Scott Owen :: Coming Out

Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage, to yield to.
- Oscar Wilde

Growing up in in the 60's and 70's in a rural community on an island on the West Coast of Canada, with the awareness from a very young age that I am gay, was not easy. Besides the threat of being teased or beaten up by other children, I was afraid that my family would all reject, disown or even hate me if they found out. Since I have come out of the closet (a term meaning, "accepting one's homosexuality and being open about it to others"), all of my family (parents, three brothers and one sister) have accepted my being gay to varying degrees. It has taken me quite some time to get to the point I am now, dropping so much secrecy and so many masks, but I still have a ways to go. It takes work more than luck I think, and going one's own path, is a conscious mental effort.

My coming out was not just about admitting to everyone else that I was gay, but also a statement that I was finally standing up for who I am, and that I was rejecting the idea of conforming in order to please society. It was a time of immense emotional struggle, of taking control of my life, of risking what seemed like everything, to get everything.

My memory of events during my childhood is extremely clear (my first vivid memory was of my first Christmas when I was just six months old!). After years of denial, it has been my good memory which helped me maintain my sanity and stability, and unravel the tangled web I'd woven.

I first knew that I was different when I was about four years old, when I was 'playing' with one of the neighbour-boys. One of my brothers caught us in the bathroom, and throughout my childhood, teens and university, I always suspected he 'knew' (as it turned out, my deceit had been so good that he didn't have a clue!).

I first remember knowing the name of what I was when a friend of mine was being called 'homo' and 'bum-buddy' in school – we were nine or ten at the time – and I couldn't understand how people could see it in him, and not in me... after all, I was his 'buddy'! I even wrote "I am gay" on a piece of paper in the privacy of my bedroom and ripped it up and threw it away. As it was, I was being bullied and beaten up at school by boys and by girls, and it only got worse because I never fought back: I couldn't bring myself to physically hurt someone else and the bullying continued all the way to high school. The sense that I had to mould myself so as to please others was only being increased, and there was no way I felt safe or secure enough to admit to anyone about being gay.

I spent years being literally terrified that people would discover that I was gay. I thought one of my brothers knew, as I said, and I had the suspicion that others were so close to knowing. As a result, I put on all sorts of masks and put up all sorts of smoke-screens. I would pretend to be attracted to some woman on TV, I would make negative, even nasty, comments about gays. I prayed to be straight. I hated that part of me so much, and by being very anti-gay, or homophobic, I suppose I subconsciously thought nobody would suspect me, and yet at the same time I was venting my anger with myself.

I was once teased in school for carrying my books "like a girl" (against my chest), and from that time on I carried them 'like a boy' (in one hand, by my side) – trying to act straight, so no one would know. I did my best to act straight, and in doing so, both protected and denied myself. Now, I can sympathise with why people feel they have to 'act straight', but I celebrate those who are able to act themselves. It disappoints me when I see personal ads for "straight-acting" men seeking other "straight-acting" men: It is frustrating that these people still allow themselves to be confined a 'straight-jacket' – pardon the pun – of conformity and lack of expression. There's nothing wrong with being effeminate or 'straight-acting' – or anything in between – as long as that's who you really are, and it's only personal insecurity which makes one ashamed for someone else being themselves. Fortunately, a year or so after I came out, I took ballet lessons and it felt so wonderful to rid myself of all those stiff, straight ways of acting. I used to do gymnastics as a child, and it felt so good – so liberating – to be able to move freely again, instead of worrying what other people would be thinking of me: I got my body back again.

Being attracted to boys was just so natural to me that I didn't really understand how boys could be attracted to girls: I thought that maybe it's something that you have to try in order to like, and so I had a girlfriend (which I also thought would make other people think I was straight). I even tried to have sex – to convert myself, I suppose you could say – and it will come as no surprise that my body didn't co-operate. But whatever the outside world was given to see, I often had crushes on fellow school-mates and even the occasional teacher, and I can assure you I wasn't looking at Brooke Shields in Blue Lagoon! There were several boys in school with whom I would very much have liked to have had a boyfriend-relationship with, as I was attracted to, and cared very much for, them. My fantasies and dreams were exclusively about males.

I moved from Victoria to Toronto, to go to university, when I was 17 years old. Being in a big city, 'on my own', I started the slow, six year process of my coming out of my dark closet.

I sub-rented an apartment in Calgary during the summer, and it turned out the guy from whom I was sub-renting had a box full of gay magazines in the bedroom. I let everyone know how awful and sick I thought it was, and proceeded to read every one of them. I had gone so far into the closet that I even denied to myself that I was gay. So here I was reading gay magazines, and convinced I 'wasn't gay like the others'. I hated myself that much.

At one point I fell in love with someone I met in the Bahamas, but couldn't admit it and so couldn't act on it. Perhaps it wasn't the right time or, as Arnold in Torch Song Trilogy says, "not enough". I was so deeply troubled that I decided to see a psychologist. I think I might have been ready then to tell her what was really going on in my head instead of feeding her all the lines about what might be wrong, but she never asked the crucial question: She never asked me point-blank if I was gay. I suppose I was trying to get people to ask me, perhaps to take the responsibility. But coming out is about taking the responsibility.

On a visit to the university student medical facilities, one of the doctors asked if I was gay, and I waffled a bit: I didn't say yes, but for the first time didn't exactly say no, either. Unfortunately he didn't really pursue it further, but he did say that if I was, it's okay, that they're gay positive and I'd be welcome to come back and talk. I am very grateful to the U of T student medical staff, and especially to him, for those comments. It helped me a great deal.

I finished university and stayed in Toronto to work. By this time, I was so stressed-out that I was getting nosebleeds every day, sometimes lasting up to half an hour. (I haven't had a stress-related nosebleed since I came out of the closet!) As fate or blessing would have it, in my search for answers, I ended up in an Anglican church where a lot of other gay people were, and I had a couple of very good friends who turned out to be gay. I still wasn't the least bit out to them, but, again, it helped a great deal. It's crazy, but I was afraid of talking to them about it because I thought even they would not like me because I had been dishonest.

A lot of things happened and I was getting closer and closer to coming out of the closet. I knew that if I continued trying to conform, and were to get married, that I would wake up some day, 70 or 80 years old, and realise I was at the end of someone else's life. That is, if I even made it to that age rather than dying of a stress-related heart attack before I was 35! I knew I had to deal with who I was. In January 1986 I was alone in Los Angeles on business, and I decided then that it was time to get rid of the closet upon my return to Toronto. I'd finally come out to myself and living my life was more important than letting others live it for me.

It was around that time that I met Hans, who was visiting Toronto for a year to complete his Masters degree. He joined the choir in my church, and I fell in love with him. This time it was both the right time and "enough". I did absolutely everything I could to cross his path – to just 'coincidentally' be where he was – and within a month, I worked up the nerve to ask him to dinner, and then again to another dinner, a movie (Room with a View) and a couple of long walks. On a Sunday morning, sweating bullets, I called him up and told him I had to speak to him about something. That afternoon, I came out of the closet to him and told him how I felt about him. That was Sunday, April 20th, 1986, and we've been together ever since.

Two months later, we went for a long-weekend to New York. Our hotel was right at Central Park, and when I looked out the window in the morning, there was a lavender line down the middle of the street: I couldn't believe it – we certainly hadn't planned it – but it was Gay Pride Day! We had a fabulous day, walking the whole parade route, and for the first time in my life, I felt safe and okay. Safe, and okay! I was among thousands of other people like me, openly walking down the street, and the police were protecting us. When we got back from that weekend, I came out to all the people I knew in Toronto. Despite all the worry and fear I had had, I got warm and accepting reactions from everyone.

In the next two months, I quit my job and moved to Amsterdam to be with Hans.

But my parents still didn't know why I'd moved to Amsterdam. I told them that I wanted to see what it was like to live and work in Europe. I was stuck, because I couldn't keep lying to them, and yet I felt that if I told them the truth, they would no longer love me. I thought I would hurt my mom, and that my dad would disown me. I had come to the conclusion that I would never be able to see them again.

A friend of the family told me, though, that I should let them decide if they were going to disown me, and not make that decision for them. The worst thing that could happen is that my fears were real – but then at least we could all be honest about it – and otherwise things could only be better. There was no reason not to tell them, other than running away from the truth. And I'd come too far for that.

I was afraid that if I went to Victoria to tell them, that they might try to stop me from returning to Amsterdam, or that my dad might hurt me, or whatever. Paranoia! I didn't want to go alone, but I didn't want Hans to get hurt in case things got ugly. I didn't want to tell them over the telephone, because I was afraid of their first reaction, or that they might just yell or cry and hang up.

I finally decided to write a letter, explaining everything. That way, I could lay out all my thoughts on paper, and they could take a lot of time to read it, and re-read it, before reacting. In retrospect, I think I was just afraid of the confrontation, and – like an air force pilot – dropped the bomb from a distance at which I couldn't see the casualties. If I had to do it again, I hope I would have the courage and character to tell them in person.

In the week it took for my letter to arrive, I felt completely numb. It took longer than I expected, and I thought that maybe they'd decided not to reply, not to speak to me again. I loved my parents so much, and the thought of this was devastating.

I was woken up by the telephone at 7 in the morning. My parents' first reaction was tears, but they got one of my brothers to call me up to say that they had received the letter, that they couldn't talk on the phone at the moment, but that they wanted me to know that they still loved me. A short while later, my mom said that she hoped my relationship with Hans would be "like a marriage". Her love, strength and support at a time which she was coming to terms with my being gay – her putting my well-being above any of her doubts or questions – has been a continual strength for me.

My mother wrote several letters to me, and spoke with me several times on the phone after that. Six months later, on a Saturday evening, she called me up in tears and said she "had to see me as soon as possible". There was an urgency and a desperation in her voice and I'd never heard her like this before. She said she had wanted to fly out to see me. I comforted her and told her that I was planning on visiting within a month. She seemed to resign herself to accepting that, almost as a defeat. The next morning my father called me to tell me that she had died. I hadn't seen her in about a year-and-a-half, and yet I flew back and was in their house the next day. I had this terrible sense that I'd just missed her.

As I've already mentioned, my family accepts my being gay – and my relationship with Hans – to varying degrees. Generally, it's positive. My dad had a lot of difficulties due to stereotypes and prejudices, and I suppose I have to give him the credit for having made the most progress of anyone in my family (although I stress the word "progress"). A couple of my brothers had difficulties, but those were largely due to insecurity (on both our parts, I suppose), and the other brother still has big hangups. My sister's first reaction was, "Well, I could never have imagined you with a girl."

I am acutely aware of the fact that I have been very fortunate, and that some families can react very badly to the news that their child is gay. I know that when I was in the closet – and even to this day – my insecurity and self-loathing made me say and do a lot of things I regret.

Self-loathing and deep-seated insecurity are, I have come to realise, quite common among gay men, even long after we come out. Often we simply want to belong, but in glances, in questions and remarks, we are made painfully (often subtly) aware of the fact that we don't and won't belong, even by people who are themselves convinced they accept us. These constant reminders of our not belonging lead to the self-loathing and insecurity, which in turn often lead to extremely destructive behaviour – in particular alcohol, drug and sex addictions.

As hard as it may be to accept, if people disown you when they find out you're gay, then in fact they've already disowned you now. Protecting them from the truth doesn't change the fact of how they feel about who you really are, it only perpetuates prejudices. I know how scary it is to worry that someone whom you've loved for so long may reject you. Having said that, I am constantly surprised at how people who I thought would react badly, actually react well or learn to accept.

Also, there are so many people who you will know in your life who will love you for exactly who you are.

In my essay, "I Believe", I wrote that one should "try to be secure enough to be vulnerable". When I was freshly out of the closet, I felt very defensive – almost as if I was going to dislike everyone before they got the chance to dislike me. I came to realise that it was one more closet I was hiding in, and that I was judging people, just like I thought they would judge me. Slowly but surely, I've been dropping my defensive guard.

Still, nobody has the right to deny who I am. I don't care what or who they may hate, I'm not going to protect them by denying myself – by hiding. It used to feel like I was jumping into cold water every time I told people, but it does get better with practice. At work, everyone knows about Hans, and in job interviews I've made it very clear by mentioning 'in passing' that I have a boyfriend ("my boyfriend does such-and-such", etc.). (That said, the very fact that it is an issue, can leave one feeling a bit lonely, and I am conscious of how fortunate I am to live in a society where it is at least less of an issue.) The ability – the freedom – to be able to talk with co-workers about what we did last weekend, or whatever, without having to edit all my stories, allows me to to so much more with my life. Being open from the start has meant I don't have to worry about how people will react later, after they've gotten to know me and we've built a friendship.

As easy as it may seem to grow up gay today, my eyes have been opened to just how difficult it still is for gay teenagers to come out of the closet and to be tolerated, let alone accepted. Gay youth still face fierce teasing, harassment, name-calling and violence, and fear the loss of family and friends, just for wanting to love and be loved by someone of their own sex. Suicide is still highest among gay youth: This is a horrible tragedy.

Let us pray that those gay youth struggling to deal with prejudice and hate just for being who they are, will find strength to continue, in honesty. Life really does get better, and your lives are precious.

If you are gay and still in the closet, remember that 'coming out' is a very personal, individual experience. Only you can know when the time's right to come out of the closet: it might be in your teens or your thirties. You'll know when that time comes, when you realise that being honest about yourself is much more important that protecting other people's image of what you are. And you're not alone.

If you'd like to discuss anything as a result of reading this essay, please feel free to send me e-mail at Scott@ScottOwen.org. I promise to handle your messages in the strictest confidence.

† In memory of Andre Paul Heimlich (27 May 1962 - 5 April 1990)