Unlocking My Closet

I don’t want to die without having fully lived.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Below is a vulnerable and deeply personal video from me, and the transcript of the video, for those who would rather read it.

This is the house I grew up in.

875 square feet in the rural Midwest.

It was the house my parents brought me home to.
It was where I took my first wobbly steps and learned to ride a bicycle.
It was where I sat for countless hours playing He-Man and reading “Choose Your Own Adventure” books.

It’s been almost 40 years since I’ve lived in that house,
but I’ve carried it with me ever since.

I heard this amazing quote recently by Madeleine L’Engle.

“The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been.”

The boy stuck inside of me, the one who lived in that house, cried in that house, hoped in that house, dreamed in that house, grieved in that house, is still inside of me…and that little boy, Little Kevin, is still inside of that house.

40 years ago, I locked that little boy in a closet of that house, and I hid the key.

I intended to keep him hidden there forever.
That was the plan, at least.

I needed to keep him silent.
Silence was safety.

I had to hide him.
I had to hide the real me.

I had to pretend that I was like everyone else.
I had to pretend that gay jokes were funny.
I had to pretend I was attracted to girls, not boys.
I had to pretend that I was straight.

Pretending was the only way to stay safe.

I had to learn how to talk,
how to fit in, and
how not to get caught.

What I loved was a secret.
Who I loved was a secret.

My life, was a secret.

A wrong word, a lingering stare, the wrong music could out me.

I spent years,
a lifetime,
hiding.

For years, silence kept me safe and the darkness of the closet allowed, even me at times, to forget who I really was… who I am… and who I always have been and will forever be.

I thought I would stay in that closet forever.

Part of growing up is realizing that, sometimes, the silence that once protected you has become your prison and is now the very thing that is standing in your way.

Silence has stood in the way
of my life for 47 years.

And I’m tired.

I’m tired … of the work it takes to be in the closet.
I’m tired … of not being fully known.
I’m tired … of not being fully alive.

I’m tired of hiding.

I’m tired of keeping that little boy locked in the closet.

I’m tired of keeping that 16-year-old boy from loving what he loves.

I’m tired of pretending that God doesn’t love the way he created me.

I’m tired of pretending that I was created broken.

I’m tired of pretending that others should get to decide how much of me I show.

I’m tired of trying to please the very people who forced me into the closet in the first place.

I’m f’ing tired.

And I grieve.

I grieve the version of myself that had to hide in order to survive.

I grieve that the little boy inside me wasn’t given a choice to be who he was.

I grieve the love that he lost and the joy that he missed out on.

I grieve that pain that he was made to feel for something he didn’t choose to be.

I have lived a great life, but
I lost so many years,
I lost so much time.

And somewhere along the way… I lost, myself.

But a couple of years ago,
I found myself.
And I accepted myself.

Coming out is the spiritual practice of (re)discovering how God created you … and accepting that you are fearfully and wonderfully made.

I was fearfully and wonderfully made, no matter what anybody thinks.

And it is time for me to fully let that little boy out of his incarceration.

I’m doing what he couldn’t do.
I’m doing what the 16-year-old me wasn’t allowed to do.

I am Kevin Young, and I am gay.

It wasn’t a choice.
I’ve never known anything else.

But I also don’t believe that it was a punishment, and I won’t pretend that it was.

I thought that I could live my whole life hiding, but I couldn’t.

I thought I could take the secret to my grave, but I couldn’t.

The damage to my soul was too great,
the burden of the secret was too heavy to bear.

So two years ago, I unlocked that dungeon door and let the gay boy who had been locked in a closet in a house in Nowhereville, Indiana be seen for the first time.

The journey since has been a slow one of therapy, coming out to those closest to me, and coming to terms with everything that total authenticity means.

Fully,
totally,
uncomfortably
authentic.

Fully authentic.
Always. In all ways.

No more hiding.
No more fear.

And now, that means coming out publicly… not because you need to know, or deserve to know, but because I suspect there are other little boys and girls locked in closets who need to know they are not alone.

The world outside of the closet isn’t safer than the closet. Not at all. And I suspect the comments from those who forced me into the closet will prove that the world is not yet safe for people like me… but the alternative is worse.

I don’t want to die having never lived.
I don’t want to pass without having ever been fully known.

I don’t want to spend a lifetime rejecting the sacred gift that I was given by design.

That little boy deserves to be himself.
He always did.

But now, finally, the man he became is strong enough, brave enough, finally, to do what that little boy couldn’t do.

He grew up envying the courage of He-Man, and now it is time for him to be courageous.

He grew up loving being buried in a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book, and now it is time for him to choose to live his own adventure.

He is scared… but he is ready.
I am scared… but I am ready.

I choose to let that little boy find out who he is and what he was meant to be.

I choose to let him breathe again; to let him have life.

I choose to let the rest of the world deal with it, no matter the cost.

I choose to breathe again.
I choose life.