Coming out story

Buddies. I'm not straight. My mom knows. She's okay with it. She loves me.


It was not always this way.

In a time of panic and haste, on May 8, 2017, I came out to my mother as pansexual. It did not go well. She was devastated and asked the universe "why me" and asked me to change. She asked me to break up with my girlfriend and for the sake of the family, become straight. She believed it was a choice I could make. She called it a phase. She called me abnormal and felt disgusted and horrified. She could "only understand that something had gone terribly wrong".  She cried through the night. I stopped digesting food. We stopped talking. I claimed to have broken up with my girlfriend to shut her up and get her off my case. I asked that I be left alone while I get over it. She thought I was trying to get over the break up. I was trying to get over being called a mistake.

It has been painful. I have been depressed. I cut myself off. I lost weight. I lost hair. I stopped talking to her. I haven't come downstairs unless called for meals in 2 months. Last night she had "had enough" and confronted me about (what she saw as me) isolating myself and not wanting to have anything to do with her. I was like bitch no not this again good bye humankind. I asked her to leave. But somehow, miraculously, accusations turned to questions and she let me speak. She listened.

I had to justify fundamental ideological gender equality to a 54 year old architect and social and environmental activist who "empowers women" but believed that women still by genetic design and evolution need a man to support them. I had to deconstruct the family system to a grown financially independent woman. I had to explain to her how reproductive differences are irrelevant in this age, just as how racial differences are. I had to defend myself against my mother's prejudice and convince her that it is her job, since she made me, to love me - green eyes, brown eyes, light skin, wide feet, neurotypical or otherwise, straight or not.

I had to explain to her, again and again, in different ways, how it is not a choice for me. I would not choose a life of homelessness and starvation if I had an alternative. My life is going to be so hard. I would very much rather spend the rest of it in a pile of fluffy pink pillows but no. I have to fight, everyday, just to be considered a person. It is not in my hands but I am not a coward and I am living my life rising to the challenge even though I don't want to because I shouldn't have to.

I had to show her how just because she doesn't understand it doesn't make it wrong. I do not understand strictly homosexual or strictly heterosexual people either. If it is a choice, I don't understand how you could choose not to love someone in all the ways they can be loved just because their genitals don't suit your preferences. But the lesbians and gays and straights are not wrong. That's how they were born.

I fought for my rightful place in her heart. Even after that when she told me she needed to sleep over it, I cried. She did not get to take her time to decide if she loves me as I am as an equal to my siblings. That's not a choice she is allowed to make. It is her duty. But finally, she came around. She asked me to be careful. She promised to fight for me and stand by me. She promised to sign the legal emancipation papers if it came to that. She accepted me.

There is hope. There is acceptance. There is love.


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