Humans of Vermont: Coming Out and Listening In

When we stopped Ansel to talk in Sandy’s Bakery in Rochester, a look of recognition came across his face. He knew us – or knew of Humans of Vermont, that is. “Wow, I love you guys,” he gushed. Somewhat taken aback by our first fan, we thanked him as we sat down in the adjacent red arm chairs. “We appreciate the support,” I said. “You know, I do too,” Ansel replied. He expanded on how the HoVT project has been meaningful to him by providing a more open outlook on the place that he lives.

He bubbled over with enthusiasm, gripping his coffee cup and smoothing out his skirt. Ansel is driven by social justice. “Queer and trans activism,” he said, “but I’ll talk to anybody and everybody about whatever their struggle is.” He said that there isn’t as much activism in Vermont as he would like, but that there are pockets of people he has found that feel passionately about various local causes.  He speaks to farmworkers, finds peers at church, talks to friends of friends of those who are queer and of various backgrounds. “I know everybody, goddamnit,” he said. “I know everybody.”

As we both lean into the conversation, Ansel unfolds bits and pieces of his identity to us through the story of his coming out. “You have to come out as queer, you can’t just be queer one day. I was like, ‘Parents, I want to tell y’all something.’ And then I came downstairs in a skirt and said, ‘I feel like a girl!’ And they said, “You’re bi….sexual?” And I said ‘No, thank you!’” He laughed confidently, encouraging us to see humor in a difficult situation. Ansel provided various reading material for his parents. He explained that though he doesn’t mind which pronoun people use to describe him, it is necessary to talk these ideas through, given a gap of understanding.

“We were talking for a good year or so about my transition, and then we got down to it, and it was like, I’m queer, in all forms. Masculinity and femininity are interesting, but they are not the anchors that my parents were holding to. My parents and my relationship got strained, and so I moved out. It’s an ongoing thing … it’s awkward. Coming out is interesting.”

The buzz of the coffee maker and tea-table small talk filled a moment of silence. Through the process, Ansel has begun to learn what he needs. “Self-care,” he said. He’s currently at a mental health retreat, finding space, figuring a few things out. “I don’t know,” Ansel paused, “I need pizza. That’s what I need.”

“I think everyone needs pizza!” We laughed, reclining in our chairs. Ansel sipped the last bit of warmth from his cup. We thanked him for his willingness to share, and saw the space fill with openness and compassion. Thinking of how we had both thanked each other for the support, I realized that when you ask and share, you give to both yourself and the person cross-legged next to you; that when you’re willing to listen and learn, no matter the topic, there develops a space of receptivity that is sometimes difficult to find.