The Battle I Fought in Secret

Picture this: It’s Beaumont, Texas, in the late 90s, and I’m perched on the edge of my twin-sized bed, wearing a knock-off Sean John sweatsuit my mom scored on clearance. Destiny’s Child is playing softly from my boom box (“Say My Name”—an eternal bop), and I’m staring at a blank notebook page. Why? Because I’m planning out how best to not exist. No, seriously. I wasn’t plotting to disappear into thin air or anything dramatic. I was strategizing how to fly under the radar—to shrink myself until I became what everyone else wanted me to be: agreeable, safe, invisible.

You see, around that time, a terrifying truth was rattling around in my chest, screaming for release: I’m gay. But in Beaumont, where folks still side-eye your “funny-acting” cousin and whisper if a boy picks choir over football, there was no way I could admit that. So I buried it. Deep. And I became a master shapeshifter—charming, funny, easy-going Marc, who never showed too much of himself in case people pieced the puzzle together.

What I didn’t know back then is that wearing a mask forever takes a heavy toll. It's like trying to keep a straight face during an entire 'Real Housewives' marathon—exhausting and, at some point, impossible. Here’s how I fought, eventually ditched that mask, and learned to love myself in all my complicated glory.

The Secret Life: Closet Edition

Let me paint you a picture of life in the closet. It’s like being in a small, dark storage room that smells faintly of mothballs and your grandma’s Avon samples. You can hear life happening just outside the door—laughter, connection, freedom—but you’re too scared to open it. I stayed in that cramped emotional space for years. I smiled when family friends asked if I had a girlfriend. I chuckled nervously when uncles cracked jokes about “sissy boys.” And I laughed louder than anyone when Kevin Hart’s early stand-up specials veered into jokes about gay men. (Spoiler alert: I wasn’t finding them funny; I was trying to look like I did.)

To make it through, I mastered what I call the Three C's of Closet Life: Code-Switching, Compartmentalizing, and Covering. I learned to code-switch like a linguistics professor, adapting my tone, gestures, and language depending on who I was around. I compartmentalized my emotions so thoroughly that sometimes even I forgot what I was feeling. And covering? Honey, I practically deserved an award. Catch me going to school dances with my neighbor Monique like we were prom royalty. (She was my best friend, and a phenomenal cover story.)

But pretending comes with a cost. I became disconnected not only from other people but also from myself. Who is Marc, if you strip away the jokes and the pretenses? That was a question I didn’t know how to answer—and for a long time, I was too scared to even try.

When the Lie Catches Up to You

Eventually, though, the truth breaks through the surface like grass pushing through cracks in concrete. For me, it happened in college. By the time I got to my HBCU in Louisiana, I was craving authenticity like Luther Vandross craved the perfect love ballad. Still, I wasn’t quite ready to shout my truth from the rooftops. Instead, I tiptoed around it. I signed up for Sociology courses on gender studies (but pretended the questions I asked in class were purely academic). I started hanging out with theater kids, who were all glitter and joy and unbothered fabulousness. And then came my first gay bar.

Walking into that bar was like stumbling into Oz after living my whole life in sepia Kansas. The lights were brighter, the music louder, and the energy electric. Men held hands freely. No one whispered about what someone was wearing or how they moved. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I could exhale.

Of course, this didn’t mean the battle was over. That night might’ve been the first time I felt myself truly stepping into the light, but it also introduced a new wave of guilt and anxiety. What would my parents say? My friends from home? Would my church still sing the solos I wrote for choir back in the day? Coming out felt just as daunting as staying hidden—like being tasked with climbing Mount Everest, but you’re armed with one of those broken umbrellas from the gas station.

The Slow Crawl Toward Freedom

So, I battled. Quietly, awkwardly, painfully. Maybe you’re envisioning some Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds moment where everything changed in a flash of inspiration and self-acceptance, but, no, real life doesn’t tie things up so neatly. My fight was slow. It involved therapy, tear-filled nights talking things out with Monique (who claimed she “always knew” because of how I side-eyed Idris Elba in The Wire), and moments of backsliding into old habits because staying masked just felt safer.

Despite all of it, I kept moving forward. My first major risk? Coming out to my college roommate, Terrence. I was terrified, of course. Terrence was from rural Arkansas and had once been voted “Most Likely to Hug His Bible Tight” in high school. But his response? “Man, thanks for telling me. You good?” That simple acceptance floored me, and it sparked a confidence I’d never felt before.

From there, I became bolder: I came out to Monique, then my siblings, then a carefully curated list of friends and professors. Every time, I felt like I was peeling off a layer of suffocating shrink wrap and stepping, little by little, into the version of myself I’d buried all those years ago.

Lessons I Picked Up in the Trenches

If you’re fighting a secret battle of your own, here’s what I learned from mine:

  1. Resilience is a Muscle
    The more you push through your fears, the stronger you become. Start by telling a trusted friend or journaling your feelings. That first step is the hardest but also the most necessary.

  2. Your People Will Surprise You
    I was so convinced that anyone I came out to would side-eye me forever. And sure, not everyone embraced me with open arms, but the ones who mattered most rallied around me in ways that brought me to tears.

  3. Shame Dies in the Light
    Shame feeds on secrecy. It’s like mold—it grows in dark, hidden places. The moment you shine a light on it, you rob it of power. Talk about your struggle. Share your truth. Trust me, it’s cathartic.

  4. Compassion Counts
    Not everyone will get it right away, and that’s okay. Some people might need time. Give them grace while protecting your peace.

Living Without Armor

Coming out was a battle I fought in secret for years. But in the end, what I learned is that life without armor—without the mask—is so much richer, fuller, and freer than I could’ve ever imagined. Today, when I walk into a room, I don’t second-guess myself or agonize over whether I’m showing up “right.” I’m just...me.

If you’re reading this and you’ve been hiding a piece of yourself, know this: You are worthy of feeling whole. You deserve to take up space, unapologetically. It’s terrifying, sure. But trust me, the air feels so much fresher once you step out of that storage closet and into the light.

And honey, I promise—Beyoncé sounds even better here.