Do you remember who you had your first time with?

Not like that, ya nasty! I mean.. it could be like that but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the first person that you ever told. Or maybe showed, because sometimes the conversation isn’t enough.

You know, that moment.

The moment where the thoughts in your mind won’t stop rushing when the anxiety begins to feel like it’s pushing through your chest at its peak, and you just seem to be at a loss of words to speak?

Yeah; that moment.

The moment where all parts of your life can seem to both come together and fall apart simultaneously. It’s that split second “Fuck It” moment that will precede the next one, and the next one, and the next one. Until one day, you no longer sense the need to say it.

Fuck it.

The first time that I actually felt that I had the guts to say “the words” to someone other than myself, was to my soon-to-be boyfriend at the time. If that’s what we were calling them back then. I was a baby gay, so I honestly shouldn’t have been calling anybody anything.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Now listen closely. After I tell you something significant like that about me, you honestly don’t have a choice but to become my best friend. And what better than to make your best friend your boyfriend? Or boyfriend your best friend?

Whatever, you know what I mean.

What other choice did I have when it was supposed to be a secret?

Now, statistics show that most individuals first time telling someone that they are or might be on the LGBTQ+ spectrum are around the ages of 18–21 years old. For me, this started to happen as I was coming out of my pre-teen phase.

Chapter 3: The Coming Out Experience, A Survey of LGBTQ Americans (6/13/13) — Pew Research Center

Typical, right? I choose the perfect way to switch it up as a teenager and drive everyone, including myself, crazy.

Telling my first boyfriend that I was gay wasn’t the easiest thing to do since I didn’t know how he would react. However, it’s a hell of a lot easier to do when that person is flirting back at you subliminally. I didn’t have the words for it back then, but my internal gaydar was letting me know something.

That first moment became one of many.

Although that relationship didn’t work out for us, what it did was bring new clarity to my life. Showing me things that I couldn’t have envisioned alone. Serving as a stream towards places and things, it changed my life in ways that I couldn’t have imagined.

It expanded my viewpoints and curiosities.

Offered me both peers and a community.

While skilling me with the ability to comprehend differences and express true empathy.

Yet still, I felt limited in my privilege to just be.

It was not until some years later that I felt comfortable enough to tell someone outside of the people that I had been with, what my “preference” was. I recognize now, what I didn’t back then, that I didn’t need to announce who I was attracted to. This should not be a conversation that people are forced into having because of the disparate biases of others. The only variation of things that should be discussed is the history of and how to take proper care of yourself.

Nevertheless, the first time that I was assured enough in my being to tell a family member was close towards the end of high school. By that point, I had already had my fair share of Fuck It #ClosetMoments that would have roped me in. I enjoyed gradually, exploring this newfound freedom of mine. I had been exposed to a whole new world of mine and was getting into what my Queerness meant for me.

And even with a few rough patches, I was stuck and in love with myself.

Since my cousin and I were pretty close, they were automatically the first person that I would have chosen to share things with if it came down to it. I knew that then, no one would have been as understanding of me. And thus, they were the first ones that cared to ask; at least in a subtle way.

“Sooo, what’s up with you guys?” asks my cousin. The guy that I had been seeing for a while had just left my room for the night. It also just so happened to be the perfect moment for her to catch me in action.

“What do you mean?” I reply, thunderstruck by assumed presumption.

“You know, he comes over a lot. What do you guys be doing in here?”

I knew at that moment that I had two options: tell the truth or keep lying. There was nothing in sight that gave me a red flag that either was a bad decision, making the ending of this moment questionable. Yet, I had decided that I was tired of doing the latter.

Fuck it.

“He’s my boyfriend,” I say in a debatable tone. Finally feeling like a boulder has been lifted from my sternum, I await the response. My stomach in knots, it was as if everything was tugging at my nervous system.

I wait.

Eventually, I was thanked for sharing such an important part of myself. They even threw in a few compliments about the guy’s looks, allowing me the space to revel out loud with someone. With this moment, I have sworn secrecy that they kept, giving me control over how I told my story. This alone brought me much pleasure and piloted how I wanted people to treat me.

To not make this moment an issue or public statement.

But allow me to claim my identity publicly, and still acknowledge the difference.

I am grateful for what my first moments have brought me, but this is not always a reality for others. Throughout an article for Insider, a group of Queer folks from all ages expresses just how different those first moments can be. Having that initial conversation with someone differs for everyone, and I encourage doing it only when you feel comfortable.

Or, just say Fuck It.

For some, these experiences are not always as light.

For some, they experience more.

More pain

More anger.

More confusion.

And in times, more loneliness.

Even in these common conditions, we should not allow people to feel this way. Instead, we must continue to expand our curiosities past societal standards. We must learn how to offer everyone a more competent community. And we must skill others in expressing empathy.

You know, the basics?

So yes, I do remember my first time.

And the next one, and the next one, and the next one after. I remember them because they meant something to me. Those moments became the early stages of me finally not being at a loss of words.

Pieces of my life were coming together in more ways than I could articulate.

I had to tell someone.

I wanted them to know my story.

So, I use my first time to let everyone know that my story matters.

That #YourStoryMatters