WE ARE WHO WE ARE: And I’m proud to be queer

By Lisa Sugarman

Well, if you read my column’s headline, then the proverbial cat is outta the bag. Because when you combine the title of this piece with the timing of Pride Month, you should have all the context clues you need to know where this conversation is headed.

Yup, you guessed it. I’m not straight. In other words, I’m queer.

What you don’t know, though, is why, exactly, I’m sharing this ultra-personal factoid with you, especially in such a public way. (Although I think you’re probably insightful enough to have at least some idea considering the timing.)

The thing is, I don’t so much want to talk about my coming out story as the reason behind it. Because, in my opinion, that’s way more significant than the actual truth that I identify as pansexual.

What I really want to talk about in recognition and support of Pride Month, are social constructs and how we exist within them OR we choose to live our lives in spite of them. And in case you haven’t already guessed, I started out doing the former and eventually found my way to the latter. Because, for the better part of the first 50 years of my life, I lived within them. And now I can say, from experience, that that’s no way to live.

See, social constructs are interesting things. Especially, I’ve found, as they relate to sexuality. They can act like invisible and often paralyzing barriers to authenticity because of how scary it can be to challenge them. That’s because we’re conditioned to believe — or at least my generation was — that heterosexuality is the norm and anything that deviates from that norm, like being queer, is unacceptable. Or taboo. Or less than. Or inappropriate. Or wrong. Or sacrilegious. Or even criminal.

Exactly the reason why I didn’t come out until I was in my early 50s. Well, one of the reasons anyway.

I Am Who I Am

And I’m proud to be queer.

In full transparency, I was terrified to acknowledge that I was somehow different. Because being different can be scary as hell. And for a young person who’s not only trying to fit in but also trying to find themselves at the same time, that place of questioning and uncertainty can be a terrifying place.

In my case, though, one of the big reasons why I stayed hidden was because the language just didn’t exist for me to make the connection to who I truly was on the inside. Or at least it didn’t in my little harbor town just north of Boston in the 70s and 80s.

Without the words to identify myself as this or that, I settled for the bucket that looked the safest. And since most everyone I knew was in the Straight Bucket, that’s the one I chose. And I knew then, just like I know now, that my reason for choosing it was simply fear-based.

Looking back, I’m a little disappointed in myself that the extent of my knowledge of the LGBTQ+ world was pretty much relegated to gay and straight and bisexual. Because, even then, there was so much more. Unfortunately, I knew very little about what was beyond the boundaries of my cis-normative life. I knew that I was boy-crazy like so many of my friends. But I also had this knowing that I had the capacity for more. I felt something else living inside my heart along with all the boy-craziness — something that told me I had the ability to be attracted to more than just men. Something that told me I had the heart space to be romantic with someone regardless of their gender. Something that said, You’re in the wrong bucket.

Fast forward to only a handful of years ago, when our oldest daughter came out to us as bisexual and that’s when the big shift happened inside me. We started having these beautiful conversations, she and I, about the nuances of the different sexual orientations like bisexuality vs. asexuality vs. pansexuality vs. omnisexual, to name only a few. She expanded my world and opened my eyes to an entire dictionary full of new vocabulary. And it was when she defined pansexuality — sexual, romantic or emotional attraction towards people of all genders, or regardless of their sex or gender identity — that it hit me like a lightning rod to the heart that she was talking about me.

Ironic, because at the time of that conversation, I had been married for close to 30 years, with two grown daughters, and a husband whom I’ve adored since I was 17.  And still adore.

But, like I said, something in me shifted and I knew now was the time to acknowledge my truth. The truth that I’d been carrying in my pocket for most of my life. And it was time to let that truth see the sunlight for the first time. Not because I wanted to divorce my husband to be with someone else, or because I was in any way unhappy with my life, but simply because, as a mother of two daughters, I wanted to live authentically, which was something I’d always encouraged our girls to do since they were small. I also wanted to represent a community that I’d come to care deeply about who embraced my child when she came out. Because representation matters.

Now, why am I sharing this deeply personal part of myself here, like this? Well, it’s simple… it’s Pride Month. And because we are who we are, and we need to be proud of that.

I know I am.

Lisa Sugarman is an author, a nationally syndicated columnist, a three-time survivor of suicide loss, a mental health advocate and a crisis counselor with The Trevor Project. She’s also a storyteller with the National Alliance on Mental Illness and the host of The Suicide Survivor Series on YouTube. Lisa is also a Survivor of Suicide Loss Grief Group facilitator for Samaritans and she’s the author of “How To Raise Perfectly Imperfect Kids And Be Ok With It,” “Untying Parent Anxiety” and “LIFE: It Is What It Is.” Her work has appeared on Healthline Parenthood, GrownAndFlown, TODAY Parents, Thrive Global, The Washington Post, LittleThings and More Content Now. Lisa lives and writes just north of Boston. Visit her online at lisasugarman.com.