Written Jaymes Black, CEO at The Trevor Project
In the 80s, I was yanked out of the closet. A Black, queer teen growing up in South Texas, I had always felt different, but had always struggled to put my finger on exactly why. When I finally figured out that I was a lesbian, I felt a mild sense of relief mixed in with all the confusion and shame — insofar as I finally was able to articulate this feeling inside me. I even connected with another lesbian at my high school (we were the only two queer kids I had ever known), and we became romantically involved. While it was a secret and still caused me immense anxiety, there was some solace in that milestone of exercising my agency and finding a way to make myself happier.
All of that progress shattered in an instant, when a letter between us was passed around school — consequently outing both of us and our relationship. I wasn’t ready to share this part of myself, and it was devastating to be so out of control of something so deeply personal. Even more devastating was the way we were treated. Just as I had feared, we were ostracized, abused, dismissed. I even had teachers, the supposed adults in the room, who stopped talking to me. It was utterly awful, and only when I became an adult did I fully understand why coming out is such an individual process that no one should ever be pressured toward until they are ready. That traumatizing experience sent my life at the time down an unfortunate spiral.
The bullying became unbearable. I dropped out of high school, left home, slept on couches, faced evictions, even lived in a trailer without running water. All while struggling with my identity and the toxic messages I’d heard playing on repeat in my head. Many times, I didn’t want to live.
As any LGBTQ+ person lucky enough to make it through to adulthood will tell you, it got better. I moved away, started answering phones in call centers, married an incredible woman who I’d eventually build a family with, and found my way to corporate America. Surprisingly, I thrived there. I enjoyed leading people and found a sort of energy and fulfillment as an LGBTQ+ person in spaces where there weren’t many of us. I climbed the ladder, held senior leadership positions, and was an out lesbian in the boardroom. I thought I was living my truth.
But this gnawing knowing that I still wasn’t living as my authentic self wouldn’t quiet. Enter again a phase where I continued to feel different and isolated but couldn’t really explain it. Even into my 40s, I’d recall some painful words that shaped my understanding of identity and what I was supposed to be: ‘Be a good Christian girl.’ ‘Stop acting like a boy.’ ‘Your hair is nappy.’ ‘You’re ugly.’ ‘You’ll never amount to much.’ ‘Gay people go to hell.’ Despite all my progress, these messages were still burdening me, informing my sense of self and what I was allowed to be. Being a lesbian seemed like as far as I could take it.
Here’s my truth, a truth that has always been there: sometimes I feel masculine, sometimes feminine, and sometimes both. Just a couple years ago now, I came out as nonbinary. I changed my name and my pronouns. I still identify as a lesbian and a mom. Yes — I can be all of these things at once. I’m finally unapologetic about it. It took decades to get here, but I’m finally comfortable with my identity.
On National Coming Out Day, I claimed the moment as my second coming out. One that was all mine, on my timeline, on my terms. Do I wish the world around me had been more accepting so I could have come out with my full identity decades ago? Absolutely. But we still have a long way to go, especially in a hostile climate toward the LGBTQ+ community, where sexual orientation and gender identity are being ruthlessly politicized and demonized. My first coming out was terrible, a memory I still shudder to recall. My second coming out? Relieving, liberating, and empowering.
So, what’s my takeaway? One: let people come out on their own terms. This is an especially important message for parents or other youth-facing adults. Amid the so-called “parental rights” movement, there has been a coordinated effort to control young people, spy on them, and report them. This is incredibly harmful. Outing young people before they are ready is dangerous, and may inflict emotional (or literal) scars that take years and years to heal. You don’t have to only trust my story, trust the research. Two: identity can be ever-evolving. LGBTQ+ or not, we are all societally conditioned to hide our authentic selves, be made to feel like parts of ourselves are taboo, and conform to norms that inhibit our true selves from living freely.
Your identity is your impact. Take this as permission to keep shedding those layers, to keep digging until you reach the core of your most authentic self. For me, it’s about embracing my multitudes. I’m a Black, nonbinary lesbian, a tattooed and pierced CEO, a hard-rock- and rap-loving business leader and fundraiser, a passionate professional, and a deeply engaged mother and wife.
Let me tell you, embracing and sharing my full self has made me a better leader, a better parent, a better partner — a better me. What an incredible discovery to celebrate.
RELATED CONTENT: Jussie Smollett On His Return With Film ‘The Lost Holliday’: ‘Black Women Saved Me When I Felt Unlovable’
