People assuming I was gay ruined my coming out moment

When I started high school in 2007, I was often told that I was so cheerful.

It wasn't a case of me “understanding” or “discovering” it, but I said it. In fact, there was no end to people blatantly exclaiming who I was.

Sometimes it was older school-age boys who saw a lonely boy among the girls and threw stones at me. Other times it was friends who walked home with me and said I was practically “waving at them from my immediate surroundings.”

Even from friends, none of the guesses or assumptions encouraged me to go down this route – not because I wasn't gay, but because I didn't want to prove to them that they were right.

In honor of National Coming Out Day, I'm here to announce that trying to guess someone's sexuality isn't as “flex” as you think.

No, not only you know. And no, you don't have a gaydar.

However, everyone seems to do it.

I remember as a teenager watching Britain's Got Talent with my aunt who confidently declared that the 9-year-old contestant must be gay. She said it was because of the way he dressed and talked. Couldn't we all see this?

She was shocked by the question, but was amazed by the clear answer.

I probably deceived myself more than I expressed what I meant, but I wanted to make the argument that assuming someone's sexuality is – 99% of the time – based on stereotypes. This was certainly true for me.

If I had a pound for the number of times someone said “must be gay” about a musical theater lover, I would be very rich.

Naturally, in response, I put them back. I do that petulant child thing: “but why?” repeat until they cannot think straight. By pointing fingers, they only reinforce these stereotypes.

Even if it is done out of love, if you conflate sexuality with your interests and hobbies, you are doing society a disservice.

I remember as a teenager sharing my Broadway-filled iPod full of Evita and hairspray with friends and hearing them assume I was gay and try to calm me down by saying: “No problem if so” and “you can tell us.”

But I didn't want to come out and admit that they were right because I didn't want to believe the stereotype. Always a martyr, I didn't want to be another person in the “music-loving equals gay” column.

When someone asks me for a story, I'll have to put something together.

There was no one big moment, no universal announcement. I remember making lists of people with whom I could practice coming out, including teachers at school. Late that evening, I sent text messages to my friends, confirming their suspicions. I remember the anxiety of waiting for their answers.

After years of denying accusations or ignoring questions, I decided as a teenager that if anyone asked, I would say yes.

One of my friends said this to her boyfriend without asking me, just to get it out. I knew this feeling, so let it go. The fewer times I had to do this, the better.

My most iconic leaving home moment: an awkward car ride with my dad. I just said, “I am, you know…” I didn't even say I was gay! He wasn't surprised, but he made sure I was okay and to be careful.

At 19, I was terrified of confrontation, so part of me was relieved that I didn't have to explain it to anyone. But after 10 years, a bit of regret remains.

Everyone expressing their suspicions denied my coming out. I wish I had more chances to look people in the eye and share who I am. It would be a test of trust.

Ultimately, there is a preoccupation with the presumption of human sexuality. I say “I suppose” because there's only one way you can find out – and that's if they tell you.

I can't count the number of times someone has said “oh they must be gay” and it's just a boy at school who's a bit camp and better at art than sports. Or a girl with cropped hair who has never had a boyfriend.

People seem obsessed with being proven right.

But what if you're right?

What if you sniff out someone's sexuality like a truffle pig, digging into generalizations – and they confirm it? What did you gain from this?

You don't get a medal for being the best “queer seeker.” You can't add this to your CV. You can be most proud of your knowledge of LGBTQ+ stereotypes and your shrill sense of self-worth.

In 2016, an article was published about LGBTQ+ athletes at the Rio Olympics who used the queer dating and dating app Grindr. In the process, several athletes were expelled, including several from countries where homosexuality is a punishable offense.

Trying to deduce someone's sexuality can also be dangerous.

For this year's Paris Games, Grindr was disabled from the Olympic Village to protect the identities of LGBTQ athletes.

Although guessing is not the same as taking a trip, they are cousins. Rumors, accusations, and premonitions can be taken as gospel if heard by the wrong ears.

So whether you're a keyboard warrior posting in Reddit threads about a recently divorced actor, or your friend keeps their private life – well – private, trying to “invent” someone won't do anything positive.

Instead, give people grace. Just ask your friend what they eat for lunch, like the rest of us.

Some people would prefer a utopia where coming out is not necessary. But coming out is as much about self-identification and declaration as it is about telling others.

If everyone has already guessed, there is no reinforcement. I don't understand the moment when I can trust myself and the love of others.

Everyone should be given time to free themselves from the interrogation. It is not your role to connect the dots on their behalf and insist on a label. Give them space. Ask questions in the “Guess Who” section.

Do you have a story you'd like to share? Contact jess.austin@metro.co.uk.

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