I was about fourteen when I woke up one morning and realized something had shifted in me. I had a dream about a boy from my high school track team, and when I opened my eyes, I felt confused and ashamed. I remember thinking, What was that? It was the first time I questioned my sexuality. From then on, I caught myself drawn to men. I noticed myself staring at handsome models in catalogs, and in 1983, when I saw a Jockey ad with Jim Palmer, a baseball player, I finally said the words in my own head: I’m gay.
That was the start of living closeted for more than three decades. Growing up in Northern Michigan in the 1970s, I had no role models who looked like me or lived the way I felt inside. There was no one on television, no family members, no neighbors. There was one boy at my school who seemed gay, and I watched how others picked on him every day. That fear kept me silent.
On the outside, I was the picture of success. I was president of my class, co-editor of the school paper, and voted “most likely to succeed.” I dated girls, went to prom, and played my part as a straight kid. At home, things were difficult. My dad had gone to prison when I was in second grade, and my mom was raising us alone until she passed away from lung cancer when I was eighteen. I had a younger brother, but we weren’t close, and I felt I had to be the strong one. So I buried my truth.
In college, I kept up the act. I hung posters of swimsuit models on my wall, laughed with the guys about women, and played along. I wasn’t drawn to the stereotypes I saw about gay men. I liked sports, I liked guy things but the one difference was that I was attracted to men.
After my sophomore year, I moved to Virginia to live with my dad for the summer. I got a job at a grocery store, and that’s where I met a cashier who became interested in me. I didn’t plan to start anything, but she was persistent and eventually we began dating. It was exciting but also confusing. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t being truthful, but I went along with it. When I tried to end it, she refused to let go. That relationship carried on, and eventually she became my wife and the mother of my two children.
I loved her family, and they loved me. Her parents treated me as their own. Together, her father and I built a real estate company from the ground up. We grew from one small office to a chain of seven offices with more than a hundred agents. I was respected in the community, president of my local real estate association, and well-liked. No one ever suspected a thing. But inside, I was living a lie.
At times, my father-in-law would make cruel comments about gay people, and I would shrink further into silence. I had chosen the safe path, the one everyone accepted, but it weighed on me more each year. When my wife’s struggles eventually broke our marriage, I ended up raising our kids alone. I devoted myself to them completely. Coming out never felt like an option not when they needed me to be strong.
By the time they were grown and off at college, I was divorced, successful, but lonely. Depression and hopelessness began to eat at me. I laughed with friends during the day, but at night, I cried alone. Sometimes, dark thoughts crossed my mind, but I could never do that to my kids.
Eventually, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. One night at the beach, I told my best friend, someone I had known since sixth grade. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but he accepted me instantly. That gave me the courage to come out to my children. My daughter and I cried together, but she told me nothing had changed. My son, too, accepted me with love.
From there, I told my friends, and I began to live openly. Not everyone understood, my mother-in-law and my brother believed it was a “choice” but I finally felt free. To my surprise, my career never suffered. My clients stayed by me, and many offered their support.
One day, I walked downtown and saw rainbow flags hanging proudly for Pride Month. I cried, thinking about how different my life might have been if I had grown up seeing those symbols of acceptance.
Now, I am finally myself. The weight I carried for so long is gone. Life is good. I am happy, I am hopeful, and I am free to be me.
