I LOVED My Life. Then I Realised I Was Gay.

People love the idea of living authentically. Of being true to yourself. Of having the courage to live by your values.

It sounds wonderful.

Until doing exactly that begins to cost you things you never thought you'd have to give up.

When I came out as gay at 39, I knew my life would change. I understood that some relationships would have to find a new shape, that there would be difficult conversations, and that the future I'd imagined might look very different.

What I hadn't fully anticipated was how far those consequences could reach.

Including into my business.

A business I'd spent more than fifteen years building. A career dedicated to helping people become stronger, healthier and more capable of living the lives they wanted.

Suddenly, some of the very things I'd worked so hard to establish felt less secure.

And I found myself facing a question that would have been much easier to answer in one of my coaching sessions than it was in my own life.

How committed are you to your values when living by them starts costing you something?

The Man People Thought They Knew

For most of my adult life, I was a husband, a father, a businessman and a coach.

I still am a father, businessman and coach. And I remain enormously grateful for the years I spent and for the family we built.

Those years were real. The love was real. The experiences, the struggles, the commitments and the beautiful moments were real.

Coming out didn't erase any of that.

It did, however, change how some people understood me.

People get to know a particular version of us. Over time, they form expectations about who we are, what we believe, how we live and what our future should look like.

And when something fundamental changes, people sometimes struggle to reconcile the man they've always known with the man standing in front of them.

Some respond with remarkable kindness and curiosity.

Others struggle.

And some relationships never quite return to what they were.

I can understand that. I don't expect everyone to experience or process change in the same way.

But there's something about my story, and the stories of many men who come out later in life, that I think deserves a little more understanding.

Sometimes You Genuinely Don't Know 🤔

I think people often assume that when a man comes out as gay later in life, he's known his entire life and has simply been hiding it.

For some men, that may be true.

For others, including me, the experience can be very different.

I first seriously questioned whether I might be gay in my late twenties. I was about 28, and I spoke openly with my family and the people close to me about what I was experiencing.

Then, about a year later, those feelings changed. I genuinely believed I wasn't gay.

And life continued.

Karla and I had met at my 21st birthday party in Johannesburg. To this day, I still thank God for the birthday gift He gave me that year.

She was my best friend, and she became one of the greatest loves of my life. She still is.

She knew about that period of questioning before we got married. We spoke about it openly, including the fact that I no longer believed I was gay.

We went on to build a beautiful life together. We travelled internationally, built our business, worked with incredible clients, became parents and shared experiences I'll treasure for the rest of my life.

And then, in my late thirties, the questions returned.

Over roughly three years, I found myself going through periods of uncertainty. Was I bisexual? Was I gay? Was I misunderstanding what I was feeling?

It was extraordinarily difficult.

Because I loved my life. I loved my wife. I loved our family.

And if there was an honest way to preserve the life we'd built together, I wanted that with my entire heart.

Something research is increasingly helping us understand is that sexual identity and the process of recognising our attractions aren't always as straightforward as people assume. Some people have clarity from a very young age. Others experience periods of uncertainty, changing self-understanding or a gradual recognition that only becomes clear much later.

A 2024 study of gay men who came out after 40 describes how differently men can experience this process, sometimes taking decades to understand their sexuality.

Our attractions, our understanding of those attractions and the identity we use to describe ourselves are related, but they aren't always experienced in exactly the same way.

Our early experiences, including trauma, can also complicate how safe we feel exploring and understanding ourselves. That doesn't mean trauma causes someone to be gay, and we should be careful about drawing conclusions that the science doesn't support.

I can only speak about my own experience.

And for me, those years of uncertainty were incredibly painful.

Karla knew what I was going through. We spoke throughout the process.

Eventually, I reached a point where the uncertainty was gone.

I knew I was gay.

And once I had that clarity, I knew I owed the people I loved the truth.

Especially Karla my greatest love.

She deserved the freedom to understand what this meant for her own life and future.

I hadn't spent my entire marriage knowingly hiding who I was. I had been living according to what I honestly understood about myself at the time.

That distinction is important.

Because sometimes people assume that discovering something about yourself later in life means everything that came before it was somehow dishonest.

I don't believe that's fair.

And perhaps recognising that complexity could help us approach people going through major personal transitions with a little more understanding.

When Your Personal Life Becomes a Professional Consideration

I've spent much of my career working with people on their health, performance, mindset, behaviour and personal development.

My work has always been deeply personal to me.

I care about the people I coach. I care about the quality of what we deliver. I care about the reputation we've spent years building.

So when my coming out was followed by changes in some professional relationships and a difficult period for the business, it affected me deeply.

I also understood that some people might have questions.

Some had known me for years as a married man with a family. Some might have wondered whether they ever really knew me at all.

I can understand how such a significant change might be difficult for people to reconcile.

But I also hope that by sharing a little more of my experience, people might understand that the process of discovering who we are can be far more complicated than it appears from the outside.

Of course, I can't claim to know everyone's reasons for the decisions they made. Businesses go through difficult periods for all kinds of reasons, and I wouldn't attribute every challenge to my sexuality.

But I also won't pretend that coming out had no impact on my professional world.

There were consequences.

And when you've invested so much of yourself in building something, those consequences are felt on several levels.

There's the financial reality, of course.

There are responsibilities that don't suddenly disappear because you're going through a difficult personal transition.

Then there's something less visible.

The emotional experience of wondering whether people still see you the same way. Whether the credibility you spent years establishing remains intact in their eyes. Whether you still belong in certain spaces.

How much of my sense of security had become dependent on other people's perception of me?

That's quite a question for someone who has spent years coaching people on personal leadership.

Living by Your Values Is Easy to Admire From a Distance

I've spoken about integrity, ownership and personal responsibility throughout my career.

I believe in those things.

But there's a significant difference between understanding a principle and having to live by it when the consequences are frightening.

It's easy to encourage someone to be courageous when you're sitting comfortably outside the consequences of their decision.

It's considerably harder when you're the one who has to carry them.

I also think we can be far too simplistic about what it means to live honestly.

Honesty doesn't automatically make every decision wise. Being true to yourself doesn't exempt you from considering the people affected by your choices.

Karla deserves care, dignity and respect. My son deserves love, security and the continued presence of his father. My clients deserve the same professional commitment they've always received.

Those responsibilities didn't disappear when I came out.

If anything, they became even more important.

And I had to accept that people I loved could have complicated feelings about changes in my life, even when those changes were necessary.

I couldn't expect everyone to understand everything immediately.

I couldn't control how others would respond.

And I certainly couldn't demand that people make choices that suited my preferred outcome.

I've written before about the importance of respecting other people's freedom.

That principle becomes particularly uncomfortable when their freedom allows them to make decisions that hurt or disappoint us.

But our values are tested in precisely those moments.

You cannot claim to believe in someone else's freedom only while they are making choices you agree with. Hard... I know.

The Difference Between Being Accepted and Being at Peace With Yourself

One of the more difficult things I've had to consider is how much of my life was shaped by the desire to maintain stability.

And to be clear, stability is a wonderful thing.

I believe in commitment. I believe in building strong families, meaningful relationships and businesses that endure.

But what happens when the life you've built and your growing understanding of yourself begin pulling you in different directions?

What do you do when preserving something precious to you may require a future you can no longer honestly promise?

I don't believe every private part of our lives needs to become public knowledge. Privacy is important, and each person deserves the freedom to decide what they share, with whom and when.

But in my own life, I had reached a point where I needed to acknowledge something fundamental about who I am.

I'm gay.

And accepting that meant reconsidering some of the assumptions I'd carried about what my life was supposed to look like.

It didn't change my love for being a man.

It didn't change my ambition, my commitment to fatherhood, or my desire to build an extraordinary life.

I still wanted to be successful. To love and be loved. To build meaningful relationships. To be a good dad. To grow my business and make a worthwhile contribution through my work.

I simply had to confront the reality that the future in which I would pursue those things might look different from the one I'd imagined.

And I had to learn to live with the uncertainty that followed.

There Is a Very Real Cost to Every Direction We Choose

This is something I've come to appreciate more as I've grown older.

We often approach important decisions by asking what they'll cost us.

What will I lose if I make this change?

What will people think?

What happens if things don't work out?

Those are legitimate questions and should get some serious consideration.

But there's another question we don't always give enough attention.

What is the cost of continuing to live in a way that no longer reflects what you know about yourself?

That cost can be harder to measure.

Sometimes it's the energy required to maintain appearances.

Sometimes it's the growing distance between the life you're living and who you know you are.

Sometimes it's the resentment, anxiety or quiet dissatisfaction that accumulates when you repeatedly ignore things you know need attention.

And sometimes it's the possibility of reaching the end of your life having spent so much time managing other people's expectations that you never properly explored your own.

None of this means we should make impulsive decisions in the name of authenticity.

Quite the opposite.

The more significant the consequences, the more carefully we should consider our responsibilities, our intentions and the people affected.

But avoiding a difficult decision is still a decision.

And that decision carries consequences of its own.

I Still Want to Build an Extraordinary Life

Here's something I want to be clear about.

Coming out wasn't the end of my ambition.

I still want to build a successful business. I still want to coach, write, speak and contribute something meaningful to people's lives.

I want to be an extraordinary father to my son.

I want meaningful, committed relationships. I want companionship, adventure, intimacy and to build a beautiful future.

I want to be strong, healthy and capable for as long as possible.

I still love being a man.

And I still believe my greatest chapter is ahead of me.

Of course, that doesn't mean I have everything figured out.

There have been losses. There have been difficult days. There are things and beautiful parts of the life I thought I would have I still grieve, questions I'm still working through and parts of my future I cannot yet see clearly.

Some things will take time to rebuild.

I'm learning to make peace with that.

Because somewhere along the way, I realised that I couldn't make the success of my life entirely dependent on preserving everything I'd already built.

I also needed the courage to create what comes next.

And creation involves uncertainty.

The Beautiful Life That Becomes Possible

There's something else I want to say, especially to the man reading this who might be going through something similar.

I've spoken a lot about what this journey has cost me. That is something that was ultimately unavoidable.

But I also want to talk about what it has made possible.

Because there is something quite extraordinary about finally understanding yourself after years of uncertainty.

For me, one of the hardest parts was the constant questioning. Trying to understand what I was feeling. Wondering whether those feelings would change again. Wanting so desperately to preserve a life I built and I genuinely loved.

And then, eventually, reaching a place of clarity.

And while that understanding came with very difficult consequences, it has also opened up an entirely new world of possibilities.

The possibility of loving with a deeper understanding of myself. Of building a relationships where I can show up knowing exactly who I am. Of discovering new friendships, experiences, places and parts of life I haven't even started to imagine yet.

And perhaps, most beautifully, the possibility of being fully known and loved for the man I really am.

I don't have to diminish the extraordinary life I had to be excited about the life that's still ahead of me.

Both can be beautiful and deeply meaningful.

And I can be profoundly grateful for one while wholeheartedly embracing the possibilities of the other.

There can be real grief for the life you're leaving behind and genuine excitement for the life you're beginning to discover.

I'm still the same man in almost all the ways.

I still have the same ambitions, values, responsibilities and desire to make something extraordinary of my life and to add value to those I love and serve.

But I also have an opportunity to discover and experience parts of myself and life that I hadn't fully understood before.

And I find that incredibly exciting.

There will be challenges, things to learn, relationships to navigate and moments when life feels uncertain. That is life.

But there is also so much to look forward to.

And for the man who is frightened about what understanding himself might mean for his future, I hope he remembers this.

Your life can still be extraordinarily beautiful. Perhaps even more beautiful than you currently have the capacity to imagine. 

There is still so much life ahead of you.

What Happens When Your Life Asks the Same Question?

You might be reading this as a straight man who has never had to question his sexuality.

Your story might look nothing like mine.

But perhaps there's something in your life that you know needs an honest second look.

Maybe you're successful in a career you no longer enjoy.

Maybe you've built an identity around being the dependable one, the provider, the achiever, the man who always has everything under control.

Maybe you're struggling with a relationship, a belief you've held for years, or a future that looks increasingly different from the one you expected.

Perhaps you're afraid of disappointing people.

Or perhaps you've become so good at fulfilling everyone else's expectations that you've lost touch with some of your own.

I don't know what that looks like for you.

And I certainly wouldn't suggest that the answer is always to walk away, start over or turn your entire life upside down.

Sometimes the courageous thing is to stay and do the difficult work.

Sometimes it's to have the conversation you've been avoiding.

Sometimes it's to acknowledge that something needs to change and begin taking responsibility for what comes next even if it's the most terrifying think you can imagine. I know for me it was. 

Whatever the situation, I think there are a few questions worth asking yourself.

What am I afraid of losing?

What am I trying so hard to protect?

Am I making this decision from my values, or from my fear of how people might respond?

And what kind of man do I want to be while I work through the consequences?

That last question has become especially important to me.

Because even when we cannot control what happens around us, we still have some responsibility for how we conduct ourselves.

For the honesty we bring into difficult conversations.

For the dignity we extend to people who disagree with us.

For the commitments we continue to honour.

And for the effort we put into rebuilding when life doesn't go as planned.

The Man I Want to Become

I don't know exactly what the next ten years of my life will look like.

There are things I hope for. Things I'm working hard to create. Relationships I want to build, places I want to go and experiences I still want to have.

And yes, there are things I wish had been easier. Of course.

But I don't want to spend the next decade living in reaction to what I've lost.

I want to build from what I've learnt.

I want my son to grow up knowing that his dad took responsibility for his life, treated people with dignity, kept showing up and had the courage to grow.

I want to continue becoming a better man, a better father, a better coach and a better partner.

And I want the work I do with other men to reflect that same commitment.

Because personal leadership eventually becomes something very practical.

It shows up in the decisions we make when the outcome is uncertain.

In the way we treat others when we're disappointed.

In our willingness to accept responsibility, face uncomfortable truths and keep working toward a future we believe in.

I'm still learning. I'm still building.

And while living more honestly has come with costs I wouldn't wish away or minimise, it has also opened the possibility of a future I can embrace more fully.

Perhaps one of the greatest tests of a man's character is what he chooses to do when being true to himself costs more than he expected.

And perhaps one of the greatest opportunities of midlife is discovering that we still have time to become the men we want to be.

Your greatest chapter is still ahead of you.

Your Brother and Friend, 

- Jacque Visagie

 

MEN | GREATER LIVES

Know yourself. Live your values. Build a greater life.