I grew up in the church. The Annunciation Columbus Greek Orthodox Cathedral is where I found my faith and family. Most everyone I knew attended that church. As the oldest of six kids, I come from a large family. My extended “Big Fat Greek” family is even larger. Most Sundays they filled the pews. I couldn’t make it to my seat without a dozen greetings and a big hug and kiss from each Yiayia and Papou.

Every Labor Day weekend we held our famous Columbus Greek Festival. Greeks and non- Greeks alike arrived by the thousands. They came for a bite of baklava, a shot of ouzo and to enjoy the traditional Greek dancing. I performed for many years alongside my sisters, cousins and friends. Sweating through our headpieces, we’d race inside for a piece of tiropita after each show. Those are some of my happiest childhood memories. I still smile when I think about the nights spent Greek dancing in the middle of downtown Columbus.

The Greeks are a loud and passionate bunch. Whether constantly smothered with kisses or enveloped in big hugs, I grew up feeling and hearing that I was loved. I never worried that would change. As college approached, I began feeling some type of way about the girls around me. I wasn’t sure what it meant. Luckily, these feelings were easy to stifle. I always felt comfortable in my skin as a very feminine girl who didn’t date much but still had crushes on the boys. I didn’t see that changing anytime soon. Crisis averted.

I started attending university and the feelings were even more pronounced. I could no longer deny my curiosity. I decided to pursue my attraction towards women. I convinced myself that once I kissed a girl, I’d check off that box and move on with my life. As you may guess, life rarely goes as planned. As the years continued, my attraction to women only grew. After graduating I moved to Los Angeles and dated women almost exclusively.

My parents, grandparents, siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins (and everything in between) were my biggest cheerleaders when I moved to LA. They encouraged me through my tough first job on a daytime talk show and getting my phone stolen from my purse at a West Hollywood bar. They cheered me on while having absolutely no idea how this crazy Hollywood industry works. I felt supported, encouraged and loved, yet I worried that if they really knew me everything would change.

I was building my life on the west coast. I attended and hosted queer events. I formed a community of queer friends and felt confident in my identity. I even briefly dated a woman. My life was moving in the right direction but I felt I was leaving something behind. My faith and my family were always the most important. I’d finally fully accepted myself and worried that I couldn’t have it all.

In Christmas 2018 everything changed. On the way to church my mom called me out. “Do you have something to tell me?” she asked. I denied it at first but finally relented. I came out to my mom in my church parking lot — the place that sparked so much joy and confusion. The revelation wasn’t groundbreaking for her. Yet in that moment it’s true, my life started looking very different from that of my three sisters or two brothers. Could I get married in the church I grew up attending and where my parents also tied the knot? These were some of the adjustments to the life everyone thought I’d lead.

Surprisingly though, I wasn’t disappointed. My mom finally knew who I really was. Soon after that I told my dad, the rest of my siblings and my grandparents. A year later I told my extended family. A weight I didn’t realize I’d been carrying was finally lifted. I never thought I would lose their love but instead worried that no one would see me the same. Instead, I’m glad they don’t see me the same because now they know me for who I truly am versus who I convinced myself I was.

My Big Fat Greek reveal resulted in calls, texts and Snapchat and Instagram messages in which my family supported and encouraged me in the same way they always had. I even got a card in the mail where my aunt called me brave and confident for knowing who I am and sharing it. From 2,300 miles away I could feel the love (though I was spared the hugs and kisses).

My family is largely conservative and religious. Yet they still accepted me with open arms. We try to communicate with grace. I know they’re trying and that’s all I can ask. Recently, my dad started reading God and the Gay Christian by Matthew Vines. A year-and-a-half ago I never would have believed that was a possibility.







I’m passionate about advocating for God in the queer community and advocating for queer people in the Christian community. I know that I’m so loved by God and that He doesn’t make mistakes. I do think He has a wild sense of humor though. When I walked into church with my mom after coming out to her, I felt like God was laughing. He always knew who I was, so it was about time my mom knew too.

I realize I’m very lucky to have a family who chose to love me rather than judge or condemn me. It’s not always easy to accept yourself and share it with the world but I promise it’s a much better alternative to living a lie.