Coming Out, Again
At 16 years old, I thought I was finished coming out to my parents; at 40, I came out to them again in a new way. It expanded my understanding of Courage.
Writer’s Note: This piece mentions sexual abuse, but not any specific acts or people. If you are in need of support, I’m linking to the National Sexual Assault Hotline here.
This post is part of a monthlong series celebrating National Coming Out Day on October 11, 2023. Coming out as gay was the first significant Journey of Courage in my life, and strongly informs my own ideas about Courage. I’m writing this series not just for queer people, but for anyone who has ever held a meaningful part of themselves inside.
October 1: Love and Courage
October 8: What Coming Out Taught Me About Courage
October 15: Coming Out, Again
October 22: We All Have Closets
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When I was 16, I came out to my parents as gay.
This week, at 40, I came out to my parents as someone who experienced sexual abuse.
At this point, I feel totally comfortable sharing this part of my life in public: that, over the course of 8th and 9th grade, I was sexually abused at the hands of my best friend. I’ve shared my story with loved ones and therapists in the past—I’ve had support—but it took me 25 years to tell my own parents.
I can say: in telling them, my parents were as loving as I could have imagined.
I can also say: that didn’t stop me from being paralyzed by the million reasons I imagined not to tell them, from the fears and beliefs I held about what they could tolerate, and from the long journey I had to go on to finally come out and say it.
While I’ve contemplated coming out to them about my abuse intermittently for years, my ongoing deliberation over the past six months is what’s taught me most about Courage.
Being in conversation with Courage
I’m coming to believe that one of the best ways to have more Courage in your life is simply to be in conversation with it regularly.
For a while, I was endlessly stuck in a Yearning-Bargaining loop—wanting to be out to my parents about what I experienced, but finding any reason why I shouldn’t or didn’t need to. Mostly I didn’t want to make them feel badly or worry about me.
How did I finally, after all these years, break that loop?
I started keeping Courage nearby. I engaged with it, and I walked alongside it. I didn’t rush it, and I didn’t abandon it. I just gave us time to build a dialogue over many months.
This is what my conversation looked like.
In May, when I started conceiving “On Courage”, I asked myself where I might practice more Courage in my own life. Immediately, my inner voice nudged me to come out to my parents about my abuse. I listened. I had no idea how, but I suspected that being in such close proximity to Courage week after week would inevitably lead me there. At the time, that prospect held more dread than hope.
In June, I happened to catch up with an old high school friend who had experienced their own sexual abuse—and who speaks publicly about it. I asked them whether they felt I had an obligation to share mine with my parents. “What I tell everyone,” they told me, “is your primary concern should be to take care of yourself.” Part of me wished they had just told me to do it, but surely I was relieved.
In July, I was listening to the Rich Roll podcast in my car. It was an interview with entrepreneur Tim Ferriss who shared, among other things, how he’d been sexually abused as a child. My ears perked up. I was jealous of the relief I imagined Tim felt being able to speak so frankly. I want that. Courage is contagious.
In August, I wrote “What to Do With Fear?” while I was actively contemplating telling my parents. If you go back and read it, you might hear how personal it was for me. (As it turns out, it’s been my most read newsletter). I remember sharing my sadness with my husband over dinner one night. Why was I so afraid to tell my parents? He reminded me that holding and facing the fear was Courageous in itself. He also pointed me toward the book, “What Happened to You?”, which I checked out from the library and started to listen to.
In September, my coach and I were casually talking about our parents. I mentioned my general reluctance to share “negative” things with them—this being a prime example. She helped me explore what was important about sharing this with them now, and how it might be another opportunity to practice Courage. We got curious about how it might connect to my broader journey of coming out.
And then in October, I wrote “Love and Courage”, proof of the role love played in my coming out to my parents at 16. As I drafted it, I stood up and started pacing my office with the anticipation that another coming out was looming. And then I wrote “What Coming Out Taught Me About Courage”, which clarified what might await me on the other side of coming out again: liberation, connection, and community—all things I crave deeply these days.
My conversations with Courage weren’t linear. They weren’t like a path on a map guiding me from start to finish. Instead, they were like balls of different weights being placed gently on a scale until it finally tipped. Balls in the form of ideas, voices, feelings, and truths that I could hold within myself until the smallness of my fears became outweighed by the promise of being out.
I was ready to Leap. I knew there would never be a perfect time to do it. My readiness became the perfect time.
The long arc of Courage
While we mythologize Courage as a scarce resource that presents itself only in a moment, the reality is that Courage is an infinite resource that spans our entire lives.
When I was in high school, I knew what had happened to me was wrong.
At the time, I told my friends what had happened and they supported me as best they could. I even told some teachers whose failure to support and protect me is a story for another day. Also a story for another day: the degree to which being abused influenced who I am today.
Recently, I came to recognize that I was Courageous, even then. I recognized that if I could be Courageous then, I could certainly continue to be Courageous now. All I had to do was pull on a thread of Courage that’s always been there—a thread I’ll continue to pull on until the day I die.
I see clearly that Courage is always available.
It is patient, generous, and caring.
It is ready when you are.
And so, I ask you:
Where might you practice more Courage in your own life now? Listen to that.
How can you be in conversation with Courage more regularly? I hope this newsletter is one way. What are others?
Can you be patient with Courage in the same way it can be patient with you?
- Elliot
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Powerful - thank you for sharing and modeling what courage looks like in your life.