When Coming Out Means Coming Together
a Moth/Heretic Hereafter Crossover Episode with Texas Poet Laureate, Amanda Johnston
Coming out stories have been with us long enough to have their own set of tropes: parental anguish or teary declarations of “I still love you in spite of...” There’s the religious person’s “love the sinner, hate the sin” paradox, and my personal favorite, the “duh, we all knew. We were just waiting for you to say something.” Tropey or not, sharing coming out stories is still important—you never know who your story might help.
Amanda Johnston, the newly appointed poet laureate of Texas, has a different and rather surprising coming out story, which I was fortunate enough to hear when we did a Moth event together in Kansas City last month. I don’t want to spoil anything, so go listen to her 11-minute story, “Just Like Uncle Bubba” now.
Okay, are you back? Do you need a tissue? Are you suddenly craving ice cream?
I found Johnston’s story so inspiring. As I wrote about a few weeks ago, it’s easy for bisexuals to pass in hetero-looking relationships. Coming out is something I’ve struggled with: is it important to publicly claim an LGBT identity if it doesn’t mean any material changes in your relationship status or self-presentation? I sat down with Johnston recently to ask her about coming out, faith, and raising a queer kid.
Johnston moved to Austin, Texas as a small child, where she lived with her single mother and a series of roommates from her mother’s work at the phone company. Working as a phone operator was one of the few jobs where openly queer people could earn a decent living in those days, hidden as they were from public view. Johnston knew from a young age that these beloved uncles weren’t straight but was frightened and confused by the anti-gay preaching she heard while attending a Southern Baptist Church with a friend’s family.
“I grew up with Uncle Bubba, Uncle Dickie, Uncle Brett—so many uncles and so many queer folks in our community who were my family,” Johnston explained. “Having that love and support in contradiction with the love and community I received through the church that was saying that their lives were sinful. That didn't balance with me.”
Johnston speaks movingly in her Moth story about the fear she felt for these uncles while hearing anti-LGBT sermons, as well as how these messages affected her budding awareness of her bisexuality. Even after she married a man and had children, the desire to come out didn’t go away. After several years of marriage, she felt that she had to come out to her husband in order to “walk more wholly in the world.” At the time, she couldn’t have imagined how her own coming out would benefit her relationship with her kids.
Faith looks different for Johnston these days. While she no longer participates in a church, she still considers herself a spiritual person. Her spiritual practices include daily scripture reading, writing poetry, and speaking with her ancestors. “I speak to my ancestors all the time. They walk with me every day, especially my grandparents...I'm constantly speaking with them, asking for help and expressing extreme gratitude, because I do believe that the energy that they left with us continues to emanate through me, and the work that I do.”
It struck me as we spoke that I’ve interviewed two poets in a row who practice speaking with their ancestors—both their ancestors by blood ancestors and those in spirit. My curiosity is piqued!
Johnston also believes that following the muse is spiritual work, and that no matter how good she is as a poet, she only brings 50%, “The reader is going to complete that work. So you write it. You put all of your effort into that. You listen to what it's trying to become, and then, when it's ready, you share it with the world. When it finds its audience they are going to bring the other 50%. Their history, their knowledge, their understanding, their interpretation, their projections. All of that will inform how they receive the work. But if you've done your job of being obedient to the muse it will resonate with them across borders, across backgrounds.”
When I asked her about raising queer kids, Johnston advised me, “Number one you lead with love, you love them wholly. And number two, we all evolve. You will never 100% know who your beautiful child is. You don't know a hundred percent who you are, because we are constantly evolving every single day. We have new experiences. I hope you are trying new things, being open to experiences that come to you so that you can learn more about yourself, and with that knowledge is so much power. Your children deserve that space of discovery, too.
“Facing yourself always one of the hardest things you ever do in your life. But if you love your children and give them a space where they can do that, where they can ask questions, where they can speak freely; you are loving them in what I believe is the best possible way: knowing we're imperfect, knowing that we're also exactly right.”
That’s good parenting advice. It’s also good advice when it comes to how we treat ourselves, whether you’re on a journey of discovering your sexuality, reconstructing your faith, or just existing as an adult. We’re never done growing, we’re always works-in-progress. An emerging theme of this Substack’s as of late is the idea of becoming more yourself. Johnston is certainly an advocate of trying to live and love as wholly as we can.
As we wrapped up our discussion, one thing Johnston asked me to call attention to was the censorship happening in libraries across the country.
“We are regressing here in Texas. Sadly, we’re the leading state to ban books with over 800 books being challenged or banned. Everyone should have access to books and reading, and if you read something, then you don't like it. Guess what? Put it down back on the shelf. You don't have to champion that book, but don't keep it from other people. We need those books, and so much of our discovery of ourselves and the community that we live in comes from reading.”
For those of us who don’t live in states with book bans, Johnston suggests donating to organizations like PEN America and the ACLU.
Amanda Johnston is the 2024-2025 Texas Poet Laureate and founder of TORCH Literary Arts, a nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women.
*Quotes lightly edited for clarity and brevity.
Journal/Discussion Questions:
What struck you most about Amanda’s Moth story?
When have you experienced a moment of shared vulnerability like what happened between Amanda and her daughter? What is the value of those sort of personal revelations?
Do you ever talk to your ancestors? What does that look like? If you feel comfortable sharing in the comments, I’d love to know more.