You have nothing to worry about. I just want to be a part of your life.

Today, many, many great things happened. I was sitting in the Trinity Café at the Chocolate Fountain Social, thinking, reflecting, soaking in the great energy, and laughing at the chocolate that was all over everyone’s faces and noses.

I think in a few short hours, several things came full circle for me. The chocolate fountain social was my first LGBT event when I was a freshman, latched on to Chris Purcell. Now, there are so many new faces! It was wonderful to see. And of course, the oldies (but goodies) who I love to see: Janie Long, Jack Grote, Chris Perry, Justin Harris, Megan Weinand, Olly Wilson, AJ Biggers, Michelle, Aliza…and so many others (I’m not excluding your names for malicious intent, I am just unsure of your level of outness).

I also got news today that I have the opportunity to be in next semester’s show of The Laramie Project. (So psyched!) So while sitting there, just chatting and taking a few photos, I just got the most incredible feeling of how fortunate I am to have all of you in my life. The LGBT Center and Blue Devils United have single handedly provided the best kind of community I could have hoped for. Perhaps this is the sentimental senior in me talking, but I know I am truly lucky to be a part of your lives. So amidst this reflection, I made the decision to start putting some really important conversations in motion.

I left the Chocolate Fountain Social and I called my Nana, to come out to her.

Now, if you know my family’s religious affiliation, you can imagine why I’ve put this off for so long. And to be honest, I have always been terrified of losing my birth family, and my access to their lives. Nana was definitely shocked, because she said, “Well, this is a HUGE shock.”

But you know what? I just told her I feel like I’ve had so much good news to share and I am so happy, that nothing should keep me from communicating with my family. I told her about my house and living with my partner, and how I just want to be sure and respect her boundaries and be open to her questions and opinions.

And she told me, “You have nothing to worry about. I just want to be a part of your life.”

This is so, so, so much better of a conversation than I anticipated. She made sure to remind me what her religious beliefs were, but she did so in the most respectful, beautiful, understanding way. It’ll still be a process, and I’m sure once she recovers from the shock, we can have more conversations.

“Life is too short, it’s not my job to judge anyone.” –My Nana

Thank you all so much for providing the best support and the best community I could have ever hoped for. It is through seeing your smiling faces, as well as hearing any turmoil/struggle/doubt that makes me feel so free to be me.

When I think back to this time freshman year, I would have never believed that things would have turned out this way, but I know I will always look back and think of all of you and be so proud to know you.


Much love, and hope for bright futures,

Summer Puente

Coming Out Story #3

[Ed. Note: Every Wednesday, we collect a coming out story and post it here, anonymously. They can be long or short, devastating or hilarious or boring or somewhere in between. The stories can be gathered in person or digitally - even using our "submit anonymously" link on the sidebar! If you'd like to send one in, email us at bluedevilsunited@gmail.com. If you don't feel like writing, we can meet in person, too, (ignore this PSA) and I'll transcribe your story here. Just let us know.]

It was finals week in tenth grade, so we got to leave school right after our test. I went to my friend's house down the street with a bunch of people to hang out for the rest of the day. Everything was going great until my mother called the house I was at (this was before we all had cellphones) and just said "I'm coming to pick you up."

Oh?

From her tone of voice and withholding of any reason why I had to leave early, I suspected that someone had died. I have old grandparents, and thought the worst. But I was assured that everyone was "okay" and everything was "fine" (though we all know what that means). I hung up, and almost immediately realized what was up. I ran to my friend's computer and confirmed the worst: that I was not idle on Instant Messenger.

I had stayed logged into my Windows account on our family computer and furthermore had left up all of my AIM conversations. Including the one I had with [Shannon] the night before where, uh, I said some pretty explicit things about one of our straight friends, [John]. I basically outlined some pretty violent sex that I wanted to have with him and frequently used the words "fuck" and "brains out." This has happened to the best of us, right? ...Right?

Okay, so I was a horny kid. Sue me.

So at this point I knew that my mother had read this (mortifying, in case you couldn't figure that out), and she was on her way to confront me over it. Awesome! This is exactly how I always saw my coming out unfolding.

She picked me up and we went back to my house in silence, and I was led to our computer room. We sat.

...

"I don't like the language you use on the internet. It's inappropriate."

Wait, really? Phew. I could handle a lecture on swearing. I'd done this a thousand times before, as I am a big fan of curse words. I simply sat there and absently agreed to never say these things again. Ever again. Can I go now?

"Are you gay?" she blurted.

Fuck. Shit.

There was really no way out (it's Puns Week on Our Lives) of this one, as the evidence was stacked up against me quite a bit. Straight guys do NOT say the things that I said. I had to come out. So many grandiose, articulate ways to do this! I could turn this into a real Lifetime movie. A Glee moment before there even was such a thing. Instead, because obviously I hate myself, I went with

"Duh!"

Yup. "Duh." That's the best I could do. That's what I came up with. Instead of Kurt from Glee I went with George from Seinfeld ("Jerkstore!"). I think I blacked out after that because I don't remember too many details (I was busy starting years of regretting my diction in that moment). I do know, though, that mom was more than accepting. Thrilled, actually. Probably because her years of having me lip-sync and dance Mariah Carey songs had paid off.

* * *

I guess looking back I don't entirely hate that that's how things went down. It forced me to come out, which had to happen at some point. It actually saved me years of perseverating and agonizing over how best to go about it. Mom knew then, but it took years until I was comfortable enough to talk about it. Which wasn't that bad. It was a pretty good arrangement where I knew she knew, and that she was The Best about it, but I was allowed to really come out on my own time.

But fuck, what an embarrassing, messy way to go about it.

"I don't think you should be sleeping over [John]'s house this weekend."

Coming Out Story #2

[Ed. Note: Every Wednesday, we collect a coming out story and post it here, anonymously. They can be long or short, devastating or hilarious or boring or somewhere in between. The stories can be gathered in person or digitally - even using our "submit anonymously" link on the sidebar! If you'd like to send one in, email us at bluedevilsunited@gmail.com. If you don't feel like writing, we can meet in person, too, (ignore this PSA) and I'll transcribe your story here. Just let us know.]

Am I a lesbian? Probably. Am I bisexual? Maybe. Queer? Perhaps. I never put an official title on my sexuality and still don’t really. All I know is that I’ve been crazy about members of the so-called fairer sex, ever since I was old enough to go crazy about anyone. But I didn’t really name my feelings.

The first time I ever got my sexuality labeled was in the eighth grade. Her name was Corinne (name changed, of course). I walked her back home after a movie and we sat on her porch and just talked for hours. I don’t even remember the conversation. Staring at her evenly glossed lips, I was floating too high up in the air to really listen to what they were saying. She had the most perfect part right in the middle of her hair and the cleanest fingernails I had ever seen. Once she caught me not paying attention and shook her head and said, “You’re such a homo.” She was just joking, but I never really thought about that word until just right then.

Then I started thinking about it a lot and when I was 17, I finally did something about it: I fell in love with a girl. Indisputable-loco-crazy-maudlin-mushy-I-can’t-breathe-without-you-and-I-write-you-poems-instead-of-doing-homework love. You might know what I mean. Well, if you do, then you know it’s impossible to keep that sort of thing to yourself.

Eventually, I came out to my friends. One by one. Again and again, I expected to face some kind of rejection or have someone change the way they acted around me. No one did. Human beings. They really surprise me on a daily basis.

I’m still not completely out to my family, which is why I’m keeping this anonymous. Sometimes, I feel like I’m living two lives: one with my family and one with everyone else. But let me just say that it was never my purposeful intention to deceive anyone. I just don’t think my parents and grandparents are ready for it yet. I’m not ready for it yet.

Sometimes, I think about all the girls I had a major crush on, but never had the courage to admit to myself. I suppose the hardest person to come out to is yourself. It took love for me to realize a part of myself that had always existed. It took love for me to finally muster the courage to go to the LGBT Center (one of the best decisions of my life). And it’ll take love for me to come out completely to my family. But the best part is that I know it exists. Love.

Coming Out Story #1

[Ed. Note: Every Wednesday, we collect a coming out story and post it here, anonymously. They can be long or short, devastating or hilarious or boring or somewhere in between. The stories can be gathered in person or digitally - even using our "submit anonymously" link on the sidebar! If you'd like to send one in, email us at bluedevilsunited@gmail.com. If you don't feel like writing, we can meet in person, too, (ignore this PSA) and I'll transcribe your story here. Just let us know.]

I was 13 or so, I think, when I first realized I was to be gay. Let's call it the first revelation. I wasn't sure what it meant at the time, but I knew it bothered me greatly. I cried and prayed and tried to figure out what being gay meant, particularly as a Catholic. I was sure I had screwed something up to end up this way. I was certain, too, that it was reversible--that I could simply figure out what I had done wrong and somehow undo it.

I spent the next six years attempting to reprogram my sexuality. In retrospect, I'm really just glad I didn't have access or knowledge sufficient to truly screw myself up too badly. I'm not easily discouraged, though, and I kept trying until just after my freshman year here at Duke. After an emotional discussion with my ex-girlfriend, I came out to her.

The second revelation was harder-earned than the first. I think all those years of active denial were necessary to get there, as well as my 12 sleepless hours of thought, prayer, and reflection.

You always hear about how people talk to God. And I'm a reasonably faithful person, or at least I try to be. I had just never personally believed that God actually communicated with people (did they hear some sort of boomy voice in their heads? What was this all about?). I've tried to rationalize away what happened, but the quote I was given, or that I heard, or whatever happened, just didn't seem to be anywhere else. Its wording (and its meaning, at the time) was clear. "I have made you exactly as you are, and I have made you completely beautiful."

Love is one of the hardest things for me to accept--whether from God, from others, or even from myself. It's just uncomfortable to know that someone could love those parts of you that you've spent your whole life trying to change. I don't want people to love the dark, ugly, uncomfortable, and sinful within me. I want them to want me to change it. Some days, anyhow.

It's only been two years or so since then, though I can scarcely believe it myself. Lots of things have changed. Lots of things haven't. I've accepted some of those words given to me. I readily identify as gay. I'm reasonably comfortable talking about it to family, friends, people whose names I still can't remember, and even strangers. Love, though? I still can't accept that.

I've stopped counting the revelations. It's kind of an overly dramatic way to think about knowledge, anyhow, I think. I have to admit, though, I'm not entirely comfortable with everything. I think sometimes I still want to find better arguments against homosexuality within the Church because, somehow, then, if it were okay for the Church to hate me, it would be fine for me to hate myself.

I guess I'm saying that oppression doesn't just come from society. It can come from so many places--from news media, family, religion, or the worst place: from within. Personally, I have enough trouble not despising certain things about myself that I just don't have time to hear hateful or discriminatory things elsewhere. So I don't. Maybe that's why I feel like I've never been discriminated against--if I hate myself first, maybe others won't. Maybe I just won't notice it when and/or if they do.

That sounds pretty bleak, though. Life is good. I'm generally happy and I don't get self-hating all too often. I have amazing friends and a supportive family and community, even if the family isn't entirely comfortable talking about it. Coming out is, as they say, a continuous process, and not everyone is comfortable with it. Oh well, I guess. Why should I have to justify or argue about the way I am with people? I'm gay. I didn't have a choice in the matter. That's that, and this is me.