How I came out after the Pulse night club shooting

When I came out of the closet as a bisexual man, most of my friends and family were incredibly supportive. I count myself lucky. Many people like me don't have such uplifting coming out stories.

I came out two days after the Pulse nightclub shooting in 2016. That day, I struggled to get any work done at all. I kept finding myself scouring the internet for stories about the 49 LGBTQ people who died. After crawling through eight hours of the least productive day of my career, I decided it was going to be the day of my coming out.

I was 27 years old at the time. I've known my sexual orientation since junior high school, but I was afraid to tell anyone because I wasn't sure they'd accept me. The longer I waited, the harder it got to tell people. I dated women, but it felt like I was showing the world only part of my true self.

I told my friends in 2013 after I started dating my first boyfriend. They accepted me without question, and deep down I knew that my family would accept me, too. But there was a voice whispering in my head that maybe — just maybe — my family would reject me. If that happened, I'd lose all of them in an instant.

That night, my stomach twisted itself in knots while the phone rang. When I heard my mom's voice, that whisper in my head said I could still hang up. I could play it off like I called her accidentally. There was no coming back from this moment.

I thought about the people who died at Pulse. Many of them were public about their identities, and they'd gone to that nightclub for support and camaraderie with people who shared their community. And while they died for it, I was hiding. I felt like a coward. The least I could do was be public about who I was.

So, I pressed on. I asked my mother if she'd seen the news about Pulse. I told her I was upset about it, and she said she was too. I took the plunge.

“It's different for me,” I said, my voice shaking, butterflies beating in my gut, “because I'm bisexual. The people that man killed are just like me.”

The first words she said back to me will be etched in my mind forever.

“That's OK,” she said. “You're my son, and I love you no matter what. I'm happy if you're happy.”

It was an unfamiliar feeling that followed. I felt lighter than air, and my entire body was tingling. It was the feeling of freedom. I started crying. We talked for a while about what stopped me from telling her for so long. I realized that I'd always felt like I was hiding in the dark. There's a reason they call it coming out of the closet, and I finally understood.

That night, I made a promise never to hide that part of myself again. I stifled the voice in my head that filled me with doubt, and went public. I published posts on all my social media accounts to tell everyone I knew and the world at large. I'm glad to say that the support I received was overwhelming.

Lucky for me, my coming out story is mostly positive. Unfortunately, many LGBTQ people can't say the same. Many people think being LGBTQ is a choice. Others think we can change who we are. Some shoot us in the places we go to feel safe around people like us.

Because of people like them, I spent years of my life with no one — not even my closest friends or family — knowing the real me. Now they do, and so does everyone else. The freedom I felt after I told my mother has never waned. I'm proud of who I am, so here's the truth: Even if I could change, I wouldn't.

That whispering voice still crops up every so often, right before I tell an acquaintance about who I am. I get nervous every time. I suspect I always will, because I can never know how a stranger will react. I know now that's not an excuse to hide.

I made a promise to myself about that voice in my head. I refuse to let it ever control me again.