The term “coming out” used to be a heteronormative act, used to describe when well-bred young women in the early Victorian era were introduced to society and the world of eligible bachelors during debutante balls.

During and after World War II, an elite group of gay men “came out” at drag balls that were modeled after the debutante balls in the nation’s biggest cities, according to historian George Chauncey’s Gay New York: Gender, Urban Culture, and the Making of the Gay Male World, The gay men soon adopted the metaphor of coming out of the closet, in which the word closet comes from close, which in Latin is claudere or to shut—also the source of recluse or someone who shuts themselves away.

The first March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights in 1979 was in October, and the second iteration was held eight years later on Oct. 11—a date that would mark the inaugural National Coming Out Day the following year. Today, it marks its 36th year.

From personal essays to podcast episodes and articles, today’s conversations regarding coming out trends to center celebration and triumph. For Jack Drescher, a queer psychiatrist, coming out is a process that never ends.

“Coming out to oneself is a subjective experience of inner recognition,” he wrote in the Psychiatric Times in 2004. “It is a moment that is sometimes charged with excitement and at other times with trepidation. It is a realization that previously unacceptable feelings or desires are part of oneself. It is, in part, a verbal process—putting into words previously inarticulated feelings and ideas. It is a recapturing of disavowed experiences.”

The truth is: closeted trans, nonbinary and gender nonconforming people feel excitement and trepidation about who they are, too. In light of National Coming Out Day, queer and trans people are taking the microphone, amplifying their voices from inside the closet—even if it still means choosing not to come out.

Note: interviewees requested to use a pseudonym for safety reasons.

Valerie,a white cis woman based in Colorado, keeps her queerness in the closet for the most part. She tells Reckon that she didn’t become fully aware of her queerness until her late 20s and that the rise of LGBTQ representation on screen was the catalyst to her realization.

Raised in a conservative Evangelical church and home, her immediate family is not accepting of queer people. “I came out to a sibling, and they have not taken the news well, further exasperating my fear of the rest of my family learning the truth,” she said. “I don’t know if I could handle it mentally and emotionally.”

For Valerie, her mental health takes priority over the possibility of losing close relationships and experiencing the strain from coming out, because her current choices beckon her to come out and potentially lose love and security or stay in the closet and hold onto the family ties that she has.

Today, she is saving up money to become financially independent as she plans to come out to her family and wants to be prepared should she be rejected. She is officially open about her queerness with a select group of friends, who shower Valerie with rainbow-themed gifts, take her to Pride events and even nicknamed her the “baby gay” of the group.

“I used to think that it was enough to have only certain people in my life I was out to, and that they could make up for the others,” said Valerie, who is already grieving the outcome of coming out to her family. “But after being loved fully by [my friends], the lack of love from the others becomes more and more difficult to swallow. Please be gentle and kind [towards closeted LGBTQ people]. If you’re out and loved and accepted, drink in that love and appreciate it for everything it is worth, because it is worth everything.”

Han is a Chinese bisexual, nonbinary trans masculine person based in Washington D.C. Although they are open about their gender and sexuality, they are not out to their family—especially regarding their transness.

Han has decided to not come out to their parents because they believe their parents wouldn’t understand what being nonbinary means. Despite wanting to package it into ways their parents can comprehend, Han’s parents’ understanding of transitioning is limited to binary transitions—not something in the middle.

“I’ll admit it – I’m scared,” they said. “It’s myself that’s the impossibility. Unless my love life changes or I bite the bullet on medically transitioning, why bother? As a family, we’re not good at dealing with conflict. We’ve had fallouts over much more trivial differences. I’m afraid of how we’d move through this.”

Being in the closet is 100% a choice for them, who works their own job and lives far away from their parents. They’re not interested in risking consequences, like getting kicked out or cut off—or worse.

“I come back to this question: do they need to know all of me to love me?” said Han, who is afraid of causing unnecessary heartache for their parents. “I know that when I deviate from their social norms, they worry. It makes sense. Every parent, especially within our culture, wants their child to have an easier, uncomplicated life. Perhaps my gift to them can be pretending that it is so.”

Shame plays a large part in them not being fully out, though Han is clear that the shame isn’t a direct derivation of their identities, but rather the humiliation of being found confusing. After all, they feel fairly free, and loved by their friends and community.

“At the end of the day, I am afraid of being rendered incomprehensible and unlovable to a world afraid of ambiguity.”

Grace is a queer cis woman of Latinx descent, and as of this year, she is slowly coming out of the closet.

She’s also a former member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Grace, who is now in her late 20s, spent 18 months in Chicago as a missionary volunteer when she was 22, knocking on doors and spreading the teachings of Jesus Christ.

“I was a good missionary, and I think I was only a good missionary because I pushed aside a lot of things that wouldn’t make me a good missionary,” she said, hinting at her sexuality.

In the very religious community, stigmas around being LGBTQ were rampant. She joined the church at 19 years old when her single mother became very ill. At the time, the support of the church provided her comfort, and it came at the cost of hiding her queerness.

After her mission trip, Grace attended college and decided to pursue school at Utah Valley University. While away, her mother’s health deteriorated even more, and she passed away in January of this year.

“I had this huge realization in my life and how I was feeling about not being 100% truthful to her,” she said. “Losing her and the emotions that come with that grief, I feel like I’m finally opening up and giving myself permission to be present.”

For Grace, being present means letting people know where she is at with her sexuality, in addition to her passionate advocacy of LGBTQ rights—even while she was fully in the closet. As a film student who is also minoring in anthropology, she plans on making a coming out video as a way to honor the missed opportunity she had with her mother. These days, she is out to several queer friends, and they often travel to Salt Lake City to go gay clubbing. Still, she finds a balance to honor those who have to compromise disclosure for all kinds of reasons.

“[To my fellow LGBTQ companions who are out, know that] we are present, we’re here, and we’re listening.”