The Closet

When I was 13, I knew I wasn’t straight, but the only person I told was my best friend and her mom mostly because I knew they didn't care whether I was straight or not due to the fact that it didn't change who I was as a person. However, I’d grown up in a fairly religious family, church nearly every Sunday with my grandpa, who died when I was 11, praying before a meal, and Sunday dinners after church. Having feelings for the same sex was not something that was accepted in my family.

I spent the summer after 8th grade in New York with my aunt. I was 14 and I didn’t want anyone to know I was gay so I hid even though I was 584.6 miles away from anyone who knew me. I can remember trying to act straight, always thinking about how I was going to respond on which boy I thought was cute or how I thought my future “husband” would propose. I kept up this act until I was 15.

It was the hardest two years of my life. I kept myself in a box and the only people who truly knew me were my friends, but I still felt trapped and it put me in a dark place. I didn’t want to let my family down. I didn’t want them to be disappointed in me. My grandma was always saying that if my grandpa was still alive he would be so proud of the young lady I have become, and I felt that if I ever told her about my sexuality she would stop saying that. My grandpa was my biggest supporter, always at basketball games, never missing a school recital, and always having my back. I didn’t wanted to disappoint my family but I NEVER wanted to disappoint my grandpa. I still don’t.

Soon after I turned 15, my mom found my journal, the place where I kept my darkest secrets, and she read it, all of it. I felt betrayed, angry, frustrated, and scared. I was scared because I didn’t know what she was going to say, how she would react, or what she would say.

When she confronted me about it, the only thing I could do was grab the journal and run. I ran up the road and I didn’t stop until I reached my pastors house (of all the places, trust me I know). It was where I spent almost all of my time, babysitting for he and his wife or just hanging out with them. His wife, Kristina, and I had become really close. She was like the older sibling I never had and the type of mom I wanted, so I felt compelled to tell her how I was feeling. I knocked on her door, crying, and asked if we could talk.

We got in her car and drove. We didn’t really have a set destination. We just drove and talked. I can still hear the words she said after I told her I was gay. She pulled over and looked me in the eyes and said, “I may not agree with how you live your life, but Emma, I will ALWAYS love you.” That made me cry, and I couldn’t stop. She hugged me and just held me, which is what I needed. I needed to be able to come out of the closet on my own when I felt comfortable. After I told her, I started telling the rest of my friends, and they didn’t really care, which gave me a great amount of relief.

Although, a few weeks after my mom pretty much forced me out of the closet, she tried to push me back in. She didn’t want my grandmother or anyone else to know, but I was done hiding. This experience has truly shaped me. It showed me how to push through all the darkness to find the light, and that just because one person tries to hold you down doesn’t mean everyone else will do the same. Being in the closet destroyed a part of me and it made me hate myself, and this journey is how I became who I am now, how I learned that being me is okay and that other people's opinions don’t matter at all. This is also how I learned to truly love myself. This how I became me, a me that I am finally happy with.