Coming Out

I’m gonna have to do it at some point. I’m gonna have to tell my mom that I’m a stripper. Sometimes I think she suspects I’ve been dancing, because come on, how could she believe I’m holding down an apartment and paying off a car with the 8 dollar an hour job that’s supposedly my only source of income? But she never asks, and I know for a fact she ]ATES strippers. I distinctly remember as a kid, whenever strip clubs were in the news, she’d say things like “we don’t need people like that in our community.”

I was always the bad kid. I snuck around with boys and never did my homework. Sure, I never went to jail, never drank or smoked anything, but I was far from what she wanted me to be. That should make it easier to tell her, because I’ve had so much practice disappointing her. It doesn’t. If anything it makes it harder.

Lately I’ve been watching “my coming out story” videos on YouTube. At the risk of offending some people, I do think there are some similarities between coming out as a stripper and coming out as gay.  I understand that working in a strip club is a choice and being gay is not, but the choices we make create who we are just as much as the wiring we’re born with. The fact is, this is who I am, and I’m still hiding it.

I’m sure I won’t feel better once she knows. I’m not sure how I’ll do it, or when, but it’s something I need to start thinking about.