How My First Love Taught Me to Stop Hiding and Start Living

Growing up in a small mining town under the shadow of Section 28, I believed love was a luxury I would never afford. For years, I concealed my true self, convinced that happiness and acceptance were reserved for others. It wasn’t until my late twenties, amidst a global pandemic, that a single Instagram notification set off a chain of events that would forever change my life — and my understanding of love.

In 2012 at nineteen, I moved to Leeds to study Fine Art and break free from the suppression of living in a small town. What could have been an opportunity to explore my sexuality openly and meet like-minded individuals had an adverse effect as I found myself held captive within the toxicity of lad culture.

Skinny jeans, short back and sides, and unfounded self-confidence could only take me so far until I turned to alcohol and party drugs to numb the pain of hiding my true self. This secret was like a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. Every day pushed me deeper into the lie. The thick tar of deceit made it more difficult to move as I struggled through each day.

Throughout my life, I’ve never easily accepted hardship. I knew a happy life meant beginning to accept myself — it was time to embrace myself authentically. My first love and ‘coming out’ are heavily intertwined as this relationship gave me the confidence to forge a new path of self-acceptance after twenty-seven years of secrecy.

During May 2020, in the depths of a global pandemic and nationwide lockdown, an Instagram notification unknowingly chimed which would change the course of my life forever. “You have a new follower” it read. A beautiful man with strikingly dark features, head-to-toe in designer labels, whilst lounging in the lobbies of five-star hotels. In an instantaneous, out-of-character moment I hit ‘Follow Back.’

Messages and fire emojis were exchanged until the lockdown lifted and we met in July 2020, the week after my twenty-seventh birthday. Climbing the stairs of Leeds Dock felt monumental, each step carrying me closer to happiness. The space in my chest that once felt heavy with shame began to itch with excitement. My mind raced with my potential future with my virtual crush.

I’ve never been a stranger to first dates. In fact, in the weeks leading up to this moment, I’d had multiple first dates in the search of finally opening myself up to the idea of romance. However, my party-boy persona didn’t mix well with long-term connections.

As I approached the bridge, the man who would set a chain reaction of change in my life smiled. At this moment I had a choice: cross the bridge into the unknown at the risk of getting hurt, or stay in the comfort of misery. Hollywood portrays moments of immediate connection, Kylie sang of ‘Love at First Sight,’ and we all dream of finding ‘the one’ whether in secret or openly. This moment was just like that. The warm glow of joy washed over my body as we began to chat. Within minutes we were organising our second date, within days we were inseparable, within weeks we were living together, and within moments we were in love. Bound together through a yearning to be loved and accepted for who we are inside. The real us that we kept protected from everyone but each other.

For years I shut myself off from love, convinced I wasn’t worthy of it. However, at that moment my heart began to thaw and my edges softened. Perhaps I could be happy. Maybe love wasn’t reserved for fairytales. Was it possible that I could rely on somebody else when I didn’t feel strong enough myself?

Our whirlwind love affair was built on shaky foundations, born of chaos and heartache. Relationships that move fast have a tendency to gloss over the fractures and ignore the trauma as it feels almost designed by fate. However, I believe in fate. I believe we were brought together for a higher purpose to show each other a different way of life. One which could be full of happiness and acceptance. Acceptance for ourselves and those around us.

We were inseparable. The hours spent at work felt like torture, and the days spent together slipped through our fingers — we were never satisfied apart. Four weeks into our relationship we decided to move in together. Although the commitment seemed quick, we knew if we didn’t leap without fear we might regret what could have been. In our minds, we decided it made sense to embrace the intensity and if it didn’t work, at least we gave it a shot.

At that point, I knew I had no choice but to take the leap and tell my family I was happy. Weeks passed and the euphoria of new love faded, and reality set in. Would my family accept me? In the depths of my heart, I knew I’d be accepted, but my head had other ideas. Growing up in the closet I was constantly bombarded with negative notions of being gay. Television, media, and reality had pushed a subconscious narrative on me that I was less than. I had no right to be loved and I was destined to be lonely. Ostracised by my friends and family for something I had no control over.

I often wonder if I hadn’t started a relationship: would I still be living a lie? Destined to make the same mistakes over and over again, struggling to decipher who I am. Thankfully I don’t have to live in that alternate reality as with every phone call to my family I was embraced with love and acceptance. The conversations became easier and they were just relieved I was happy. And for two years I was happy — until I wasn’t anymore. There came a point when love simply wasn’t enough to sustain a relationship.

Walking away from a relationship takes just as much strength as staying to make it work, yet we often equate endings with failure. But failure isn’t in the ending — it’s shutting yourself off from love, limiting your capacity for connection to avoid pain. Saying yes to vulnerability meant risking heartbreak, but it also gave me the chance to write the greatest love story of my life — the one with myself. In the silence, I found clarity. Through nurturing my passions, strengthening my relationships with friends and family, and forgiving myself for past mistakes, I began to rebuild. Love didn’t end when my relationship did; it transformed into something deeper — a profound acceptance of who I am and the life I’m creating.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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