Here it is. The last article of the series, culminating in my coming out. All of the factors that led to this moment were a perfect storm. The realizations about myself in Europe, to what followed after getting back in the states, all created a pressure point that couldn’t be denied any longer. Over the span of a year, I would come out three times — as a gay man, as a Democrat, and also as an Episcopalian.
That year — my junior year of college — I would intern in the Lieutenant Governor’s office in Little Rock, Arkansas before flying to D.C. to intern for a Republican Congressman. Also during that year I would experience not one but two active shooter situations on my college campus, traumatic instances that led me to seek counseling for the first time in my life.
The first active shooter situation occurred on Valentine’s Day. As my friends and I ate lunch, we were alerted via text message that an active shooter was on Arkansas State’s campus, a mere few yards away. Along with friends, I ran out of the Humanities Building toward an unknown destination, unsure of what the next couple of hours were to bring. Thankfully, an unknown stranger in a pick-up truck took me and one of my friends to Buffalo Wild Wings off campus, a welcome surprise.
Though I wasn’t traumatized by this particular event, the next time it wouldn’t be the same situation. A few weeks later, my friends and I were once again eating lunch when everyone around us began running away from an unseen threat. Once again in flight mode, we all ran until my friend and I huddled in a dorm room with other students. This time, we were trapped on campus as we waited for a narrative from the outside. We turned on CNN, and sure enough, they were reporting yet another active shooter situation on our campus.
My heart dropped. For the second time in less than a month, I was unsure whether I would make it through the next 24 hours. As we waited over a span of 30 minutes, I stared outside, wondering if I would catch a glimpse of the shooter fleeing from authorities. Everyone in the dorm was on edge. There were people outside keeping watch, ready to pounce should anyone attempt to breech the building. We waited. And waited. And waited.
But nothing ever came. The campus police lifted the threat, only to realize a few days later that the active shooter had actually been a masked student filming a movie on campus.
Though we were never in danger the second time, I was traumatized, experiencing PTSD for the first time in my life. Whenever I was in a public building, I was hyperaware of every single person, wondering if, perhaps, I would have to endure another life-threatening situation.
All of this occurred as I was interning in government offices, inside some of the most heavily armed buildings in the country. Though we had security officials stationed all over the State Capitol in Little Rock, I still wondered if, somehow, someone would get through anyway, endangering all.
When I got to D.C., I had to worry about the added bomb and “suspicious package” threats that occurred almost regularly. And as this occurred, I told myself I could mentally deal with all of it on my own, when in reality, I needed help.
While in D.C., I also began to come to terms with my sexuality. Shortly before leaving for my internship, I had begun living with my grandparents, and since they had their own lives, they were hardly ever at home. This meant that I was by myself a lot. It was there, amidst the Reagan biographies and Christianity self-help publications, that I came out to myself, accepting that I was indeed gay.
This happened only a week before I flew out to D.C., so I hardly had any time to fully process my inner awakening before going to a completely different place, with its own norms and cultural milieus. Looking back, it was perfect timing.
I know a lot of people wonder what a Congressional intern does all day. At our office, we mainly answered phones and crafted correspondence for constituents. On my first day, I got an earful from not one but two frustrated constituents. When they heard I couldn’t put them in touch with the Congressman directly, they told me I needed to get a new job because I “obviously didn’t know what I was doing.”
There were also really cool parts about my internship. I got the opportunity to sit in on briefings and to ride the underground subway system that whisks lawmakers to their respective chambers for key votes. I also walked on the actual floor of the Library of Congress (a spot closed to the larger public, who’s reduced to viewing it through glass).
All of this gave me a deeper appreciation for our country and the true, unadulterated idea of the American Dream. Here I was — a young, gay Southern boy occupying the most sacred spaces in our country — spaces in which key ideas and legislation were crafted and still influence our lives to this day. When I conducted U.S. Capitol tours with constituents, I also got to share this appreciation with fellow Arkansans, a privilege I will never forget.
In D.C. I would also realize another key part of myself — that I could no longer direct my energy into the Republican party as I had before. As I lie in my apartment one night, mere minutes away from the U.S. Capitol, I began to see my admiration for Hillary Clinton as what it was — an alignment with the platform she stood for. In addition, I identified as a gay man, and the Democratic party had historically been more inclusive of gay rights. This isn’t to say that all in the Republican party hate gay people. Their approach to gay rights was just not in alignment with how I wanted to pursue my work for LGBT advocacy. And so, on that warm summer night in D.C., I made the decision to change my party affiliation.
When I made it back to the states for my senior year of college, I was a transformed person. I had had the space to work out my identification as both a gay man AND as a Democrat. All that was left was to tell all my friends and loved ones. Easy, right?
Let’s also snowball the fact that I had decided to change church affiliation, simply because the Southern Baptist denomination was not right for me at that point in my life. Instead, I decided to pursue the Episcopal faith, a decision that brought me a deeper appreciation of the Bible and its teachings, blessing me with countless new friends I cherish to this day.
I’ll be honest. This was one of the hardest years of my life. Even though my friends took my coming out well, my family members did not. After a day of shopping with my parents, we decided to relax at a Starbuck’s café in Barnes and Noble. As I chowed down on cheesecake, I told my parents that I was gay. They both stared at me, unsure of what to say. Finally, my Dad said, “This is wrong, but we love you.”
A couple weeks later, I told my grandparents, and tears were shed. My grandmother said, “Would you at least speak to a pastor before making this decision?”
To which I said, “No. I’m at peace with this.”
“You won’t even do it for your Grandpa?”
“No.”
It was really difficult to be so at odds with people who had raised me, but I had to be honest with myself. I was happy, though I wished my family could have been more supportive. Since then, they have continued to love me and be a part of my life, but we don’t talk about my being gay. And I think that’s for the best.
I don’t want to give the impression that since I came out, all my issues just disappeared. On the contrary, it seems like I uncover a new layer of problems every week, whether that be safe sex, dating apps, or deciding if I even want to be in a relationship (for now, that’s a no). I have never regretted acknowledging and giving power to the person God meant for me to be. He created me this way, and though it has brought a lot of pain and heartbreak, it has also led to beautiful moments.
To all who have stuck with me through this series, thank you. It’s because of your support that I am empowered to continue putting work out in the world. Also, welcome to my blog. Through it, I hope to change hearts and minds so that more people can see that gay Southerners are just like you. We have dreams, and we love the South, though it may seem like the South doesn’t love us back. Sometimes, all it takes is a conversation to bridge the gap. So feel free to reach out should you have any other questions regarding my coming out — or interior decorating (I really don’t mind). Have a wonderful day. Until next time.
Kisses.
