If you’re spending the holidays with family but haven’t come out to everyone yet, I feel for you. Charades of forced cheer and sugarcoated lies can make you feel as though you’ve stuffed yourself with too much cookies and pie – at first you’re satisfied, but quickly you feel tired and queasy.

For many years, I avoided holiday family visits completely, which was easy to do during my six years overseas. But after I moved to San Francisco, I was out of excuses. I’d turned 30 and had no girlfriends, real or imaginary. When my folks decided to visit, I’d been dating my ex David for a year. But I didn’t mention David to them, and my charade started to weigh heavier on me. I wanted to walk my parents around The Castro, where I’d spent many weekends with David and my other friends – but of course I didn’t. And each time I took my parents to dinner, I actually felt self-conscious about not having a girlfriend to fill the fourth seat of our table.

In other years when I’d planned on coming out to my family, each time seemed like a bad time. Grandma died, and then grandpa. Dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. Sept. 11 happened. And after almost 40 years at his company, Dad was laid off with an insulting severance offer. How could I add to my parents’ sorrows?

My folks decided to visit again in January of 2002, eight months after I’d moved to San Diego with David. They now knew of David as my roommate – not my partner. So on Christmas day in 2001, I called them intending to spill the truth. I had a vague script in my head, and just needed a good conversational segue – something like: “For Christmas David got me some nice shirts and a picture frame – with a photo of us in it.” But I didn’t say that. I said nothing.

Since I couldn’t come out over the phone, I decided to write my mother a long e-mail – just two weeks before their visit. Putting all of those pent-up words down, I felt a huge sense of catharsis. It took me hours to write and rewrite that e-mail, but the hardest part was clicking “Send.”

“I’m looking forward to your visit,” I wrote, and went on to list ideas for their trip. Finally I wrote: “There’s something important that I want you to know before you visit. I’ve been ‘ready’ to tell you this for several months, but never got the courage … OK here goes. As you know I’ve been friends with David for the past 3 1/2 years, and we’ve lived together the past 21 months. But David’s been more than just a friend and roommate. David has also been my partner – for whom I feel much love. We’ve felt this way about each other since we both visited San Diego three years ago. … Anyway this letter isn’t about Dave – it’s about me. My orientation isn’t something new. It’s taken me 20 years to come to terms with it.”

I explained how I came out to myself while living in Hawaii, made gay friends, “dated a few people,” and met Dave. I apologized for not telling my mother sooner. “Now I realize there never will be a ‘right moment’ to tell you,” I wrote.

“I know you’re asking: is there a chance I’ll ‘go back’ to a straight relationship?” I went on. “I can say for sure that if I forced myself in that direction, I wouldn’t be true to myself and I wouldn’t be as happy. So the answer is no; I am who I am.” At this point I assured her I’m not suddenly donning spandex and beads; I’m still the same son she’s known. “I can’t keep my life a secret,” I concluded. “So cry if you need to, but cry because you’re happy for me. I’m proud of who I am, and I hope you’ll be too.”

My mother’s long e-mail reply came the next day, and her second sentence said it all: “In my heart I already knew this,” she wrote. She’d suspected it as far back as 15 years, when I’d complained to her about getting hit on by an older guy at the convenience store where I’d worked. Like me, my mom was afraid of speaking what might be true.

Mom eventually printed my letter so Dad could read it. According to her, his only comment was “Well, I guess we’re not having grandchildren.” Thankfully my sister has reversed that scenario, and some day I look forward to “explaining myself” to my nephews – maybe even during a future Christmas visit. Because as I’ve learned, there’s no “right time” to wait to be who we really are.