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Before realizing the intricacies of my own sexuality, queerness had already been a part of my life for years. I had a good childhood in a good home, but had always been “different,” or so I’ve been told. Adults figured that I was either ”special” or ”gay.” Other kids thought I was weird. They were all right, in one way or another.

I grew up the oldest of four kids in a heteronormative atmosphere. I came from a decent school district and a generally friendly neighborhood. I was raised adjacent to Christianity, baptized Catholic and socialized loosely between Catholic and Methodist communities.

In my childhood, I never had much reason to question my gender or sexuality. Elementary school came and passed with very little exposure to queerness, which only included Macklemore’s song “Same Love” and rumors between my classmates that one of our teachers was a lesbian. At the time, I didn’t even know what that word meant.

When middle school came around, however, I had my first encounters with the world outside of heterosexuality. Ever the “social butterfly,” I began encountering people with vastly different experiences than my own. I was introduced to queerness in my life predominantly when I made friends who had grown up with much more internet access than I had. I didn’t think it affected me that much at the time, but I certainly learned a lot about different queer identities, and their prevalence in Tumblr culture in those years.

By the later years of middle school and especially the start of high school, I had a solid understanding of queerness as it existed in my immediate world. As a cis student-athlete, however, I came into contact with a lot of straightness. With that came the weight of being surrounded by toxic masculinity, fueled by insecurity and the strive for popularity. By that point, I knew I was different from them. No matter how much I was “one of the guys,” I was never really one of the guys.

I have always had a strong sense of justice, and that’s where my personal journey really began. As I approached adulthood, I was particularly passionate about personal and civil rights, but had difficulty putting a finger on why LGBTQ issues evoked such strong emotions in me. I found myself saying and thinking, “well, I’m not gay, but my friends are,” and “I can acknowledge that a guy’s attractive without actually liking dudes,” much more often than any straight person I can think of. I didn’t feel a need to label my sexuality because I had never had any experiences outside of apparent straightness, mostly by happenstance. I wasn’t sure what attraction even meant, needing some depth of emotional connection to really find it for myself. I found out later that it’s referred to as demisexuality, but again, I wasn’t much of a label guy.

I hadn’t felt a need to come out until I met my now-boyfriend, Eli, in November of 2020. By that point, I had essentially labeled myself as bisexual on all levels except official. My current ex at the time wrote off my identity because I hadn’t been with anyone but cis women yet, so my queerness existed only “in theory.” Boy, did I show her.

I came out as bisexual on Instagram on the first day of Pride Month in 2021, after about three months of my relationship with Eli. Before then, only our families, close friends and whatever extended family members I had gotten to tell in-person knew. When I came out to the wider world, though, it felt like a weight was lifted from my shoulders that I didn’t even know was there.

I was lucky enough to have received a positive reaction from most people, though that was not the case with everyone. It took my brothers time to come around. There are members of my extended family who will never understand. A lot of people see me differently now. Even for really great people, my coming out changed my image in a complicated way.

I’d been afraid of what my loving but conservative grandfather would think, and we didn’t get to talk about it until long after my announcement. What I didn’t expect was that I brought perspective to his worldview. What I feared would lead to heartbreak actually only cemented the love he has for his grandkids, no matter who they grow up to be.

While I can’t speak to everyone’s experiences, I can confidently say that coming out when I was ready was life changing. It’s okay not to know. It’s okay not to have the exact right label the first, second, or even third time around. It’s okay to have no label at all, as long as you know yourself. That said, whether you come out or not, I’m proud of you for being who you are. That’s what matters. You’re what matters.

TJ Wickersham, class of 2025

Published on October 12, 2022 at 12:27 am