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
The quiet courage of shared truth
Every time a college student comes – Each year, I witness countless moments of vulnerability and courage as students share their truths with me. Over two decades of teaching, these confessions have become the cornerstone of my work, shaping not only my lessons but also my sense of purpose. As the anniversary of the Stonewall uprising approaches, their trust reminds me of the power of honesty in fostering resilience. One student, for instance, lingers after a class session, her gaze hesitant as she asks a simple question before revealing, “I think I might be gay.”
Another student, struggling with deadlines, rushes into my office. She speaks quickly, her voice trembling, “I’ve been distracted by someone who’s nonbinary. I’m trying to understand what that means for me, but I don’t know who to talk to.” In these moments, even those who embrace their queer identities with confidence still carry the weight of fear. It is this quiet fear that binds us, a shared experience of navigating self-discovery in a world that often demands secrecy.
The syllabus and the stories behind it
As a university professor, I have spent over 25 years shaping the academic journey of young minds. Each semester, I introduce my whole self—not just my credentials, but the life I live. My slides, which detail course objectives and classroom rules, often include glimpses into my personal world: a family photo, a snapshot of a camping trip, or a picture of someone graduating. For some students, these images feel like a revelation, as they realize that a queer educator can be ordinary, relatable, and present in their everyday life.
My openness serves as a beacon for many. They often tell me that being the first openly queer teacher they’ve encountered makes their own journey easier. It is not always about celebration; sometimes it is about reassurance. When I say, “I am honored that you told me,” it is more than a polite phrase—it is a recognition of the trust they place in me to hold their stories without judgment.
A classroom revelation
My own path to visibility began in the late 1990s, when I was a student myself. At the time, my anxieties centered on my identity, while the world seemed preoccupied with concerns about the Y2K bug. I was drawn to women, yet I feared being discovered. How could I reconcile my feelings with the expectations of a Midwestern Catholic college, where queer communities were still small and hidden?
One day, a friend gifted me a novel featuring a closeted queer protagonist. Reading it was a turning point, as it mirrored my own internal struggles. I devoured the book in a single morning, then decided to use it in a communications assignment. My paper, which analyzed self-disclosure, became a personal manifesto. I described the burden of keeping my identity secret, the careful choices I made in what I wore, said, or did to avoid exposure. It was the most difficult paper I’ve ever written—yet it felt like a necessary act.
The professor returned my work with a critical note: “This text is inappropriate for the assignment.” She argued that I had not fully grasped the concept of self-disclosure, but I saw it differently. For me, the paper was an act of courage, a way to untangle my identity in the quiet space of academia. It was a D, but it carried more weight than any grade. My daughter’s coming-out story, which I had yet to fully process, was interwoven with my own in that moment.
Pride as fuel and foundation
Today, as more Americans identify as LGBTQ+, the conversations I have with students continue to evolve. They come to me with questions about pronouns, relationships, and the ever-changing landscape of queer culture. While their concerns may shift with the times, the core of their struggle remains the same—the search for belonging and the fear of rejection.
My pride is not just a personal victory; it is a collective force. It drives me to advocate for my students, to challenge biases in the classroom, and to create spaces where identity is not just accepted but celebrated. This pride sustains the courage to stand up for myself, my family, and my community, especially when uncertainty looms. It is the energy that fuels resistance, the quiet strength that turns fear into empowerment.
Students come out to me in diverse ways, shaped by their experiences, the culture around them, and the stories they are told. Some share their identity in casual conversation, while others do so through structured assignments or deeply personal essays. Regardless of the method, each moment is a step toward visibility and understanding. As one student once said, “I needed to talk about this, but I was unsure who to trust.” That trust, I’ve learned, is the most valuable lesson of all.
The ongoing journey of self-discovery
Coming out is not a single event but a continuous process. It begins with questioning, then sharing, and finally embracing. My paper in the late ’90s was one such step, and it paved the way for my own journey toward openness. Today, I encourage my students to see their stories as part of a larger narrative, one that connects their struggles to the histories of pride movements and the ongoing fight for equality.
While hiding may seem easier, I’ve found it to be exhausting. The constant need to edit oneself, to watch every word and gesture, is a toll. I prefer to invest my energy in my family, my work, and the communities I care about. This choice has allowed me to be present for my students as they navigate their own truths, offering a safe space where they can learn, grow, and feel seen.
Every conversation, every question, and every revelation reminds me that pride is both a personal and political act. It is the courage to be authentic, even when the world is not ready. As the student who confessed her feelings in that quiet classroom moment said, “I’m proud to have earned your trust.” That trust, in turn, has become the foundation of my purpose, a reminder that the act of coming out is not just about revealing oneself—it is about building a shared journey of acceptance and strength.
More than 25 years later, I still find myself learning from my students. Their stories are as varied as they are profound, each one a testament to the power of vulnerability. In their confessions, I see the same fear, the same hope, and the same determination that once fueled my own path. Pride, I have come to understand, is not just about identity—it is about the collective effort to create a world where everyone can come out, without fear, and be celebrated for who they are.