My daughter had been injured by an accident — something that had no one to blame or fault. And in that time, I needed to know that it was all going to be all right. I needed to know that it would work out. I needed hope. And I needed to restore my faith in that hope.

I didn't want to lose my best friend to this soon-to-be relationship. I already knew what it felt like to be left alone, tossed away like an old rag doll by a straight relationship, forgotten. I don't know how many times this had happened to me, and I wasn't ready to go through it again. Especially by someone I thought would be my best friend for a long time.

A same-sex celibate partnership is an intimate coupling between two same-sex attracted or gay-identifying individuals. Bonded for life in a way similar to marriage but, of course, minus the sex. I have already seen a few celibate couplings form between guys. I've been mostly watching from a distance, but other times I've contacted those folks to ask questions. Sometimes I view them with a lot of envy.

I recently returned from a men's retreat in which I came face-to-face with my biggest struggle: not anything regarding my sexuality or sexual addictions. But simply feeling like a man. Like a man among men, assembled on an equal playing field rather than somewhere on another field's sidelines.

Here at Your Other Brothers, we've shared advice for coming out, but what if someone comes out to you? I've compiled a non-exhaustive list of pointers and things to keep in mind when someone comes out to you.

After I had lived in Seattle for a few months, some things out of my control started happening that threatened my ability to continue living in my newfound home. In addition to money troubles, a friend of my elderly father called from Florida to tell me that his health was declining and that he was not thinking clearly anymore. I decided right then I had to leave and take care of my father.

I love being a girl-dad. At the end of the day, my wearing some makeup or playing pretend with my daughter will not come to define her conception of gender.

Just imagining myself joining this group on this trip brought up several anxieties: the fear of sharing, sleeping, and showering among so many other guys. I also had masculine insecurities about cleaning up after Hurricane Katrina along with the ability to share my faith. But God is bigger than my anxieties. And as I'd eventually learn, jumping into the unknown with God tends to be the best option.

I knew I needed a miracle even to get out there, and now this triggering text message was stuck in my brain as I got ready. I packed my clothes for the weekend but needed to get some food in my stomach before the semi-long trip.

It's October 11, National Coming Out Day. Over the years, countless individuals, young and old, have taken to YouTube, Facebook, the Internet, and face-to-face relationships to finally reveal their sexuality this month. Coming out is a pivotal moment in any gay or SSA (same-sex attracted) person's journey, and we gathered our featured authors together for a conversation on our own coming out experiences this Coming Out Month.

Shortly after becoming a Christian, I decided no longer to care about the denomination of the church I attended. It's worked out well so far. What's more, this new mindset has given me a bird's eye view of the Church and sexuality.

I've often felt great shame over being so highly sensitive. I thought I was the only guy who cried or got his feelings hurt so easily while the other men took life's unpleasantness in masculine stride.

Arriving at my new house, I found no one there to greet me. I knew where my new housemates hid the key, so I let myself in. My emotions were almost more than I could take: fear, loneliness, and confusion.

Just because I'm "out" doesn't mean I'm always going out of my way to talk about sexuality. Outside my closest friendships, I still don't feel comfortable sharing. I still feel ashamed of my sexuality. Even after all this time. All these stories, written or otherwise.

I remember being envious of the other boys who seemed so free in their bodies, so free with their bodies. I remember being envious of their slenderness, and later on, their muscles. I remember lying in bed wishing so hard that I could wake up and be miraculously thin. I remember knowing that I shouldn't hate my body but having no idea how to stop.

College held the hope for a fresh start. Home meant the weight of my double-life: the pain of lying about porn and "everything is okay" all the time; the great friendships that never felt deep or authentic enough for my broken self.

Henry and I had a great, heartfelt talk. But a realization hit me as we were talking: I don't want to share this conversation with anyone else. What we talked about that day was personal. Vulnerable.

We finished the day by taking silhouette pictures with the blazing orange-and-pink sky as our backdrop. My siblings lovingly kissed their spouses and lifted them up in the air as some of the most romantic and precious images I'd ever witnessed. I stayed to watch for a little while, knowing that no one would ask me if I wanted any pictures by myself. That would have been absurd, right? It didn't take long for me to reach the end of what I could handle with my family. So, I ran away.

I was single with no children, free from almost all responsibility, and I realized I could move anywhere in the country and totally start over if I wanted it. The idea appealed to me the more I thought about it.

I felt sick to my stomach that one complicated situation made me lash against someone who was very dear to my best friend's heart. I felt the whole situation was my fault, and I couldn't do anything to make it better.