DOVER — I was a bullied gay teen.
Those words are still hard for me to say. Not because I am ashamed of being gay. I came out of the closet when I was 18 years old and have never looked back. Those aren't the words that are hard to say.
What's hard, 20 years after the fact, is to admit that I was bullied.
In a way, coming out as someone who was bullied has in some ways been harder for me to do than coming out as gay ever has been.
I grew up in the South. It's not easy to be a gay teenager anywhere, but the South in the early 1990s didn't exactly qualify as safe space.
My high school was no exception. Despite the fact I attended public school, our fundamentalist Christian school principal allowed church groups to distribute anti-gay materials in the halls. It was hardly the environment in which a young gay person could feel supported.
And so, when the bullying started my freshman year of high school, I didn't feel like I had anywhere to turn.
* * *
There were two main instigators: one, the son of a cop, was an aspiring police officer; the other, a young woman who, years later, I found out was gay herself.
The taunting was daily and happened in class, where I couldn't get away from it. During my morning class, he would sit next to me and ask, “Is it true? Are you a dyke?” During my last class of the day she would do the same.
I never seriously considered talking to a teacher about it. Given the atmosphere at my high school, I felt sure I would not have been heard. Or, even worst, I thought I'd be blamed somehow.
In fact, two teachers overheard the bullying. One did nothing. The other told me that if I changed the way I dressed, I wouldn't be a target anymore.
The worst part of it was that I thought it was in some way my fault. I bought into the idea, perpetuated by the latter teacher, that I had in some way brought it on myself. I took the inaction of the other teacher to mean that there was nothing wrong with the bullying.
And so, I internalized it.
I knew even then, at some level, that I was gay. But it would take me four more years to come out.
* * *
In retrospect, I know that the bullying, and the responses from the adults who knew about it, was a big part of that. I was taught by my peers that to be gay was to be worthy of abuse. And I was taught by my teachers that I deserved it. Who would want to admit that they were gay after that?
But bullying was not the final word for me.
Thankfully, the bullying ended after that year. I finished high school with a large group of friends with whom I am still in contact. I went off to college, came out, and found that my world did not end. Since then, I've been fortunate enough to build a family of friends who have brought joy and love into my life.
But I never talked about the experience of being bullied. Not even with my LGBT friends.
It wasn't until about a year ago when I was having coffee with several friends that I spoke about it.
One friend was talking about how her daughter, who was the same age as I was when the bullying started, was being bullied at school because she was suspected of being gay.
For some reason, I talked about it that day. Something about hearing about her daughter, and realizing that there was no way her daughter could possibly deserve that treatment, allowed me to let go of that shame for the first time.
That's how deeply the bullying can affect you. For 20 years you can lead a life in which you receive affirmation, love, and support, yet you can somehow, on some level, still believe the messages given to you in your youth that you somehow brought the abuse on yourself.
* * *
There has been a great campaign going on lately called “It Gets Better.” In that campaign, those of us who experienced bullying as gay youth tell our stories and assure today's gay youth that it does indeed get better. And, that's true. It does.
But, for those of us who want to support LGBT youth, it's not enough to just say “it gets better.” We have to make it better.
If you are in a position to affect the lives of young people, you are in a place of tremendous responsibility. Whether you're a parent or grandparent, a teacher or coach, a minister or rabbi, or even a trusted mentor, you can make a difference.
Have an honest and open discussion about bullying with the youth you know. Talk about acceptance. Talk about respect. Let them know how you feel, and listen to what they have to say. This is especially true if you know kids who are being bullied.
Let them tell them about what is going on, and then do whatever you can to support them and make sure that they are able to live in safety and with hope.
And, there's one final thing.
If you, like me, survived anti-gay bullying (or any other kind of bullying), talk about it. What happened was not your fault, and the kids who are going through this need to know it's not theirs either.
Tell your story. Show them it gets better. And prove to them that the life that is waiting for them is worth living. We have to speak louder than the voices of the bullies who are out there.
But when we all speak together, that's not hard to do.