In all my musing on being a happy independent person, “an adult” I made a major oversight. Like most little girls I wore frilly dresses that I loved to twirl in, I played with dolls I stayed up late at sleepovers and played truth or day.I always felt out of place. A little different I just never quite fit. Don’t get me wrong I did a decent job. I always had friends, boyfriends when I got older but it required a lot of effort. I was always nervous…extraordinarily sensitive to how others around me reacted to what I said or did. I censored. I fit in.
When you talk to most gay people they say they have always known. Some tell me how they tried to cover it up by subscribing to gender roles and how they became free to be who they are when they came out. They say it’s not a choice.
When they step out of their closet for better or worse a weight was lifted. The sky’s part and rainbows cascade down around them. Somewhere a men’s chorus appears to provide the perfect soundtrack for the walk to the nearest gay bar for long islands.
I guess I’m a typical gay person. I didn’t always know. In fact I’m not 100% sure I know now. There have been women I have loved. There have been men I have loved. I rather wear a dress than pants any day of the week and I have a serious aversion to softball. I guess my girl-girlness somehow made me not a lesbian in my own eyes. My lifelong pursuit of blending in couldn’t even be achieved within the LGBT community. But does it matter?
I suppose what I’ve learned is being a lesbian has nothing to do with my haircut or even who I have sex with. It’s about love. It’s about the connection between two people a hand made to fit with yours.
And fitting in has nothing to do with having everyone liking you. I do fit in. I fit in with my close group of friends that I know I can call at 2am on a weeknight. I have people who know me and love me. They love me when I make mistakes, when I’m confused, when I’m scared, when I’m happy. I came out to my friends in college and even during heterosexual relationships my non-straight (ahem wishy-washy) status was common knowledge.
One step I neglected in my previous declarations was mentioning it to my family. Coming out to my parents ranked on my to do list somewhere between growing a mullet and collecting sperm from farm animals. They are catholic…they are republicans. I have panic attacks over disappointing them.
There is never a good time for this conversation, a right place or a right way to do it. The secrecy wore on me. Free time was spent imaging worst case scenarios where after hearing the news in a fit of rage my father runs to the lawyers office to write me out of the will, leaving my mother weeping in corner while mumbling…”What did we do wrong? Dear God, why us…why our family?”
When my girlfriend dropped me off this afternoon and I started to tear up in the elevator I knew today had to be the day. I just couldn’t lie anymore and still keep any shred of my sanity in tact.
When I got home the freak out really began. I sat alone in on the couch in my quiet house a box of tissues settled on my lap. I was shaking. I closed my eyes and I prayed.
I’m not a particularly religious person and I certainly wouldn’t say praying is a regular habit of mine but I guess I didn’t know what else to do. And amidst my tears, my fear and all the questions and horrible scenarios running though my head I felt peace. I felt safe, protected.
No matter what happened I was going to be ok. I had to tell them. I had to give them the opportunity to know me, to accept me, to love me. Because where I stood now every gesture of love made me hurt with the fear that it wouldn’t be given to me “if they knew.”
I went into my room and closed the door. In a last second of cheesy symbolism I opened both of my closets, sat on my bed with my tissues, pulled myself together and made the call.
My father answered the phone chipper as ever and asked how I was…
Me: Ummmm….I’m ok. Will you put mom on the phone too I want to talk to you guys about something.
My mom says hi and I drop the bomb…
“So…I’m gay. How’s that going to work out for you guys?”
Silence.
They actually did okay though. They didn’t seem to appreciate the news via phone call. They wanted to know why I was telling them now (My ultra smooth answer was I don’t know). My dad said it would take time to get used to it. My mom didn’t say much of anything. They told me they loved me and basically it is what it is. The conversation switched gears and we then went on to talking about Belmont’s sensitive subject and visits with family friends.
The whole thing actually went better than my best-case scenario. Despite their forced coolness on the matter I’m sure it was a blow. I’m sure they aren’t thrilled with the situation but the fact of the matter is they still love me. They will get used to it. There are sure to be questions in the future, confusion and maybe a little less acceptance once the shock wears off. But I guess I think it’s going to be ok.
It wasn’t some earth shattering life-changing experience. No preverbal weight was lifted, I didn’t feel any more free, or happy, or changed. I’m still nervous about what will happen with my family in the future but I did get hope from the whole experience. Hope that this isn’t the end of the world.
Recently over dinner with Cobie I said, “So I’m a lesbian now.”
Cobie: You’ve always been a lesbian.
Me: Yeah well I’m sticking to it this time.
Cobie: Okay well dues are in September and we have a parade in June welcome to the club.
It’s just another day, a day where I am the same person who I was yesterday. A day where I wake up and struggle to be myself and not be bothered when someone isn’t willing to do backflips over the obviously super-awesome person I am. A day where I have some faith that just maybe my little world isn’t that big of a fucking deal after all.
I will see you at the parade in June. I’ll be the person wearing rainbows.
