I have never been a fan of the term “coming out.”

Like many terms I use to describe my own queerness, I use the term “coming out” in a broad sense. When my asexuality comes up in conversation with a friend or family member who was unaware of it, I would refer to that situation as coming out. 

However, coming out is for straight people. 

Let me repeat that.

Coming out. Is for. Straight. People.

The only person I’ve had to truly come out to is myself. And lucky for me, she took it pretty well. 

The idea that I would actively need to come out is one I believe is perpetrated by straight people.

I would never have to come out if cishets stopped assuming I was heterosexual. When I walk into a room and someone assumes I like men, they automatically put me in the closet, which leaves me with two options. 

Number one: come out of the closet. 

Number two: stay closeted. 

Presented in front of me on a glimmering silver platter are two options I didn’t even want to choose from in the first place. 

In the grand scheme of things, this is by no means a large ordeal. I can very easily address the situation and come out if I feel safe and comfortable in my current environment. Or, I smile and nod along, maybe making a comment about how no, I don’t have a boyfriend. 

Unfortunately, these are two things I didn’t want to do in the first place. 

It is exhausting to come out. The emotional energy spent on coming out is one that shocks me every time I have to do it. 

Thankfully, I do enjoy talking about my queerness and educating others on my unique identity. Plus, I will happily take any opportunity to talk about my girlfriend. (And Conan Gray, obviously).

However, it should not be an expectation, a burden on my shoulders, that I must educate others on my sexuality, and describe my queerness to them. Let me be frank for a second; Google exists.

If I were straight, I would never even have to go out of my way to state my sexuality. If I mentioned I had taken a liking to a boy, or that I even had a boyfriend, I would undoubtedly be met with smiles and applause. 

I do not owe anyone a “coming out.” 

As much as I love my mother, my best friend, my sister, they do not deserve to know my sexuality. I have let them know this part of me because it is important to me and how I live my life. Keeping this to myself, or a select group of people is not me keeping a secret or hiding a part of my life. 

It is letting people into my life. 

We live in a society riddled with patriarchy. That patriarchy is the root of heteronormativity, amongst many other greater evils. 

Because of this system, heterosexuality is expected. It is not my fault that others assume this about me, and therefore expect to be told that they assumed wrong. The second they assume I am heterosexual, is the second they unknowingly hold up this oppressive system, and put queer people back into a box of expectations created by white, cisgender, heterosexual  men. 

At the end of the day, I will come out. I will come out again, and again. It is something I will always do, and I have accepted that. 

To look on the bright side, my “coming out” will bring awareness to asexuality, normalize queerness, and expand the expecations of those around me. Even though I am coming out for myself, I am simultaneously coming out for those who cannot, and hopefully creating a space where queerness is not only normalized, but embraced and accepted with love, so others can live their lives without fear. 

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