Painted Nails and Ponytails: Reflections on a Soft Coming Out

by Row Sullivan

Yes, to everyone who I know who has wondered and sometimes (uncomfortably) asked directly, I am queer, in more ways than one. Surprise, what a shocker, who would have guessed!?

Just about everyone, apparently.

It’s been a while since I hid anything, but, outside of a close circle, I’ve rarely mentioned anything about my identity. Since the pandemic, my hair has grown out. I started painting my nails and wearing my hair in pigtails when I raced. Not long after I began experimenting with makeup. I’ve started dressing more the way I want. I’ve generally stopped pretending that I want to be anything less than one of the girls (at least socially). As much as I seldom bother correcting anyone,  I changed my pronouns in my bio quite some time ago to they/he, and then again to only they/them fairly recently. Of course, painting nails or wearing your hair a certain way are merely stereotypes that nothing should be assumed of, but- all things considered- my guess is that just about no one will be particularly surprised by any of the confessions I make here.

I never loved the idea of coming out. It always felt like something that people thought they were owed so they could silently congratulate themselves for knowing it all along, for picking out which thing wasn’t quite like the others (what an accomplishment, I’m proud of you!). No one ever owes you a coming out. It shouldn’t have to be said that just because someone hasn’t come out to you means anything by default about the relationship you have with that person (key words: by default). For the many people in my life I never came out to, it was primarily simply a declaration that I didn’t feel like it, or at times that I didn’t yet feel confident enough to talk about it.

For a while, I felt like I had to or should reach some finite identity before I had the audacity to say anything about it, but soon enough I realized that I would have to eventually settle for good enough. After all, what in the world is ever not in a constant state of flux?  For a long time, I was scared to venture out of my shell because I was scared of what other people thought, and at times scared of what I knew other people thought. Sometimes I still am, but at some point, I simply reached the conclusion that it didn’t matter, that all of the social standards and rules on how to live are simply made up. That realization, for me, was the key to letting myself open and branch out into the person I want to become and am becoming.

I recognize that I am in a privileged position to say that nothing matters, to find myself in a position where I am at times uncomfortable or scared, but nonetheless not in fear of my safety. I’m lucky that while I don’t necessarily often have any desire to talk about it, I’m not in fear of how my family will react when they inevitably find this. I am lucky to be in a position and a community where the most I’ll ever get is a few awkward looks or people talking behind my back. I think part of the reason that I decided now is the right time to write this is because of all the recent efforts in other parts of the country to pass legislation that dehumanizes and delegitimizes LGBTQ+ individuals, and I am acutely aware that there are other people in similar spots questioning their identity without the same safety nets that I am lucky to find myself with.

Perhaps there will be a day when coming out is less of a big deal than it is. Certainly, a lot of work has been done in the last couple of decades to make it less of a big deal than it was, and I owe my ability to discover my identity and my comfort in writing this article to all of the activists that have made that so. At the same time, for many people, myself included, coming out is still a big deal. Not always consequentially, but certainly the principle of coming out still carries a personal symbolic significance. It doesn’t always take the form of some declaration, and even this article I would consider more of a reflection on coming out with relatively little discussion of my identity compared to an actual coming out.

No, coming out is in the small steps. It’s often more of a process than one fell swoop. Yes, there was a first time I told a friend that I was bi. There was a first time I vocalized not totally associating with the word “man.” These were of course both big steps, but coming out for me is just as defined by the little actions I took for myself:

The first time I admitted to myself I might not be straight. The first time I realized my hair was long enough to wear in a ponytail. The first time I went out in a crop top. The first time I painted my nails. The first time I went shopping in the women’s clothing section. The first time I felt accepted not merely as a well-meaning guy, but simply as a part of the girls. These are the moments I celebrate most. Lately, I’ve been proud that I’m able to look back and realize how small and insignificant some of these earlier moments of coming out seem when in the context of where I’m at now.

I of course hope that someone benefits from reading this. I hope that this helps guide someone who’s on the same path I’ve been on. Mostly though, this article is for me. It’s one less secret to keep that hasn’t truly been a secret for quite some time. It’s a sense of power that I gain knowing that I’m showing up as myself, whether that’s wearing a skirt to class or standing on the line at a track meet knowing that a whole bunch of men are about to lose to a kid wearing eyeliner and pigtails. What more could you really ask for?