I believe you love who you love
Ain’t nothin’ you should ever be ashamed of.
—LUKE BRYAN, “Most People Are Good”
Walking out of the studio after our interview, my conversation with country music star Keith Urban took an unexpected turn.
“So how are you, mate?” he asked me with his gentle Australian lilt. “What’s going on in your life?”
This was no casual question asked in the expectation of a quick and meaningless answer. My stock response, a chirpy, “I’m great!” wouldn’t cut it this time. Up until now, as host on CMT and radio, I was the one asking all the questions. It was my job to shine the light on Nashville’s hottest artists and get them to reveal some truths about themselves and their art, not share details about my own life. Besides, I always prided myself on keeping things professional, never inserting myself into the conversation, or wasting the precious time of these kings and queens of country music. But Keith seemed genuinely interested in me on a human level, and as he turned his gaze on me, I found myself revealing things I never would have dreamed of disclosing to anyone outside my inner circle of close family and friends.
“Oh, you know, I’m okay,” I told him. “Working through a few things and trying to get right with myself.”
Keith, who’d known me long enough to realize there was more, probed a little further.
“Oh yeah?” he said, stopping to face me and look me in the eyes. It was his subtle invitation to keep talking, so I did.
“I’ve been struggling; struggling because . . . I’m gay.”
As the words tumbled out, I couldn’t believe I was saying them. This was a secret I’d fought my whole life to keep, even from myself. But there wasn’t even a nanosecond of awkward pause or regret. Keith immediately reached out and gave me a huge hug, a warm embrace that demonstrated acceptance of who I am. In all my years as a closeted gay man, I’d always imagined my truth would be met with an expression of bewilderment, derision, or disgust. Yet with one kind and heartfelt gesture, he made me feel like I was a long-lost brother who’d found his way home, and in that powerful moment of connection between one human being and another, I knew I’d be okay. Keith Urban was on my side.
There was something about the way he asked the question, remaining silent and patient, that made me want to open up. A lot of people would have tried to be sentence grabbers and coax it out of me based on their assumptions. Or quickly change the subject and make it about themselves. But Keith was comfortable in that space. He created an opening that allowed me to speak my truth in what felt like a safe, judgment-free zone.
Up until that point, the country music scene had been one of those last bastions of homophobia, or so I thought. I didn’t see anyone like me in my industry, and I feared rejection if I didn’t live up to the image I had created for myself of a red-blooded, all-American, churchgoing, God-fearing family man. I was afraid that coming out and showing the world my true self would amount to career suicide and that, somehow, I’d no longer fit, and the fans and artists would turn away from me. But I was wrong.
“It’s okay, brother,” Keith told me. “We’re all going through something. I’m here for you if you need me.”
And I knew he meant it. I’ve always felt a special connection to Keith, ever since I first interviewed him as a country music DJ in Dallas in the early 2000s. He’s made no secret of the fact that he’s had his own struggles with drugs and alcohol, which he’s overcome through the love and support of his wife, Nicole. He gets what it’s like to feel like the underdog, and his honesty and empathy permeate his lyrics, which often felt like they were speaking to me directly. But never more so than the text he wrote to me later that night:
“So good to see you today. This life is about people you can lean on and I want you to know that I am one that you can. It’s all about the spirit and the soul. And in the words of Lin-Manuel Miranda: ‘Love is love is love is love!’”
That was the moment it became so clear to me that I could do this. I could jump off this cliff and finally be free to fly. I could make this last leap toward living my most authentic life, and the people who know me and trust me would support me, whatever was to come. I didn’t have to hide anymore. I could be true to myself as well as the world around me. I could be . . . happy.
So why was it anyone’s business? Why did it matter? Because it was stopping me from building those deeper bonds, which, after all, is why we’re here. I threw myself into my faith in part because I was driven to connect with others on a spiritual level. Again, from the time I could crawl, I’ve always been curious about people, wanting to know what made them happy, and how I could help. I was drawn to the mission-driven aspect of Mormonism because it gave me the opportunity to spread the gospel and make a difference in the lives of total strangers. But if I continued to hide a fundamental part of who I am, there would always be a barrier between me and the rest of the world. I had so many great acquaintances, but very few real friends. I shunned situations like intimate dinner parties where I might be tempted to let my guard down. I bit my tongue so many times I’ve got scar tissue. And boy, was it lonely.
Fast-forward to today, and I get to experience the Keith Urban hug—that warm rush of joy in the moment of total acceptance—almost daily. The people of Nashville have flung their arms open wide. After coming out, I’ve been blessed to receive public words of love and support from folks like Carrie Underwood, Toby Keith, Little Big Town, Darius Rucker, Dan + Shay, Kacey Musgraves, and Dierks Bentley. Now I don’t stop myself from making a joke about my sexuality. There’s no more self-censorship. I can cut up with my neighbors or random strangers who now know my journey without fear of who is listening in or judging. I can step out with the man I love. I can be me.
Of course, there were a few steps I needed to take before I could be all the way out there. Coming out is an evolution, not a revolution. It took a few stumbles and strides to get me to this place, living the life of a proud and openly gay man. So, it was a question of figuring out who I was, and what I wanted from a romantic partner. What kind of person did I see myself building a life with? He had big shoes to fill.
I’d already had a great partner in Terresa, so I knew what that kind of devotion and support looked and felt like. I also wanted a man, not a boy—someone grounded, and confident. The man of my dreams had to check a lot of boxes before I could feel comfortable including him in my world. He had to be more than okay with the fact that I had certain responsibilities: children, an ex-wife, and extended family who depended on me. I wanted someone who could handle all I would bring to a relationship and stand tall beside me.
Growing up, I had plenty of male role models, starting with my father. Men who were strong, but not afraid to show their loving side. My grandfather on my mother’s side was a no-nonsense, hardworking, deep-voiced, manly man. When he spoke in his booming baritone, it meant something, and you couldn’t help but pay attention to every word. He had a moral command that no one questioned.
I looked up to him, figuratively and literally, because, with his long limbs and powerful arms, he seemed like a giant to me as I was growing up. Even though he cut an intimidating figure, Grandpa was humble, gentle, and kind. He was also a great listener. I could be a little chatterbox around him, but he’d smile, nod, and chuckle to himself whenever I said something ridiculous, interjecting once in a while just to correct me or impart some knowledge that was relevant in the moment. It showed me he wasn’t just humoring me. He was paying attention. He always let me be myself while offering me the perspective of his experience. Having that example as a child made an impression on me and was another one of the early lessons that made me the communicator I am today.
Grandpa also set the example for loving-kindness, even though his generation was one of some prejudice. He lived to take care of his family. He was once a tobacco farmer, always busy working with his hands, fixing something on the farm or ploughing fields. Each summer, when I stayed with them in the country, I used to follow him around the property like an eager puppy, waiting for him to drop the occasional pearl of grandfatherly wisdom. He taught me how to run a lawn mower and change the oil in my car. Helping him with chores, riding the tractor, listening to my Walkman, listening to the radio, and working on the land was my summertime bliss.
Grandpa was a deeply spiritual old-school Southern Baptist. He was all about loving thy neighbor and doing what was right, even when that path was strewn with rocks and boulders. My grandparents suffered a lot when the industry fell apart. The old tobacco barn got torn down, and I’m sure money was tight. He became a long-haul trucker to make ends meet, before suffering a heart attack and retiring early. I’m not sure what disappointed him more—the loss of his livelihood or the fact that his grandson became a Mormon. I don’t think he ever got over that one, and I’m not entirely sure what he’d make of the fact that his grandson is gay, but I love and miss him fiercely all the same.
My childhood hero passed in 2011. Singer Riley Green’s song “I Wish Grandpas Never Died” rings true to me. There is something special about the bond between grandfather and grandson, a love spanning three generations. Since his death, I’ve slightly revised my definition of a real man—someone who steps up, takes care of his family, and does the right thing no matter what. Those were values my grandfather lived by. But, from my current vantage point, I also realize that real manhood doesn’t have to be the conventional picture of masculinity.
It can be straight or gay. It can look like the rodeo cowboy or fireman who saves a woman from a burning building. But it can also be the effeminate boy behind the Mac counter who goes home every night to take care of his mother who is suffering from Alzheimer’s, or the country DJ who goes where few in his industry have gone before.
A real man knows how to listen. He’s comfortable enough in his own skin to hear and accept someone else’s truth. He stands by his own convictions, but he is humble and open enough to learn from others and embrace even those who have different ideas. He doesn’t feel the need to shout his opinions and drown out anyone who might have a different point of view. He may not be the person who has the most to say. It could be the strong, silent types who open their mouths only when they have something truly important to express. A great listener knows what’s worth paying attention to, and who deserves the gift of your focus, your time, and your open ears.
I was gradually gaining some clarity about what I wanted in a man as I went through the transformation from Mormon husband and father to single gay guy in the city. I was like a teenager feeling that rush of possibility. But I also paid attention to the red flags. As someone with a fairly high profile in Nashville—a “sub-lebrity” as I call myself—there were always those who were more attracted to my fame and wealth. At the same time, I didn’t want someone who was afraid of revealing himself. I’d met a few friends who were unwilling to let loose. It was always one step forward and ten steps back. That got old, fast.
Then again, I wasn’t fully revealing myself either. Initially, I didn’t want people to know the family side of me, because I was afraid of being judged for all my baggage, and for waiting so long to come out. I knew I had to meet someone who didn’t just want the surface stuff.
Call me picky. I had that movie in my head again, imagining hard what I wanted my new life to look like in the belief that I could manifest it. I started paying attention to how certain couples in country music looked on the red carpet together: Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood; Luke Bryan and his wife, Caroline. They looked so cute together, like the perfect match. I started looking around for more examples of people out there who seemed more like me: Neil Patrick Harris and his husband, David Burtka; or Anderson Cooper and his then partner Benjamin Maisani looking fine at a black-tie gala. I want that! I said to myself. I wanted to walk into a room unabashedly holding hands with a gorgeous and self-possessed manly man. How good would that moment feel? I wondered.
Then, in 2015, I met Michael Trea Smith. Ahh . . . Trea. We met while I was working at a pop-up Carrie Underwood concert in Atlanta (Carrie was our matchmaker!). Trea was a country fan with a special fondness for Carrie. He’d been trying to get tickets to this event, but it was sold out. Then he noticed a contest on his Twitter feed and won himself two tickets in one of the front rows at The Playhouse, an intimate venue with fewer than two hundred people in the audience. It was my good fortune that he decided to bring his friend, and not his boyfriend, that night. Their relationship was in its waning days. Trea got up the nerve to approach me and strike up a conversation. We then posed for a picture, which Trea posted on his Instagram page the next day. We began messaging each other, and the conversation hasn’t stopped since.
We didn’t start dating right away. Trea had some stuff to take care of, including breaking up with his boyfriend in February the following year, and we started a long-distance, platonic friendship. That was a good thing, in a way, because it meant we had the time to get to know each other on a deeper level before we got intimate. There was a lot of texting and talking and flirting before we actually stepped out together in 2016.
It’s not that I wasn’t immediately attracted to him. Something about him, beyond his physical hotness, gave me butterflies, but I was determined to learn more about this guy and be sure I did this right. The guy was way younger than me, so I feared a divorced man with two kids in their late teens might have been too much for him to handle.
But the more I got to know him, the more I realized that his was an old soul. I’d always been drawn to people who were steady and self-aware. One of the first things I learned about Trea was that, when he was fifteen, he’d had a near death experience. He was in a terrible accident in a pickup truck driven by his childhood best friend. They had made a U-turn and were T-boned by a large utility truck at an intersection. His best friend was killed instantly, and Trea was found unconscious in a fetal position on the floor next to the passenger seat. As the medics worked on him, Trea’s heart stopped and for a few minutes he was pronounced clinically dead. It happened a few times before he made it to the hospital, where he remained in a coma for two weeks.
Trea remembers a series of vivid, strange dreams as he lay unconscious in his hospital bed, hooked up to monitors. In one dream, his twenty-six-year-old youth pastor, who had seduced him, was leading Trea into the ocean and trying to drown him. He understood it was a message to end that toxic and exploitative relationship. In another dream, Trea was surrounded by his entire family, but his cousin, who was more like a brother to him, wasn’t there.
“Where’s Logan at?” he asked in his dream. “He couldn’t make it,” his family members told him. A few weeks after waking up from his coma, his cousin had suddenly passed, but Trea wasn’t surprised when he heard the tragic news. He somehow knew things he couldn’t have possibly known, and he’s been deeply intuitive ever since.
The event changed Trea, and his worldview, forever. Little did he know then that it would change my life too. Hearing of his horrific experience has helped me to better understand how to live my life in the now and appreciate every moment I’ve been given.
Trea had no doubt that there was more to this life than our day-to-day existence and decided to live his life to the fullest, which included coming out to his family. He spent month after painful month in physiotherapy, building back his body and relearning how to do the simplest things, including speaking and brushing his teeth. The kindness and dedication of his nurses and therapists inspired him to go into occupational therapy himself and give back to others what had been given to him.
I’d already rounded a corner of understanding what I wanted from my partner. I didn’t need someone who was as intensely religious as I’d been for my entire adult life. I let loose of the stranglehold of rules and accepted that true spirituality comes in all kinds of packages. What mattered most was Trea’s heart, not what church he belonged to. He was unlike anyone I’d ever met before, but he showed up at just the right time, because by then I had enough clarity to hear my heart.
When I look at Trea, I see a real man. He’s lived through so much despite his age, and these tests made him stronger. He connects with people on a deep level because he can empathize. It’s these qualities that make him such a great listener. When anyone engages with him in conversation, you can sense his sincere interest in what they have to say. Being with him felt natural and right. He is also my soft place to land. I’ve learned it’s one of the attributes I need most. In my sometimes-chaotic life, coming home to his sweet and warm, soft-spoken kindness steadies me. He also says some of the most funny and outrageous things I’ve ever heard! One good rule of a happy relationship is having a partner who makes you laugh. Trea brought just the right balance to my life.
Thinking about both my true loves, Terresa and Trea, don’t ask me how I managed to get it right in both a straight relationship and a gay relationship. Maybe that they both found me when they did is proof that God’s timing is perfect.
But I didn’t share Trea with anyone at first. My challenge was how to tell Terresa. I wasn’t worried about how Trea would handle meeting my family. He was looking forward to it and embraced everything about me I thought would be negatives in a relationship.
First, I knew it was time to come out to my kids. I decided to take each one out on their own, beginning with my stepdaughter, Lauren, who was twenty-five at the time. I made a lunch date and, when I told her, she took it in stride, getting up from the table to hug me.
“I love you no matter what,” she said.
Next, my seventeen-year-old daughter, Makayla, and I went on a road trip to Alabama for a concert. The timing was intentional. My daughter would be trapped in the car with me for three hours, with no way out of talking through how she really felt about it. I shared what had been going on with me in the car, somewhere southbound on I-65. She went quiet at first, processing the news. Then she squeezed my hand and said: “I love you Dad. This doesn’t change anything.”
Finally, it was Landon’s turn. I wasn’t sure how he’d react. He was thirteen going on fourteen, which seemed like a sensitive age to tell a boy his father is into men. We grabbed some dinner and headed back to my apartment where I sat him down and told him. He hugged me and said, “You love who you love, so what? This doesn’t change who you are. You’re still my dad.”
All three kids accepted my truth without question. I guess Terresa and I had raised some well-adjusted children, although I am not so sure we can take full credit. We always insisted on talking through their decisions with them, even when we disagreed. We always gave them the freedom to open their mouths and express their opinions without having to self-edit. If they broke the rules, we didn’t send them to their rooms, at least not often. I usually sat down with them to discuss how better choices could have been made, probably to the point where they would have preferred to have been grounded. Was it that transparency and willingness to listen without judgment that they were giving to me? Were they mature beyond their years? Or was it simply that this generation is more familiar and comfortable with the idea that human sexuality comes in all shades?
In my head, I’d played out how the conversations would go, hoping for the best but preparing myself for the worst. I’d felt nervous anticipation for weeks. But all that guilt and shame I’d carried about hiding it from them was canceled out the instant I shared my truth with them. I felt especially guilty over leaving them in Salt Lake City for days at a time. But my absences were not felt in the way I had feared. In fact, they have only happy memories of playing in the snow. Wait, what?! Didn’t they even miss me a little?
Just before I told Landon, I decided to include Trea in a family night out. This way, my son would have already experienced Trea’s kindness before having to process my big news. The other purpose was to introduce Trea to Terresa. We decided to go bowling, the perfect icebreaker. Makayla and her boyfriend joined us for safety in numbers, although Terresa jokingly referred to herself as the “fifth wheel.”
She had already written to Trea, who at this point was nameless and faceless to her. My ex had taken the time and trouble to compose a long, detailed email to my potential new life partner, full of sweet stories she felt Trea ought to know about who I was as a husband and father. It was a touching testimony of Terresa’s love for me as her person and soul mate, and it moved me to tears. When I shared it with Trea, he cried too. The final point of her message was this:
I am giving his heart to you, and I want you to take good care of it.
When it was finally time for us all to meet up in person, Terresa confided in me that she was so nervous she felt like she was going to throw up. When we all pulled up into the parking lot of the bowling alley at the same time, Trea walked straight up to Terresa, grabbed her by both hands, looked her in the eyes, and said: “I want you to know that I am going to take good care of him, and you don’t have to worry.”
Then he gave her a big hug and held her hand as we walked inside. That he would tackle a sensitive subject like that the moment he met her earned Terresa’s respect and gratitude. That was the real icebreaker. She was almost giddy as she got to know him and experience the warmth of his personality, not to mention his “drop-dead gorgeous” looks (her words, not mine). They talked all night, mostly dishing about me, like instant best friends.
Makayla had the same chemistry with Trea. A little closer in age, they were playful with each other, sitting off in a corner dishing about her new boyfriend, Will, and taking sneaky snapchat photos of Landon with funny filters. At one point, Trea forgot that Landon still had not been told about me, and unconsciously put his hand on my back. Landon noticed this little gesture and whispered to his mother, “I think Trea might be gay.” As they were driving home, Will, who had also not yet been told, commented to Makayla, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that your dad and Trea were a couple!”
Those clues helped me to bridge the conversation I had with Landon shortly afterward. I suspect he already suspected, and had prepared himself for the news, because he reacted with an openness and maturity that was beyond his years.
From that point on, it was easy. Not that it’s always been perfect. Like any relationship, we have our moments, and my OCD ways sometimes clash when Trea casually drops a pair of his dirty socks on the floor. But my outgoing and free-spirited other half has taught me so much about self-acceptance, acceptance of others, and embracing life to the fullest. Before he came along, my life was all about striving to hit the next goal, and the next. I was always calculating and recalculating, thinking about the future and never in the moment. He’s shown me how to take a big bite out of life.
It’s because I’ve been blessed with the right guy, and a doll of an ex, that we’ve been able to enjoy the ultimate modern family. Everyone loves Trea almost as much as I do, to the point where he sometimes knows more about what’s going on in their lives than I do. Trea and Makayla even hit the bars together, like BFFs. Trea and Terresa also chat on their own. They are similar in many ways. They are both incredibly nurturing, thinking of others before thinking about themselves, almost to a fault. Growing up, Terresa always dreamed of becoming a nurse or a caregiver like Trea. At least on some level, I can take credit for having consistent good taste!
There is nothing conventional about our life together. We all hang out at each other’s homes, we spend holidays together, and even go on annual vacations: me, Trea, Terresa and her boyfriend, the kids and their boyfriend and girlfriend. For a while I was getting worried that Terresa had decided to put herself permanently on the shelf. To help her out, I wrote her profile for all the dating apps. I even helped her pick out a guy, and sure enough, she found herself a good-looking younger man who treats her like a queen.
Of course, there were yet more steps to take before I could live my life completely out loud. Parents and extended family were next. They had to be told before they read about it in the tabloids. When Terresa told her parents, aunts, uncles, and close friends, it was as if she’d solved the puzzle for them. “Well, we still love him, but that explains a lot!” her mother exclaimed. It wasn’t because they have excellent “gaydar” so much as the fact that we were always together, even after our divorce. We never stopped loving each other, just in a different kind of way.
Next, I wrote an email to my mother, knowing she would share it with Dad and the rest of our family in South Carolina:
Mom,
I know what I’m about to tell you will be met with love. You have always loved me, no matter what. I learned unconditional love from YOU. You always showed this kind of love to me, Dad, Missy, Terresa and all the grandkids. I recall that, I’m now your age when you sent me to Seattle for 2 years on a Mormon mission. I can’t imagine doing that now with Makayla or Landon. I don’t know how you did that with such strength. You love me dearly, and I know it. Thank you for that gift.
But this may be the hardest thing I have ever had to share. It’s something I’ve wrestled with my entire life, always thinking something was wrong with me. But I have come to realize that nothing is wrong with me because God made me. He has a purpose for me. He has a plan for everyone, obviously. And, although my path is different, and not easy, I have decided to be honest.
As you might have suspected, I am gay.
The email went on for a few more paragraphs. Even though I talk for a living, this was one occasion when I didn’t trust the words to come so easily, so I was determined to write down every thought and feeling I wanted to convey to one of the most important people in my life. To my amazement, she told me she never suspected. All those childhood years of hoarding men’s underwear catalogs underneath my bed somehow escaped her attention. My anxiousness to grab the mail each month to make sure I tucked away the latest copy to avoid prying eyes or questions didn’t even raise an eyebrow. I must have been a better actor than I thought. But my big revelation was met with nothing but total acceptance. Mom, Dad, and the rest of my family told me how proud they were, and that they loved me no matter what. It was all I needed to hear.
The next step was telling the world. The love and support of Trea, Terresa, my kids, my parents, and a tight inner circle of friends gave me the strength to finally take the leap, go public, and use my outside voice. Not that my coming out was a foregone conclusion. It’s like Ellen explained when she talked about coming out on the final episode of her sitcom: “The people around you already know, so you don’t just say the words ‘I’m gay’ in a normal conversation. And once you say it in front of millions of people, that’s it. There’s no going back.” She danced around it. There were a lot of teasers. I can’t say my situation was exactly the same, because that was twenty years ago, and unlike Ellen, I wasn’t getting death threats. But it was scary enough—like facing down your first bungee jump when you’re really not sure if the cord will hold.
When I was considering how to break such news, my friend Olympian Gus Kenworthy reminded me of words that are often attributed to Dr. Seuss, which in a poignant yet whimsical way completely describe the best approach:
Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.
Luckily for me, there were enough people in my life, like Keith Urban, as well as a tight circle of gay friends—my tribe—who listened and made me feel understood. This little crew of mine created the necessary space and patiently waited in silence for me to speak my truth. Those pauses in the conversation can be an important part of the communication, which can come to an abrupt halt when someone feels the need to fill the void with a silly joke or observation. Just like a great song has a rhythm and spaces between the lyrics, so does a meaningful exchange between two people. It can be incredibly hard to say certain things, but you make it easier for the other person when you are patient and open. Silence creates an opening, a sacred zone in the middle where the two of you can meet. The people who loved me gave me that gift. They built that bridge by letting my truth come to them on my terms, and at my own pace. Now I could hear myself and others loud and clear, unmuffled by all those years of denial.
Of course, I was a hot mess in the days leading up to my decision to go public. On a work trip to New York with my producer and friend Dingo, he sat in my hotel room with me and listened as I went back and forth on the subject for hours.
“You are who you are, and you shouldn’t hide from that. Just be the best version of yourself,” he told me.
The night before I planned to leap, I was pacing the living room of our Nashville home like a maniac. Trea sat me down on our couch and said: “I am not with you for whatever you can give me, but because I love you, so you don’t need to do this for me. Just ask yourself what you want. Either way, I’ll support you.”
Hearing his words gave me the final hit of clarity I needed. I was doing this for me, so that I could live my life out and proud, but it was also for a reason bigger than myself.
“I guess if I am able to say that I am gay and country, it will help who knows how many gay kids in small towns across America.”
“Then accept that answer inside of you and be at peace with it. I’ll be right here with you, no matter what you decide. Just know you can’t un-jump. But you will fly!”
Each reaction of love spurred me on, including the acceptance of artists and friends. So many seminal moments finally gave me the courage to tell the world in a People article and in a January 2017 Instagram post:
As we start a new year, there is something I want to share with you. You see, I’m gay. This is not a choice I made, but something I’ve known about myself my whole life. Through life’s twists and turns, marriage, divorce, fatherhood, successes, failures—I’ve landed on this day, a day when I’m happier and healthier than I’ve ever been. And I’m finally comfortable enough for everyone to know this truth about me. Thanks for following me and supporting me over the years. As we continue our journey, I hope this news won’t change how you see me. I’m still the same Cody I always was. You just know a little more about me now. My hope for the future is to live the most honest, authentic, loving, and open life possible. Here’s to being happy with yourself, no matter who you are, who you love, where you come from, or what cards life has dealt you. Thanks again. With much heart, Cody
There it was: my decades-long secret released into the universe. The reactions were overwhelmingly positive. For every one thousand or so comments on social media, there may have been one sour note. The outpouring of love and support came from some places I didn’t expect. Toby Keith, someone I thought of as a good ol’ boy alpha country male, and whose potential reaction made me nervous, shared my post with this comment: I admire your courage. Carrie, of course, had this to tweet: So much love and respect for you, sweet Cody! You are one of the kindest human beings I know. I wish you nothing but happiness! Dierks Bentley honored me with these words: proud of you dude. happiness is found in the most authentic form of ourselves. carry on! Darius Rucker added: I love you man. So happy you know who you are. Proud to call you my friend. Much love!!!
A month later, in February 2017, I went to visit my father for the last time. My mother had already shared my news with him, and his reaction was nothing but love and acceptance. When I brought Trea to meet him, Dad was weak, but he sat up in his bed, cheerful as ever and excited to get to know my fella.
“You’re a part of this family now,” he told him, then gave him the biggest bear hug he could muster.
To me, he simply said: “I’m proud of you, Son.”
Today, I enjoy a relationship with my community and my industry that’s more authentic. Being able to communicate without a filter allows me to be more spontaneous and present to others. I’ve learned that going public with my inner turmoil has inspired others. One of the things that had been holding me back was my fear that this news could ruin my hard-won career in country music, but I could not have been more wrong, because our shows’ ratings have never been better.
Sharing this side of myself has deepened my connection with viewers and listeners, and they’re tuning in more than ever. I’ve heard from adults and kids all over the country who no longer feel so alone. Sharing my experiences of listening and being truly heard also lets them know they can put the truth about their authentic selves out into the world. Among the many messages I’ve received since coming out was this one from an Army soldier named Dusty:
I just wanted to say thank you. I’m thirty-one, as country as it gets and gay. Not out yet though. Anyway, I just figured I’d have to live this lie the rest of my life. Stuck somewhere between pretending to be normal and hating myself. Then I read your story of coming out later in life and I realized that maybe there is another path. Maybe I can be happy someday too.
Eric wrote:
It’s so nice to see that both country music and a gay man can coexist. You have reenergized my love for country but more importantly, you have set a great example of being happy and free in your own skin. Thanks for standing up despite standing out. As a fellow gay man and a country music fan, I owe ya one!
Jackie’s message said:
I started following you when you came out. As a lesbian, I look up to you because I know how bold a decision it is to come out, especially in your position. Thanks and welcome to the family!
Another message, from Brandon, reads:
For years I have watched you on CMT and then started following you on Instagram and have enjoyed your presence in the country music world. I just want to let you know how much your coming out influenced me and showed me that no matter what and/or where you are in life, love will win!
Again, you just never know who is listening, or how your actions will impact individuals from all walks of life. A case in point: Colton Underwood, a star of the hit reality show The Bachelor and a former NFL player. I’d met Colton in Las Vegas at the 2019 ACM Awards, and we hit it off right away. He knew me from CMT, and admittedly, I’m a fan of The Bachelor, having crushed on him while watching the latest season of the show. Later we met up, along with his then girlfriend, in Mexico for Luke Bryan’s country music festival. I had no clue he was gay.
But in April 2021, he came out to a flurry of headlines. Right before he took his leap, he called me. We talked about being at the festival in Mexico, and how he had few gay friends and felt like I was one of the only gay guys he could relate to. He told me that I helped inspire his bold decision. So much so that he wanted me to be part of the filming of those final moments before he came out, for his new series documenting his experience.
Colton flew to Nashville, along with our mutual acquaintance Gus Kenworthy. I invited Colton and Gus over to our house for dinner, and it was a night of great food and conversation, made all the better with margaritas, wine, and music from gay country singer Cody Belew. We talked about all the facets of being gay and, more specifically, what’s it’s like to come out. That was when Colton revealed that observing Trea and me in Mexico, as well as our strolls on the red carpet, looking so relaxed and happy together, enabled him to visualize that happiness for himself. What a perfect full-circle moment!
A few days later, Colton sat down for an interview with Good Morning America’s Robin Roberts. Robin seemed like the right person to do the interview with Colton. After all, Robin and I once talked being gay in the media, and she told me, “We’ve all got something we’re going through. Make your mess your message!”
For the first time, Colton spoke publicly, and his words hit me hard:
“I ran from myself for a long time. I’ve hated myself for a long time. I’m gay,” he told Robin and the world.
Most of us who are gay have felt this way for much of our lives—even running from the very word gay. Yet nowadays saying “I’m gay” has become a badge of honor and something I’m proud of.
That I can be an inspiration to someone like Colton brings me joy. It’s also thrilling and inspiring to see others walk this path. Early in 2021, Brothers Osborne lead singer T.J. Osborne made his leap. A tall drink of water with classic cowboy good looks, T.J. is built in the mold of a classic country music star. The real-life brothers duo has a string of awards for real Wolf-style rockin’ country anthems. Likely, T.J.’s coming out as gay was the last thing his fans expected. He’s been candid about his concerns over how he’ll be received in a mainstream music market that leans conservative. After all, T.J. is the first country music artist signed to a major record label at the peak of his career to make this move, and I have full admiration for the guy. I get what he must’ve been going through, but I also believe he will be embraced in ways he never imagined. If there is one thing I would tell him, it’s this:
Yes, you can be a country-music-loving, red-meat-eating, cowboy-boot-wearing, God-loving, foot-stomping gay man. There’s a lot of identity politics going on right now, and people get ruffled when you express ideas that don’t quite fit with whatever “team” you’re supposed to be on. But that’s okay. You don’t have to look and sound like everyone else. Human beings are complex creatures and I believe there’s room for all of us on this planet if only we’d take the time to listen to one another. The more expansive we allow ourselves to be, the more open we are to hearing out different or surprising points of view, the more tolerant and less polarized our world can become. And the less alone you feel. That’s why I wouldn’t un-jump, even if I could.
by Trea, Cody’s partner
I WAS SO NERVOUS THE night I met Terresa and the kids. Nervous, but excited. I had three whiskey Cokes just to calm myself down, and it must have worked because the moment we got together in person it just felt right. Terresa had written to me beforehand, welcoming me into the family, and I was deeply touched by it. One of the things she told me in her note was that “Cody will change your life and make all your dreams come true!” I loved Terresa and her big blonde hair from the moment I saw her.
Things were getting serious between me and my new man. We’d already had a romantic getaway and we were talking about me moving to Nashville, even though I’d sworn to myself I’d never move for a man. But Cody was different. Even though we were years apart in age, it was as if our paths were meant to converge. I’d already been through a lot, from my nearly fatal accident, personal losses, and a series of unhealthy relationships. I went through a period of depression, or PTSD, drinking hard and being promiscuous just to feel something. But by the time I met Cody, I was clear in my head about what I did and did not want. I’d been through hell and back and was ready for a good man to be my only one.
I found my person, someone I could be in a healthy, adult relationship with. We have more fun together sitting on the couch and watching a good movie than hanging out in a gay bar. Then again, we’re not just homebodies. By the time I came along, Cody was ready to let loose and enjoy a drink or two.
I guess you could say I was Cody’s “gay guide” in the gay world. I took him to his first gay strip club, and his jaw fell to the floor.
“It’s legal to do that?!” he asked me.
“Just relax and enjoy it,” I told him.
We saved each other. And we balance each other. When he gets wound up and starts beating up on himself, I talk him down. And when I get low, worrying or grieving over one of my elderly patients, he lifts me up. We are the yin to each other’s yang.
When Cody made that leap and came out to the world, I was so proud to walk with him on the red carpet. It was our first public appearance together after the big announcement and I felt like I was in a movie surrounded by all those beautiful people, light bulbs flashing in our faces. I held his hand and felt him tremble a little, but as we stopped at the step and repeat, posing for the press, no one said, “Oh, it’s that gay couple,” as I expected. We weren’t treated like the token gay couple. Instead, they called us by our names, Cody and Trea, just like everybody else!