College was such a strange time. I was a theater major and—as a freshman—cast in a main stage production. When the curtain rose, I was someone else, someone loud and boisterous. The reality was that was all an act in more ways than one.

I was timid. And gay. I carefully chose where and when to come out to new friends. Then that was blown away when I drunkenly made out with a dude at a cast party fall semester.

Only one family member had been told, but that was enough for it spread like wildfire. Somehow the flames didn’t seem to touch me at all. Mom was cool but worried. Dad was proud, weirdly enough. I found out he was bragging to his coworkers—in construction—that his son was strong to come out.

By spring semester, I had my first boyfriend. First love really. School was fine, life was great, and nothing could bring me down.

And then the letter arrived.

How they had found the address to where I was staying, I’m not sure. Why they felt the need to write to me about this at all is even more of a mystery. The page itself has long since found its way to a dump, where it belonged, but the contents are burned into my memory.

In summary:

They hoped I was well (see above to know I was). They had heard something strange (what could that be?!). I had “decided” to be gay (a lot to unpack there).

Maybe it was because I had been rejected by girls too much (19-year-old me was hella cute and had a jawline that could be used to cut glass in a heist movie). Maybe I was just confused and been led to believe being gay was cool (the word cult got thrown around).

It ended with them hoping I would find my way back to the Lord. Snarky me really wanted to reply that I’d kneel on it.

Tl;DR: I was an abomination unto the Lord, and it would be really swell if I could . . . ya know . . . just stop being that.

Suddenly the wildfire that was burning far away had engulfed me—I was flaming. Sorry. I can’t resist a groaner of a joke.

Words are such curious things. 26 letters scrambled into combinations that can cut like a knife. I held that letter in shock before throwing it away. But the words had been driven into my heart and festered like rot. All those wonderful things going on were tossed out with the garbage. I was a disappointment.

It’s been mumble-mumble years since I received that letter. I have a response. But not to the person who sent it, that bridge has been mended. This goes out to anyone struggling with accepting LGBT+ individuals exist:

I hope this letter finds you well. By now you’ve seen a lot on TV and movies about LGBT+ people. We’re here! We’re queer! But you just can’t seem to get used to it.

“It’s a choice” may still be in your vocabulary. Let’s clear that up real quick with a smidge of logic. Would you put yourself in a position to be denied rights, denied work, denied housing, all for a “phase”?

I have had people in positions of power say, “I can’t understand how you can just be okay being gay?!” I have had jokes and slurs hurled at my feet, trying to trip me up, while I ran around at work. I’ve been called a British cigarette from a speeding vehicle.

My entire childhood was heterosexual representation. All my cartoons had damsels in distress and knights who rescued them. Then there was the rom-coms. Girl meets guy, hilarity ensues and then straight love is reaffirmed because that’s the natural order of things. LGBT+ were just punchlines at best or cautionary tales at worst.

Gentle reminder: With laws being written to prevent mentions of sexuality, being straight is a sexuality . . . so that should be fun to untangle!

Even with the message constantly being hetero or no go, I still ended up gay. I didn’t choose. I was chosen. It has been a gift to know struggles and be able to empathize with others regardless of race, gender, or orientation.

I’m sorry (read: not sorry at all) that my continued existence provides stress and discomfort. I’m sorry (actually sorry) that you have to feel that way. That there’s this worry something you said will cause others to know the truth, out you so to say. Each interaction with strangers needs to be carefully manicured because they may not tolerate or understand those feelings. That a job may be in jeopardy if what is inside gets revealed.

Trust me, I can relate.

Those are just a handful of fears and anxieties people like me have had to struggle through—continue to struggle with—for years. “Cancel culture” was forged on our backs, each strike white-hot and painful. Just ask Oscar Wilde.

I’m not just some goofy looking dude in mouse ears. I’m an identical twin, a gamer, a hard worker, and a whole slew of other small identities. The gay thing, yeah it’s in the mix but if that’s all you see . . . then that’s all you’re looking for.

“But two people of the same sex showing affection is gross!”

Then don’t you do it!

“How could I possibly explain this to my kids?”

Children will believe a jolly fat man sits in judgement of all their sins and transgressions before deciding retribution, and that doesn’t freak them out!

I see too often what I call “conditional love”. It’s guaranteed as long as the person follows a decided path and doesn’t deviate. Kids will grow up and some of them will be LGBT+, it’s just nature. They spend years believing everything you say, but especially when you say, “I love you.”

All I want is for you to believe them when they share their truth, because what they are asking is “Do you still love me?”

Don’t send them a message that puts that in doubt.