Jo Allen, a senior in journalism and mass communication with a minor in women’s and gender studies. 

(she/her/hers) or (they/them/theirs)

I grew up with caramel skin and big brown saucers for eyes. I also grew up in the church, where I was taught gay meant hell and eternal damnation. What do you do when you are taught to hate who you truly are? You hold it in — the anger, the frustration and all of the questions. You figure it out on your own and rely on no one.

Catholicism told me to pray it away but no matter how long I cried softly in bed praying, the feelings did not change. It’s funny how once you’re introduced to the truth, you can’t help but run toward it.

I was 18 years old when I got diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s Burkitt’s lymphoma stage four. My hair started falling out in a matter of a week. It was now or never in my head.

My dad couldn’t POSSIBLY be mad at me for being lesbian when I was dying, right? I told him during my first round because I didn’t know if I was going to make it, but I couldn’t die without the truth being shared.

I don’t remember much from my chemo treatments, all of the meds make it blur together. All I know is I was bawling and I told him. He told me he already knew.

And he might not approve but he accepts it and that at least is a start.

These coming out stories were put together by the diversity news editor, Madison Mason. If you or someone you know would like to submit your coming out story, then reach out to Madison Mason at [email protected] or submit your story here.