Okay so I'm about to tell a coming out story.

Like most people I do not have ONE coming out story; I did not hire a skywriter or leaflet my hometown. I have had to come out many times over the course of my life

And sometimes I have not come out

But this is a time when I did.

Specifically, this is the time when I came out to my mother.

She was in her room, playing solitaire on her computer. I sat on the edge of her bed behind her. I think there was some small talk.

And then I said, "Mom, I think I'm bi."

And she said, "that's nice, are you seeing anyone?"

I was not seeing anyone.

and that was that.

So what prompted this story?

This morning my time, Nalini Haynes left a comment on @jimchines's blog saying she wouldn't have given a book a five star review if she'd known the writer wasn't out, because she "had concerns about how easy it was for your character to come out."

So hi.

Sometimes it's that goddamn easy.

And those of us who have supportive families? ARE STILL QUEER.

Jesus Bombadil Christ, must we do this?

Throughout this conversation, Haynes has repeatedly brought up her own traumatic history with surviving hate crimes and discrimination, using those stories as some kind of proof that she, unlike all the lying fakers out there, is REALLY disabled.

There are many problems here, starting with weaponizing her trauma responses to claim that any criticism of her position is an attack like unto a hate crime.

But another problem is this: others don't define us. We are who we are whether people hate us or not.

To say that someone isn't "really" queer, or "really" disabled, unless they've had "the full violent technicolor experience" of those identities?

Is to say that our identities are entirely defined by other people's choices.

I dropped out of high school due to relentless bullying and lack of disability accommodation.

Does that make me queer enough? Disabled enough? Does that make up for my mom depriving me of the authentic queer experience by loving me unconditionally?

Haynes clearly has a lot of anger and frustration around being in a position where she cannot "pass," and she's chosen to vent that frustration in the direction of people who can, rather than venting it where it belongs: at the systemic bigotry that makes passing necessary.

Haynes's experiences are her own, and she can raise them as a battleflag if she wants to.

But her experiences are not universal. They do not define "being disabled." They sure as fuck don't define "being queer," which I don't even know (or care) if she is.

But here are some true things about being able to "pass," which I can say from my own experience of having largely-invisible marginalizations:

Erasure isn't acceptance.

Coming out is often exhausting.

None of us actually have full agency over when we are invisible.

I know what it's like not to have that agency because everyone can see my cane, or because my colleagues can see me throwing up in a conference center trash can.

I also know what it's like not to have agency because there is no rainbow bright enough; no pronoun pin big enough.

To rail against people who choose not to disclose their marginalization whenever it might cost them as "stealing" from people who don't have that choice is bizarre.

Systemic bigotry is the thief, here. And it steals from all of us.

I don't "pass" because I want to, but because the world doesn't see me as I am, and I do not owe anyone the performance of a stereotype they will actually recognize. That erasure is not acceptance. It is not safety. It is not a choice I make, but one others make for me.

Some people do actively make the choice not to tell the whole world all of who they are. Sometimes they make that choice for their safety, or to protect their relationships.

and sometimes they make it just because having to come out every day of your goddamn life is exhausting.

And no, it is not exhausting in the same way as being out is exhausting. It's not exhausting in the same way as being discriminated against is exhausting. It is an entirely different source of exhaustion; an entirely different way of having to navigate other people's feelings.

Some people don't have the choice because their marginalization is immediately apparent. Some don't have it because their marginalization is perpetually erased. And in the middle, a whole bunch of us who are not to blame for other people's hatred.

And especially when we're talking about publishing, as Haynes is, the assertion that OwnVoices is a way of cashing in, and how dare anyone cash in if they won't also intentionally subject themselves to discrimination they could otherwise avoid?

Jesus Aslan Bombadil Christ.

OwnVoices is a way to indicate to readers that a story's author has firsthand knowledge of an identity.

Positing that it's a cash-grab is some "affirmative action has gone too far" fuckery-- as if marginalized people are somehow 'taking' more than their share of opportunities?

And then Haynes turns around and defends this position by saying she thinks it's fine for people to write identities they don't claim, just not identities they claim sometimes.

So non disabled people aren't stealing opportunities, but insufficiently disabled people are?

I am behind on things people have actually paid me to write so I should really leave this alone. If I'm going to queerly disabledly procrastinate at work I got from a client I didn't disclose my queer disabled identity to, I should do it in a way that actually brings me joy.

So I will close by saying this:

Policing other people's identities is not a game that ever benefits the marginalized.

I am not the injuries others have dealt me.

I have blood and bone and brains beneath that map of scars, and if that map doesn't point me to empathy and compassion, then may God heal the wounds that obscure the path, so I can find my way.