Every time a college student comes out to me, I learn more about pride
Every time a college student comes out to me, I learn more about pride
Every time a college student comes – For over two decades, I’ve stood in front of classrooms, guiding students through the complexities of academic writing and critical thinking. But my role as a professor has always been more than just instruction—it’s been a space where trust is built, where vulnerability is shared, and where personal stories shape collective understanding. This year, as we mark the 60th anniversary of the Stonewall uprising, I’m reminded of how deeply connected my journey as an educator is to the LGBTQ+ movement. Each student who confides in me adds another layer to the story of pride, revealing its power to transform fear into courage.
One afternoon, a student lingered after class, their presence lingering like a question in the air. When everyone else had filed out, they hesitated before asking, “Do you think I might be gay?” The simplicity of the query belied the weight of the moment. It was a small step, but one that carried the gravity of a life reshaped. Another student, grappling with a missed deadline, spoke quickly, their words a stream of anxiety: “I’ve been distracted. I started seeing someone who’s nonbinary, and now I’m trying to figure out what that means about me. I need to talk, but I don’t know who to turn to.” These conversations, raw and unfiltered, echo the universal struggle of self-discovery. Even when students express pride in their identities, they often remain guarded, their fears lingering just beneath the surface.
“I am honored that you told me,” I said, my voice steady but warm. “I’m proud to have earned your trust.”
My students’ willingness to share their truths is a testament to the progress we’ve made. Yet, it’s also a reminder of the ongoing work needed to create safe spaces for expression. The pride that drives me isn’t just personal—it’s a force that unites individuals, a shared resilience that fuels both personal and collective growth. It’s the quiet determination to stand up for oneself, for one’s child, or for the community, especially when the world feels uncertain.
My own coming-out story mirrors the journeys of many students. As a late ’90s college student, my anxieties centered on identity, while the rest of the world seemed preoccupied with the impending Y2K crisis. I knew I was attracted to women, but the fear of being discovered loomed large. I longed to connect with others who felt the same way, yet I wasn’t sure how to navigate the path of self-revelation. In those years, my Midwestern Catholic college had little to offer in terms of queer support. The only gay and lesbian group on campus operated in secrecy, with meeting times and locations handed down by the campus ministry team. There were no online resources to answer questions like “Does this mean I am gay?”—a query I’d once whispered to myself in the quiet of my dorm room.
It wasn’t until I met a professor who became my guide through this uncertainty that I found the courage to take the next step. In an assignment, I shared a novel with a closeted queer protagonist, a story that mirrored my own silent battles. Reading it in one morning, I felt the first stirrings of clarity. That same afternoon, I decided to use the book as the foundation for a communications paper, weaving in examples from my own life. I described the burden of anxiety, the careful dance of revealing and concealing, and the fear of being judged for every word and gesture. It was the hardest paper I’d ever written, not because of the content, but because of the truth I was trying to unpack.
“The paper itself was self-disclosure,” I thought, my mind racing as I typed the final sentence. “I got a D. The professor called the novel ‘an inappropriate text’ and suggested I didn’t understand self-disclosure.”
Yet, I knew better. The act of writing was an exercise in courage, a way to make sense of a world that often demanded I hide. My daughter’s coming out was a defining moment in this process. When she finally shared her truth, I was caught off guard, missing the punchline that had been so close to my heart. Her journey reminded me that pride is not a destination, but a continuous act of redefinition. It’s the process of learning to own your identity, even when it feels like a risk.
Throughout my career, I’ve chosen to be open, not as a political statement, but as a way to simplify the work of living authentically. Hiding is exhausting—constantly editing one’s words, adjusting one’s appearance, and managing the expectations of others. By embracing my true self, I’ve freed up energy for my family, my community, and my students. This has meant that college students have always come out to me, their stories evolving with the times and cultural shifts. From early discussions about identity to modern conversations about gender fluidity, the themes remain the same: the search for belonging, the fear of judgment, and the eventual decision to speak up.
As more Americans identify as LGBTQ+, the conversations in my classroom grow richer and more diverse. Students no longer just ask about their sexuality—they explore intersections of race, class, and culture, challenging the idea that pride is a singular experience. Their trust has become a source of strength, fueling my own commitment to the cause. Every time a student shares their story, it reinforces that pride is not just a personal triumph—it’s a collective movement. It’s the quiet strength of those who dare to be seen, and the ripple effect of their courage on the world around them.
Looking back, I realize that my own journey was shaped by the same forces that drive my students today. The fear of being misunderstood, the need for connection, and the desire to belong. But through it all, I’ve found that the act of coming out is a form of self-discovery. It’s not just about revealing who you are—it’s about learning to define your truth, even when the world feels like it’s watching. And in that process, I’ve come to understand that pride is more than a feeling. It’s a choice, a legacy, and a way of life.
