On a much-anticipated work trip to Montreal in 2019, I took the ‘trip’ part too literally when I fell and broke my patella.
I was always considered theologically ‘progressive’ – supporting refugees, the LGBT+ community and other marginalised groups. Like, ‘I want Noah to sing to me like that’ and ‘I want to be looked at the way Dan is looking at Noah’. That clearly explained why I couldn’t take my eyes off a classmate’s chest and shoulders at high school.
Melbourne’s outer-eastern ‘burbs in the 1980s weren’t the place to safely come out. I’m sure people did; I’m also sure that they copped hell for it. Me? I was ultra-sensitive, and the thought of rejection was too much for me back then. Honestly, I never considered coming out because I never thought I was gay.Facing the fear of rejection in 2019 as the ‘new’ me was bad enough. I cried myself to sleep most nights for the first six weeks after my realisation. All I could see in my future was loss.