"Proud", an open letter by Dawson Fuss
Photo credit: Norrel Blair
Dear BETTER,
I feel as though this is the first Pride Month in which I’m proud of my sexuality. I’m ashamed to admit this, but like the majority of queer teenagers, I spent the majority of my life trying to hide a core identity from myself. I now can proudly call myself a gay man, but until a couple of years ago, I struggled to even say the “g-word” out loud.
Growing up, I confused romantic, platonic, and sexual attraction. Thus, I had lots of crushes on girls–which, looking back, were just best friends–and convinced myself that my stronger feelings towards the boys in my life were in fact friendships and nothing more. I kissed girls and did all the gross middle school “dating” stuff, but each time I engaged romantically with a girl, my body told me something was wrong. I knew that I didn’t enjoy these romantic relationships, but I had so deeply convinced myself that they would get better the more I engaged. They didn’t, but that discomfort was better than confronting my sexuality.
I live in a very supportive household, and I’m incredibly privileged in the fact that I wasn’t worried about being rejected by those closest to me. However, even though I knew I would have been accepted, I kept suppressing all of my queer feelings. Anytime I saw a gay couple in public, I would make homophobic comments about them: “That’s so gross. Why do they have to do that in public?” My internalized homophobia ran deep in my veins.
I remember an internal conversation I had with myself late one night as I lay awake. At the time, I had feelings for a boy in my class that I tried to ignore. I told myself “If you don’t want to like boys, you don’t have to. No one’s making you. Just keep liking girls and you’ll be fine.” What hurts me the most looking back on this moment is that I believed that was true. I genuinely thought that if I ignored the idea of my sexuality, it would just go away. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
My feelings towards other boys kept growing stronger, and it wasn’t until I went off to summer camp during my 8th-grade summer that I met another openly gay kid. He was a junior in high school, out and proud, and didn’t make being gay his personality. He was cool and was friends with everyone and I looked up to him as someone I wanted to be. I didn’t know he was gay at first, but once we started becoming friends, he casually brought up his ex-boyfriend. I slowly opened up to him about my inner battle with my sexuality and he said three words that will always stick with me. “I’ve been there.” How could this proud, confident gay kid have struggled with his sexuality? He was so comfortable with himself that it seemed like he had always known who he was. It was through him and his support through that summer that I slowly learned to accept myself and my identity.
Don’t get too excited…it wasn’t a happy ever after when that summer ended. Though I accepted that I liked boys, I wasn’t able to touch the word “gay” to my tongue, and I was a strong disbeliever in the concept of “coming out”. Looking back, this was my internalized homophobia trying to avoid the confrontation of my sexuality, but I did end up telling my closest friends that I liked boys. The majority were supportive, and those that weren’t at first were just quiet about it. It wasn’t until a year later that I was able to tell my family. Though I knew they were supportive, deep down I thought that telling my family I was gay would change their view of me. On one hand, I didn’t want to keep lying to them, but on the other hand, I didn't want them to think differently of me. I knew I had to rip the Band-aid so I eventually told all of them and they showered me with total support. To them, I was still the same old Dawson.
I’ve always heard that when you come out, it feels like a weight is lifted off your shoulders, but that didn’t really happen to me. Sure, I was happy to have those conversations over with, but my journey was in no way complete. When Pride Month came around every year, I would pretend as if it didn’t exist, but this year, though I didn’t have the opportunity to attend any festivals, I finally feel proud of myself and all the little bits and pieces that make me, me :)
Love,
Dawson