Coming Out Stories

Kenda finds acceptance

Now that I was truly on my own, I did a lot of thinking. How did I personally feel about Christianity now? Did God really not want me to be gay? I wasn’t sure. I thought about going to a gay-friendly church, but I was weary; I had talked online with gay Christians before, and there just seemed to be nothing but a lot of inner homophobia and self-hatred.

Once while returning from a trip to Boystown, I ran into a guy I knew from the church I went to in college. I hadn’t come out to anyone at the church yet, so I was a little nervous when he asked me what I had been up to that night. When I told him I had been in Boystown, he told me he was on his way there. This surprised me, because he always seemed like a strictly devout Christian, and here he was going a gay neighborhood. I decided to email him a while later and come out to him. He responded and came out to me. I was extremely surprised and excited at the same time, we decided to meet up.

Over the next few months, we met up for dinner and coffee, spending our time together just talking about our various situations with being gay and dealing with religion. During those meetings, I shared more with him than I had with anyone else I had ever known. He was a very easy guy to talk to, and we became the closest of friends. He told me about how his family, friends, and church reacted to his coming out. My heart went out to him as he told how one-by-one, he lost all of his so-called friends, and how his church, a place that had been his community for most his life, wanted to excommunicate him.

I was amazed he made it through all that pain, most of which was still very apparent during our emotional discussions. He recommended some books to me since I was struggling with what I believed the Bible said about homosexuality. Over the course of reading them and sharing with him, I came to a number of conclusions about religion and homosexuality, one of them being that there is nothing wrong with me.  And as soon as I was able to release all those worries about my orientation, I began to feel much better about myself.  I was done with letting fears of being bound for Hell get the better of me. I was OK.

I started dating my future partner some time after that.  She was like a breath of fresh air, and I’ve truly never been happier in my life. It sometimes hurt that I couldn’t share my happiness with my own family. A year later, we moved into our own place together. My parents still had no idea that I was still gay, so I decided to come out to them again. They say the truth shall set you free, and in my case, it really did. Of course, my mom repeated nearly everything that I had been told while I was living at home about “the gay lifestyle,” but then she told me something new. She told me that God would hold them responsible for my actions once they got to Heaven. She told me that she’s going to tell God that she did all she could. Talk about a mind blow. So suddenly it’s not that my soul is worth saving, it’s that they don’t want to go to Hell because of me. Suddenly, my sexuality is going to affect their eternal lives, too.

I felt like I’d heard almost every excuse in the book for why I couldn’t be gay, and at this point, my parents’ fear of eternal damnation was not going to hold me back.

Things still aren’t perfect – to this day, they still don’t talk about it. It’s kind of the same way with my partner’s family. They know me very well, I’ve spent last Christmas with them, but our relationship is never really brought up.

I’ll never understand why people think our relationship – our happiness, our sharing of each others’ lives as two loving women – is bad. How could we be a threat to anyone? How could our love be disgusting or unnatural? How could our parents believe that they had failed in raising us properly? My partner and I don’t really try to answer those questions anymore. We just let our love speak for itself. If our parents, communities, governments, and higher powers refuse to see it or acknowledge it, that’s their problem.

The reaction of Kenda's parents.

When my parents first came down the stairs, I got really nervous. They’d had over a month to plan how they were going to respond to my admission. I really had no idea what was in store. They started out by telling me that they don’t agree with the homosexual lifestyle. They talked a lot about God and how being gay and being a Christian cannot go hand-in-hand. Next, they told me they wanted me to start seeing a counselor from their church. They admitted that they didn’t know how to handle the issue and thought I should speak with someone who would. Then they laid down some rules for me if I was going to stay home. I wasn’t allowed to bring women or any of my gay friends over to their house. That initially upset me because both my close gay friends had been over their house multiple times, and now they were no longer allowed. I wasn’t allowed to contact my gay friends, and they weren’t allowed to call the house. I had to turn over my cell phone, and they always had to know where I was going and who I was going out with whenever I left the house. And, finally, they forbid me to tell anyone else in the family about my “problem,” not even my brother or sister. They never told me why, but I believed it was because I was suddenly no longer the perfect daughter who had everything going for her to them. I was an embarrassment.

I remained silent during all of this until I started to cry. I remember my dad telling me that I don’t have to be ashamed if I fight my homosexual urges. Ashamed…he thought I was crying because I was ashamed of being gay. The only thing I was ashamed of at that time was being a part of my family. But it didn’t stop there. Over the next month, my parents made my ex-gay process one of their main focuses. Almost everyday, one of them would approach me with a Bible or Christian book, and they would preach to and tell me that this was not part of God’s plan for my life. They would pray with me, and they were such believers in confession that which you want to be true that they would make me say “I am not a homosexual” over and over again. They kept telling me to ask God if what I was doing was right. And then there was the counselor at their church. Her focus was not to tell me or show why being gay was wrong, but to help me believe everything the Bible had to say. If I believe the Bible to be the truth with no contradictions, then I would have no choice but to believe that being gay was wrong, and that would lead to my change. I didn’t talk much during our sessions, I just listened to her. She asked me to do spiritual exercises, such as speaking in tongues and listening to cassette tapes from the church’s pastor about righteousness.

One day, I was sitting home by myself, and my mom called me and told me to turn on some radio program. It was a Christian station, and they were talking to ex-gays. My mom told me to listen to it. Afraid that I’d get another lecture if I didn’t, I listened to a panel of 3 ex-gay guys going on about how hard it is to denounce the homosexual lifestyle and turn to God. I decided to call in. I asked the panel if they believe people were born gay and if they had any advice for someone struggling with homosexuality. They couldn’t agree of whether or not people are born gay, which was very appropriate for my ordeal. One thing I picked up on throughout all of this is that all the anti-gay Christians couldn’t agree upon how to fix it. My counselor believed I had to confess my homosexuality in order to be cleansed of it, while my parents believed that I had to denounce it in order for my statements of not being gay to be true. These ex-gay guys and my counselor believed that being gay was about wanting gay sex and separating myself from all that reminded me of it was how I wouldn’t be tempted by it; my parents believed that I wouldn’t be able to do anything to fix it by myself, only God would, and they I would had to surrender to him. And while my parents didn’t believe that people were born gay, my counselor said that if people can be born predisposed to alcoholism and not become alcoholics, then people born gay could repent and lead “normal” lives. One thing they would all agree upon was that if I married a man and never had sex with another woman, I would have a better chance of going to heaven, even if I still had homosexual urges.

Being gay would destroy my spiritual life, plain and simple. My counselor warned me that the gay lifestyle might be fun, but it would only destroy my spirit and send me straight to hell. This kind of logic was enough to drive me to hating every minute of my life. Of course I didn't want to go to hell, of course I didn't want my spiritual life destroyed, but I just didn't want to fight anymore. I couldn’t stand to be there any longer. I had no one to talk to about my problems, not even my straight friends, I felt guilty and confused with how everyone was treating me, and I tired of feeling like I had disease, an illness, a demon of homosexuality, as my parents once put it. Every morning when they would go off to work, I would picture myself going into the garage, getting in my car, starting it up, and just sitting there until all my pain went away. I told my parents I had tried to commit suicide before just a few months prior, and they treated it as no better than me having a temper tantrum. My inner anguish was only a product of my struggle with homosexuality, plain and simple to them. It would go away until I was no longer gay. They told me to ask God to change me, and I did. When it didn’t work, my counselor said it was because I didn’t truly believe that I needed to be changed. I would have to do that first, and only then would I change. Like one day I would wake up and suddenly be attracted to men. Well, the last time I prayed to God about being gay, I told him to show me the error of my ways, or give me a sign that I’m OK.

I can’t describe the next feeling I had other than relaxation. I woke up the next morning and didn’t feel like I wanted to die. I didn’t feel stressed or upset about things as I had for the past month. I just felt…OK. That morning, I got a phone call from a company about a job I had applied for. They offered it and I took it without thinking twice. Things were suddenly looking up. I was going to be making enough money to move out and get my own place. I could start paying for my own cell phone. I could afford to go where ever I wanted, and I did. I got in touch with my close gay friend who lived nearby, and he introduced me to the “gayborhoods” of

Chicago

. We went out dancing almost every weekend. I had no desire to pick up women in bars or help him cruise for boys. I just wanted to dance – it was a great way to release everything I’d had pent up inside. It was all the counsel I needed, and he knew it, too. He had been there before, because he had grown up Christian and had put himself through counseling and ex-gay ministries to try to fix his own self-perceived problem. He eventually gave up and decided, instead, to enjoy life and embrace who he was. I wish I could, for he had a loving family who also did the same. They invited me over for Easter dinner, and I went, knowing I’d feel more welcome there than with my own family (his family knew we were both gay and still accepted us). With them, I felt OK.

Exactly one month after I had moved back in with my parents, I moved back out for good. I said goodbye to them, the counselor and their church. Before I left, they asked me how my spiritual journey was going. I was so anxious to not get into it again and just leave that I told them I was still struggling with homosexuality. I told them that I still believed it was wrong and that I would continue to work on it and pray about it. For them, I went back into the closet. I lied to their faces about how I felt. The weird part about it was that it was a lie that never felt wrong. They would tell me to deny my sexuality, and they would tell me to confess that I was not gay. They asked me to lie to myself for as long as I was willing. Well, I wasn’t willing anymore.

Once I had settled into my new place, I alienated myself from my family. I didn’t return their calls unless it was an emergency. We argued occasionally about things. They wanted to see my new apartment and I wouldn’t allow it. My sister emailed me and told me that this was tearing the family apart. She had talked with them and went from being “OK with it” to “unsure” because we were raised with Christian values. They continued to send me emails and would say they wanted to see me, to meet up for lunch. In one email, I blew up to my dad and told him that I needed space from them because I was still upset about how they had handled the situation while I was home. I was at a point in my life where I didn’t want them to be a part of it. I felt bad for how I felt, but also justified. They never once asked how I felt inside, what my thoughts were, what my first relationship was like, or even if I wanted to be gay. They just assumed how my mind was suddenly working as a result of my gayness. They assumed that if I brought a girl over to the house, we’d have sex and I’d turn their place into a lesbian brothel. They assumed that a same-sex relationship was all about sex, and that’s all my life would be about now. Deep down, I told myself that their only doing this because they care about me. They don’t want me to go to hell, they don’t want to see me suffer, they want me to be happy, and only as a straight Christian would I be happy.  But a year later, after I came out to them again, I discovered the truth about why they put so much effort into trying to help me.

Kenda comes out to her family.

When I first moved to Boston, it was difficult not to get depressed. The only reason I was in grad school was because my parents pressured me, assuring me that this was the right way to go about things. Their main reason – money. Why start out making an average engineer’s salary when I could be making above average? This question came before “are you sure this is what you want to do” or “are you happy doing this?” I moved there, got a studio apartment, and started classes within a week. Grad school itself was tough, but being in a city like Boston when I didn’t know anyone and just felt like another face in the crowd made it worse. I got a job working in the engineering department’s mailroom, and that funded my living expenses.

I didn’t even give grad school half a semester before I quit. I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t like what I was studying, I still hadn’t made any friends, and I was depressed. I told my parents and they weren’t too happy with my decision, mostly because they had shelled out rent money and had already bought me furniture. I’m sure I was a disappointment to them, which was honestly a first for me. I grew up doing well is school, athletics, and music. They always had something positive to tell people about me, and I had gotten used to that. Little did I know that quitting grad school was the first step in a long line of disappointments to come.

The night that I told my parents I wanted to quit grad school, I tried to commit suicide. I had all these thoughts racing through my head, like if my parents were so upset over the grad school thing, what would they think if they knew I was gay? My depression led to a self-hatred so intense that I thought I would be better off dead, and I found a knife in the kitchen and tried to slit my wrist. Somehow, I was unsuccessful in ending my life. I cried myself to sleep that night and just prayed that God would take away my pain. I started reaching out to my friends because I knew they would at least be more understanding. I called every single one of them and told that I was gay, and it felt amazing when they all told me that they were fine with it. I’ve never told any of my friends this, their acceptance and care really helped me get through that horrible part of my life.

I started looking for permanent jobs while I stayed at my mailroom job. I had my bachelor’s in mechanical engineering and didn’t think it would be that hard to find something in a city like Boston. But it took a while. In the meantime, I started visiting lesbian chat sites. I was too afraid to go out by myself and meet real lesbians, and this was a much safer venue to present myself. I did eventually start talking to this one girl. She didn’t have a picture, we had very little in common, and, in all honesty, she sounded like an idiot, but since I was too lonely and inexperience to know any better, I convinced myself that I had fallen in love with her. We began talking on the phone a few weeks later, and soon it quickly escalated to her moving in with me. I still smack my forehead every time I think about making that decision, but what better way to learn my lesson than for the relationship to end in total disaster.

My first girlfriend (shudder) was horrible. First of all, she couldn’t find a job. Meanwhile, I had just landed a second job as an administrative assistant and was supporting both of us on $9/hour. Secondly, she spent most of her time on MY computer or MY cell phone chatting to people and hardly gave me the time of day. Thirdly, she never once indicated that she cared at all about my feelings or my well-being. She ended up leaving me after our 3-month stint, and although she broke my heart, it was the best thing for me at the time to not be in that situation.

So, alone again in Boston, and I felt worse off than I was before. It was a different kind of pain, though. This was the sorrowful emptiness one can only feel after one’s heart has been kicked around and spat upon. I made a decision after my ex left to ask my parents if I could move back in with them. As much as I didn’t want to live with them, I needed to get away. So I planned over the next month to move home. I bought plane tickets, sold all my furniture, and packed up my life. But before I left for home, I felt compelled to finally tell my parents that I was gay. I don’t know why – I had originally told myself that I wouldn’t come out to them until I was financially independent. But I wasn’t quite ready yet. I needed to practice. I called up one of my dad’s brothers and told him that I was gay. He seemed calm and said that he wasn’t surprised that I shouldn’t get offended if other people in the family aren’t surprised. I had no other choice but to take that as a compliment. At least he hadn’t called me a sinner and that I needed to repent. I breathed a sigh of relief. I then called up my younger sister. She was on her way back to school after winter break. I reached her cell phone while she was driving, so I told her she might want to pull over. When I told her, she was surprised. She also told me that our mom had asked her once if she thought I was gay. That surprised me, but at least it meant that the thought had occurred to my mom. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all. My sister told she was cool with it and then warned me about our parents. “You know they’re going to try to fix you,” she said. Even though her words made me nervous, I couldn’t turn back now. I had to get this out of me. I was now out to everyone close to me except my parents, and the secret was burning a hole inside me. I called them up one night when I couldn’t sleep and blurted it out.

“I’m gay.”

My mom acted like she had been expecting it. But she was in deep, deep denial. She said, “No, you’re not.” Confused? Yes. But gay? Never! Then she said that I needed to tell my dad. When I told him, I could tell he hadn’t seen it coming at all. He immediately got angry. He didn’t yell at me, but I could tell he wanted to. They told me that we would discuss it when I moved home. At that point, I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake it telling them. What would it be like when I moved home? How would they treat me? Damn, what had I gotten myself into? Now I was almost afraid to move home. But there was no turning back now.

I remember how awkward it was when they picked me up at the airport. My little brother was there, so they didn’t say anything. Just awkward hugs, kisses, and smiles. It was a Saturday night. They didn’t say anything to me about my coming out, and so I avoided them as much as I could in order to escape the uncomfortable silences. The next morning, we went to church. It was a silent car ride to and from and still nothing. Afterwards, we went home and I went down to the basement to watch TV. Towards the evening, they eventually came downstairs and said that we needed to talk. I took a deep breath and braced myself for what was to come.

The Trouble With Normal

“The Trouble with Normal.” What was I thinking? I don’t know. It was my senior year, I was well ahead of completing all the necessary classes to graduate, and I just needed something to take to fill my schedule. My friend (the one who had recently come out) and I went in not knowing what to expect. We were both engineering students. We were used to sitting in classes with other nerds/geeks while in front of us a professor or TA sketched diagrams and solved equations with more Greek letters involved than numbers, and we mindlessly scribbled down the jargon in our notebooks while trying to stay awake. But this was the first class we were ever required to give our opinions and openly discuss topics. We were lucky if we even asked a question during the 90 minute session. I had never even thought about some of the things we were discussing - what it mean to be gay, straight, male, female, feminine, masculine.

I remember the first time Stonewall was brought up. Only Stonewall I knew was Stonewall Jackson from the Civil War. I looked at my friend at the end of class. “Stonewall?” “I have no idea.” We reluctantly asked the professor and she gave a brief statement about the historical event – my first bit of gay history. I was a bit embarrassed that we had no idea, but that didn’t stop me. There was another engineering student in the class, but she dropped after the first week. My friend and I decided that this was worth the risk. I was intrigued after the first week of the class, a little intimidated by all the opening discussion, reading and essays, but my friend I stayed in the class and we both ended up getting A’s. We were proud.

I was in that class during the first mention by President Bush of the marriage amendment. We discussed it in class. I remember thinking, this doesn’t effect me, this shouldn’t effect me, but why am I so pissed off? I had never openly and/or confidently discussed sexuality, politics, or civil rights until after that class. I can’t imagine where I would be without having taken it. 

The school year ended without a hitch and I was working in a library the summer before I would go to grad school in Boston. It was a pretty uneventful summer. I hung out with friends occasionally when I wasn’t working or preparing for my move. Sunday mornings I went to church with my family, even though I hated their large, flashy, “megachurch.” I remember the pastor once made a joke about gays and then said that if there were any in the audience, he would pray for them. I remember thinking, that’s a sure-fire way to encourage gays to come to Christ, by setting them up for downright ridicule. But again, I was still straight at this point so I didn’t need to be prayed for.
The week before I was to leave for Boston, one of my friends invited me to go out with her. We made plans to go to a club, but another friend of hers was in town and visiting and wanted to check out a burlesque show put on by women, for women. Burlesque? What was burlesque? I had no idea, but it sounded interested. I remember going over to meet my friend at her apartment. I remember her telling me that her friend was sleeping. I remember turning to see her resting form on the nearby couch, her back was to me. I remember her turning to look at me when my friend woke her up. After that, I’m sure I stumbled over a quiet “hi.” She was so beautiful. And I remember it like a cheesy movie moment, like “Take My Breath Away” should have been playing in the background.
I managed to get myself together, and we went to the burlesque show. Holy s***! Lesbians were every where! I never seen them before in person, and then, here I was in a room full of them. And they were attractive and nice and some were even smiling at me, and I liked it?! I felt like my head was in the clouds. And then the show started, and talk about a mind blow. Women performing while undressing! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! And the performances were so energetic and political – one woman had “No blood for oil” painted across her torso. And I was cheering…for half-naked women who had something powerful and meaningful to say. I stopped thinking what my parents would think by intermission and stood, beer in hand, cheering for probably the most incredible night I had ever had. By the end of the evening, a massive dance party had ensued, and most of the performers were still in their pasties and undies and had no intentions of putting on my clothes.

Somehow, my friend’s friend and I ended up on the dance floor together. We were dancing pretty exclusively (which I had done with many of my female friends in the past with no problems), but there was a problem here. I don’t know how long we danced before I tried to kiss her. Emphasis on “tried” because a split second before I realized what was about to happen, I pulled back. A million thoughts were running through my head after that. I don’t think she even realized what I had tried to do. We ended up leaving the club pretty late. We went out for a late/early meal, and then went back to my friends place. Her friend and I shared a bed, and we stayed up talking until the sun rose. I didn’t sleep much after that, but I watched her friend sleep. I stared at her as I came to the conclusion that I was gay. I was a lesbian. Here I was, lying in bed next to a beautiful woman, watching her sleep, and all I could think about was kissing her.

What did this mean? For me? For my family? For my future? I didn’t know what to do or who to turn to. Unfortunately, it was a crisis that would have to be put on hold for more important things. In one week, I would be leaving for grad school in Boston.

Response to Rhodesia

Thank for writing, Rhodesia. I appreciate you sharing with me. Although I’m sure you are fearful of how your family may react if you come out to them, seeing that they didn’t know how to react to your aunt says to me that there is hope. I personally feel that not knowing how to react is better than reacting immediately with anger and hostility. Many religious people have different opinions about homosexuality. Two of my closest friends who are gay men grew up Christian and eventually came out to their families. Even though the three of us went to the same type of church, all of our parents reacted differently. You’ll never really know how your family will react until you tell them. I’m not saying you should right now – I’m not here to say when it is appropriate to come out to them, but when you do, make sure you’re ready for whatever reaction emotionally and, if possible, financially. Some parents will completely cut their kids off and kick them out. I was prepared to have my family kick me out (I’ll discuss that in my upcoming blogs). To help with the emotional pain, I can’t stress enough how easily friends can seem more like family. My closest friends and my partner helped me through the hardest times of my life, and I mean straight and gay friends. Talk to your aunt. Research some glbt groups. If you can’t find any in person, there are plenty online that can help with the struggles that glbt people endure everyday. And there are hotlines for glbt youth, as well. They even have scholarships for glbt students now. And finally, if you yourself are religious/spiritual, there are many books that discuss homosexuality in religion and might help you put things into perspective. I hope this helps.

Remembering those first feelings.

I didn't even know what the term "coming out" meant until I was in college. And I knew very little about what it meant to be gay. At least now I realize that in a perfect world, being “gay” probably wouldn’t be such a big deal and that people could just love who they loved, no questions asked. But it took awhile for me to come to that understanding.

As I mentioned in the previous blog, I grew up in a moderately conservative Christian household. We went to church every Sunday and we had frequent family prayer nights. Because I was a bit of nerd in middle/high school (that was just on my own accord), I didn’t have very many close friends, so I never really had intimate conversations with people about love, sex, relationships, or anything pretty much non-Christian. I mean, sex-ed for me was learning how men and women make babies, and there was apparently nothing else that needed to be mentioned (like it mattered, though, because I was Christian and would be saving myself for marriage because the Bible made that 100% clear).

That was how I made most of my decisions growing up. The Bible was my only source for all the answers and if I prayed enough for answers to questions that still remained unanswered, they would be answered and all would be well.

But even though my life seemed in order, not all was. Back then, I couldn’t tell you why, but it never all felt quite *right*, and that being my perceived sexuality and my mostly inherited beliefs. But since this is a blog about “coming out” as gay and not coming out as non-Christian, I’ll save my thoughts on religion for my memoirs.

I can remember as early as the third grade that there was this girl that I always wanted to be around. She was one of popular kids (which wasn’t saying much in third grade, but I was nerd with glasses and weird hair, so there was room to create this social divide between us). I wouldn’t have even thought of it as a crush back then; this girl didn’t even like me. I remember once grabbing her by her sweater because I wanted her to sit next to me. She didn’t want to, but apparently I couldn’t have that.

And then there was the girl I played basketball with in middle/junior high school. One time I scored a game winning free throw shot, and she came up and hugged me for the first time ever since I had known her. I thought about the hug for about a month and never understood why it was so amazing.

I started dating guys in high school. I had two boyfriends throughout the four years, but the most we ever did was kiss, and the relationships didn’t last long at all.

I met my first gay boy in high school. We were both in show choir and he was the only out gay person I knew. I remember always asking him lots of questions, because I was curious. I was not supposed to associate with him (my parents wouldn’t have liked it, so I never told them about him), but I found him fascinating.

And, finally, I entered college. I still didn’t even question my sexuality at this point. I went to school for engineering, and I was in the marching band, so studying and rehearsals ate up all my social time. That literally left no time for me to question my personal life. I was still chasing boys. I ended up dating another guy I knew from high school, but that only lasted about a month, and again, we never did anything except kiss. It never really occurred to me that I might want to do more with these guys. I didn’t completely turn myself off from that thought, though I never put much effort into it, either.

During my sophomore year, I met a girl in college. She was also in the marching band and a music sorority I joined, plus she got me to join her martial arts club. We became pretty good friends, but an all new familiar feeling arose. But the difference was that at this point, you could call it a crush. After a few years, we grew closer, and that’s when I started to have thoughts about her. Not just thoughts, but *thoughts*. It was then that I started to wonder if I was struggling with homosexuality. I refused to accept it. I read Bible verses, and I even met with a mentor at the church I attended during college. I thought I had it under control.

A year later a close friend of mine came out to me. I was shocked. I mean, this was my good friend, and he was telling me he was a homosexual. I didn’t know how to handle that. I told him I was cool with it after the initial shock, but I really didn’t know what to do now. I still believed that being gay was a sin. I didn’t know who to talk to about it, so I told my parents. They definitely weren’t comfortable with it because they knew how close we were, and they didn’t want him influencing me.

A year or so later, my ex-boyfriend told me he was gay. What?! What was going on around me? Who would become gay next? I didn’t know if I could handle it, but mostly because I was still fighting my own feelings of homosexuality. Seeing it all in front of me just made it harder to keep it buried beneath myself, but I managed to. I continued to chase guys and convinced myself that I was going to beat it.

My final year of school, my whole straight, Christian, perfect world got turned completely upside-down. It started with one college course my gay friend and I decided to take just because we thought it would be interesting and easy. Oh, interesting it was, but easy, not for us. It was called “Gender Studies: The Trouble with

Normal

.” *Smack* What had I gotten myself into? I would eventually find out there was a whole lot of trouble with “normal,” more than I could have ever imagined.

Meet Kenda

My name is Kenda and I’m 24-years-old. I work as a CAD Designer at an industrial supplies company. I live in a small suburb just outside Chicago with my partner. We have a small place that we share with two cats, a dog, and tree frog. Not the most ideal family in the world, but our own little family, none-the-less.

My partner and I have a few close friends we also share our lives and experiences with. We do a bit of activist work every now and then (right now, it’s volunteering with Fair Illinois to help with securing the futures of all GLBT families in Illinois. I also play in a GLBT community band, which will be involved heavily with the Gay Games in Chicago this summer.

It goes without saying that my life is the gayest it’s ever been. I know that ranks in the top ten of worst puns EVER, but it’s true. I mean, a year ago, if you had asked me that I’d be marching proudly in Chicago’s Memorial Day Parade with the only gay veterans group in existence, I would have laughed. But I’m active in the gay community, and I’m loving life. It doesn’t get much gayer than that. Of course, it’s not all easy fun, but it definitely beats where I was in my life a little over a year ago. At that time, I had no pets, no partner, very few feelings of self-worth or confidence, no direction in life, and ZERO pride. Most of my thoughts turned to suicide. I hated myself for being gay. I spent a lot of nights crying myself to sleep. I wasn’t a happy person, and I didn’t think I ever would be. That was then, just in the midst of my coming out story.

Right at the end of my college career, I accepted the fact that I was gay, which was not easy. I grew up in a Christian household. We weren't ultraconservative, but I was pretty sheltered and was taught that all gay people were going to hell in a hand basket. Needless to say, it took me awhile (about a year) to realize that I was ok. I came out to all my friends first and they received me with open arms. It was a great warm-up, because I knew that my family would be a different story. Was it ever. It never occurred to me that by sharing this secret with my family, they would never look at me the same ever again. I would never again just be who I always was, but someone completely different in their eyes. No amount of warnings and preparation could have prepared me for dealing with my family. It was a big mess, and I used to think that it would have been better if I had never told them.

So, since I was afraid of my family, I tried to smooth things over by telling them that I wasn’t gay, that I’d basically made a mistake and realized the true nature of my straight, Christian self (because “gay” and “Christian” could not EVER belong together in their eyes). I then moved out and tried to move on with my life. It took time, but I found life, love, and happiness, and yet, I couldn’t share any of it with them because, since I was gay, none of it was valid in their eyes or God’s eyes.

Fast forward to just a few months ago…

I came across the show Coming Out Stories on Logo. This girl wanted to come out to her mother because her mother was sick and I guess she wanted her to know before she died. Her mom accepted her, and all I could do was shake my head. I thought to myself, that’s something I’ll never experience from my family. There would need to be some kind of miracle in order to convince them GLBT folks are ok. I want their minds to change, just as they want mind to change I’m sure. But since they’ve (so far) backed off and let me live my life and make my own decisions, so I will for them.