Coming out to my Mexican Father
I didn’t mean to come out to my parents. If it had been up to me, they might still have no idea their daughter is queer. In fact, when I turned 18 yrs. old, I moved 2000+ miles away from home just so that I can live my life outside of the reach of their eyes and their judgment. As a Chicana raised in a catholic household, the idea of being queer ate away at me. I could think of no fate worse than disappointing my parents and shaming my family. I had never seen any positive images of Latine queers. We were jokes, perverts, sickos, sinners – people who did not deserve love and who would spend eternity burning in hell. So, I shoved all those feelings somewhere I would never have to acknowledge them and prayed for relief. My first semi-formed thought about my sexuality rose in my consciousness like bile. I felt sick.
