Coming out was like leaping off a high dive

This piece was originally published on June 19, 2019.

Do you remember your first time on the high dive?

Gathering up the courage to climb the ladder. Carefully shuffling to the edge of the diving board. That nervous, regretful feeling as you stare down to the pool. Just as you convince yourself to take that step off the edge, you feel your muscles tense up and you stand there frozen.

Imagine being atop that high dive for 28 years.

For me, climbing that high dive was accepting my sexuality. Taking that step off the platform was finally saying something out loud that I hadn't even whispered to myself yet.

Instead of the local pool, I was sitting around a table with my closest friends at 1 a.m. on New Year's Eve. Another year had officially ended. Another year hidden.

This year was going to be different. I had made a deal with myself that I was leaving the shadows and kicking off 2019 by stepping into the rainbow coloured sunlight. 

As the night dwindled, so did my opportunity to finally announce my truth. I gave myself 10 more seconds to collect my thoughts before I jumped off that damn platform. In 10 seconds, 28 years flashed by. 

10...9...

I grew up in a small farming community, where a pebble of news dropped in the pond would quickly ripple through the coffee shops and down the grid roads. It's a blessing and a curse to live where people care so much. I learned at an early age that reputation was everything. 

I had a lot of great friends but I was also targeted by a lot of people. Kids are incredibly perceptive. When they haven't quite yet developed empathy but can sniff out insecurities in their peers, they can be quite dangerous. 

In Grade 7, four boys followed me into the change room, turned off all the lights and began kicking volleyballs as hard as they could in my direction. I laid helpless and afraid on the floor until they flickered the lights to figure out why they weren't hitting their target. I ran out before they could re-gather their ammo.

No words were exchanged but, I heard their message loud and clear. I stopped changing for gym class that day.

8...7...6…

Things got better as I progressed through high school. Sadly, in order to adapt, I had to bury a very real part of myself. I kept myself so busy that I didn't have time to dig it up.

I tied my self worth to my accomplishments in university, work and extra-curricular activities. It made it a lot more bearable, but deep down I knew that it wasn't sustainable. I needed something to change.

Be careful what you wish for.

5…4...

My dad and I had a complex relationship.

On paper, a proud, blue collar farmer who dropped out of high school in Grade 10 to take over the family farm wouldn't mesh very well with a son who would rather sort his Pokemon cards than help with harvest. 

Somehow we worked. He made sure I had every resource I needed to follow any dream I wanted to pursue even if it was completely different from his own.

My dad passed away from cancer when I was 25. I was robbed of many valuable years with my father but through his battle he gave me the most valuable gift he could have ever left me with - perspective.

My world collapsed after his death. Underneath the rubble, I found that part of myself I had buried.

I realized life is too short and nothing, especially time, should be taken for granted. The thought of laying on my death bed still holding onto that secret made me nauseous. For the first time, I began seriously considering coming out.

3…2...

In 2018, I started a project called That Was 27 — 27 vlogs that captured a year of my life.

I challenged myself to live 100 per cent unapologetically authentic. Anything in my vlog had to be truly me so that when I looked back 10 years from now, I'd have an accurate snapshot of my life. 

This was the transformative process I needed that turned out to be way more than a creative outlet.

The lens I used to capture the outside world became more of a mirror. I could see the tangible connection that I had with people when I was the authentic version of myself. It became strikingly clear to me that I no longer needed to be afraid.

1...0...Jump. 

I'm not one to light candles, ask everyone to hold hands and reveal an emotional epiphany while we take turns weeping. I took a few minutes to pump myself up in the bathroom mirror, came back to the table and held up my glass to make a toast.

I thanked them for taking another trip around the sun with me and explained that I had one last vlog coming up where I was going to tell the world something that I had kept hidden my entire life.

This was it.

"I'm gay."

It was the first time I ever said it out loud, even to myself.

It felt dirty, but was also the biggest relief I've ever felt. 

My close friends all reacted with unwavering love, empathy and an uplifting sense of triumph. Although most weren't surprised, they knew how much of a victory this was for me. I needed this boost of confidence before I was ready to publicly plant my rainbow flag in my last vlog.

The vlog took me three weeks to edit. I felt myself being very protective over a story I had been penning for 28 years. I contemplated not even posting it many times, but I refused to hide anymore.

I was jumping off that high dive and I was cannon balling on my way down. 

I was floored by the unconditional and emotional support that came via hundreds of voicemails, text messages and Facebook comments from friends, family and many strangers.

I think the video was received so well because deep down, everyone has insecurities that they are afraid to share. It celebrates the courage it takes to unapologetically announce to the world who you are. 

I ended up getting the most support from the place I was most afraid to tell — my hometown. After fearing I'd be treated like an outcast, I was fully embraced as one of their own.

I hope the vlog helps other people struggling with their identities, but the truth is I spent 28 years worrying about how this would be received by other people. I did this for me. 

This column is part of CBC's Opinion section. For more information about this section, please read this editor's blog and our FAQ.

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