I’ve tried in vain thumbing through my archives the last couple days to find an essay I wrote for a writing class 14 years ago. It chronicled over half a dozen distinct moments when I’d questioned or confirmed my gender and/or sexuality. I read it out loud to my classmates, who were super accepting (Santa Cruz does get some things right). For the record, coming out shows up on privilege checklists – cishets never face coming out at all; I’ve done it a couple dozen times.

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