming out, first to myself and then slowly to others, is how everything and nothing has changed. I sort of feel like a new person, now that I'm not hiding any aspect of my personality. But in practical terms, my life is the same. I'm still committed to my boyfriend. I won't be looking for a girlfriend on the side. Being attracted to women doesn't mean I'm going to pursue women when I'm already in a relationship.
There are some people who think that bisexuality doesn't really exist -that you're either gay, straight, confused, or faking it. I don't give a damn what those people think. I know how I feel, and I've spent enough time agonizing over the distinction between "confusion" and certainty to know that I am not confused. That's one reason I felt coming out was something I needed to do. Bisexuals get flak from all sides, and the more of us who are willing to claim our label with pride, the harder it will be to stigmatize us.
Strength in numbers is what Coming Out Day is all about.
Read more from Kitty at her blog:
http://kittycampbell.blogspot.com
Except this year is a little different. Last year, I was criticized for writing about NCOD and encouraging others to come out, when I couldn't possibly know what it was like, and would never have to face the very real consequences of making that choice. Though I disagree that only LGBT people are allowed to talk about gay issues, the criticisms still stung. They made me feel like a hypocrite. I felt like a hypocrite because I was writing as a straight woman in support of 'coming out,' when the truth is - I'm bisexual.
Saying those two words now isn't much easier than when I first admitted it to my boyfriend a few months ago: I'm bisexual. It's not easy because I know that, for some people in my life, this is their first time hearing the news (hi, Mom). I count myself lucky in knowing my family will still love me and support me even after this, and you would think that would make the choice to come out a lot less stressful. But it's still not easy. Fear isn't rational.
It's no wonder I feel like a hypocrite for hiding this for so long. I grew up in a family that encouraged tolerance and kindness toward all people. Even before I was old enough to really understand what "homosexuality" was, I knew that some men loved other men and some women loved other women, and that was okay. I supported gay rights from the time I learned such a cause existed. So why on Earth wouldn't I tell my family when I figured out I was bi?
Never have I been afraid to be honest about who I am in every other way. Maybe my sexual orientation was a different story because it took me so long to be sure of it. In a way, it would have been easier if I were a lesbian - at least it would have been concrete.
I didn't have crushes on other girls when I was a kid. The idea of being attracted to women never entered my mind until at least middle school, and then it was kind of a passing thought. Even in high school, when my friends were in the midst of an "experimental" stage, I wasn't interested. But at some point, the seed was planted: when I noticed a pretty girl, was it an objective observation, or was I attracted to her? I started asking myself that question, but not coming to a clear answer. And I had no intention of labeling myself as bisexual when I had no clue whether that was true or not.
It wasn't until college that I slowly came to realize that the passing attractions I had to other women were not mere curiosity or some sort of "phase" -and that realization terrified me. I was in a serious relationship with a guy, I had already established myself as straight-what if I told the truth, and my boyfriend couldn't deal with it? What would happen when I came out to my friends and family? They wouldn't turn their backs on me, but sexual orientation is a pretty big part of who a person is. In a way, I would be revealing myself to be a different person than they thought they knew. How would I deal with the potentially embarrassing questions such a revelation would inspire? And would the people who I trusted to treat me the same as always, actually be able to do so? Would their acceptance of diversity extend from the hypothetical to reality?
Those nagging questions are why I kept my orientation a secret even after I was certain. I finally came out to my boyfriend of five years this February - and once the initial shock wore off, he loved me just the same. A while later, I came out to some of my friends, and their reaction was pretty anti-climactic. "Oh, really? Cool."
But I still haven't told my family. Some of them know now, others...well, maybe some of them don't need to know. It's not that I'm ashamed to be who I am, but some more distant family members would not be as tolerant as those closer to me-and then there are some who might find the idea confusing more than anything.
The strangest thing about coming out, first to myself and then slowly to others, is how everything and nothing has changed. I sort of feel like a new person, now that I'm not hiding any aspect of my personality. But in practical terms, my life is the same. I'm still committed to my boyfriend. I won't be looking for a girlfriend on the side. Being attracted to women doesn't mean I'm going to pursue women when I'm already in a relationship.
There are some people who think that bisexuality doesn't really exist -that you're either gay, straight, confused, or faking it. I don't give a damn what those people think. I know how I feel, and I've spent enough time agonizing over the distinction between "confusion" and certainty to know that I am not confused. That's one reason I felt coming out was something I needed to do. Bisexuals get flak from all sides, and the more of us who are willing to claim our label with pride, the harder it will be to stigmatize us.
Strength in numbers is what Coming Out Day is all about.
Read more from Kitty at her blog:
http://kittycampbell.blogspot.com
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