Looking back as a senior, I can finally laugh about my experience coming out as a freshman.

I grew up in a small conservative town where being out as a queer woman was not an option. I longed for college, when I could finally surround myself with liberal people and feel accepted for who I truly am. Once I got onto campus, I almost instantly became close friends with my roommate. I felt completely safe with her, and I decided she would be the first person I would officially come out to.

After a long night filled with laughs, I finally said the dreaded words: “I’m bisexual.”

I grew up imagining this moment. I was finally around liberals. I expected coming out in a liberal place to be filled with tears, hugs and rainbow confetti. Instead of my fantasy, my roommate replied, “Oh. I wish you told me that BEFORE I agreed to live with you.” Suddenly I was dragged back into the closet as I explained that sexuality was a spectrum so, “I’m probably 99 percent straight. Let’s just forget it.”

Over the next few months, my roommate and I shared all the same friends. I couldn’t come out to any of them because I knew she would find out and implode my already fragile freshman friend group. I felt robbed of the liberal, accepting bubble I had dreamed of for years. I slept basically five feet apart from the person that kept me closeted and I forced myself to act like her best friend.

When Winter Quarter came, my resentment toward my roommate grew. I would often try to casually slip my sexuality in the conversation hoping something would change, but she would act uncomfortable, and I would retreat further into the closet. After being surrounded by conservatives my whole life, I couldn’t understand how she could march in the Women’s March and claim to support LGBTQ rights but not accept them in her dorm room. She was an outspoken liberal — except in the ways that mattered to me.

Spring Quarter, I found queer friends that accepted me for who I was, but I still could not be out to my roommate because I was terrified of rocking the boat. I lost a year of accepting who I was because I wanted her to feel comfortable. Fear of conflict trapped me, and if I could do it again, I would have stayed out the first time.

Sophomore year, I had a brand new roommate. When I finally built up the nerve to come out to her, I interrupted her in the middle of a conversation and once again said the dreaded words: “I’m bisexual.”

Her response was, “Ok. Cool,” and then she continued the conversation. I never got the coming out fantasy I wanted. There were no hugs, tears or rainbow confetti, but I realized nonchalant acceptance was the coming out experience I needed.

This piece was written by an anonymous fourth-year student. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.