Richy - 57

Long before I knew I was gay, I spent third grade going to a speech therapist to rid myself of a lisp, which I later heard called the “gay lisp.” I thought something was wrong with me beyond my speech impediment; I just didn’t know what.

In later years, I discovered I was gay and hid my sexuality. I even changed my name from “Richy” to “Richie,” which I perceived as more masculine. I refused to wear anything yellow or pink. Later, I switched to the more masculine “Rich.” I even adopted what I considered a more masculine walk. The transformation didn’t work as planned. One day, two high school bullies menacingly approached me. “Faggot,” they yelled. “Wiggle that ass.”

But by my mid twenties, I had begun to shift toward self-acceptance. I volunteered in a gay-rights media watchdog, even defending anti-discrimination laws in a letter to the editor of a national conservative magazine. In my thirties, I helped lead the New York chapter of a gay and lesbian journalism organization. As a reporter, I wrote an article about the difficulties gay and lesbian police officers faced. In 2008, my husband and I appeared as the first gay couple on a reality TV show about weddings. (We held a commitment ceremony before gay marriage was legal.)

I lived in a safe bubble. In my 50s, I joined a men’s personal growth group, eventually leading a group of men, most of whom were straight. When I first met with a group of leaders, I felt anxiety, but I ignored it. When I proposed bringing the men to learn the sport of curling, some of the other leaders laughed, equating it to sports perceived as less masculine.

But I continued doing men’s work. By bonding with straight men, I helped heal my wounds with them. I began helping other gay men heal, starting a monthly men’s group for gay, bi and bicurious men. I even reclaimed “Richie.” But there was an unknown unknown: My wound, apparently open for so long, had adhered almost inextricably to the bandage. Then, one day, a man ripped off the bandage. In a private meeting, he told me he opposed a diversity policy I had spearheaded, saying that gay men already are welcome to the men’s group, and if they don’t feel welcome then “gay people need to grow up.” The man also said I didn’t know what it was like for the majority to be blamed for everything. I left that meeting and cried alone in the street. I saw a friend, he hugged me, and I cried on his shoulder. Days later, while at the gym, I reflected – and cried. Weeks after those hurtful words, I saw that man who uttered them and felt the same pain in my gut as when those high school bullies called me “faggot.”

But the pain unleashed a tiger: I became more outspoken. When I heard what I perceived as racial insensitivity, I called a man out. When I thought a man with a mental illness wasn’t being supported, I vociferously spoke out to support him. The hurt cemented my decision to push further forward with my life purpose: To help men embrace their sexuality – whatever it is. I discovered I am a wounded healer. Knowing the pain I endured, men supported me. Those true friends have my back. One man said he felt like my big brother – or little brother, as he’s younger – protecting me. Another friend stood up for me one day when the “bully” sat down at a table across from us at a cafe.

At a recent retreat, the founder of the men’s group led a clearing with me and the man who said those hurtful words. I was able to feel compassion for this man I once saw as a bully. I also expressed the pain I suffered. The weight on my shoulders dissipated. I recognized that while others can push my buttons, only I am responsible for the internal wiring that determines how I respond. After having walked away from the very group that could help me heal, I was drawn back. One man told me: “You have so much to contribute and are a force for good.” Recently, two people wrote my name as “Richy,” a spelling I hadn’t seen in decades, a sign of the universe reminding me to embrace that younger, more innocent version of me, unpolluted by society’s idea of who I should be. Richy is fine, just as he is. And no bully – nobody – will silence Richy.

Music - Richy’s music choices during our photo session included Joe Jackson, Steely Dan and Abba.