by Colleen Crinklaw-Bailey

You’re the battery that keeps the force field active, and you are the one with the key to turn it off.

Imagine for a moment that you are standing in the fitting room of an upscale clothing store. You are currently wearing an outfit that, for the first time, gives you that feeling you see in the movies that you are finally complete. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for your entire life, a moment where you recognize that you are truly and undeniably beautiful, even if that beauty is something you didn’t expect or comes in a form that is shocking to you. Everything is perfect, and so are you. You are finally ready to show the World who you Truly Are. Or are you?

For as soon as you crack the protective shell of the fitting room, hosts of doubt and hordes or worry and judgment will find your weakest parts and exploit them.

What were you thinking?

That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting.

Maybe a doctor can fix that. Or prayer. Prayer works, right?

Suddenly, you want to run back into your private sanctuary and slam the door shut so hard the mirror breaks so not only are you alone, your sense of self is distorted and you can’t see clearly. Maybe you begin to believe that you can never be safe anywhere but inside your protective shell, forever. But once the door is open, there’s truly no going back. You can go back inside and shut the door, but your secret self is now out there, somewhere, and someone knows who you are and what it is. It’s no wonder some of us never leave the shelter of our closet, our own personal prisons, built to keep us safe from harm by our own lying psyches.

A lot of closet doors have been opening in my vicinity lately. Take, for example, the friend of mine who recently confided in me their newly discovered bisexuality and with it, the heretofore unexplored ways of expressing love and lust and everything in between. When that door was opened, I was sitting on the red velvet couch usually reserved for the spouse carrying all the shopping bags, ready to lend my support, in any way necessary. And I do this, with conviction and honesty because the person who emerges from that room is raw and vulnerable. And with my support, and love, my friend inches farther away from the fitting room door and into the world.

However, it’s not always people like me waiting outside the door. Another friend of mine recently experienced the all-too-common trauma of saying “I am gay” to their parents and receiving no support — only heartache. And, unable to return to the closet, my friend must now face the often cruel world without walls.

Thirdly, my own experience. Not long ago I finally mustered the strength to open my closet door and emerge, to admit that I am not some kind of limitless superhero and that I can no longer stand upright under the crushing weight of my severe depression. We all live in little closets, you see, and while our reason for hiding a secret part of ourselves varies from soul to soul, our motivation is often the same.

Protection.

Fear.

Guilt.

Coming out is an emotionally charged decision, and the decision to come out or to stay closeted is a decision that should never be taken away from the individual. Being “outed” by another human being strips you of your control, your ability to live according to the terms you’ve set. But it is equally important to remember that remaining in the closet only feeds the prison you’ve built for yourself, powers the insecurities and fears that keep you inside. You are the battery that keeps the force field active, and you are the one with the key to turn it off, to stop feeding it.

When you are ready, and only then, stop feeding it.

I’ll save you a seat on the outside.

Photo credit: Fitting room, 21 Feb 2010. Photo by Rachel (Fuschia Foot on Flickr). Used in accordance with Creative Commons license.