I was one of the lucky ones growing up.
I lived in a stable household with parents who unconditionally loved and supported me. They, along with my very close friends and teachers who influenced my development, never discriminated on the basis of sexual orientation. I was not bullied, beaten, or harassed by my peers, though there were the occasional whispers about what I could be and probably was. I was prone to the same gossip, not altogether knowing that, by maligning my classmates rumored to be gay or lesbian, I propelled a detrimental stigma that became my worst enemy.
No one had ever directly expressed to me that being gay was a bad thing. In fact, as I became engaged in politics during high school, I argued in favor of same-sex marriage. Still, in a warped principle held solely for myself, it was wrong for me to be gay. I was so preoccupied with being perceived as normal that I secretly vowed to never act upon my true sexual orientation, which I knew more or less from the age of 9. The thought of admitting it terrified me.
This self-contempt was constructed in large part from how others interacted with gayness: hearing my classmates use “that’s gay” or gay slurs as insults; witnessing politicians, from local leaders to the president of the United States, vehemently oppose gays marrying or raising children; watching gays in the media be reduced to stereotypes and comic relief. It all created a fear that being true to my identity would yield endless mockery, rejection and aversion, despite being surrounded by an environment that was wholly supportive and loving.
Though it took well over a decade, it was thanks to those closest to me (and a very good therapist) that I began to accept myself. Telling my parents was the hardest. Even though I knew they would be beyond fine with me being gay, I felt like I was admitting a great flaw about myself; as if I had done something wrong they could not take pride in. It’s a goliath task accepting a part of yourself that you have so long detested. A lot of people don’t have their Davids to help them get there, but I did.
Yet, the support of those closest to me did not totally solidify my self-acceptance. My subconscious demanded a higher cause to ubiquitously affirm a societal norm that society itself made me covet for years.
It was by complete happenstance that I was in Washington, D.C., when the U.S. Supreme Court handed down its decision in Obergefell v. Hodges a year ago. I was on the Metro, on my way to meet my friends at the courthouse, when my iPhone vibrated with The New York Times alert: “Supreme Court Ruling Makes Same-Sex Marriage a Right Nationwide.”
I was in the company of four or so strangers who couldn’t care less about what I was feeling. There was no one to hug me or cry happy tears with. It was just me, my phone, and massive amounts of emotion erupting inside of me. I would not have had it any other way. After all, my journey as a gay man up to that point had been defined by my internal struggles. It seemed fitting that, at long last, I could sit in seeming solitude and feel the barriers to my validation fall to the ground. The key that unleashed those chains stays with me and many other gay men and women. It’s called justice.
There are countless LGBTQ youth who are, just as I did, beginning to construct their self-value based on the opinions of the societies around them. When a politician tries to equate a transgender person to a child predator, when violence is threatened upon a transgender person wanting to use the restroom, when laws sprout up across the country that seek to curb someone’s very identity, it transforms, for the worse, how young LGBTQ people views themselves. The recent tragedy in Orlando reminded us that gays and lesbians’ very lives still are at risk due to deep-seated hate.
I will be forever grateful for the Supreme Court’s ruling in Obergefell v. Hodges because it helped me no longer fear saying the following three words: I am gay. While the anniversary of the landmark case is worth celebrating, it is also a good reminder that we must keep pushing for more justice and the dissolution of discrimination against the LGBTQ community because no one should ever live in fear of their inalterable identities.
Matthew McLaughlin is from Bangor and works in higher education administration. He has a bachelor’s degree in communication from the University of Maine, and will be pursuing a master’s degree in political communication at the University of Glasgow this fall.