For Many of Us Coming Out is Almost Like an Everyday Affair

Commentary

   

 

By MATTHEW SACKEL AND CHANNYN LYNNE PARKER

CHICAGO TRIBUNE  

More than 30 years ago, half a million people marched on the streets of Washington, D.C., for LGBTQ rights. It was a spark in the movement and led to the creation of National Coming Out Day, being observed Sunday, promoting a safe world for LGBTQ individuals to live truthfully and openly.

Yet, it’s funny, because when we look back, we can’t recall a particular moment when we “came out,” so to speak. Maybe it’s because one of us, as a gay man, didn’t know he had to tell people. Perhaps it’s because, for the other of us, as a trans woman, coming out was never a singular experience. We once heard that “coming out is having to have a hard conversation.” But for us, coming out has been the “constant companion” in our lives. 

Statistically, 1 in 2 people has someone close to them who identifies as a gay or lesbian person. That number is only 1 in 10 for transgender people. Here are some of the experiences we each have had:

• In the 1980s, an aunt lived with “her friend.” In hindsight, it makes us recoil that anyone would minimize her relationship with someone who was so much more to her.
• I am 15, my father and I are watching “Jerry Springer.” The topic of the show is “men who are trapped in the wrong bodies.” They are called “transsexuals.” These are uncommonly beautiful women, and I am hypnotized. Unable to move and glued to the floor, I learn a new term, “gender identity disorder.” I come out and have a hard conversation with myself. “This is what you are, and they are you.”
• I am 16. I recall my parents’ reaction to my noticeable feminine appearance (much to my glee, and to their horror). That same week, they found my stash of black-market hormones; another hard conversation to be had.
• It is the first day of my junior year of high school, and I am “misgendered.” My new teacher is mistaken, and I am called “she.” The students who know me laugh; they correct her, “That’s not a girl! He just looks like one. That’s a boy.” Externally I am embarrassed and ashamed, but on the inside, I feel seen.
• I am 19, and it is springtime. After having chest pains that I can no longer endure, I walk into the emergency room. In an attempt to feminize my body, I had undergone illegal silicone injections. According to the X-rays, my lungs are halfway filled will the fluid, and I am drowning from a pulmonary embolism. Prior to being triaged, I am asked a series of questions about pregnancy and last menstrual cycles. Through labored breath, I come out yet again.
• Every time I had to explain why the sex on my ID was not reflective of the gender presentation standing before anyone who required it of me, I came out.
• I am 20, and home from university. I had to explain why I didn’t have a girlfriend yet — this time not to one person, but to my family. And so I came out again.
• To all of the boys we have ever loved (or so we thought), that difficult conversation yet again loomed over our heads, and we came out.
• To every woman and man whom we have allowed to interrogate us to satiate their own learning, or for their entertainment, we came out.
• Every holiday when I have to explain why I just don’t come around my extended family much, because I just can’t bear to hear them call me that name, I come out.
• And, when a well-meaning stranger asks me again when am I going to meet the right woman and finally get married, I come out again.

So you see, it’s hard to identify when we came out, because the fact is, for us, every day is “Coming Out Day.” We know that we do not, cannot, stand alone. There are many voices still waiting to be heard, and together we must stand up for those who aren’t ready to stand alone. 

For our allies in the community, you have the opportunity to show support this month, but remember, it is welcome and needed every single day. That is why, at the Illinois Holocaust Museum, we work tirelessly to ensure that all communities feel safe and accepted. And as we celebrate October as National Coming Out month, we will quietly reflect on life and be thankful for how far we’ve come, while still recognizing how far we have to go. And this year, because of the coronavirus pandemic, we will do something different — instead of going out, we’ll stay in.

Matthew Sackel is the associate manager of education at the Illinois Holocaust Museum. Channyn Lynne Parker is manager of external relations at Howard Brown Health.