“Can we have a serious talk?” I asked her. As far as she was concerned, she had one son and one daughter. My mum doesn’t care about Tom Daley but she cares about me. Yes, we have our Ellens and Caitlyns and Eltons, but they all have their mothers and I have mine. “Coming out” as LGBTQ comes with a profound fear of rejection. Fast-forwarding to 2015, it seemed sad that I would now jeopardise everything we had worked so hard for. Since that day, our relationship had been stronger than ever. Without skipping a beat, she said, “Well, that’s your life and we’re fine with it.” No more was said. “What about that one we drove past by the pier?” “Well,” I said, “we’ve got a restaurant booked for seven.”
She wanted to know what our plans for the evening were. She initiated the final “coming out” conversation as we took a stroll on Brighton seafront in the summer of 2004.
It was cowardly, but I let her work it out for herself, gradually distancing myself until it was down to her to reel me back in. We are northern.Ĭoming out as a gay man was a slow process for me. She would embrace me and say, “James, we’ve always known, but you know that, whatever choices you make, we support and love you.” I didn’t know what my mum’s real reaction would be, but I knew it wouldn’t be that. The ideal scenario would have been soft-focused.