“Mum, being gay isn’t an illness.” I said, my voice barely a whisper. She didn’t respond, only pursed her lips and continued to stare at me. I knew she had known for a while, but I had been too scared to tell her. I had been scared of her reaction, of her disappointment.
The silence was suffocating. I wanted to run away, to find solace in the arms of my friends. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t break the tension. I wished I had never told her, that I could go back to pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
The tears started to fall, and I felt my mother’s gaze soften. She walked towards me and opened her arms, pulling me into a hug. I felt the warmth of her embrace, the love that she had for me no matter what.
But the words still lingered in the air, “You’re sick.”