National Coming Out day was Monday, October 11. It was a celebration!
But I didn’t celebrate it.
The LGBTQIA+ community gets one day and one month in order to celebrate themselves. To celebrate who they are. But any other day that doesn’t fall into the segregated time… ha!
Same sex marriage wasn’t federally legal in all 50 states in the U.S. until 2015. It’s only been 6 years since.
And in 69 countries it is outlawed to be homosexual.
Homophobia is still very much alive today.
I have met so many homophoic people it is aggravating. I have had people tell me to choose the easier path. I have had people tell me that I will go to hell because I do not repent for being gay. I have had people tell me to wait, not be too hasty, that I simply haven’t met the right person yet. All these people that said these statements to me genuinely believe they are not homophoic.
My gosh, my own mother doesn’t believe that same sex marraige should be legal.
The first time I came out to her, she literally said no. I’m not gay and left it at that. Because apparently she knows my sexuality better than I do.
When I told my brother about me trying to come out to my mother, he opened a closet door and pushed me inside jokingly. What a metaphor.
I haven’t told anyone the genuine terror I felt when I realized I liked girls. I was raised to be homophoic. It took time for me to throw out that prejudice. But now I had to deal with the fact I didn’t like guys. I had to come face to face with the truth. And on top of that, I had to hide because I was afraid. I was afraid of what my mother might do if she found out. A million scenarios ran through my head. And in every scenario my mother was disgusted by me.
When I came out the second time, I broke down. I cried and screamed and berated my mother for her beliefs. I was honest about the suffocation I felt. I was lucky when she responded with mild disgust and an avid belief that I could just pick men.
I’m lucky she had a tempered reaction to me coming out. I’m lucky that I feel the need to come out. I’m lucky.
As I write this, I know that this will always be a battle. That my mother will never fully accept me or who I choose to love. As I write this, I know that homophobia is not dead because so many others share similar experiences. A single day of celebration does not erase the hate. It does not erase the disgust. It does not erase the negative, hurtful comments. It does not erase the laws that sentence people to death for being themselves.
A single day does not end homophobia nor does make up for the suffering the LGBTQIA+ has gone through and continues to go through.