Coming Out At Work
‘Miss? Have you got a boyfriend?’
A question I have been asked countless times whilst working as an education agency supply teacher.
This particular time, I was covering in a small class of eight boys in Year 10 (age 14-15). A discussion about relationships, loosely linked to the text had become much more interesting than actually reading A Christmas Carol, and the lesson had ground to a halt. Each scenario picked apart by the group was a heterosexual one. I interrupted a few times, mainly to remind them to be mature or to calm down when things got a little too far off topic, but also to remind them not to forget about same sex relationships in their discussion. This was, unsurprisingly, met with a groan, and a few mumbles about ‘not knowing people like that.’ This is when the ever-delightful question reared its head once again: ‘Have you got a boyfriend?’ I said no, and then to my horror, did not continue on to say that I had a girlfriend. The conversation moved on quickly and soon the bell rang. I was left in an empty classroom with a nasty taste in my mouth. Why had I felt a sudden panic when faced with sharing my sexuality with the class?
In my personal life, I am very open with regards to my sexuality. I am ‘out’ around my family, friends and anyone else who wants to know. It’s been that way for many years. Nothing about my sexuality is hidden. I am proud to walk down the street holding hands with my partner, and with this in mind, it came as a big surprise to me when I found myself not speaking up in my new place of work.
At the time, I told myself I had not spoken out because I was in a position of authority and my private life was not relevant, but something still didn’t feel right. I had witnessed many of my heterosexual colleagues speaking about their partners with the pupils, when relevant. It’s normal. By no means am I suggesting that one should sit with their pupils and discuss the ins and outs of their relationship, but should you be directly asked what you did at the weekend, there is no harm in saying who you spent your time with. The team was very small and close and I knew for a fact that I was the only LGBTQ+ member of staff. This wasn’t a professional thing, this was me not wanting to come out for fear of rejection or humiliation. This was unknown territory for me. I had never experienced any apprehension towards coming out prior to this moment.
I decided I would have to correct this, but obviously wasn’t planning to call an emergency coming out assembly. The chance arose in the playground one day, when a group of pupils, including some of the boys from that fateful lesson, were talking about their futures. Plans for after they leave school, where they want to live, etc. One of them asked me what area I lived in, so I told them where and who I lived with. The group went silent and then someone said, ‘Wait, what? Miss, you’re a lesbian?’ I said yes and the group went silent again. ‘Like Cara Delevingne’ one of them said, before moving on to tell the group that she would definitely want to live in Shoreditch. That was it. I was pleased that I’d managed to slip it into an appropriate conversation.
Anyone who has worked in a school knows that teacher gossip spreads like wildfire. By the end of the day everyone would have heard that, ‘Miss is a lesbian!’ I feel that, working with young people, it was my duty to out myself whenever relevant (and I speak only for myself) in order to normalise something that some of the pupils will have never knowingly come into contact with. Coming out is a delicate and deeply personal decision. An experience which is different for every single person, and no one should be made to feel pressured to do anything which isn’t in the best interest of themselves and their wellbeing. Whilst I am in no way defined by my sexuality, my relationship is a very central part of my life and I never want to feel like I have to hide my happiness in order to make others more comfortable. Only if we keep talking, keep calling people out, keep making ourselves visible, will the gender of my partner be as irrelevant as their shoe size.
The problem is that, unfortunately, you never just come out once. People come out over and over again. To our families, friends and core social bubble, but after that there are friends of friends, colleagues, cab drivers and anybody else you come into contact with who assumes that you are heterosexual until corrected. Though VERY slowly changing, and at present we seem to be taking two steps forward and one back, society on the whole has an inbuilt assumption that anything outside of a heterosexual marriage in which children are produced, is not ‘normal’. Be that people in the LGBTQ+ community, a partnership who decide not to have children, polyamorous relationships – we are coming out all of the time.
I now work in a permanent position at a primary school. When I started there, I was adamant that I would be out from day one in order to avoid any awkward coming out conversations. I wear a rainbow pin on my lanyard and openly talk about my partner where relevant. Whilst I am not running around to each member of staff saying, ‘Hi! I’m a lesbian!’, I do try to be as visible as I can be around the school in order to combat any misinformed comments that I have heard bounce around the staffroom on the odd occasion. Knowing that I am not the only member of staff who identifies as LGBTQ+ makes the world of difference too. Somehow, I feel, there is an unspoken camaraderie between us. Nothing has been said, but the threat of being ‘othered’ is less intimidating alongside trusted colleagues. I will never hide my sexuality from anyone again. If I am pointedly not awkward about it, as there is no reason I should be, then the person I am in conversation with will not, or should not, be either. If they are, my hope is that my existence may challenge their preconceptions. It’s only small, but I consider it to be activism none the less. My sexuality is just one facet of who I am. It’s not hidden away, it just is.
Written by Amy Ridler
Alongside writing, Amy has worked in queer, feminist theatre & performance for the last 10 years and in education since 2014. She is currently studying for an MA in Creative Writing and lives in London.