HOT FLASH Ep.010/ Listener Story - Coming Out in Small Town America: From Rejection to Chosen Family

This is my very first listener story on HOT AIR — and it’s an emotional one you don’t want to miss. 🏳️‍🌈

Meet Caleb, a 25-year-old gay man who grew up in small-town Middle America. After years of hiding who he was, Caleb decided he couldn’t live in the closet anymore and bravely came out to his family. What happened next was heartbreaking — immediate family rejection, cold shoulders, and small-town judgment.

READ CALEB’S LETTER BELOW (but listen to it on the podcast first)

Dear HOT AIR,

My name is Caleb. I’m 25 now, but when I came out, I was 21 and still living in the small Midwestern town I grew up in — population just shy of 3,000, and about as accepting as you'd imagine. For most of my life, I tried to make myself smaller, quieter, straighter… whatever I had to do to survive and keep my secret hidden.

Growing up, I’d hear my dad use the word “faggot” like it was punctuation. My mom would lower her voice when she talked about “those kinds of people” as if just saying the word “gay” would invite God’s wrath. I was raised in a world where masculinity was measured by who could throw the longest spiral or shoot the biggest buck. There wasn’t room for softness, or difference, or for me.

I knew who I was from a young age. But I didn’t have the language, or the safety, to say it. Not until college. I was still living at home and commuting to a nearby state school when I met someone — the first person who really saw me. We weren’t in love or anything, but he helped me understand that I wasn’t broken. That being gay wasn’t something I needed to “fix.”

So I came out. First to my mom, then my dad, then the rest of my family. I wish I could say it was brave, but it didn’t feel like bravery. It felt like survival. Like I had reached the edge of something, and it was either jump or keep dying inside.

The fallout was immediate. My mom cried like someone had died. My dad didn’t say anything — just stood up and walked out of the room. The next morning, there was a post-it on my bathroom mirror: “If you choose this lifestyle, you are choosing to leave this family.” No name. Just that. I still remember how my knees gave out reading it.

So I left.

I packed my things into my old Civic, cried the entire drive, and moved three hours away to Kansas City. I didn’t know anyone. I slept on a friend-of-a-friend’s couch for a month. I applied for jobs during the day and cried myself to sleep at night. There were moments I thought maybe my dad was right — that maybe I had chosen to leave everything that mattered.

But then I met Jordan. Then Lena. Then this beautiful circle of queer people who knew exactly what I had been through because they had lived it too. People who let me ugly cry in diners at 2am, who showed up with cupcakes on the anniversary of my coming out, who called me “family” and meant it.

I found my people. I found myself. And I’ve learned something that I wish I could whisper to every scared, closeted kid in a town like the one I left:

Family doesn’t have to be blood. It just has to be love.

It’s been four years since I came out. My dad still hasn’t called. My mom sends me birthday cards with Bible verses and notes like “Still praying for you.” And yeah — that still stings. I won’t lie. Some wounds don’t close all the way.

But I’m not hiding anymore. I laugh louder now. I wear what I want. I go on dates and hold hands in public. I’ve built a life that feels honest and bright. And that terrified 21-year-old version of me? I think he’d be proud. I hope so, anyway.

Thanks for giving people like me a space to feel seen. HOT AIR is more than a podcast — it’s a lifeline.

With love,
Caleb J.