I came out in my thirties -- a fierce act of courage to live my life in truth. I had been in a decent marriage of many years and had two grade school-aged kids. For some time I couldn't imagine disrupting their lives and causing them hurt for the sake of my happiness. Then, at some point, I couldn't NOT let my messy life tumble out into the full light of day. My prayer and hope then was that the example I gave of insisting on being true to yourself would outweigh the hurt for my kids (and their dad) of their family being torn in two.
Today we are not torn, we are all still a family, rearranged but together nonetheless. My ex-husband and I are both remarried to great spouses in better, happier marriages, and my kids are now young adult parents making their way with the support of more people, not less, who love them and claim them as family.
Below are excerpts from a longer piece that is my coming out story -- from the time just before and just after I made that big leap.
From "Filling with Joy," 1993
1991
We call it the best and the worst. It is our family's favorite dinner-time ritual. We begin by deciding who goes first, second, third and last. Usually its a free-for all. "I go first!" says Miles, who is eight. "Me second!" says Alyssa, who's five. Robert and I take the remaining spots. Once the order is decided, each of us tells what was the best thing and the worst thing about our day.
My best is this nice dinner we're having.
My worst is that Alyssa is making too much noise.
My best is that when we were on the bus, well Izzy was sitting next to me and these two boys tried to take her hat, so we told the bus driver and they had to sit in the front of the bus and the driver wrote them up and me and Izzy got to eat candy all the way to school.
My worst is that in school Ben kept disturbing the whole class and being really bad and the teacher had to send him to the principal and call his mom. He really annoys me.
My best is sitting here with my family.
My worst is that I have a lot of laundry to fold tonight.
My best was snuggling with Alyssa this morning. My other best was playing Monopoly Junior with Miles after school.
My worst is that I had too much to do at work today.
When we do this telling of the best and worst, over spaghetti and apple juice or pork chops and mashed potatoes, at a kitchen table sticky with breakfast leftovers, we are circling in, circling around each other, belonging to each other, kissing ourselves with our stories, except for this:
My secret worst — My life feels like a lie.
1992
We have a tradition of story telling among our friends. We get together once a month at each other's homes. We patiently smile as the little kids read their boring, beginning books out loud. The adults tell stories, share their writing, or read passages from favorite books. Lately, a few of the pre-adolescent girls have been reading stories about struggling with loneliness, feeling different and out of step. The stories make me cry.
Tonight, one family is telling of how they came out to their new community, a small, liberal, college town about an hour from the city. The two moms laugh easily, happily volleying the details of the story back and forth. Their kids, aged three and four, are each snuggled up on a lap. One of the moms was asked to share her recipe for chicken and pesto sauce in the community newspaper. They decided to have the photographer take a family photo for the story. So there they are, lesbian and interracial, in the "favorite recipes" corner of the paper, an all-American family. They are smiling broadly to the world.
I walk to the edge of the chasm of my split life. I brace myself for change.
1993
I can't believe I'm here. I'm thirty-seven years old, in the middle of the dance floor at this bar, surrounded by lesbians and am completely happy. I'm dancing exactly on beat, something I thought I was incapable of doing. Not only am I dancing on beat, I'm looking hot —I'm too sexy for myself / I'm too sexy for my shirt/out on the catwalk — the music throbs and I cannot get enough. In the bathroom I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and cannot believe how great I look — I 'm not used to perceiving myself as good looking. I'm attracted to at least half of the women packing the bar. I remember how much I love making out. I start wearing make-up again, and tank tops, to show off my muscled arms. I do flips off the diving board with my kids at the pool. I prepare to leave my marriage. I recover my sense of humor. I buy some silky lacy underwear, new boots and tight jeans to celebrate. I practice saying dyke. I practice saying I am a dyke. I practice saying I am a thirty-seven year old baby dyke and blush routinely. I fill with joy.
~~~
Update: OK, I didn't know what "Blogging for LGBT Families Day 2009" was. I just saw it on a post at Up Popped A Fox's blog (well, first Facebook) and thought, "Cool! I want to do that!" So now I have realized it is a whole big deal and there is a huge list of blogs you can peruse at Mombian: Susatance for Lesbian Moms. Check it out!
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