09/17/2018
Split: My Coming Out Story
by: Lyn Haah
Three years ago, in my freshman year of high school, I was with a friend, when he mentioned a time when he questioned his sexuality. Hearing that from him broke a seal of denial I had over my heart, and I realised that despite the fact that I was raised to think the entire LGBTQ community was taboo, I yearned to be a part of it. And so in that conversation, when I mentioned how fun I thought being q***r would be, I was hit by the fact that I probably had to do some questioning myself. After contemplation and research, I came to the conclusion that I was bisexual (attracted to men and women). But it would be a long time before I was sure.
Being bi can feel like having a split personality. I felt like I was two separate entities–gay and straight–and the feeling created massive internal conflict and doubt within myself. Sometimes, I’d see a poster of a hot guy, and I’d wonder: “What if I’m just an attention w***e wanting to be special and I’m actually straight?” Other times, I’d see a cute girl with freckles and wonder: “What if I’m in denial about just being gay, and my wish to be part straight is actually internalised homophobia?” It wasn’t, to understate it, fun. I was never comfortable with these two personalities, and I was always falling apart. I didn’t think I’d ever tell my parents about any of it.
During this torrent of emotional instability, I was also facing several other crises. I, the perfect pastor’s daughter, had lost faith, was leaving the church, and was facing the fallout. I, the good student, was breaking down and getting behind more and more. I, the chill friend, was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and major psychosomatic pain in my chest. I, the plain old Kaetlyn everyone thought they knew, was burning alive in my struggles. And in a conversation with my parents about my mental health and my lost faith, because of my candid tendencies, I accidentally let my bisexuality let slip.
The following six months were torment. I dropped out of school, I was bedridden, and I was hurting myself. I was convinced that su***de was the most logical solution to my problems, and that I deserved everything that was happening to me. My health was at its lowest point, in every way-mental, physical, and emotional. And during all of this, my parents refused to acknowledge my coming out or ever talk about it. Any mention of it, and the house would turn deafeningly and claustrophobically silent. Every word they didn’t speak was a dagger in me, and never addressing the issue came to feel like a gag they had put on my mouth. But still, I tried to speak.
When my parents and I first started to talk about it, they had already made up their mind that q***rness was a sin and the q***r were living amorally. I wondered many times if this broken silence was actually better. But I kept at it, and eventually, my father suggested that him, my mother, and I should attend the QCF (Q***r Christian Fellowship) Conference in Denver. And writing this now, I can’t imagine where we’d all be had we not gone.
Even though I was (and still am) a solid atheist, my parents’ acceptance of my sexuality was based on the Bible, so going there was important nonetheless to me. What I expected was panic attacks and stress, but what I got was an unexpectedly supportive and large community of affirming Christians, a collection of friends that I learned a lot from and with whom I shared my experiences, and a significant change in my mother and father’s acceptance of me. My mother became completely affirming, and my dad agreed that the LGBTQ community needed support (not conversion, real support) and as a lead pastor, he should provide such support through the church.
Around here, I came to understand myself better too. I came to realise that I didn’t have to treat bisexuality as split gay and straight personalities. I am not gay, and I won’t be even if I’m dating a girl. I am not straight, and I won’t be even if I’m dating a guy. Just as water isn’t foggy ice but simply water, I am simply bisexual.
My mental health got better, I am no longer suicidal, I am back in schooling and doing well, my psychosomatic pain is fairly less, I am working on important projects such as RAAY and Make For Our Lives, and I understand my sexuality.
Now that I am an LGBTQ activist, and am always very open about my sexuality and have been for a while, I’ve been told by others that my openness has empowered them and can empower others, which inspired me to create RAAY with Dylan in the first place. This work is absolutely a privilege, and I will always be grateful to be a part of it.
And right now, I can honestly say that I have learned to accept and love myself for who I am.
Lyn Haah
You can find more writing from Dylan and I on our blog, theraayblog.wordpress.com
Thanks for reading!
