I sit on my bedroom floor, head in my hands, thoughts filling my head like a bucket of water about to overflow. It’s the night of Thanksgiving, junior year of high school, and I’ve just excused myself to my room after a quiet and enjoyable family dinner. My room is dark, save for a streetlamp’s soft yellowish glow from outside the window. Faint smells of apple pie and vanilla ice cream waft up to my nose, and yet my mind is elsewhere.
Instead of eating pie and discussing the world and the state of our country with my family, I sit here anxiously, in silence, waiting. The warning shots fire through my head, reminding me of everything that could possibly go wrong. This is a moment I’ve been thinking about for weeks, and yet I know I am ready. Somehow, it feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment. Living my life to get here, now.
My mind plays back memories of my childhood. A friday afternoon at the mall with my dad, my eyes lingering on images of oversexualized men in cologne ads. A brief conversation with my mom in the car home from play rehearsal one day in sixth grade when she told me I could be whoever I wanted to be. A moment in school when my classmate and I shared a knowing glance or two. My mind floods with these memories, and I know I must follow through.
In my head, I can picture my family downstairs. My parents are sitting around a dimly lit wooden table, discussing work and a future vacation they want to go on. My twin sister is standing in the kitchen, waiting for the apple pie to finish heating up in the oven. My little brother is sitting on the couch, playing on his phone. They don’t know the importance of this moment. They are oblivious to what I am about to do.
All through my childhood, I’ve been unaware of my identity. I haven’t hidden it; I’ve just never really searched for it. Instead, I’ve ignored it and pushed it out of my mind. I’m whoever I am; why does it matter? Yet, it does matter. It matters because this moment will allow me to be who I want to be. To express myself and live the life I choose to live. It will give me the power to define my destiny, and the confidence to share myself fully with those around me. After tonight, there will be no more assumptions made about my sexuality. There will be no more awkward questions in the school courtyard or side glances on the train. As I sit here on the floor, I’m struck with a new wave of determination. It’s been a long road to this moment, but I am finally ready. I stand up, take a step, and begin the journey to my new life.
I open my bedroom door and am greeted by a bright hallway full of pictures from my childhood. I see my siblings, my parents, and me, all enjoying life to the fullest. There are memories from the beach, our home, school, and more. These moments took place long before I knew my identity. Before I spent months and months guessing and second-guessing every detail of who I am. Long before I felt the need to share any of it with them. Before I even knew there was something to share. My life couldn’t be any more different now.
I walk downstairs slowly, my heart pounding with anticipation. What I’m about to do is scary and somehow also comfortable. I know it will go well, but a piece of my stomach churns in fear. All I care about at this moment is that I’m about to be me. I’m about to be more truly myself than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I’m about to do something I’ll be proud of until the day I die. I’m about to change my life.
My family sits around the dining room exactly how I imagined. As I approach them on soft feet, I become aware of my pounding heart. It feels like it may break out at any moment, leaving me flailing for life, and yet, it’s almost invigorating. I stand in front of the table, making my presence known, and calmly say, “Guys, there’s something I need to tell you.”
There’s a pause; no one says a thing. My siblings slowly make their way to the table and sit with my parents. I am met with soft stares and blank expressions. The moment comes quicker than I could have ever imagined. I gulp down a shallow breath and blurt it out. “I’m gay.” Quicker than a raindrop falling to the floor, it’s over.
I wait for a reaction, for what will happen next. My mind explodes with anticipation. Images of love, betrayal, crying, and reassurance flash through my head. Will I get the reaction I’ve seen in movies where I need to tell them I haven’t changed? That I’m still me? Will I even get anything in return? I look over to my sister, and she looks back with a smile. My brother seems slightly flustered, as though this talk of identity is too much for him. I glance towards my dad, who looks taken aback but also content. Still, no one says a word. Slowly, my mom turns to me with an expression of knowing, “Thank you for trusting us,” she says. “Thank you for being you.”
I slide down into my chair, engulfed in my own skin. A sense of warmth about me. My true identity swirling around my head like the golden aura of a saint or a god. For the first time in my life, I know what to do next. For the first time, I imagine my future.