Today is National Coming Out Day, which I didn’t even know was a thing. It makes me think about my own outcoming, which I may not have done in quite the right way.

It was August 1st, 2020. About six months into the COVID-19 pandemic. I published a coming-out podcast episode and essentially came out on all the social media promotion of the podcast. No personal conversations with family or friends, no paving of the way, just Here I am. Hi.

Honestly, though, I don’t know if I could have had those conversations one-on-one. Coming out with public posts and a podcast may seem bold, but it was probably done more out of fear. There wasn’t a person or people who I dreaded telling; it was the telling itself that I dreaded. The exposing of a half-century-old, debilitating secret.

I’ve probably said it here a million and a half times before, but I was 60 years old the day I came out. I’d had a good 55 years of hiding who I was. The only brain I have was formed by half a century of suppression. When the idea of coming out flashed across my suppression-shaped brain, it revolted.

But the punk in me, the iconoclast, bless her, stood up to my ingrained suppression and said, “Fuck it. If you don’t do it now, you’re never going to do it.” So I did it.

It wasn’t easy. From the moment I decided to go forward, I had a pit in my stomach, and it stayed there for weeks afterward. I lost 18 pounds during that August, though it’s not a diet I’d recommend to anyone. But it was exhilarating, that’s for sure.

They say fear and excitement are the same, physiologically anyway. So, which is which is kind of down to how you experience or describe something. Giving voice to a long-held secret is undeniably liberating. I think the exhilaration of that liberation would definitely qualify as excitement. Most of the fear took place in the weeks before the outing itself.

The liberation part is difficult to put into words that a non-trans (or non-queer) person can understand. Every time I’ve tried to describe it to someone who isn’t trans, I’ve fallen short. With other trans people, it isn’t even a conversation. All you have to say—about any of this—is, “You know?” and they nod and smile.

My method may not have been “right,” but it was right for me, and I think that’s what I would say to anyone who’s considering coming out. Every way is the right way to do it. There is no wrong way.

That’s easy to say when I’m already out; I know that. I probably read a hundred coming-out stories over the years with people saying, “Do it! Come out with us and play in the sunshine!” and they just made me feel worse about where I was.

But I would say “do it!” to anyone who asked.

Not because it’s all sunshine, daisies, and puppies licking your face—it’s not—not at first, anyway. It’s difficult and painful, and depending on your living circumstances, it can be dangerous. You will lose people. That’s unavoidable and one of the harshest, heartbreaking costs.

But in life, as in business, sometimes a cost/benefit analysis can show you the path forward. I can’t estimate your costs, but I can tell you the benefits are vast and nearly endless and, in most cases, will far exceed the cost. The benefits won’t make up for every cost, but I promise you they’ll lessen the impact.

Whatever you do, stay strong and embrace the peace and love that surrounds you, even when it’s hard to see it.

WRITTEN BY A HUMAN