‘I'm 28 and gay but have not come out yet. I'm afraid it's too late'
I am a 28-year-old man who is coming to terms with the fact that I am gay. I realised I was attracted to men years ago and had a series of short-lived relationships with women. However, I ended these as they didn't feel right. I had a relatively conservative upbringing where these issues would never really come up with family, but I get the sense that this is something that would be tolerated, not celebrated. I now find myself wanting to explore and date guys my age, and am sad that college and my formative years were in a sense wasted as I tried to repress that part of myself. I am in a high-powered job and have a circle of close friends that are all in the dark about me. Superficially, life is very good and I dread that this will damage my career and relationships with my friends if I come out as it's gone on so long - they still try and set me up with female colleagues. But I'd really like to at least try to find someone to share my life with. I don't think it's fair to date men when I'm sitting on this fence I've created in my head. How can I approach my new life after I've missed the exit?
You have not missed the exit. There is never an expiration date on being yourself, and you do not have to be perfect or have figured everything out to begin to live more authentically. By coming out, you will begin a process of exploring, stumbling and entering a new phase of your life that you do not yet have experience in – and that's okay. That's the point. You'll be learning to exist in a more honest, fulfilling, joyful, open way. There will be insecurity and Bambi-legs along the way, because every journey of self-exploration comes with uncertainty. There may also be growing pains, awkwardness, and some heartbreak. But it's going to be so incredibly beautiful.
Right now, you're already experiencing insecurity and anxiety and pain – but you're experiencing them through hiding. You're living a life where you have to lie and hide even from those closest to you; you're missing out on full-hearted connection, on the joy (and struggle) of dating people you want to, and on the possibility of transformative love.
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My fiance revealed he once had a fling with a man - and I don't think I fancy him any more
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I know you're scared. In our culture, we talk a lot about how scary it is to come out as a young person, and rightly so – but we also need to talk about the unique complexity of coming out when you're a bit older. Because the truth is, as we get older, we get more entrenched in our identity, in our social life and in our roles within our social worlds. To disrupt that, to not only shift other people's perception and understanding of us in a big way, but also to begin a process of self-exploration and dating and trying out relationship with no life experience and fewer roadmaps than straight people have, can feel very daunting and destabilising. You're used to being seen a certain way – high-achieving, accomplished, put-together and, yes, straight. Now, you're considering stepping into something vulnerable and messy and new. Of course it's scary.
There is never an expiration date on living more authentically. Queer people have long pushed back against rigid timelines and milestones. We make our own maps
But that messiness? That vulnerability? That's living. That's the stuff love, desire and transformation are made of. And there is never an expiration date on starting that journey. Queer people have long pushed back against rigid timelines and milestones. We make our own maps. The theory of queer time, as developed by trans scholar Jack Halberstam, challenges the traditional, linear timeline of life – milestones such as marriage, buying a home and having children by a certain age. Queer time proposes an alternative way of thinking about temporality, one that values unpredictability, non-reproduction, community, and the freedom to live outside rigid societal schedules. It acknowledges that queer people, often forced to navigate exclusion or repression, may experience life events later or 'out of sync' with dominant timelines – and that this is not a failure but a powerful reimagining of what a meaningful, full life can look like. Queer time embraces delay, disruption, reinvention, and the possibility of starting over – at any age, in any way. You are not the first person who hasn't come out until adulthood. You are not the first person who has been scared to start over. But in doing so, you join a rich and exquisite history of queer people who have decided they deserve to live authentically – and who have been brave enough to take the first step towards the life and love they deserve, at all ages.
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'I'm attracted to women but have been sleeping with men for years – how do I start living authentically?'
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You write that you feel like you can't date men until you've come out and figured everything out and can do it perfectly – but that's not a fence. That's fear talking. No one dates perfectly. No one has everything figured out. You won't feel certain until you start. If you get to Carnegie Hall by practicing, you get to love by having awkward flirtations, weird conversations, and some bad dates first. Most of the men you meet will have been through their own process. Even beyond dating, you'll find a community that understands your timeline and knows perfection doesn't exist.
You don't have to come out to everyone all at once. Start with one person. Go to some LGBTQ+ events and tell people you're just beginning to come out. You'll find kindness that will bolster your courage. Let the truth emerge in small, safe ways if that feels better than an overhaul. Begin to build your queer life one brick at a time. Some people may be surprised. Some may fumble. But many will meet you with love and relief that you're letting them see you clearly. And those who don't? They were only ever loving the version of you that made them comfortable. You deserve more.
You're worried about time. But know this: time will pass either way. At 38, you could either have ten years of authentic love and connection under your belt – or be exactly where you are now, still wondering 'What if?' and still telling yourself, 'It's too late now. I missed the exit.'
There's no expiration date on living authentically. There's also no way to avoid the fear of beginning. But you can choose to move through that fear – towards joy.
In The Painted Drum, Louise Erdrich writes, 'Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and being alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You have to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes too near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could.'
You don't need the full map, just the next step. Tell a friend. Go to a gay bar. Make a dating profile. Say aloud, 'I get to love. I get to feel. It is the reason I am here on earth.'
You're not too late. You're just ready now. I'm so excited for the rest of your life.
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Irish Times
2 days ago
- Irish Times
My father has been having affairs with men for years and now he has walked away from our family
Dear Roe, Last year, my father left my mother, telling us that he is gay after almost 40 years of marriage. It seems he has had a succession of secret relationships with men over the last 20 years. He is now in a relationship with a much younger man. My mother is absolutely devastated and my siblings and I are so angry with our father for all the lies and deceit. It seems our whole family life, our childhoods have been built on a lie. I can't ever forgive my father for what he has done to my mother or for all the lies. He has just walked away and left us all – he seems to pretend that my mother or my siblings no longer exist. Everything is extremely stressful and our family is completely fractured. I can't see any way forward. The way forward is through, and together. I'm so sorry this has happened to your family. It's completely understandable that you all feel utterly wrecked and unmoored by his lies throughout your childhood and his cruel decisions since. READ MORE I have a tremendous amount of sympathy for people who don't feel safe or comfortable being out or living in alignment with their desires and sexuality. I think – particularly for people of an older generation – homophobia is a devastating, oppressive violence and when you withhold acceptance, safety, social support, community and the chance to have a family from queer people, it is of course going to push some people to repress their desires. Whatever the specific contours of his sexuality, I don't doubt that your father held genuine love and affection for your mother – you can't fake an entire 40-year relationship . I also don't doubt that he genuinely loves you and your siblings, because you also can't fake parenting for decades. But he still lied and betrayed your mother, and shattered your image of their relationship. Of course that pain is going to cut incredibly deeply. Your father had many other choices, other options for how to address his desires. He could have told your mother about his sexuality and either asked to open the relationship or accepted if she wanted to end it. He could have embraced honesty and vulnerability and allowed for the possibility of the relationship ending with some pain, of course, but also honesty and respect, prioritising everyone's dignity and his relationship with you and your siblings. He could have had his affairs but still chosen to behave differently when he finally told your mother, acknowledging that his journey to living authentically had included living deceitfully in a way that caused you all pain, and included a commitment to rebuilding trust and connection with you and your siblings, and showing respect to your mother and her experience. There's a lot he could have differently, and he didn't, and I'm sorry. .form-group {width:100% !important;} I do want to leave open the possibility that he may still try to do better in the future. The extremity of his behaviour – his complete turn away from you and your siblings – feels like a shame reaction; an inability to be around you without crumbling under the weight of both how he felt, hiding this part of himself for so long, and what he's done to all of you. I'm sure you all feel like a mirror he can't quite look in right now, as it reminds him of both the pain he felt and the pain he inflicted. That doesn't excuse his behaviour, it's just one way to understand it. Whether he ever returns to that accountability is out of your control. What is in your control is how you care for one another now. The above is all about him – now is all about you. This time, this heartbreak, this grief – it belongs to you, your mother and your siblings. Focus on each other. You are not powerless here. The truth is, your family life wasn't a lie, even if parts of it were built on one. What's fractured right now is your sense of narrative, your understanding of the past. Part of what makes this situation so painful is that you're not only grieving what's happening now, you're also grieving the past you thought you had. That's a very particular kind of loss. You may find yourself questioning your memories or wondering what was real. That disorientation is completely normal in the wake of betrayal. It can help to remember that just because he had secrets doesn't mean the love, warmth or joy you experienced were illusions. Your memories are still yours. They still matter. The laughter, the love, the everyday rituals, the memories you hold with your mother and siblings – those were all real. And the relationships between you and your mother and your siblings can become even stronger in the wake of this hurt, if you face the pain together and commit to honesty, mutual support and room for different kinds of grief. You don't all have to feel the same way, or even forgive your father on the same timeline – or ever. But you do need to make space for one another's experiences. Your father's silence, denial and compartmentalising shaped the emotional environment you grew up in. It might be tempting to deal with this the same way, by shutting down or avoiding painful truths. Try not to I would encourage you all to find good therapists that you can see individually, and one you could see together. Having a space where you can individually work through your specific feelings about this experience and another where you can speak together and hear each other will be really helpful. Let each other have your own unique experience of it, while supporting each other. There will also be times when you all need some joy, a break from this pain, to create new memories with each other to remind you that your bond is still there, that your connection and joy was not solely dependent on your father but exists between all of you. Don't let any form of shame prevent you from addressing this loss with your friends and loved ones – because it is a loss. There will be much to grieve, and grief festers when silenced. Your father's silence, denial, and compartmentalising shaped the emotional environment you grew up in. It might be tempting to deal with this the same way, by shutting down or avoiding painful truths. Try not to. Choose honesty, transparency and connection – even when it's difficult. That's how you build something stronger than what was broken. Share your messy, complicated feelings with people who can offer you love and listening and support back, and feel the different forms of love and support and loyalty that still exist in your life. Your anger is valid. So is your heartbreak. But try not to let them calcify into something that consumes your life. Anger can be clarifying – it shows you where your boundaries are, what you value, how much you care – but if you cling to it too tightly, it risks burning everything, including the parts of your life you still want to protect. Don't let your anger at your father blind you to the love and family that still exists for you, and don't let your anger at him seep into your relationships with your mother and siblings. [ 'Should I tell my wife that I'm a crossdresser after more than 20 years together?' Opens in new window ] You don't have to forgive your father today. You may never forgive him fully. But for your own sake – not his – I encourage you to keep the door open to change, should he show up with real remorse, accountability and a desire to repair what he's broken. Not because he necessarily deserves it, but because you deserve freedom from the heaviness of his choices. For now, pour your energy into rebuilding trust and safety within the family that remains. Let yourselves feel what you feel – grief, confusion, betrayal, even love – and keep talking about it. This is a long process. But you are already walking through it. And if you keep showing up for each other, you will find your way forward – not the family you thought you had, but a family still, and one built now on truth. Good luck.
Irish Times
4 days ago
- Irish Times
Fire up your barbecue to Michelin standards with these expert tips
Last November, the Michelin guide announced the awarding of Michelin stars to four Texas barbecue restaurants, the first time that any style of regional American barbecue received the recognition. With barbecue often perceived as a casual food, this was a big step for all involved. In contrast to other regional styles such as Carolina and Tennessee which focus on pork, Texas barbecue is mainly about beef. Cooking approaches range from a six- to eight-hour 'quick cook' all the way to a 24-hour 'low and slow' cook. Many restaurants are casual in nature, with customers queuing to order at the counter, often ordering meat by the pound, before sitting down to eat in or take away. The good news for Irish-based barbecue lovers is that chefs from two of the recently starred restaurants – John Bates of InterStellar BBQ and Ali Clem of La Barbecue, both in Austin – are due to appear in person at next month's Big Grill Festival in Herbert Park, Dublin. 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Clem's humble 'I just work here' approach belies the deep knowledge and experience she has built up over 26 years in the hospitality industry. She entered the barbecue world in 2011 through the family connections of her late wife LeAnn Mueller, who hailed from generations of well-known Texas barbecue cooks. Mueller's brother John was her mentor for many years, and she is extremely proud to uphold their traditions through her six-hour brisket cooking technique. When describing La Barbecue, she paints a community that deeply loves barbecue. 'We open from 11am to 6pm, with customers often arriving from 9.30am. What can I say? People in Texas like to eat early.' While waiting for their food, customers will grab a coffee and pastry from a nearby bakery, often playing board games and cards to pass the time. With wait times sometimes reaching up to 2½ hours on Saturdays, dedication is required. Once inside, groups order one a time, with staff showing new customers the meats and explaining portion sizes. 'We want customers to be satisfied, and that can take several minutes per order, which we are happy to do,' says Clem. [ Simple, cost effective barbecue recipes that are perfect for a crowd Opens in new window ] The restaurant employs a small-batch ethos which involves cooking just 56 briskets a day, as well as preparing all sides, pickles and slaws one tub at a time. 'We have a controlled production that is considered small compared to other Austin establishments who can cook more than twice our volume,' she says. By spacing out the briskets over two smokers, Clem allows for proper heat and smoke distribution, an approach she attributes to her mathematical and scientific background. But intuition and experience also play a big part. 'I've cooked thousands of briskets over the years and I instinctively know to how to correct when a cook is stalled. I'm currently training a new 19-year-old cook and I love the questions that he and other barbecue enthusiasts ask. I really enjoy the mentorship aspect of my job.' Michelin-starred tips for home barbecuers John Bates Season your meats in advance, ideally a day, as this will give the salt time to draw the spices into the meat for deeper flavour penetration. Give time for full ignition of your coals or charcoal, so that you are at the optimal heat for cooking. The same principle applies to gas barbecuing, which also benefits from a proper warm-up. Where possible, cook with hardwood lump charcoal for superior flavour development and try to avoid chemical fire starters or pre-treated coals as they can leave an unpleasant flavour residue. Ali Clems Start with your favourite meats or proteins and the types of seasonings that you personally like. It will help you build up skills before advancing to more complex techniques. Season your meats well; it's a fundamental success factor. Build your own seasoning blends for your own unique barbecue style, rather than buying premade blends. The Big Grill Festival will be held in Herbert Park from August 14th-17th
Irish Times
27-07-2025
- Irish Times
I've met a wonderful man – but he's starting to give me the ‘ick'
Dear Roe, I've met a wonderful man. After years of crap dates, false starts, commitmentphobes and ghosting, I've finally met a man who seems to really want to integrate me into his life early in dating (introducing me to friends and family, calling me his girlfriend) and is intelligent and sensitive. My issue is that, a few months in, I find a lot of aspects of his personality quite annoying – anything from talking too loud in restaurants to interrupting when I speak. The sex hasn't been great but is improving as we get to know each other. I'm aware that because of things in my past (emotionally manipulative partners and harassment, borderline stalking from an ex) I can be quite avoidant, and that 'getting the ick' is sometimes more about finding excuses not to be with someone. But how do I know where the line is between avoidance and genuine incompatibility? Just because someone is smart, respectful, and ready to commit doesn't mean they're right for me. At the same time, does doing things I find 'icky' (but are wholly innocuous) mean they're wrong for me? Should I accept that no one is perfect, or keep looking? Let's look to the philosophers for this one. In Witnessing Subjectivity , Kelly Oliver writes that 'love is an ethics of differences that thrives on the adventure of otherness'. In Alain Badiou's In Praise of Love , Badiou describes the basis of love's starting and flourishing as the 'encounter between two differences'. For Martha Nussbaum, real-life love requires an embracing stance, and saying yes 'with a mercy and tenderness that really do embrace the inconstancy and imperfection of… real-life love'. READ MORE Or as columnist Dan Savage puts it, the price of admission for having true love is embracing that other people are different from you. And along with all the ways that fact makes life more rich and beautiful and exciting and magic, it also fills life with people who talk too loud, who interrupt, who chew with their mouth open, who walk around after a shower only naked from the waist down (the least dignified form of naked) – or whatever their particular constellation of annoying little differences is. The price of admission that they pay is embracing that you also are different to them, and accepting all of your annoying little differences. .form-group {width:100% !important;} I will admit that I find the idea of 'the ick' quite emotionally immature. I promise that I'm not just picking on you – I have been ranting about this for the past couple of years as the term has been popularised on social media. Commonly understood as a point where your attraction to someone dies or turns to one of disgust, people claim that the ick is an unconscious, unavoidable reaction that there's often no coming back from. In my mind, however, people listing off all the tiny, irrelevant, human reasons they use to discount potential romantic partners feels lacking in empathy, self-awareness and perspective. Icks can often feel deeply embedded in gendered norms, as straight women list off men using umbrellas or lip balm or getting emotional as inspirers of 'the ick', while straight men list women eating a normal amount or enjoying a beer or sitting with a wide-legged stance being an irredeemable turn-off. There are also ungendered icks – an unusual laugh, the awkwardness of chasing runaway coins, an unflattering outfit, licking the yoghurt off the lid – but what they have in common is a projected shame around being seen as human, imperfect. When we judge other people for being awkward or graceless or dorky or flawed, we're also criticising ourselves by proxy. What are the trivial expressions of humanity that we believe make us unlovable and immediately disposable? Icks can also, as you are aware, be self-protective mechanisms – ways of pushing away people and justifying our fear of real connection. Instead of admitting that we fear being vulnerable and liking someone, we can create a tiny but inarguable reason to dismiss them. Self-protection and projected shame can go hand-in-hand: the moment we see someone we like having a flawed moment, we become acutely aware of our flaws. Rather than lose control and reveal ourselves as imperfect, we push them away and trade them in for someone new, with whom we can start the cycle of perfect, early-days performing, where we remain shiny and flawless until the ick cycle starts again. Or we could embrace that, as Tim Kreider once wrote, 'if we want the reward of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known'. We could dig deep and put forth our most flawed, awkward, clumsy, coin-chasing, yoghurt lid-licking selves – and believe that we are worthy of love as we are. We could believe that our partners will embrace our humanity, and our differences, and forgive us a million times over for our irritating habits – and we could commit to forgiving them a million times over in return. I am sure your partner talking loudly and interrupting you is annoying, and if his interruptions feel patronising and disrespectful rather than excitable and clumsy, then that's not an ick, that's an important value mismatch and you should leave. And if he is unkind or unethical or is treating you badly, or even just if the annoyances start to outweigh the good and you genuinely don't enjoy being around him that much and your attraction is waning, then yes – break up with him and find someone you like more. But if he treats you well and makes you laugh and is willing to work on your connection? Well, maybe just get more practised at saying: 'Actually, I wasn't finished' when he interrupts you. Maybe forgive a little more, knowing that he will forgive you for your annoying habits, too. Maybe stay focused on the big, important values instead of the tiny, trivial details. I know you've been seriously hurt before, and I'm sorry. I've been there. I know it's easy to believe that to keep yourself safe, you have to have your shoelaces tied, ready to run. But imperfection is not danger. Imperfection is vulnerability. I suspect that you're scared of the vulnerability of loving someone, and being seen by someone – and ironically, this fear is making you a little bit emotionally unavailable. But that vulnerability is where the potential for real love lies, so you need to decide if you want to show up for it. My partner has never hung up a towel to dry in his life. He is late to everything. He once inexplicably showed my philosopher-poet father a computer-animated redesign of a centaur, which was just a horse with a man's arse. I write about sex in a national newspaper. My nose runs whenever I eat anything above room temperature. Any time I open my handbag, there's a 50/50 chance a stray, matted hair extension will fall out of it. We have both been violently ill in front of the other. There are endless other embarrassing details about ourselves and our relationship that I would never dream of putting in print, and an endless list of reasons we could use to discount each other. We are both imperfect and strange and flawed and deeply annoying – and I have never been so happy in my goddamn life. The price of admission is worth it. This man may or may not be the person for you. But see if you can hold space for his imperfection, his flaws; see if you can turn the ick into a crossroads where you choose to lean into the mortifying ordeal of knowing another and being known. Either you'll find love or a lesson. Either will be invaluable. Good luck.
