Minita Jay Sanghvi guest columnist

Coming out begins to end a struggle

For 25 years of my life, I carried a secret. I feared that if I spoke about it I would be thrown out of the house, that I would never get to talk to my sisters again, that my parents would disown me and that I'd lose all that I loved. I would be a source of shame for my family and a disgrace in our society. It was a huge burden to grow up with, something I felt I had to carry along for no apparent fault of mine. I didn't choose to be a lesbian ÷ I am a lesbian. It was as natural to me as being left-handed is to my sister. But she didn't agonize days on end as to how to tell my mother about it. She didn't cry nights in the pillow wondering why she was made different. I did. I had thoughts of killing myself since I was 6 years old.

In my country, it is illegal to be gay or a lesbian, where I could be imprisoned for up to 19 years for "unnatural offenses." When I came to the United States, my friend introduced me to her lesbian friend. She was the first lesbian I had ever met in my life. She introduced me to my world ÷ my people. For the first time in my life, I felt complete. I made friends who shared with me their stories. It was a community based on common pain and suffering, but it was filled with love and acceptance. My friend explained to me the importance of coming out. She said, when people start realizing that so many of the people they know are gay, they will understand that it's a normal phenomenon.

I am out, gay and proud. I am in the movement for acceptance and tolerance. I am living for the greatest freedom of all: freedom to be.

Left-handed children were once considered evil. They were not beaten to death, but were considered stupid. Yet today, no one even bats an eyelid over the child being left-handed. And someday, parents won't be surprised or angry when their daughter is going on a date with Alyssa or their son is getting married to John. While that was a great aspiration, I had to face the reality in the present moment. The skeletons in my closet (no pun intended!) were tumbling out, and my worst fears were coming to life. All those scary dreams of losing all that I had built were breaking fast and I became suicidal again. I came out to my closest friend back home, a very conservative married woman.

And when I told her that I was gay, she said, "Good for you!" I was shocked; I was expecting rebuke, hate and words of anger. None of it happened. I said, "Don't you have anything to say?" She said, "Let me explain this ÷ I like my sizzlers with peas and you like them without peas but we still like eating sizzlers together and spending time in each other's company. I like men and you like women. How does this change anything?" I cried. And honestly, I can't complain. I've been very, very lucky ÷ all the people I came out to, without a single exception, have been extremely loving and supportive.

I came out to my parents. I was born again. It was just as momentous because surely I would have killed myself otherwise. The only choice I made was to live with the truth or live a lie. Honestly, both ways it's just as tough. I came out and I shattered my mom's dreams for my marriage and grandchildren and all that. I opened up myself for struggle and hurt at every step of my life ÷ whether it was to come out to my friends; my future employers; to face discrimination, rebuke and hatred; the struggle to get married and have it accepted by society; adopt children; or to have visitation rights when my partner is old and dying. Every step is a battle to live an honest life with dignity. But along with the struggle comes a great sense of achievement. I cried tears of joy when my mom said, "All I want is for you to be content with your life and if this makes you happy, I'm with you."

I feel sorry for the people who chose to live the lie ÷ it doesn't get any easier. At least I have the sense of freedom. I am out, gay and proud. I am a revolutionary. I am in the movement for acceptance and tolerance. I am living for the greatest freedom of all: freedom to be. And I hope one day, everyone will have that freedom ÷ whatever color, race, religion, profession, orientation, whatever you maybe ÷ may everyone love you and accept you for who you are.

This piece is dedicated to Mary Frances O'Connor ÷ without whom this would not have been possible.

Minita Jay Sanghvi is a family and consumer sciences graduate student. She can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.