Growing up in the predominantly Mexican American neighborhood of East Los Angeles was a priceless experience. I grew up immersed in my culture. On any given weekend I could hear the echoes of three or more celebrations across the neighborhood and the delicious smell of home cooked food filling every household and spilling into the surrounding neighborhood streets. It is easy for me to romanticize this environment because it was beautiful, but it was not without its challenges. I was raised by my grandparents who provided a loving home for me. It is because of them that I learned to speak Spanish and grew to be proud of my heritage. That was the easy part, the visible part. At an early age I felt different, like I was not interested in the same things as other little girls. Reflecting on those moments, I realize that I knew I was queer. I did not have a name for it or the vocabulary to describe it, but the feeling was innate. Even as a child. As loving as my family was, I was terrified of “being found out.” 

I learned to bury myself in books and music. As soon as I reached high school, I could not ignore who I was becoming. When I left home to attend college, I finally felt free to come into my own as a queer woman of color. I learned just how complicated my identity was and in my second year I was ready to come out. I had to strategize how exactly to do it. 

I built a support system while I was in college and I thought to myself, “If they disown me, I can handle it.” I lied to myself. I thought that all the new friendships and knowledge I accumulated would be enough, so I decided to come out to my mother first. When I told her, she responded, “I had a feeling” and she cried. She hugged me and told me that she loved me. I felt so relieved! 

Next, I came out to my grandmother. I thought this would be the most difficult because my grandmother was an old-fashioned immigrant woman who believed in traditional romantic relationships. My heart was pounding, and I almost lost my nerve. She was watching a Spanish soap opera (Telenovela) and this show had a gay character. I remember her comment, “¿Por qué le maltrata su madre? Es su hijo!” (Why does his mother mistreat him? He is still her son!). That was my cue! I came out to my grandmother during a commercial break. She stopped and switched off the Television. She was silent for a minute and hugged me tight. “¡Te quiero mucho!” “¡Tengo fe en ti!” (“I love you very much!” and “I have faith in you!”) I cried and we held each other. I felt so relieved and lucky. 

I often think about the moment I came out to the most important people in my life and now I understand how fortunate I was at the time. During Pride month many gay and queer folks of all ages will come out to their families and friends but not all will be as fortunate to have the acceptance I experienced. I think of how courageous these folks are and how we should lift them up in our thoughts and prayers. I am proud of my family for their support and open hearts. I hope I can pay it forward to those who need it. I am rooting for every person who has the courage to state their truth.