Happy National Coming Out Day

Hey y’all,

As I tend to naturally sashay when I walk and speak mostly with my hands, most people have, for the majority of my life, just assumed that I came out the womb fabulously, deliciously gay. In truth, I hated how flamboyant I was as a child - and how natural it was for me to be “girly.” I remember hearing myself on tape for the first time and hating my voice. I remember immediately adjusting my voice to sound more butch. And coming to the sad realization that I would never, ever sound butch.

I remember everyone around me telling jokes about the gays and secretly fearing that they were all talking about me. “Look at that faggot!” “Oh my God, he’s such a sissy!” But they were . . . And the uncomfortable truth was that my community cloaked me in homophobia that resulted in some serious self hatred.

I remember thanking God that I liked girls as a teenager. I remember not having the vocabulary to explain me to me. I remember looking at men, and being aroused - but thinking that I simply wanted to look like them. Because how could I want them and I also wanted girls? Did I really want girls?

And then I discovered sex - and hooray - I am sleeping with women.

Then I went to college and at an all boys college no less - and lasted all Freshman year without giving in to temptation.

But that summer I finally hit that final growth spurt and I was giving you drag body realness with a beard and the kids were #LIVING

And so I had my very first hook up but it must not have been good because homey never called me back :-(

Devastated - I just rationalized this as an “experimenting phase.” We are in college - I am learning how to express myself - I am trying out new things - it’s just a phase.

I moved around the world and let other people define me. Being big and black in Europe means being masculine - or at the very lease - a top. So I assumed that identity and enjoyed the lie. In Africa, sexuality is not a fundamental part of your identity so I was simply known as a powerful American.

In truth, my coming out happened when I asked my husband to marry me . . . I came out to everyone except my dad . . . Because he cray.

But I couldn’t get married and my father not know - so my mom told him just before she flew to Germany for our wedding. Because - she had to explain why she was going to Germany, lol. My dad, in all of his infinite wisdom, told me (in his own) way that he knew all along - and loved me for me.

And I have, over the years, also learned to love me for me . . . But it has been a long, hard road.

I originally told my coming out story for the very first time ever in Algeria - as with this post, my story came out as a blurry stream of consciousness. I sat in front of a room full of young adults who were programmed to believe that gay was wrong and against Islam. But they listened and asked me questions. There were a few in the room who remained quiet but hung on to my every word.

A year later, one of them reached out to me and thanked me for sharing my story. Mine was the first he had ever heard publicly and it meant a lot to him to hear at least one other story - that my story gave him hope.

This is why I am grateful for today. I do not mean to simply share my story. I mean to share hope.

Happy National Coming Out Day