It was 1995 when I had my first same-sex experience
It was 1995 when I had my first same-sex experience.
And even though it sent me into one of the most angst-filled post party head-spins of my life, I’m grateful for it. Grateful that I got so drunk the events leading up to it were a blur. Grateful that it happened and grateful that it was the start of me accepting a part of myself I had denied and buried for the first 30 years of my life.
I don’t think I really questioned whether or not I was gay. I think I knew, I just didn’t want to accept it. It terrified me. I felt sick, ashamed, guilty. What did I do now? I felt so confused, anxious and alone.
Back then in the quiet leafy Surrey suburb where I lived, I didn’t know any gay people. And 20 odd years ago there weren’t any LGBTQ role models or celebrities or advocates or anything that I knew about to help me work it out.
Gradually over the next year or so, I came out to my family and trusted friends in my life. It was never easy. I always felt the fear of rejection tightening my chest, swirling in my belly, tears pricking in my eyes. Fortunately for me, those I loved in my life accepted me. Probably more completely than I did myself at that time.
I wish those early days of my journey had been easier. I would have loved to have known that I was going to come out on the other side and feel confident and proud of who I am.
I want everyone who reads my posts and hears my story to know that it’s ok to be you. All of you without hiding or filtering yourself.
And no matter what your age, living your truth, loving and accepting all that you are, you deserve that.