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Life

16th Jun 2017

“How I came out as gay to my ex-girlfriend…” An Irishman tells his story

JOE

A JOE reader writes about coming out as gay after the end of a long-term heterosexual relationship.

by Conor Ryan

I put a high value on privacy, so publicly telling my story is certainly out of character for me. But I do so in the hopes that if it can alleviate the torment and suffering of just one person, it will have been worth the effort.

For almost eight years from my early twenties, I was in a loving and fulfilling heterosexual relationship. We met in university. It wasn’t that electric love at first sight nonsense, but it was special and we fit like a glove. It was a slow-burning relationship that developed into something incredible.

We were poor in pocket, but rich in experiences and adventure. We were the envy of single friends, for what we had was clearly very special. Ostensibly I was very happy, my career was going well and I was the last person you might expect to experience mental illness.

At times during our relationship, I batted away creeping thoughts of what it might be like to be with a man. I stopped myself from checking out the hot guy in college or in the pub.

I never had the opportunity to experiment, but deep down I wasn’t sure about my sexuality and certainly didn’t want to risk destroying the wonderful heterosexual relationship that I was in. I couldn’t ask my partner to hold that thought while I go and experiment. I buried it all very deep, creating a psychological debt that just kept accumulating.

Over a year ago, she decided to leave me, a decision that shattered me. The tenacious, resolute traits which I so admired in her were now adding to my misery: despite trying again and again, there was no going back to how things were.

In the lead-up to our separation, we acknowledged that something was not right and for months we tried to work on improving our relationship. It was difficult to put a finger on what exactly was awry, but something great had clearly been quenched.

‘What will my family think?’

Breaking up with any loved one is expected to be traumatic. But during the depths of winter while living in a remote place, I could hardly cope. Facing an additional challenge at the same time, a burden I had carried for years, redoubled my struggle. What would she think if I told her? Would she think that everything we had together all those years was contrived?

Why would I leave the most privileged of all statuses that society bestows: that of the heterosexual white male?

What about those disparaging remarks made at work about gay people: would my job prospects be affected? And the classic paralysing question: what will my family think?

After months of emotional and at times physical isolation, an opportunity came along. One that had never come my way before, at least not to my knowledge. I met a caring and attractive guy who was understanding of my situation. He was the first person I had ever confided in.

It was easier to tell a ‘stranger’ whom I could trust, than someone I had known for years. We had a mutual interest in each other, and lots of other things besides. While the experience was incredible and revolutionary, it sent my mind into a turbulent sea of confusion. This guy and I parted ways and we admitted that we would not take things more seriously. At any rate, I had years of baggage to unpack.

‘That winter feeling’

Back home, that winter feeling enveloped me worse than before as I struggled to come to terms with a different sexual identity. A destructive narrative in my mind took over, and almost involuntarily I would find myself wandering alone in places of stunning natural beauty.

Places where previously I would visit to observe in awe, to seek the safety and comfort of solitude. Instead of admiring the power of waterfall from the ledge, what would it be like to end it all there?

Thankfully my suicidal thoughts were short-lived. What followed was a wave of motivation to tell those people nearest and dearest to me that there is an important part of me I would like to introduce them to: my long-suppressed homosexual self.

I don’t like drama and certainly hate attention, so initially, confiding on a need to know basis was imperative. Letting people know that I am gay was, and still is, very liberating. And the most rewarding response is usually something along the lines of “that’s great, I’m very happy for you. Anyway, guess what happened to me yesterday?”

‘A place of love’

This underwhelmed reaction comes from a place of love. It confirms that, at the risk of sounding clichéd, these are people who love me for who I am. And I am still the same: I act the same, dress the same, I still don’t hang out in gay bars (not my natural habitat).

Telling my parents was predictably emotional. In hindsight, it was hilarious, because they were just so relieved that I was not telling them that I had some sort of insidious terminal illness. They told me how they loved me and would support me no matter what. In an instant, the irrational fear of somehow being rejected by my loving family disappeared. In retrospect, I would not have expected any other reaction from them. I was elated and if anything, we are now closer to each other than ever before.

Growing up attending Catholic schools in suburban Ireland in the 1990s did not prepare me for accepting my sexual identity.

Quite the opposite.

My religious upbringing also fostered an obscure relationship with gratitude, pleasure and what it means to be in love. In school, we had to thank Jesus and God (not our hard-working parents/guardians) for meals. We were encouraged to ask omnipresent mysteries for forgiveness for impure thoughts: I’m sorry for being a teenager and for having hormones, sorry for sexual attraction.

As a child, I don’t recall those closest to me ever confronting gay people, but I was aware of a general dislike of homosexuality. As far as I can recall, it was casual and not malicious. This is unsurprising because few people were aware that they actually knew any gay people at all. Most of us were invisible.

In school, I recall many situations where teachers would praise someone for doing a “Christian” deed. But being gay for example is not very Christian. It was considered so unnatural and sinful that it was not even discussed – not during religion class nor in our paltry sex education. So how were we, as developing adolescents, expected to navigate the often-stereotyped world of sexual identity?

‘An incredibly difficult conversation’

My ex-girlfriend was the second person to know that I am gay. It was an incredibly difficult conversation to initiate, but thankfully she was very supportive and we are still close friends.

Initially, after coming out, I was embarrassed about how people might react to me changing team. I was never one for pigeon holes; I don’t fit in one myself, nor do I expect others to conform to theirs. I look forward to the day when coming out will no longer be expected of gay people. For me, the lead-up to coming out was the most traumatic thing I have ever experienced. But it was necessary and now I am a much better person as a result: more honest, more comfortable in my own thoughts; just myself.

If my story resonates with anyone, then I plead with you: be yourself. Set the fear aside. Confide in the closest person you know, and start to live your life, not the one you feel pressured to be living. I promise you will find dignity, love, and support that you never imagined possible.

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