Thankfully, I have fully recovered from it, but nearly a month of fear brought on by that damn virus was the push that I needed. Last year I tested positive for COVID-19. I looked at my sexuality as having the potential to hold me back. I was constantly trying to better myself and my career, including building my company, ModestFish. I always had a valid excuse about why I couldn't be public about who I am. I spent nearly 30 years of my life knowing that I was keeping a part of myself locked inside. Lying to yourself is worse than lying to a loved one, and I have been doing both for so long.
I spent decades fighting who I am, and it has done nothing but keep me from my full potential. I’m a 52-year-old gay man, and last year was the year that I finally chose to be open about who I am. Christopher Adams: How I Finally Stopped Lying to Myself and Everyone Else Meet two people over 50 who share why they waited, and how coming out has changed their lives. Some of the estimated 3 million LGBTQ Americans over age 50 waited many years to come out. The decision isn't easy for everyone, though. More than half of gay men and nearly 40% of lesbian women surveyed in 2013 said they had come out to friends and family before age 20.
Thanks to greater societal acceptance, people are coming out earlier in life.
Revealing that you're lesbian or gay marks an important milestone in your life. I'm a littl e bit tired, a little bit drunk, all yours. I'm a little bit ashamed, a little bit stronger.Ĭome, sho w me the birds again. Some days I'm saddedned by the memory of times I gave up on you. I can taste the moments I've spent touc hing your hand sometimes and some days I star t to smell like you. Your thoughts and our memories intoxicate me each waking hour. This morning I wo ke up on a cold bed alone, a little bit sleepy, a little bit lonely. I tried t o start to dream, but only dreams I saw were ghost flashes like the ones sun leaves in one's eye if stared at too long. I tried to lie down motionless, and breathe real slow, I tried to numb my thoughts. I'm a lit tle bit jaded, a little bit torn. I'm tearing down the calendars, and removing batteries from the watches on the way to see you. Twice I lo st my faith, once my patience, and several times, my sanity. I certainly didn't didn't mean to meet you with my eyes red and swollen from crying, four hours late, and having sunk too much Bacardiīut I'm here now - a little bit tired, a little bit drunk, and all yours - if you want me. ( Shush -I know you're sorry, I know you didn't mean it, you're forgiven, of course). Accusing me of hurting you deliberately as some kind of revenge. My cellphone cutting out while you were still shouting at me, angry because I wasn't there. Why didn't he just let it ring to voicemail for goodness sake? Then you being in a meeting when I called, and that idiot man failing to pass on my message. Re-planning my route round London and inevitably missing the train. Of course, I couldn't have anticipated today.įirst the bomb scare at Paddington, having to transfer from the train to the bus at Oxford, and come into Victoria instead. So this time, things were going to be perfect. Just you, and me, together and enjoying ourselves, no more distance between us. No more stress from the bitterness of your divorce. No more hiding, no more cloak-and-dagger, no more sneaking back to where we were supposed to be, before anyone found out. This time, things were going to be perfect.