Photo credit: BigStockPhoto/ValeryBrozhinsky
Coming out rainbow
by Brent A. Satterly, PhD, LCSW
What’s it like being a gay social worker? It’d be impossible to reduce being gay to one aspect of my being, but to set the stage, I’ll start with my own coming out story. So, get ready with a cup of tea, slay a spell, and maybe grab a few tissues.
Hot Tears: A Minivan Coming Out Story
At the age of 20, I sat in a greasy spoon diner across from my father while unsuccessfully trying to eat the carb-filled breakfast sitting before me. Today was the day I was coming out to him, so I was understandably nauseous. You see, I had recently come out at college, and given small-town gossip, it wouldn’t be long before he heard it from someone else.
“Do you mind if we go for a drive?” I muttered.
“Sure,” he said, and we left in his minivan. The quiet roads of suburbia became the backdrop for this “developmental milestone” moment. My dad is a talker and he didn’t disappoint. Trying to wind up the courage as he nattered on, I reflected that my parents had always told me that I was...perfect. They were affirming folks who made sure I knew that they loved me. And yet, with the cutting echoes of high school homophobic trauma coupled with the fear of death that only a gay sissy boy growing up in the age of AIDS in small town USA can feel, I wondered if this would be the last time I saw Dad. Would he, like so many fathers of gay sons, simply walk out of my life?
“DAD!” I finally interrupted. Sensing my distress, he pulled the van over and turned to me. With trepidation, I began, “I have something to tell you. It’s something I’ve felt a lot of shame about for years and....” Gently, he put his hand on my knee and I stopped talking. He looked at me and said, “Brent. I know.”
“Y-You know I’m gay?” I stammered with watering eyes.
“I’ve always known,” he said with love that shone from his every pore as he looked into me. My closet—the one whose corners were lined with stuffed animals for protection, the one whose door I frantically repaired when cracks of adolescent boy crushes appeared, the one that provided the only shelter I knew in a world that hated gay sissy boys—that closet burst into splinters of rainbows. And I began to sob.
He reached over and gently pulled my head onto his chest and stroked my hair as my body wracked with years of closeted loneliness, fear, and grief. His hot tears fell on the back of my neck as he said the most healing words of my young life: “I’m so sorry you had to go through this all by yourself.”
I told you to have some tissues. I was very lucky to have such a loving father. Sadly, such is not the case for many Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Queer, Intersex, and Asexual+ (LGBTQIA+) children. I share this true story to say that helping Queer clients isn’t solely the domain of LGBTQIA+ social workers. Indeed, identity doesn’t qualify social workers to work effectively with LGBTQIA+ clients—that takes training and supervision. For example, cisgender (people whose gender identity corresponds to their sex assigned at birth) social workers can be affirming of trans or non-binary clients by respectfully using their pronouns. Heterosexual social workers can research Queer-affirming resources for their Queer clients. And don’t get me started on the importance of knowing trauma-informed clinical care with Queer folks.
On Being a Gay Social Worker
With this in mind, what does it mean to be a gay social worker? Such a question is reductionistic in two ways. First, it oversimplifies the complexity of how gender identity and sexual orientation embody your personhood. There is more than one lived experience of being gay, of course. For example, as a gay sissy boy, my gender expression directly impacts my experience of the world since nothing seems more threatening to men than a man who swishes into the room. People assume my sexual orientation based upon my gender expression, not to whom I am attracted or love. Conversely, a masculine-presenting man is generally assumed to be straight. And we know that this is not always the case.
Second, this notion of being a gay social worker denies the intersectionality of how multiple identities (e.g., race, ethnicity, ability, class, etc.) impact the daily lives of Queer folks in a heteronormative, homophobic, transphobic, racist, classist world. We must look beyond such sole categorical identity boxes that limit our systemic understanding of the interplay of culture, privilege, and oppression. In other words, a white gay cis-male able-bodied social worker will have a different experience in the field than that of, say, a Black bisexual social worker with a physical disability or a trans Latinx social worker based upon these intersectionalities.
Having noted these two important points, however, I can unequivocally say that I LOVE being a gay social worker! At its best, the field of social work is one that is strengths-based and empowering for all communities. Reflecting my own values and gay personhood, it’s what led me to the field. In my graduate studies, I recall desperately researching how to manage my gay identity when working with straight clients. Do I disclose or not? Do I correct a client if they ask my wife’s name? How do I manage a homophobic client? Peer? Supervisor? The literature was sparse and the professoriate ill-equipped to provide guidance about being an LGBQTIA+ social worker. With little to no representation, I—and my Queer peers—muddled through field placements with straight and cisgender supervisors who often required our tutelage on everything from the basics of sexual orientation and gender identity to Queer clinical nuances well beyond my training. We had to translate straight theory for Queer social work practice. School of hard knocks, indeed.
Upon entering the field—with different developmental experiences from my heterosexual peers—I approach practice from my own lived experience of being a gay sissy boy. Swishing into my work, however, I regularly encounter homophobic clients, students, co-workers, and supervisors. For example, I recall sitting in a case conference about a gay male couple during which a colleague turned to me and quipped, “I’d love to hear the homosexual perspective. Brent?” Or that family therapy session when a conflicted father urged me not to “influence” his bisexual daughter so she would make the right “choice.” Or when a colleague advised me to stop dressing so “gay.” Or when a student in my social work practice class asked if I was biased when working with survivors of childhood sexual abuse. Or the numerous stories of my gay colleagues, one of whom was working with a client who began muttering about wanting to kill homosexuals. Or my colleague whose supervisor forbade him from speaking with the “bisexual” clients.
Of course, responses to these encounters may all differ based on context and relationships. With clients, safety and client best-interest were always ethically paramount. It does, in fact, require ego-strength, wisdom, and quality supervision to navigate such homophobic reactions and attitudes while still endeavoring to meet clients where they are and empower them to achieve their goals. Navigating homophobia with clients is quite different, however, from doing so with colleagues or supervisors. Regardless, I long ago decided to neither limit my career prospects nor trap myself in a job with a homophobic boss. Since the day of my father’s hot tears on the back of my neck, I promised myself that I would not dim my sparkle for anyone. And dare I say, neither should you.
Queering Social Work Recommendations
For my cisgender and heterosexual colleagues, I would ask how you might respond to the 20-year-old frightened gay sissy boy coming out to you? Or a trans youth? If you don’t know, perhaps consider expanding your LGBTQIA+ specific social work skill sets and reflecting on how your own personal values intersect with your ethical practice. Social justice is action, not a catch phrase.
And for my beloved Queer peers, I might suggest a few things:
- Develop your Queer Social Work Family. If you don’t have a Queer social work network, build one.
- Invest in Yourself. Go back to school or pursue advanced certifications to expand your career options.
- Don’t Settle. Find a job that respects and celebrates your Queerness.
- Be Authentic. Be yourself...and if you can’t, consider seeking your own healing.
- Be PROUD. Pride is a protest, but it’s also a celebration. Sparkle proudly, my friends.
For more Queer-specific reflections, check out:
Satterly, B. A., & Dyson, D. A. (2008). Sexual minority supervision. The Clinical Supervisor, 27(1), 17-38.
Satterly, B. A. (2006). Therapist self-disclosure from a gay male perspective. Families in Society, 87(2), 240-248.
Brent A. Satterly, PhD, MSS, LCSW, is a full professor at Widener University’s Center for Social Work Education. His areas of expertise include human sexuality and social work pedagogies, LGBTQIA+ clinical care, LGBTQIA+ professional identity management, HIV/AIDS, family therapy, and the use of pop culture in teaching social justice.
* Shout out to my drag queen sister, Estee Lauderdale, for inspiring this title!