Each year on October 11, the LGBTQ+ community celebrates National Coming Out Day. Although today’s political and cultural environment is vastly different from it was in 1988 when Robert Eichberg and Jean O’Leary created the inaugural observance—coming out, or rather, inviting others in, still matters. While individuals arrive at this deeply personal decision in their own time, the benefits of living an authentic life far outweigh the alternative of a life rooted in fear and shame. For this National Coming Out Day, CNP’s staff is opening up about the moment the personal became public by sharing their individual coming out stories.

We invite you to share your coming out story in the comment section.

When I Learned to Snap

By Charles Stephens 

I was 15 and in a summer program for high school students hosted by Morehouse College during the summer of the 1996 Atlanta Olympic games. This was how I met Reggie, the first person I came out to, and who would, without a doubt, change my life.  

Until that point, my relationship to Black gay men was through literature, having read James Baldwin’s Just Above My Head, Essex Hemphill’s anthology, conceived by Joseph Beam, Brother to Brother: New Writings by Black Gay Men, and the anthology Shade: An Anthology Of Fiction By Gay Men Of African Descent. I had even read a few E. Lynn Harris books. I found affirmation through those books, if not a bit of magic, until I met Reggie. 

Reggie was a student at Morehouse College, a junior psychology major from New York. He was a dark-skinned, round guy, and he wore his head shaved. Reggie was a force. He knew how to command respect. I think some of us were a bit intimidated by him. Even the toughest dudes in the program would respect him. I thought he could be gay but was not sure, though looking back, it was obvious. However, those were risky times, and the consequences of being wrong just seemed extraordinary. No matter how sure I was, or curious, I was not certain. 

Then one morning, at the bus stop, on our way to the summer program, I saw Reggie inconspicuously reading a black book with pink writing on the cover. I recognized the book immediately as Brother to Brother, because I owned it, hidden somewhere in my room. 

I sat by him and started talking. I had never talked to him extensively before. We always seemed to be in a group, but never alone. I managed to ever so casually make a reference to E. Lynn Harris, something I assumed he would know, because of what he was reading, and he caught the reference immediately. He looked at me. There was some hesitation. His eyes grew ever so larger. But his expression was unreadable. Was he offended? Concerned? Amused? I was not sure what would happen. But I knew I had to tell him. I had to connect with someone. I knew I needed community. And I chose him. 

He then looked at me. Smiled knowingly. A heavy smile. And just said to me, really calmly, “You have your whole life ahead of you.” It was part warning and part prophecy. I internalized his words. Before long, some other people came and we were no longer alone. He told me we should hang out, and we did. He told me more about himself. He asked me if my mother knew. 

“No,” I responded.  

“Charles, mothers always know.” 

That evening Reggie decided he would be my “gay mother.” I was not sure what to make of it, or what a gay mother was, but I embraced it nonetheless. Reggie explained to me about the ballroom community and showed me ball tapes. I once said to him, “Oh, I know what that is, like Madonna.” He did not slap me. But for a moment, it probably crossed his mind. He explained to me with all the love and patience he could conjure, of an older brother, or gay mother, that no, Madonna did not invent voguing.  

Reggie also taught me about snapping. Before, I associated snapping with the “Men on Film” skit on the television show “In Living Color.” But when Reggie and his friends snapped their fingers, it seemed almost poetic. It seemed like a war cry. It was defiant and beautiful. No longer an ugly stereotype, snapping seemed meaningful and sacred. 

The most important thing Reggie taught me was that I could fight back. That I did not have to accept or flee or shrink from homophobia. Looking back, he risked a lot to mentor me. He seemed proud to say that “this is my student, Charles.” 

Reggie left Atlanta, and I got more involved with my various activist interests, and we just never really crossed paths much after that. But I will never forget that he created a space for me, and accepted me with open arms when I came out to him. For that, I will always be grateful. 

The Family Meeting 

By Johnnie Ray Kornegay III

The interesting thing about “coming out” is that I’m almost always in the process of doing it because not everyone knows immediately after meeting me. For my immediate family, though, I have the distinction of coming out twice. The first time I came out was to my father while we were alone together, and I was driving to school. He would sometimes drive me to class on my shorter days. Well, I blurted out “Dad, I’m bisexual” for some reason that I can’t remember. He wasn’t dismissive of the idea or angry, but I remember his tone, and I him asking what that meant, and I had to explain that I was interested in dating women and men. At the time, that was still true. I was actively courting women, while still figuring out the dating men side of things. I was 20, and on my journey towards self-discovery, and this was one of the stops.

The second time I came out was more of a production. It was four years later, and I was no longer living in the house and had been living with my then-boyfriend for at least three years. My family had only been introduced to him as my roommate, and it became a point of contention in my relationship since his family knew we were a couple. So, I called a meeting with my mom, dad, and brother. At that meeting, I announced that I was, in fact, gay and that my roommate was my boyfriend. This time, my father spoke up. He said, it doesn’t matter, you’re my son, and I still love you. My mother and brother were still processing, but they weren’t dismissive or antagonistic. They did both also agree with my father, and I took their less robust responses as that they needed more time to let what I said settle in. I remembered that my father already had practice hearing this.

I will say that the experience of being accepted by my family helped me through my process of full self-acceptance. I don’t know where I’d be had they not supported me.

Revealing My Truth, Inviting Others In

By Darian Aaron 

Until now, I haven’t given much thought to the day I decided to share the truth about my sexual orientation with those closest to me. It happened over 25 years ago, and while it was a significant turning point in my life, I’ve worked hard to live a life void of shame and secrecy. 

The year was 1996. I was 16-years-old, and fully aware that I fit the definition of the word gay, after not having the language to describe my difference at age seven, when I found myself attracted to J.P., the cute boy who sat behind me in Ms. Hill’s second-grade class. In retrospect, my peers were also aware of my difference and took every opportunity to hurl anti-gay slurs in the halls and on the playground of the all-Black Catholic school I attended.

It was against this backdrop, along with being raised in the ultra-conservative state of Alabama, that compelled me to come out. It was a clear choice for me: I could continue to shrink myself into a version that people found acceptable, or I could stand in my truth and deal with the consequences of choosing honesty over lies, truth over fear. 

The disclosure had been building for quite some time and was triggered by a noticeable number of phone calls I’d begun receiving from other boys in the absence of girls. An argument between my parents commenced that ended with my father proclaiming to my mother before he stormed out of the house in a rage, “He’s gonna end up breaking your heart. He’s gonna be gay. Mark my words.” 

I remember hearing this from my room. I can't imagine what it would have done to my spirit to have been face-to-face with my dad, as his anger and the truth about my sexuality laid bare for my mom and sister to witness. I knew coming out was imminent. Once the words escaped my mouth, I could never take them back. I pressed play on the cassette in my stereo and blasted Michael and Janet Jackson’s “Scream” at a decibel never allowed in my house. I wanted to escape, but there’s no escaping the truth. 

“What’s going on with you? We’ve always been so close. I’ve always felt like we could talk about anything,” my mom said as she sat next to me on the verge of tears at our dinner table. 

 “But it feels like there’s something you’re not telling me,” she said. 

“Ok, mom. If you want to know. I’m gay.” 

And there it was—the truth. 

It felt as if a massive brick had been immediately lifted off my chest.

It would be another nine years before I’d come out to my father following my first serious relationship; a revelation he’d prepared himself mentally and emotionally for, which allowed him to embrace me without hesitation. I wish I could say that my coming out was easy. It was not. There was a long period of adjustment and unlearning of toxic beliefs between my mother and sister that threatened to derail our relationship. But I am incredibly grateful that my family has always chosen unconditional love over a version that falls short, and relationship over religion. I am their Black, gay, son, and brother. And any other version of me would be inauthentic.