[Vol. 28] The Post-Coming Out Slump
Coming out isn't all rainbows, and that's ok.
Welcome back to That’s Gay, a candidly queer newsletter for a candidly queer world (cheers to that 😉 🥂), written by me, Till Kaeslin.
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I’ve been watching a lot of Grey’s Anatomy lately … and trust me, “a lot” isn’t bolded because I think it looks pretty.
I realize I’m extremely late to the Grey’s train here, but damn Netflix keeps pushing these old, binge-able shows on me that it knows will have me staying up until 3 AM on a Tuesday just to find out who’s baby it is. Damn Netflix.
Anyways, my somewhat questionable sleep schedule and TV taste aside, watching a lot of Grey’s naturally comes with logging equally many hours searching up medical issues (as if I didn’t already do that anytime I have a headache).
One of these late-night searches brought me to postpartum depression.
AKA depression that occurs after childbirth. Now, obviously this article won’t be about postpartum depression as, to state the very obvious, I could not possibly be farther removed from the act of childbirth as a demographic (not a uterus in sight). However, as these things usually happen, my quick google search got me thinking.
No, a gay man or anyone assigned male at birth isn’t going to experience postpartum depression …
but what about the post-coming out slump?
I hesitate to call it by the same name – depression – because I take mental health seriously, and I don’t throw that word around lightly – although that doesn’t mean the slump can’t lead to depression, I’m sure.
If postpartum depression occurs after childbirth, then the post-coming out slump occurs after you come out. After all the secrets, the internal struggle, the obsessing over how people will react or if they’ll accept you, you finally come out; you’re finally free.
Ok. But now what?
Just like the stigma around postpartum depression, I think the post-coming out slump isn’t a popular headline because it’s not supposed to happen; we’re not supposed to be down when we’ve come out, we’re supposed to be elated, thankful, fucking euphoric!
And we are – or at least I was. But there’s a catch.
When I came out at 17, a whole new world opened up for me (Cue the Aladin soundtrack).
Finally I could speak candidly about who I was, who I was interested in, and who I wanted to be. I didn’t have to exist through a filter anymore. And that’s all inspirational mumbo jumbo for “I didn’t have to fake as much shit as I did before.”
So yes, I was elated. I was euphoric. The closeted chapter was behind me. But *record scratch* …
… the closeted chapter was not behind me.
Sometimes, you’re closeted without even knowing you’re closeted. Actually, I’d say that’s the case most times.
When I came out, I thought I was done – and for a few months I was. But then, as we’ve talked about before, I started to question my gender. It was one hell of a curveball, and it sent me ricocheting right back into the closet I’d just sworn was behind me forever.
Looking back, that’s when I learned a fundamental truth that’s remained true in my life to this day: coming out isn’t one moment, one conversation; we’re always coming out, we’re always talking.
You may not be anything like me; maybe after you came out you felt like there was nothing more to come out to. Or, maybe, you never had to come out at all.
Either way, the fundamental truth still applies. Why? Because even if it’s not about your sexuality or your gender, we’re all constantly hiding little truths in our closets. Then, when the time comes, when the pain or weight of shouldering that truth becomes stronger or heavier than the pain or weight of letting it go, you come out.
Whether your coming out involves questioning your identity or questioning your place at your company, the truth applies to everyone indiscriminately – gay, straight, cis or trans (although not always with equal emotional weight).
Realizing that you’re not done – that you’re only getting started – can slump you.
I know it did me. You want your coming out to be the beginning of an entirely new chapter in your life, a blank page that you can start a whole new mess on, when in reality it’s one of many new beginnings.
And even after you finally make it to each new beginning, you don’t just flip the page and move on. The reality is that you just climbed up a steep ass mountain to get to the view you see at the top, and as pretty as that view is, you’re going to need some time to hunch over, support your hands on your knees, and suck in all the air you lost on your way up.
You’re going to have to process everything it took to get to where you are now, some of which will take years, at which point you’ll probably be facing the prospect of an entirely new beginning. And so the climbing begins again.
Wow, I’m really mixing metaphors here.
The more I write about this, the more I realize why it’s so unpopular to talk about. It’s a real party pooper.
It’s so much more fun to write about the joys of coming out – of which there are many, believe me.
But everyone talks about that. The internet is saturated with euphoric coming out videos, articles, posts, and podcasts. As amazing as that content is, it can make us slumped ones feel like we’re more alone than we really are.
“Ok. But now what?” We ask ourselves.
Well, now’s the time to hunch over and breath, heal, and get ready for another new beginning to come. No, it’s not easy, but no one ever said it was.
And this party pooper’s got good news: In my experience, coming out is a lot like learning a new language – the more you practice it, the easier it gets.
Today’s discussion Q:
Imagine a world where you couldn’t be in the closet … about anything. Imagine a world where anyone and everyone could see all your truths, whether you wanted them to or not. Would that be a better or worse world than the one we live in now?
I’ll answer my own question below. Let me know what you think! As always, I’ll be reading/responding to all.
And that was That’s Gay, Volume 28. See you in Volume 29, folks!
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I've thought about this question before – like what if we all just had floating markers above our heads like in the Sims, only they showed everyone your entire personality, identity etc.
Like: Till, 22, gay, genderqueer, loves to run, sometimes emotionally unavailable but working on it.
Could you imagine?? I'd probably be mortified by it when I was a teen, but maybe it would just make things easier, to put it all out there I mean. Then again, that's also a very privileged thing to say – for many people, the closet isn't just a rest stop on the way to coming out, but a safe haven from a community that won't let them live as their authentic selves. Maybe there's a benefit to having the ability to hide parts of our identities.
Then again, I can't help but daydream about a world where it's all out in the open like that.