Jordan Bouvier, Chicago

I moved to a small village of a few thousand people when I was ten. We had more churches than stoplights and the main source of entertainment was a bowling alley. There weren’t exactly a lot of places for a little future gay to look for guidance. And what sources I had were dire: I heard news stories detailing the AIDS epidemic and the murder of Matthew Shepard. In the process of learning that I was gay and accepting it as a fact, I became firmly convinced that if anyone ever found out – I would be killed. But through the magic of the internet I found out that not all gay men die horrible deaths, as I’d previously believed.

I began to come out to my friends, and they were overwhelmingly supportive. For some reason though, I chose to keep it from my parents. I had no reason to think they would react negatively, but I thought it would be safer to wait until I was in college. I’ve never regretted a decision more.

My chance to come out to the two most important people in my life was taken from me.

I started dating my first boyfriend when I was seventeen. His mother must have thought very highly of me, because she thought I was the reason her son was gay. She thought if she got rid of me, he would go back to dating girls. In one particularly unnerving phone call, she mentioned her Italian family and threatened to have me “taken care of” if I ever talked to Dave again. Well, she didn’t handle me Godfather-style, but she did toss one hell of a wrecking ball at my life.

I had a part-time job at the local grocery store at the customer service desk. One night, while finishing up my closing duties, I started receiving a lot of increasingly irate phone calls and visits from my mom and dad. By the time I finished work I was terrified. My hands and legs were shaking wildly. I went home and sat down at the table with my mom. Dave’s mom had called. My secret was exposed.

The resulting fight is something that will haunt me forever. My parents, who’d always loved me unconditionally and who never laid a finger on me became monsters. A table was thrown at me. I narrowly escaped my mom and ran to my best friend’s house. On the way I tripped and hurt my arm. My dad found me and demanded that I return home. While I struggled to get my shoes on because my arm was numb he told me he would drag me down the stairs if I didn’t hurry. He began to count backwards. Worse than the physical violence were the words that were said. They said they hated me, that they had no love left for me, and that I would never know what it was like to be loved. My entire world was crushed in just a few short hours. I’d lost everything.

After the fight, we tried to move on but it was tough. I couldn’t sleep, I could barely eat, and I certainly couldn’t pay attention in school. After a few months I couldn’t take it anymore, so while both my parents were working I loaded my boyfriend’s car with all my possessions and moved in with him. We were seventeen and nineteen years  old. We were a  high-school drop-out gay couple living on the tips he made pumping gas.

My relationship with my parents today is entirely different. My dad is apparently quite the eye-catcher in the bear community, and he uses that to get free drinks for me and my friends at Sidetrack. My mom writes letters to politicians thanking them for supporting the gay community. They’re amazing.

If I’d come out to them on my own terms, I think my story would have been radically different, but I’m not sure that I want it to be. The past decade has been interesting for me in ways that most people will never know, and I’m happy with the outcome. We’re only as strong as the fights we’ve faced and we’re only as happy as the lows we’ve lived. That makes me one strong, happy queer.

Will Vith, Pennsylvania

In a rare form of self-sabotage, with the best of intentions, I decided to come out of the closet. However, this was only part uno of dos. Dos would occur in three years.

Following my 9th grade year in high school, and several all-nighter conversations with my best friend at the time, I finally seized the moment to come out to my mom. Staying true to myself, I like to ensure that a plan, an important action that I want to occur, actually occurs. With finally admitting that I like boys and not girls, it was imperative to me that I not back out and that once the dominos began to tumble, that each and every last one, filled with years and years of pressure, fell to their fullest potential.

 AOL, yes, America Online. I'd like to thank AOL for this self-sabotage per se. Why? Well, my plan was to drop a note,  a physical piece of loose leaf paper, onto the ground outside of her door during the night, because in the morning I knew she would awake before me. That way, she could read it. It was something tangible that I couldn't just wish away or decide to delay yet again – it was literally there on the ground and she was about to know that her son was gay.

This wasn't enough, however. After roughly fourteen years of pressure and knowing damn well that being gay was not the societal “norm” or what was accepted,  I had to ensure even further that she would read it. This is where AOL, on good old dial-up, plays its intimate role in my coming out story.

I decided to send the exact words written on the note at the foot of my mom's bedroom door in virtual form, via email, to her. That way, in my young mind, I figured even if I decided to wake up in the middle of the night and remove the note  the ways of the World Wide Web would not allow me to turn back time. She was guaranteed to find out the truth no matter my wishes beyond that point.

And she did find out. Was she shocked? No. Was she totally happy that I would lead a “harder” life than the average person? No.

Time passed and the years flew by. Slowly but surely I grew into my own, and as I grew and matured, so did my mom's acceptance of my true self – as a gay man. She was the only one who knew, aside from a few select friends, until my first year in college. By then being gay was something I rarely thought about in terms of it being a personal stressor – it was finally becoming what it should be, a positive and natural thing. I was beginning to date and live life as the gay human I was.

The idea of “coming out” through those three years had gone from feeling like an extremely stressful, large burden to a nonchalant mentionable aspect of myself. By then, I was in college, free of the bullying of high school and the fag comments. I was happily in love with my first boyfriend and on top of the world. I personally emailed my closest aunt and my grandparents. My mom informed the rest of my family casually at a family function. She was able to “casually” tell them that I was gay because that's the way it should be. It's who I am, who some people are, and what some people will always be. Here in 2011, being gay to both my family friends is nothing but an afterthought. In a good, content way. My homosexuality is open and I am so comfortable with myself and the thick skin I have acquired that I would do nothing to trade it. I am gay, indeed.

Josh Draper, Arkansas

I'd figured out that I was gay by the time I was fourteen or so, but even though my mom had lots of gay friends and was a total fag hag, I was still terrified to tell her. I kept thinking, "Sure, she's okay with her friends being gay, but I'm her kid. It might be different when it's her oldest son." I'd resolved to tell her before I turned eighteen, but I kept putting it off. Terror can be a powerful motivator, especially knowing her deep grounding in the Mormon Church. (Though, to her credit, she always taught me to question everything, even in doctrine, and get the answers I wanted for myself. This, more than anything, saved me and actually led me to my lack of belief today. Of course, she always believed I'd go back to the church eventually.)

On New Year's Eve 1998, just over a month before my eighteenth birthday, I went into my mom's room and told her I needed to talk to her about something serious. In my mind, I was freaking out – asking myself just what the hell I thought I was doing, and trying to figure out where I'd go if I got kicked out of the house. But that's me, I'm crazy like that. It took a while, but I finally told her, “I'm gay.”

And she laughed! She burst out laughing at me, and I got furious! “This is serious!” I said, “And you're laughing at me!” And she said, laughing, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh at you, but you acted like you were telling me something so monumental, and I've known for years!"

My mind was blown. All this time, I'd been so terrified of saying anything, I'd worked so hard to hide everything – and she'd known all along! She'd been waiting for me to tell her for years! As it turned out, she suspected it before I'd even started to figure it out myself, and she had been asking her gay friends how to handle it since I was twelve years old, and had just been waiting for me to come to her. She'd even tried to bring it up a few times when I was older, but I rejected it (of course, to hide it), and she'd let it go. Her friends all told her, “Wait for him to tell you, and then tell him everything is fine.” And once she finished laughing, that's pretty much what she said.

She did tell me, if she could wave a magic wand and make me straight, she would only because it would make my life easier. Which is very true. She didn't tell me I was going to hell. She didn't kick me out of her house. She didn't send me to Evergreen or some other kind of "pray the gay away" therapy. She told me she still loved me, she would always love me, and that it changed nothing between us. She always supported me and accepted me for who I am, on this and so many other things. A mother's love should be unconditional, and hers was.

I was lucky to have her. So many others are not. So very, very many others suffer so much from those who should always love them.

For this, and for so many other things, I miss my mother every day. My mother knew the right decision, and she made it. For that, I will forever be grateful.

Chris Wytenus, New York

Looking back, I’d have to say the only remarkable thing about my coming out is how unremarkable the story is. Most coming out stories you read are quite moving, and many involve tears, screams and other intense reactions. But my coming out was nothing like that. In hindsight, the days I came out to different people all feel like normal, rather insignificant days. I guess that’s why this is the first time I’ve ever written about coming out. Because of the lack of excitement and drama, I never thought my story to be interesting enough until now.

When I was younger, I was definitely one of those kids you knew was different. I loved playing dress up with my sister, and I’m fairly certain I enjoyed wearing heels and dresses a lot more than she did. I loved the Spice Girls. Love might not be strong enough of a word. I was OBSESSED with the Spice Girls. I loved musicals, especially Cats. I even staged my own productions in the family living room. Needless to say, I was far from the average, heteronormative little boy. Thankfully, my parents let me do whatever the hell I wanted and didn’t try to suppress me. They did once try to get me to join a tee ball team, just because they genuinely thought I’d have fun, but I think that only lasted a day or two.

I don’t mean to paint my childhood as being all warm and fuzzy. I always had trouble making friends. Elementary school was rough because I didn’t want to play with the other boys. All I wanted to do was play with the girls, which was frowned upon for whatever reason. I guess because girls have cooties. Middle school was actually a disaster. I wasn’t bullied that often, but that’s only because I became really quiet and shy. I made the truly unfortunate decision to be ignored than be mocked. It took me years to regain the confidence and personality I lost during these years.

My parents noticed how unhappy I was in middle school so when I graduated they decided to enroll me in Catholic high school. I really liked the idea of reinventing myself. Since none of my classmates from middle school would be there, I could put the past behind me and start fresh. Thankfully, I found a crowd of really cool kids in high school I could hang out with. And although I didn’t come out to them immediately, I have a feeling everyone always knew on some level and it wasn’t an issue.

My freshman year is when I first told another person I was gay. I was noticing one of my close girlfriends staring at me during class on what was becoming a daily basis. It was obvious she had a crush on me. We were good friends, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so one night I decided to come out to her on AIM. Yes, via instant message. This was high school after all. She initially thought my being gay was just a phase, but it sunk in pretty quickly. We were only fourteen, so I wouldn’t have expected her to fully understand what being gay meant anyway. But I was relieved that she seemed to take the news so well. The first time was so easy I decided to come out to another girlfriend that night, too. I wasn’t ready to come out to everyone just yet, but I felt comfortable telling these girls. It felt really nice having two people I could be completely honest with.

It wasn’t until my junior year that I officially came out. This is around the same time I started to become very social and outgoing again. I think this is also when all of my friends and family realized I had to have been gay. I began officially coming out by telling my best friend, who had an older gay brother and was very accepting of gay people. She said she knew already, of course, and was just waiting for me to tell her. This was pretty much the same experience with all of my friends. By the end of the year, I was out to everyone who knew me in school. It was nice being out because I was finally being honest with myself, but I was the only gay person at my school. I was generally a happy kid, but I still felt really alone.

The only memorable coming out experience was with my older sister. I’m not sure why, but she was one of the last to find out. I looked up to her a lot and we were very close, so I really should have come out to her before I told everyone at school. But for whatever reason, I felt nervous telling her. It didn’t make sense, considering she had several gay friends.

My sister and I were sitting on our back porch one night drinking white wine and looking at shoes on my laptop. Eventually, after a few too many drinks, my sister got the courage to ask me a question I’m sure she’d thought about for years.

“Listen. Did you ever think you might be gay?”

“Um. Well, yeah. I already know I am.”

Of course she wanted to know why I waited to tell her, but I didn’t really have an answer for that. Afterwards, it was as if nothing happened. It was just another night together. We talked and gossiped into the wee hours of the morning.

I’m quite glad my coming out turned out to be so unremarkable. Coming out doesn’t seem monumental to me anymore because being gay is just another part of me. But even though I found acceptance at home and at school, I still felt profound loneliness. I was the only out gay person I knew. And it’s because of the loneliness I felt that I now find myself living in New York City.

Oscar F. Limon, New York

I came out when I was seventeen, mostly to all my friends, but coming out to my friends was rather easier than coming out to my parents. I moved out when I was eighteen to go to college, not because my home life was terrible, but because I wanted to experience what living on campus would be like.

I would always plan on telling my parents that I was gay, but something would always come up; either their birthdays, or it was the holidays, or I was moving back home for summer break and then I couldn’t tell my mom since I would be living under her roof for three months and if I told her I would most likely be under house arrest; I kept making excuse after excuse not to tell them. I figured they knew, I mean, I was always flashy in the way I dressed, I was a theatre major in college who by the age of fifteen knew all the lyrics to the musicals Rent and Miss Saigon and I would watch Sex and the City every Sunday night with my mom drinking a cocktail; they must know.

It wasn’t until my uncle’s wedding when things came crashing to a halt. I was twenty-two at the time, and my parents had been divorced for about eight years now. We were at the reception and my dad was extremely intoxicated. The three of us had been talking for about a few minutes, when we were told to take our seats since the ceremony was about to start, somehow I don’t know why my dad brought this question up, but he asked, “I’m never going to have grandkids, huh?”

Time froze. My heart raced. I was in shock; I thought to myself, “Is he really asking me this at my uncle’s wedding? Why would he ask this now?” I took a deep breath, looked at my mom who was standing to my left, then at my dad who was on my right, then to the door that had been opened in front of me to walk through and thought to myself, “this is it, once you say it, there’s no turning back” and I walked through the door.

I looked at my dad and said, “Yes…you’re right, you’re never going to have grandkids because I’m gay.”

Once the word rolled out of my tongue all these emotions came rushing in at once, I was mortified, I was scared, I was relived, and I was shaking. I looked at my mom and she said, “I knew, thank you for telling me. I love you.” I cried. I couldn’t control the tears anymore. I was set free. I hugged her and said, “I love you too.”

My dad had another reaction, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you think you could talk to me about this?”

“…because you’ve never been there for me and I didn’t think you’d care to know.” By the end of the day, most of the guest at the wedding including my family knew that I was gay since my dad keep bringing up like a broken record.

Looking back on that time, I guess, I didn’t want to come out to my parents because I thought it would change the relationship that we had built, especially with my mom since she was my best friend. As an only child I was afraid that somehow she’d love me less since I would never give her what I thought she wanted. After coming out, my mom has been extremely supportive; twice she’s attended the pride parade in Palms Springs, California and sends me pictures of her marching with her colleagues.

My dad and I don’t really talk about what occurred that day at my uncle’s wedding, I think he’s still trying to wrap his head around that his only child is gay, but we are working on our relationship, one phone call at a time. All of my immediate family now knows and they’re extremely supportive, kind and generous. When my cousins come to New York City, I take them to gay bars, showing them my world. I’m really blessed and thankful to be who I am—I wouldn’t change it for anything.

What I’ve learned through all of this is that you just have to be you. The best version of yourself. That’s all you can do. No matter what.