akt, a charity dedicated to supporting young homeless LGBTQ+ people.You can donate here Just as my estrangement means I’m missing a person in my life, my lack of coming out to my mum means I am missing out on a crucial queer moment.But because of our history, I can’t tell, can’t decide, who’s really missing out: me or mum?Truthfully, I miss having a mother sometimes, but not her.

Someone to balance out the family photos; someone else to be on my side; someone to share parts of me that even my closest family don’t get; someone else to read tarot cards and horoscopes with.Really, coming out to my mum is another item in a long chronicle of milestones she’s missed out on, milestones that I’ve outsourced to other supportive loving women.

My godmother came to my graduation; I celebrated my first printed article with my flatmate; I first came out to one of my closest friends.Whenever I’ve had life-affirming queer moments, there’s been someone there, so loving and present that my mum is hardly a spectre hanging over me.Telling my mum that I’m gay could’ve been the snowflake that started the avalanche, the open door that could’ve ushered us both into an adult relationship.