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EmailOctober 11 is National Coming Out Day – but for most LGBTQ+ people, coming out is an ongoing process. In this essay, Stonewall’s Creative Manager, Max Hartley, describes their own journey towards coming out as trans.
I’m Max. And this National Coming Out Day, I’m coming out as trans. Getting to this stage has been a long and winding journey from childhood until today, at 28. For me, ‘coming out’ has taken a few different forms over the years – including tearfully telling my Mum I ‘wasn’t straight’ at age 14, letting university friends know I was a lesbian, and opening up about being non-binary when I started working at Stonewall a couple of years ago.
It’s easy to think that coming out several times means somebody is confused, indecisive, or that they will eventually identify their final ‘correct’ or ‘actual’ identity. But to me, feeling able to come out more than once has always reflected something positive about my own happiness and self-knowledge. It means I’ve learnt, accepted and started to celebrate something new about myself, and that I’ve built up the confidence to share it with the people around me.
The period before coming out to the people closest to me has always been characterised by fear and worry. Many LGBTQ+ people will have experienced this – struggling to sleep after hours spent considering the dozen ways a relative might react to your news – will they be proud? Anxious? Furious? We’re forced to confront the fact that no level of preparation on our side can ensure that we’ll be accepted for who we are. Coming out is always a risk.
LGBTQ+ people have to come out consistently; in different contexts and when they meet new people.
And it’s often said that coming out isn’t a one-time thing – in fact, LGBTQ+ people have to come out consistently; in different contexts and when they meet new people. Because stereotypes and strict categorisations about LGBTQ+ people are still commonplace, some people find that they’re always assumed to be straight or cis. Often bi people are assumed to be straight or gay, depending on their partner. Having to come out simply to correct other people’s incorrect assumptions can be exhausting, particularly if it’s happening regularly and your identity hasn’t changed.
But under better circumstances – when you have news you’re excited to share – coming out can be transformative. Getting the chance to live more authentically means that many LGBTQ+ people see coming out as a major milestone in their lives. And while not every coming out conversation I’ve had has made me feel celebrated in the moment, afterwards I’ve always felt liberated, relieved, and proud of myself for taking a leap of faith.
Personal circumstances also play a crucial role in determining whether you feel able to come out, and to what extent. I knew I was non-binary long before I told anybody outside my close friendship group. I used to work in an industry that prides itself on inclusivity, but where I felt I’d be more widely accepted as a gay person than a trans person. So when I was read as a lesbian, I didn’t contradict my colleagues. I knew that coming out as non-binary would lead to more than a few awkward conversations and a mishmash of pronouns that would have made me feel more embarrassed and self-conscious than sticking with a label that is widely understood. Deciding who to be out to, and when, involved constantly weighing up the potential risks and rewards.
I was finally able to reflect on what it would mean not just to be ‘fine’ with my body – but to like it.
And when the pandemic hit, my circumstances, like everyone’s, changed again. Being furloughed gave me more time to think about myself and my future than ever before. Without the usual distractions, I was finally able to reflect on what it would mean not just to be ‘fine’ with my body – but to like it. And to admit that, in order to get there, I wanted to transition medically.
Just over a year ago, I was prescribed hormones. I had support from my close circle, and took courage in the fact that I could stop taking testosterone at any time. Trans people are constantly warned that they could regret medical transition and cause ‘irreversible damage’ to their bodies. And, despite the evidence of happy trans people all around me, some of those pervasive narratives were still lodged in the back of my mind.
I still came out slowly, taking each obstacle one at a time, and gradually introducing my new name.
But in a surprise to probably no one, I didn’t regret anything. Seeing changes in my face, body and voice didn’t make me feel alienated from myself – they made me realise that I’d been feeling alienated from my body since puberty and had simply learnt to cope with it. After that, coming out became easier – but I still did it slowly, taking each obstacle one at a time, and gradually introducing my new name. I waited six months after starting hormones to tell lots of people, because I wanted to be armed with an explanation as to how I could be ‘sure’ that medical transition was right for me.
Today, I’m coming out to the rest of the world as trans because I feel ‘sure’ – or ‘sure enough’. Lots of LGBTQ+ people will relate to this need to feel certain that their identities will stick – that they’re not a ‘phase’ – before they come out. But I hope this won’t be the yardstick for future generations. I hope that LGBTQ+ people can come out, as themselves, as many times as they wish. And that in future we’re able to embrace our identities whether they’re static and final, or shifting and fluid – and be met with a rapturous reception when we do.
