Homosexuality and homophobia: “There’s been countless times in my life I’ve sat and cried, wishing I wasn’t gay”

(approx seven minute read)

Homophobic bullying at school, physically and verbally assaulted in public, family fall outs, being the gay dads on the school gate, X’s coming out story is one of sadness, near tragedy, acceptance, reconciliation and hope.  

Image by freepik

The first time I remember experiencing homophobia I didn’t even know I was gay - I was only 11.

This girl came up to me at school shouting that I had limp wrists (implying I was camp). She made sure she did it in front of as many people as she could.   

Even now I can physically remember how that felt. It was horrible and confusing. I didn’t know what she was getting at and why she was doing it. 

From that point on, there wasn’t a day I didn’t go home from school and feel some sense of not belonging, of being different. 

The homophobic bullying continued until I was about 16. Constant abuse, comments, everyday. Years of it. 

I had eggs and yoghurt thrown at me and was physically and verbally abused in the street, all for being gay.

I can’t tell you how life-defining and profound this stuff is. I’m still living with the fallout today of LGBTQ+ discrimination and I’m in my 40s. 

There were times in my teens I tried to have relationships with girls but, even though at the time I didn’t realise I was gay, something felt almost degrading. Imagine feeling that way but not knowing why. 

At 16 I went to college and made my first gay friend - Andy, and it changed my life (we’re still friends today, more than 25 years later). We were friends for a year before he came out to me. It was at that point it clicked for me too and I came out to him. 

It was an odd sensation. A sense of relief that I’d worked it all out and shared. A big weight felt like it had been lifted. But I knew being gay wasn’t going to be easy in the years ahead. I wished I’d felt peace and acceptance, but I didn’t. 

I then decided I was going to come out to my parents and brother.

Sat in our family kitchen in a sparkling low cut top and very skinny jeans (I mean talk about obvious), I told them. My mum and dad just went, ‘well yeah, we guessed that’. Their acceptance was beyond welcome. 

My brother reacted differently. He just started laughing, I think out of shock or awkwardness. It took my brother years to really accept my sexuality. He was always so unsure what to say or how to say it.

Not long after I had my first boyfriend. It was at this point things with my dad got difficult. 

One day my boyfriend was at my house and an almighty row broke out. I can’t even remember what it was about but my dad lost his shit. It was like a scene from Eastenders.

There was a huge slanging match in the kitchen between dad, my boyfriend and me. Me getting in between my dad and boyfriend. Almost a physical altercation. It then spilled out into the street, I had to stop my dad going after my boyfriend. It was so close to turning into a fight.

The next day I moved out. That was the last day I’d ever live with my parents.  

Weeks and weeks went by and my dad and I didn’t speak. I would phone home, if my dad answered and realised it was me he would just pass the phone to mum. I adored my dad and it felt devastating.

He didn’t get that I wasn’t actively choosing this life, I was simply choosing to be me, to not live a lie. Would it have been easier to be a heterosexual male? Hell yeah. But I wasn’t straight. 

A few months later, not long after I turned 18, my nan died. I was incredibly close to her. It all got too much. 

I was struggling with my own sexuality, not talking to my dad, and now this. It took me over the edge. 

I ended up doing a fairly weak attempt at suicide. I’d taken a lot of medication, thankfully not too much.    

It was the suicide attempt that reconciled my relationship with my dad. It made him realise the pain I was in.

From that day on he became my biggest supporter. He’s been proud of everything I’ve achieved. 

My dad was a police officer and had been exposed to a lot of situations where gay people had been assaulted or abused. I think a lot of his initial emotion and anger came from a place of love. He was scared of what I might face growing up being an openly gay man.

He’s 91 now and sadly has dementia. It’s quite severe. However, there’s not a single time I go to see him that he doesn’t remember who I am. I can still see the love in his eyes he has for me.

University was another life-defining time for me. 

In my first term I’d been forced to move out of my flat because I was facing homophobic bullying by my flatmates for being gay. There were a few rugby players and they’d spend hours throwing balls at my door, day and night. I’d gone to my first gay bar, a place I thought I’d be safe, and been attacked in a toilet. I’d joined an LGBT club and been voted in as the lead representative for the university. 

It was joining the LGBT group that had a transformational change on my life. I found accepting friends who had experienced similar stuff that I went through. I was leading a group of people actively fighting for the rights of gay people, implementing policies, campaigning, getting my face on t-shirts. 

It’s probably this experience that has seen me end up having a career in HR. I’m passionate about ensuring people are treated equally, that there is support for people that aren’t and there’s ramifications for people being dickheads.

Thankfully (as though I should be thankful), I’ve never experienced any homophobic abuse in my career or feel like I’ve been overlooked for a role or not rewarded when I should have been. 

I’m now a global HR director working in a hugely supportive organisation. I’ve also married a wonderful man and have adopted two beautiful boys.

While that’s hugely positive, the metaphorical baggage I carry around as a result of my experience is real.  

There’s been countless times in my life I’ve sat and cried, wishing I wasn’t gay. I won’t hold my husband’s hand or show him affection in public - unless I’m somewhere like Soho - in case I get attacked or verbally abused. 

I have thicker skin now but I rarely feel truly comfortable in social situations unless I’m surrounded by my closest friends and family.

I’ve got constant imposter syndrome at work, even though I occupy a senior position and do well financially. 

I’ve been asked about my wife multiple times. On the rare occasion I correct and say my husband people can react negatively or with discomfort.

I know we’re known as the gay dads on the school gate and I do catch people looking at us at pick-up time. It makes me feel uncomfortable. 

It won’t be surprising to know my mental health is up and down. But the therapy I’m currently having is helping to unpack all this stuff. 

There’s no doubt life today is way better for gay people in England than it was a decade ago. 

But it’s still not easy.

There are 1000s of gay people up and down the country who face and feel these sorts of challenges each day. 

Be kind to them.