Before I came out at work last year, I attended a seminar at the Workplace Issues conference at Stanford that described five levels of 'outness'. The first level describes someone who is completely in the closet, a person who lies to keep his or her sexuality a secret from everyone and spends a lot of energy keeping the secret.
I've never been at this level, but I know someone who made up a story about a fiancee who died in a car accident, just to keep people from asking about his love life. I also know a guy who, when asked about the wedding ring that signifies his fifteen year relationship, says regretfully, "No, I'm divorced..." He does this because he was abruptly fired from his last job when they discovered his orientation.
The second level of outness describes a person who is in the closet at work, but is out to a few personal friends who are sworn to secrecy. This person also lies when necessary. I'm familiar with this -- I once had to make up a vague medical excuse to explain why I couldn't participate in the company blood drive, since gay males aren't allowed to give blood.
The third level is when a couple of people on the job probably know, but the person isn't sure if they do and doesn't do anything to illuminate the situation. Someone at one of the first three levels probably eats lunch alone a lot and generally avoids coworkers except in work circumstances.
At the time I attended the seminar, I was completely in the fourth level of outness: I was out in my personal life, out to a few coworkers and to members of our gay group, but I was definitely not 'out on the job'. I wouldn't lie if asked directly (by someone I trusted, anyway), and I might even drop a few hints, but nothing more. I could only talk about what I'd done over the weekend by using gender-neutral terms to describe who I'd done it with. This was my status quo for a long time.
Finally there is the fifth level: completely out. I reached this level right after the Workplace Issues conference. I'd just gone through two days of sitting in rooms full of gays, lesbians, and bisexuals who were all intent on changing the workplace. It was a new experience for me and I was energized.
It was time to make some changes and push myself. So I came to work the next day wearing my Workplace Issues t-shirt, with its big triangle and the words 'lesbian' and 'gay' prominently displayed.
It took a while to get used to. Every time I needed to get up from my desk, I got feelings in the pit of my stomach. Who would see me now? How would they react? I tried to see where glances landed when people looked at me. Had they read the words? Did the understand the significance?
Eventually I realized that I was safe. Nobody seemed to care. The only comments I got were of support from other members of the company's gay group, and positive comments from one of my straight friends. If anyone had problems with it, they weren't saying anything.
It was a relief to finally get it over with. Now I didn't have to worry about who knew what, or who was suspicious of what. I didn't have to wonder if someone had overheard a phone call or if they had caught on to my frequent references to my 'roommate'. I could be me. I could relax. Years of tension were over.
Since then my life has changed completely. I relate to coworkers differently and I'm involved in all sorts of gay-related activities. But coming out at work didn't change only my work atmosphere or my political activities. More importantly, my relationship of seven years began to evolve into something new. Being out in every aspect of my life forced me to see myself and my relationship -- my marriage -- in new terms. It's hard to treat a relationship as a marriage when you spend most of your waking life denying its existence.
Being out has done more for me and meant more than I ever expected. Like many people, I thought I could simply separate my professional life from my personal life. Little did I realize that one was ruling the other.
Even now it's not always easy. I recently attended a work-related class that started with everyone introducing themselves and sharing a piece of personal information. I didn't want to be obnoxious by shoving my sexuality and personal life in anyone's face, especially considering that I would be spending a lot of time with these people, so I skipped the opportunity to come out. But as I listened to the others, they almost all chose for their personal information to tell the name of their spouse and the number of kids they had. They were sharing what was important to them: their family.
I realized that the only way I could be honest was to do the same. |