Lillian Stewart
Page 1 of 2
Those Who Matter
“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter
don't mind”
-Dr. Seuss
We are in my friend's bedroom, and I have a knot in my stomach. My group of girl friends are talking
about boys or crushes or something. I want to blurt out that I am a lesbian and that I have a huge crush
on one of the girls in my dance class. I want tell my friends that I don't just think that that girl is pretty
and seems nice. I want to say that I think she is one of the most beautiful, sexy girls I have ever seen.
Tonight I don't tell my friends anything.
Coming out to my parents was never a problem for me. Since I was a kid, I have been surrounded by
such weird, artsy people that my parents' gay and lesbian friends were probably the least unusual people
that I knew. Unfortunately, the musicians and artists who were my parents' friends were a minority in
Huntsville, Alabama. Here, most people are rocket scientists and engineers. I knew my friends were
liberal, and they didn't say anything bad about gay people. I also knew, or thought I knew, that most
straight guys liked lesbians but were disgusted by gay men. I assumed that my girl friends would be
disgusted too if they knew that I was a lesbian. Coming out to my friends was a bit of a disaster, but I
finally did it. Most importantly, I learned that I didn't give my friends enough credit. Coming out to my
friends challenged me to trust the people around me. I assumed I would need to teach them about
acceptance, but instead, they taught me a lesson about assumptions. My friends showed me that Dr.
Seuss's promise that “those who matter don't mind” is true.
My first attempt to come out to my friends was a miserable failure. I thought that by acting completely
uninterested in boys, everyone would just know that I was a lesbian. Whenever my friends talked about
actors or guys at school whom they liked, I always complained loudly: “He is hideous! Are you serious?”
At fourteen I thought that to be a lesbian I had to find all guys disgusting. It didn't matter that I secretly
agreed that Johnny Depp and Brad Pitt were good-looking; I refused to admit it. I was afraid that if I ever
thought a guy was attractive, I was not really a lesbian. I was terrified that I would have to tell my family
(to whom I had just come out) that I had made a mistake, that I was just a boring, straight person.
Obviously, my plan to tell my friends that I liked girls by pretending not to like guys did not work. I think
that I probably just annoyed them by vehemently insisting that no one they liked was attractive.
I decided that I would simply have to tell my friends that I was a lesbian. I didn't want to make a big
deal out of it though. I hated the idea of making a huge announcement. The perfect opportunity to
come out casually to my friends came when we were gossiping about a boy in the class above us. He had
told my twin sister that he had a crush on me. “She told him I'm a lesbian, though,” I explained. “Why?”
one of my friends asked. “'Because I am,” I laughed and smiled nervously. My friends were quiet for a
moment and then laughed with me. That afternoon, I triumphantly told my mom that I was out to all of
my friends. I was relieved that I would never have to come out again. I hoped that my friends would
gossip about me and that soon everyone at my school would know that Lillian Stewart was a Lesbian.
I did not realize until the next day that I hadn't come out at all. After school one of my friends made a
face when someone mentioned lesbians. “How dare she?” I thought. “Didn't I just tell her that I'm gay?”
When I told my twin sister what had happened, she laughed at me and said that my friends must not have
Lillian Stewart
Page 2 of 2
believed me. Besides failing to come out, I failed to see that being a lesbian was not that important. Even
if they had believed me, they would not have bothered to tell anyone because no one cared who was
gay. Why should any of the classmates I barely knew care more about me just because I was out?
I finally did tell my friends, bluntly, that I am a lesbian. I realize now that most of my fears about
coming out to my friends were unnecessary. I have not lost one friend by coming out. My friends have
shown me that my stereotype of straight Southerners was wrong. I am not ignorant; I know that
discrimination and homophobia still exist. But I have learned from my friends that stereotypes are seldom
true no matter where they come from or at whom they are directed.
At first I believed that by coming out I would teach my friends and everyone around me about
acceptance. Instead, my friends taught me that, when given a chance, most people will choose inclusion
and acceptance over fear or hate. The support of my friends has given me an entirely new perspective on
coming out. I no longer want to come out to teach others. I will simply be out because I believe that all
people, even straight, southern, republican, rocket scientists, are capable of acceptance. But it is not
simply that they are capable of acceptance. I firmly believe that people want to be as loving and
accepting as they can be. Discrimination does not spring from hate, but from ignorance. If we are honest
about who we are and try our best to accept others, we can educate each other and eventually move
beyond this ignorance forever. This is why I now challenge myself to be completely me, not just as a
lesbian, but as every kind of person I am. I will not limit myself to try to fit an image no matter who has
created it. I will listen to the music I like, no matter how stupid everyone says it is. I will read my lesbian
novels at school. I will be whoever I am. I may even date a boy.