Coming out is one story every one of us carries, and no two are alike. For National Coming Out Day we asked you to tell us yours: the moment you said it, who you said it to, and what happened next. Here they are, in your own words, lightly edited. We add new stories as they come in, and the call is open through the end of October. Share yours.
2026
Lory Klas, Saint Paul
Lory uses ze/zer or he/him.
Growing up the queer child of a right-wing evangelical minister was just about as fun as it sounds. It wasn’t until sophomore year in college that I finally decided to come out, unfurling from my cocoon of shame. I called home, my dorm phone tight against my ear, which I hadn’t realized before then could sweat with such profusion.
“Dad,” I finally said. “I’m gay.” I waited for the world to begin crashing down around me in a manner worthy of an MCU final conflict.
Instead, Dad said, “I know. The Holy Spirit told me on Tuesday.”
To this day, I’ve never received a better response. I’d highly recommend it as a catch all whenever someone hits you with a statement you’re not quite prepared for.
William, Fort Lauderdale
I’m William. I’m 65 years old and I’m gay.
At 15 I thought I might be gay, but I was afraid — of everyone. My family, my friends, the whole world. So I pushed it down and spent the next 40 years not knowing, living a straight life that never quite fit. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t name it, so I just kept going.
I had a few girlfriends over the years. Nothing lasted more than a few months. I told myself that was just how I was. Deep down I knew something was missing, but fear is a good liar — it tells you that staying quiet is the same as being safe.
At 55 the feelings came back like I was 15 again. I couldn’t shake them anymore. They kept getting stronger, and this time I couldn’t pretend they weren’t there. Forty years of pretending was enough.
About a year ago I decided I was done hiding. But I learned something: done hiding means nothing if I’m not out. Hiding in my own head is still hiding.
So I’m showing up now. I joined support groups for gay and bisexual men. I’m going to the Pride Center. I’m telling my story — this one, under my own name. Every room I walk into as myself is a room I used to walk past.
I’m not going to lie and say it isn’t scary. At my age, coming out feels like starting over. But living a life that never fit was scarier — I just didn’t know it at the time.
If you’re reading this and you’re where I was — 15 and afraid, or 55 and confused, or 65 and tired of pretending — I want you to know it’s not too late. I waited 40 years. Don’t wait like I did.
My name is William. I’m gay. And I’m done hiding.
Have a coming out story of your own? Tell us. You choose how you’re credited: full name, first name only, or anonymous.
