I have been out for nearly 15 years, write openly about queerness, and coach queer tech leaders, helping clients come out at work, after trauma, or for the first time. I am scheduled to speak on the main stage at a conference for 500+ LGBTQ+ tech leaders. Despite outward confidence, each act of self-disclosure provokes a physiological fear response and lingering unease. Seemingly kind interactions can still demand minutes to feel safe again. Persistent questions about acceptance, safety, business impact, and potential harm accompany every decision to disclose. Coming out remains a lifelong, personal and political process of claiming space and navigating vulnerability; many queer leaders continue to conceal partners or speak in whispers at work.
I've been out for nearly 15 years. I write openly about queerness. I coach queer tech leaders. I've helped clients come out at work, come out again after trauma, and come out for the very first time. In fact, I'm even scheduled to speak on the main stage at a conference for 500+ LGBTQ+ tech leaders this year. On paper, I look confident and settled in my identity.
Earlier this year, our mailperson noticed the giant Pride flag hanging in the living room window. "I noticed your Pride flag," he said. My heart skipped a beat. I braced for impact and prepared for a fight. Then he smiled warmly and added, "Happy belated Pride Month!" I eventually smiled in return; after he left, it took several minutes for my body to re-enter the room, return to the present, and feel safe again.
"Will this person accept me? How will this impact my business? Am I safe? Could they harm me?" These questions run through my head at light speed each time I choose to come out. When I came out to my parents during my senior year of high school, I thought I was over the hardest part. I was wrong.
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