Before I came out to my family, I always thought of myself as putting on magical mental armor. Armor that kept me from telling the truth. A visit home became an ordeal of sorts — dragging out the old chestplate and greaves and remembering what I could and couldn’t say. I used to spend the long flight back getting ready for “battle”. Slipping on the gauntlets that could deflect questions about my love life. Donning the helmet that pushed any LGBT-related literature or music or movies to the back of my mind (for someone who speaks almost entirely in pop culture references, this was pretty hard). And picking up the shield that would keep me from feeling how painful it was to embody a lie.

Watch the film Stigma, and join us in a march against racial profiling this Father's Day.

Narrator: Submitted for your approval: an ordinary tumblr, on an ordinary website, and a conversation between two seemingly ordinary strangers…

IG: [enters stage left, extends her hand] Hello, Internet. I don’t think we’ve met before, have we? Well, not here, anyway. Is this seat taken? Great. [sits down]

IG: So, what are you in for? Me? [shakes her head] I’m here because I did a silly, daring, self-indulgent, reckless, brave thing. I told the truth about myself to some people that I was pretty sure didn’t want to hear it.

Ever since the Vatican announced an investigation of American nuns for focusing too much on poverty and economic injustice and not enough on abortion ...

When she was about 11, my cousin (let's call her D.) realized that she was gay, and came out to my mother, who wasn’t shocked or scandalized. However, D. wanted to tell the rest of the family, and Mom was afraid for her. D. put it off, but eventually she went through with it. The resulting fight caused a terrible schism; D. left the family.

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