First, match the energy they brought to telling you

People do not all come out the same way. One person sits you down, has rehearsed it in the car, and cries before the second sentence. Another drops it into a conversation about a landlord, between the rent and the bins, because for them the telling is not the event. The card has to match the version you were given. A huge, tearful declaration sent to someone who mentioned it in passing will embarrass them. A breezy two lines sent to someone who shook while they told you will read as a shrug.

Three rules settle most of the hard cases. Use their words, not your translation of them. If they said gay, write gay. If they gave you a name and pronouns, those go in the card, spelled the way they spell them, and the old name goes nowhere near it. Keep the card private. A card is read by one person, in their own kitchen, at a moment they choose, which is exactly why it works where a public post or a family group chat does not. And never pass the news on inside the card's wider circle. Who else knows is their decision, made person by person, and a card that assumes your sister already knows can do damage a kind sentence cannot undo.

Coming out is not finished on the day they tell you. Hallmark's writers make the point plainly in their LGBTQ guide: people come out again at every new job, with every new set of friends, in every new room. The useful thing a card can do is give them one version of the conversation that went well, in writing, to carry into the harder ones.

If you froze, or said a clumsy thing first, write sooner rather than later. Two clauses about your own first reaction, then the thing you meant. A late, clear card beats a prompt, vague one, the same way a belated birthday card still lands when it finally says something real.

The first card, in the first week or so

Speed matters less than steadiness. A card that arrives within the week tells them the news has been sitting well with you, not festering. Keep it short enough to read twice in one sitting, and name the room if you can. It proves you remember the telling as an event, not as a rumour you picked up.

  • Thank you for telling me. I have thought about that evening a lot, mostly about how glad I am that you decided I was a person you could tell.
  • You told me while we were stacking chairs, like it was ordinary news. I want it to be ordinary in this house. It is. Nothing at this table changes except that I know more of you.
  • I believe you, I am glad you told me, and I do not need you to explain any of it again for my benefit. Ask me for a lift, a loan of the ladder, a hand with the garden. The usual things. Plus this.
  • Proud is the wrong word for something that is simply you, so I will say this instead. I am proud of the telling. I know what that cost, even done as calmly as you did it.
  • You do not have to manage my feelings about this, today or later. If I have questions I will do my own reading first. Your job in this friendship is unchanged, and it was never educator.
  • Whatever you need this to be next, a big conversation or no conversation at all for a while, I can do either. The offer does not expire when the news gets older.
  • I keep coming back to one thing. You trusted me with something you had kept to yourself for a long time, and trust like that is not handed out carelessly. I will look after it.
  • Nothing you told me needs fixing, softening or translating for anyone else in this family. If a version of it gets told at Christmas, it will be yours, in your words, or it will not get told.

From a parent, when your child has told you

PFLAG, the organisation built by parents who have sat where you are sitting, gives one instruction before all the others: lead with love. Not love with a clause attached. Parents reach for 'I love you anyway' and undo the sentence as they say it, because 'anyway' tells the child their news was an obstacle the love had to clear. Write the love plain, then the trust, then what stays the same in the house, and leave your own processing for another audience.

  • I love you. That sentence had no conditions on it before you told me and it has none now. You are my child, whole, and I am not interested in a edited version of you.
  • Thank you for trusting me with this. I know parents are not always the easy telling, and I would rather have the true version of your life, told late, than a tidier version told to keep me comfortable.
  • I am sorry for the years you carried this on your own, including the years in this house. You should not have had to work out alone which of us was safe to tell.
  • You asked me once, aged about nine, whether you could tell me anything. I said yes and meant it loosely. I mean it properly now. Anything. This included.
  • I do not understand everything yet, and I will not pretend otherwise in a card. What I understand completely is that you are mine, you are well, and you are happier telling the truth. The rest I will learn.
  • Your room is your room, your place at the table is your place, and the person you love will be fed at this table when you are ready to bring them. Not tolerated. Fed, asked questions, given the good chair.
  • If I get a word wrong in the next while, correct me and I will use the right one. Getting it wrong by accident is my problem to fix. It is not evidence about how I feel, and I will not make you reassure me about it.

One of those lines is the one I have actually sent, in a different family with the names changed, after a first attempt that began with three sentences about my own surprise. I cut all three before sealing the envelope. The surprise was real. It was also mine to carry.

From a sibling, a grandparent, the wider family

Family cards carry a risk the friend card does not. Families repeat things. A line written warmly by a grandmother can be quoted at a christening by somebody else, in front of people who have not been told. So write as if the card might be read aloud once, by the wrong person. What family cards do better than any other is continuity. Name the ordinary machinery that has not moved: the seat, the barbecue, the lifts, the envelope at birthdays.

  • From your big sister: you told me third, apparently, which I am choosing to take as a compliment about my discretion and not a ranking. I love you. Tell me who else knows before Sunday lunch so I do not put my foot in it.
  • Nan writes this slowly because Nan writes everything slowly. You are my grandchild and you are a good person, and if anyone at the club has an opinion they can keep it for their own grandchildren.
  • You are the same uncle who fixed my bike chain with a teaspoon and taught me to reverse into a space. None of that has been revised. Bring your partner to the barbecue in August. He can have the chair that wobbles, like everyone else I like.
  • As your aunt, my official duties were lifts, birthday money in an envelope, and not repeating things to your mother. All three continue. The list of things I do not repeat has got longer, that is all.
  • Brother. You took four years to tell me something I would have driven across the country to hear in an afternoon. No grudge. Well, a small one, about the four years, and it will be settled in cake.
  • Cousin to cousin, the family tree has survived considerably worse news than this, including two divorces and the extension. You are loved, you are expected at Christmas, and your seat has not moved.
  • To my godson, who rang from a service station on the way home because he could not face doing it at the kitchen table: heard, loved, and no points deducted for the venue. Next time, ring from the sofa.

From a friend who has known them a long time

A friend's card can say the thing family cards cannot, which is that you have watched this person edit themselves for years and you noticed. Do not claim you always knew. Even when it is true, it steals the telling and turns their news into your intuition. Say what you saw instead: the checking of a room before a laugh, the pronoun quietly swapped in a story, the partner described for a decade as a friend. Seeing it, written down kindly, tells them the edited years were not invisible.

  • Ten years of friendship and you still managed to surprise me, which I did not think was available at our age. Thank you for telling me yourself. Dinner is on me, and you can pick the place with the good chips.
  • You told me in a text at 11pm and I replied like a solicitor, because I was half asleep and terrified of saying a wrong thing. This card is the reply you should have got. I am glad, I am in, and I am sorry about the punctuation.
  • Nothing about the plan changes. You are still the person I ring when the car makes the noise, still godfather material, still banned from choosing the music on long drives. One new fact, zero revisions.
  • I have known since we were fourteen that you were braver than me about most things. Add this to the list. When you are ready to tell the others from school, I will be the one standing next to you holding both coats.
  • Bring him. That is the whole card, nearly. Bring him to the pub quiz, to my birthday, to the house. I will learn what he drinks and I will not perform being fine about it. I just will be.
  • You do not owe me the story of how you worked it out, the long version or the short one. If you want to tell it one night I will listen properly. If you never do, we have plenty of other material, including the ferry incident.
  • For what it is worth, you seem lighter. I noticed it before I knew why, in March, when you laughed at something in the kitchen and did not check the room first. Stay lighter. I will help where helping is wanted.
  • Emrys, the chairs are stacked, the table is in the cupboard, and I am still here on the other side of both. Some friendships get a before and an after. Ours just got a during that I like better.

When they have told you a new name or pronouns

The card itself does half the work here, because a card is addressed. Write the name they gave you on the envelope, in full, and do not put the old name anywhere in the building, not in brackets, not as a joke about the post, not crossed out. Then use the name again inside, early, the way you would use anyone's name in a birthday card. Two natural uses beat six careful ones. Six reads as a demonstration.

  • Happy birthday, Emrys. First card with the right name on the envelope, and it felt good to write. Many happy returns, and I have updated the calendar, the phone, and the list on the fridge.
  • Your new name suits you in a way I did not expect to be able to say so soon. It sounds like you on the phone. Practice helped. I said it to the dog for a week, then to you, and only one of us got it right every time.
  • Thank you for telling me your name and your pronouns together, and for not minding the one question I did ask, which was how to spell it. Both are in my phone now, at the top, where they belong.
  • I have thrown away the old address book page rather than crossing anything out. A crossed-out name looked like a correction. Yours is not a correction. It is the name.
  • If I slip, and I might once, I will fix it in the same sentence and move on without a ceremony about it. You should not have to comfort me for getting your own name wrong.
  • To the man I have known by two names and liked under both: the friendship transferred in full, no forms, no waiting period. The jokes transferred too, unfortunately for you. So did the quiz rematch you owe me.
  • This card is addressed to you, in your name, because a card is one of the few places a name gets written by hand, slowly, by somebody who means it. Keep it as long as you like. There will be more with the same name on.

Light lines, only where they started it

Humour is allowed in this card, with one condition that is not negotiable. They joke first. Some people come out with a speech they wrote themselves and a punchline in the second paragraph, and for them a straight, solemn card would miss the person entirely. Others are shaking. Read the telling you actually got, and if there was no joke in it, there is no joke in your card either. When in doubt, aim the joke at yourself, at the family, or at the years of terrible guesswork, never at who they are.

  • Congratulations on the worst kept secret in our family, a title previously held by the surprise party of 2019, which you also knew about. I love you. The cake, at least, can still be a surprise.
  • You came out and the dog did not look up. I am taking the dog's position as the official family response. The rest of us will catch up to her standard of unbothered by Christmas.
  • Delighted, obviously, and also claiming full credit for my playlist at your sixteenth birthday party, which in hindsight was doing a lot of quiet work. You are welcome.
  • One practical change only. I am retiring the question I have asked at every family wedding since 2016, and I apologise for every previous outing of it. You may now ask it of me, once, with feeling.
  • Welcome out. Membership benefits include my spare key, my Netflix password which you already had, and an end to me setting you up with colleagues based on information that was, it turns out, incomplete.

Short lines, for a text tonight

Sometimes the card comes later and the text has to go tonight, because silence between the telling and the morning is the loudest thing in the whole exchange. A text in this situation is not a lesser response. It is a holding reply that buys the card time to be good. Keep it under two sentences, use their name if they gave you one, and do not end it with a question they have to answer before they can sleep.

  • Thank you for telling me. I love you, and nothing has moved.
  • Your name, your life, my friend. Same as it ever was, only truer.
  • Told, heard, kept safe. I am here for the next part too.
  • Proud of you for telling me. Prouder still that you picked me to tell.
  • On 11 October, or any other day of the year, I am in your corner.

National Coming Out Day falls on 11 October each year, first held in 1988 on the anniversary of the 1987 march on Washington. If your person marks it, a short line that day is a good annual habit. If they do not mark it, do not mark it at them. Plenty of people live the date as an ordinary Tuesday.

Lines to leave out, however warmly they are meant

Every one of these has been said by somebody who loved the person in front of them. That is the problem. They are warm in the mouth and cold on the page, where the reader gets them alone, at midnight, with nobody to ask what you meant.

I love you anyway, and nothing will ever change that.

I always knew, we have just been waiting for you to catch up.

Are you completely sure? It might be worth waiting a bit before you tell people.

I had been hoping for grandchildren, but I am sure we will get used to it.

Just do not expect me to lie to your grandmother about it.

Who else have you told, and what did your father say?

Look at the shapes. 'Anyway' files the news under difficulties overcome. 'I always knew' takes the telling away from the teller. 'Are you sure' asks them to re-prove a thing they may have spent years proving to themselves. And any line that hands them a second job, managing a grandmother or a congregation, turns your card into a task list. If a sentence needs the word 'anyway' to survive, cut it and write the kind half alone.

Turn it into a group card, carefully

Most cards in this genre end by suggesting a group card, and this one comes with a condition the others do not need. A group card is only right when every person signing it has already been told, by them, and they want a chorus rather than a conversation. Ask first, in plain words, and accept a no without negotiating it down to a smaller group.

When the answer is yes, a group ecard with multiple signers does the gathering without a paper card travelling through hands it should not travel through. One link, sent only to the people named, and each person writes their own line rather than signing under somebody else's. You can create a card online in a few minutes, and you can close it, which matters here, so the list of signers stays the list you agreed.

Ordinary cards keep arriving after this one, and they matter more than people expect. The first birthday card after a coming out, addressed right and joking normally, does quiet work no single big card can do. The shipped bank of birthday wishes for a friend has the right register for it: a friend treated as a whole person with a history, not as a category.

The raffle ticket from the quiz night in Narberth is still in the left pocket of my winter coat, purple, number 47, the ink mostly worn off the stub. Every October I find it again when the coat comes down off the hook. I have never asked Emrys whether it won anything. The prize list stayed pinned to the hall noticeboard for a month and I walked past it twice a week on the way to badminton, so it is not that I lacked the chance. By now the not knowing has become part of the ticket, and the coat needs a new zip, which I also have not done.