In honor of National Coming Out Day on Oct. 11, I wanted to talk a little bit about my identity. When I was in my early teenage years, I began questioning my sexuality. At the end of eighth grade, I came out to my parents and close friends as bisexual. This process, however, was significantly easier for me than for a lot of members of the LGBTQ+ community. I’m very privileged to have grown up in such an accepting environment with friends and family who have always supported me, and I’m grateful for that fact every single day.
When I entered high school, I joined my school’s Gender and Sexuality Alliance (GSA). For the first time, I felt like I was part of a community — a group of people I could connect with, learn from and always count on. I always assumed I would join an organization like the GSA in college, but, when I actually got to university, I didn’t do that.
Recently, I went to Durham Pride with my best friend, an event that my high school GSA was involved in every year. Going to pride again made me realize how much I missed being involved with the gay community, and it made me think about why I’d become so distant from it.
I began losing touch with the LGBTQ+ community during my senior year of high school because of the work I was putting into college applications, schoolwork and maintaining my grades. I was so focused on that aspect of my life that I put other aspects on the backburner — including my identity.
I put my interests on pause while I took care of what I had to, and that’s okay. Sometimes, you need to take time to focus on one thing, before you can focus on other things.
That was one reason I didn’t get involved with the LGBTQ+ groups on campus at first, as I had to adjust to life at university and to my new workload. But, honestly, that wasn’t entirely why.
I went to the same small school with generally the same 100 people from sixth to twelfth grade, which is both good and bad. During my freshman year of high school, I started dating someone of the same sex, and because I went to such a small school, everyone knew pretty quickly. This meant that most of my peers did a lot of assuming about my identity.
One of the caveats of going to a small school with the same people for seven years is that, once you’re put in a box, you stay there.
But college is a clean slate. Which, again, is both good and bad. The good part is that I haven’t really had to come out to anyone in, like, five years. But now, I’m meeting new people and having to figure out how to tell them, if I even want to make a point of telling them, which I usually don’t feel the need to.
There’s also this lovely statement that I’m sure every member of the LGBTQ+ community has heard at one point in his or her life: “it’s just a phase.”
The stereotype of college being a time for students to experiment has brought about a resurgence of this “phrase”. Now, don’t get me wrong, I think experimentation is great. I’m all for it. However, because of that stereotype, I’ve encountered people who assume being bisexual in college just means going through an experimental phase. Bisexuality is not a phase, and it’s not synonymous with experimentation.
I realized that the main reason why I didn’t immediately seek out any LGBTQ+ organizations on campus was because I was intimidated. I was intimidated by meeting new people and recommunicating my identity. I was intimidated by the possibility of facing new stereotypes.
But, if I could conquer my fears as an eighth grader, coming out to my parents for the first time, I can surely do so as an adult. I know that many of my concerns are somewhat irrational, and I know that the majority of people are going to be kind and accepting. I know that getting involved with this community again will be valuable, invigorating and the first step in reconnecting with myself and my identity.