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 – As the anniversary of the Stonewall uprising approaches, I reflect on the stories shared by students who have chosen to reveal their true selves. These confessions, often delivered in quiet moments, have become a source of strength and motivation for me. For over two decades, I’ve taught college students, and each time they open up about their identity, it reminds me of the collective power of pride. My role as a professor is not just to guide academic discussions but to be a safe space where vulnerability meets courage.
Confessions in the classroom
One day, a student stays behind after class, while others exit. She asks an offhand question, stutters, and then slowly shares, “I think I might be gay.” Another student, eager to discuss a missed deadline, blurts out, “I’ve been distracted. I started seeing someone who’s nonbinary, and I’m trying to understand what that means for me. I need to talk, but I don’t know who to trust.” Despite their growing confidence, these students often reveal their fears in those moments. I respond with a simple truth: “I’m honored that you chose me.”
“I’m proud to have earned your trust.”
These exchanges are more than personal milestones; they’re acts of collective resilience. As more Americans identify as LGBTQ+, the importance of such conversations grows. Yet, for many students, the act of coming out remains a profound challenge, shaped by societal norms and personal anxieties. My own journey mirrors theirs, and it’s this shared experience that fuels my commitment to being a visible ally.
A teacher’s quiet revelation
Twenty-five years ago, I was a student myself, navigating a world where LGBTQ+ identities were less visible. My worries centered on being discovered, while the broader world fixated on the looming threat of Y2K. I knew I was drawn to women, but fear held me back. I longed for connection, yet uncertainty about how to express myself kept me silent. In that Midwestern Catholic college, the only support group for queer students was a closely guarded secret, accessible only through a campus ministry member. No Google searches, no nearby bars—just the weight of keeping a truth buried.
It wasn’t until I shared a novel with a friend that I found a reflection of my own experience. The book, with its closeted protagonist, became a mirror. I read it in one morning, then used it as the foundation for a communications assignment. By weaving personal anecdotes into my analysis, I explored the emotional toll of hiding. The professor’s response—calling the novel “inappropriate” and questioning my understanding of self-disclosure—felt like a dismissal of my growth. But that paper was my way of making sense of myself. It was the beginning of a lifelong journey of visibility.
“The hell I didn’t. The paper itself was self-disclosure.”
My daughter’s coming out was a turning point. When she revealed her identity, I felt a rush of nostalgia and pride. It was a moment I had once feared, now transformed into a celebration. This experience reinforced the idea that pride is not just a personal victory but a communal force. It is the courage that allows someone to stand up for themselves, their loved ones, or their community, even when the world is uncertain.
The weight of being out
Throughout my career, I’ve remained open about my identity—not as a political statement, but as a choice rooted in the belief that hiding is exhausting. Constantly adjusting my words, my appearance, and my behavior to fit a mold that doesn’t match who I am takes energy. I’d rather channel that effort into my family, my work, and the communities I serve. This mindset has made me a natural confidant for students navigating their own paths.
Each conversation is unique, shaped by the time, place, and cultural context. Some students speak of pride as a source of joy, while others describe it as a daily battle. Yet, they all carry the same weight of uncertainty, the same need to find validation. I’ve learned that pride is not just about identity but about the courage to define it. It’s the act of turning a private truth into a shared one, of stepping into the light even when the shadows linger.
Lessons from the past
Looking back, my own coming-out story was a quiet rebellion. The professor who first read my paper didn’t realize it was a declaration of identity. But in that moment, I embraced the risk. The D grade felt insignificant compared to the clarity I found. That paper became a bridge between my inner world and the outside, a step toward authenticity. It’s a lesson I’ve carried forward: self-discovery is often messy, but it’s essential.
Today, as the LGBTQ+ community continues to grow, I see the progress in my students’ confidence. Yet, the journey is far from over. Pride is not a static state but a dynamic force, evolving with each new story. The act of coming out is both a personal revelation and a political statement, a way to challenge stereotypes and claim space in a world that still questions who we are. My students’ trust reminds me that this journey is not just mine—it’s theirs, too.
As I prepare for the next semester, I look forward to those moments when a student shares their truth. Whether it’s through a hesitant question or a bold declaration, each story adds to the tapestry of pride. The professor who once doubted my understanding of self-disclosure now sees the value in my students’ voices. They teach me as much as I teach them, and in their courage, I find renewed purpose. The work of building a more inclusive world begins in those quiet, honest conversations.
So, I smile when they say, “I’m scared.” I know that fear is part of the process. But I also know that pride is what carries them through. And in their stories, I see my own—a reminder that the path to self-acceptance is shared, that every act of coming out is a step toward collective strength. That’s the power of pride: it transforms fear into courage, silence into truth, and uncertainty into hope.
