Keianna

My grandma said she knew the day we were at Union Station.
“There’s only two things that I could think of that are bothering you. You’re either pregnant or a lesbian.”
I can’t be pregnant BECAUSE I’m a lesbian. That was a private thought that led to a private laugh later on that day while I washed my hands.
“Grandma, I like boys AND girls” was what I said out loud.
When she hugged me and told me that she would always love me no matter what, I kept replaying the memory of her doing my hair while I sat on the floor. I was nine or ten when she asked me to come out after she died if I was gay.
I came out to my grandma right in front of the house-turned-office where I had therapy and promptly went in for my session after.

In the days leading up to me coming out to my grandma, I was in a little city just outside of Sacramento, letting myself fall a little deeper in love with a girl. I kept thinking about how I could never tell my grandma or dad about her. I could never share all of myself with them because they’d hate me. I mean, they’d spent my whole life saying things that didn’t matter much to them but put another layer of bricks in a wall that would eventually cut me off from them completely.

I came home from my trip dissatisfied with my way of life after finding out how good it could be away from all the strings and secrets. When I was there, I didn’t have to be just a very supportive ally to the LGBT+ community. I could be a part of it without being afraid. I learn a lot about myself when I’m away.

“Dad, I’m totally gay.”
What. Why had it come out like that? Who says totally anymore? What a lame way to come out: hiding behind your grandma and saying totally. He laughed a little because he didn’t understand why I was crying or why I thought he would hate me. He loved me and there’s nothing wrong with me.
Nice.

I’d told my siblings a couple months before them and they had the same idea as my grandma: “Everyone sins, being gay is no different from lying or stealing.” It felt like judgement veiled as disappointment. Did that mean they were looking at me as if I was lying about myself because god didn’t make me this way and I was stealing their fantasy of me growing up and marrying a man? I’m sorry. Really sorry.

I’m not sure how I feel about my life or who I am. I’m not sure how I feel about how the church will feel but apparently I shouldn’t care. Coming out tore walls down and built new ones. Telling people something about yourself means that you have to reflect and think about it too. I know for sure that I am beyond grateful to have a family as supportive as mine because I know some people don’t have that privilege.

Anyways: Dude, I’m super gay. ♦