Live your life.

I was at the mall yesterday and saw this bracelet, there was just one left on the rack and it caught my eye right away.

“Live Your Life…” it said, and its message whispered and shouted and sang to me until I bought the bracelet.

Live Your Life. Good advice, that. That’s what I’ve been trying to do – to live this life with as much truth, authenticity, respect and joy as humanly possible. Like all the best pieces of wisdom, the beauty of this message lies in it’s simplicity. But, sometimes the most simple things are also almost hopelessly multi-layered.

Living a life in isolation might just be easy, but what if that life is entangled with other lives? What if every choice that is made has profound effects on the hearts and minds and future of those others? What then?

This is, first and foremost, my journey. But our journeys are never just about us, every action we take has direct and indirect effects on those who share our lives. Every choice made has repercussions, and sometimes it is the hidden and unexpected depths of those repercussions that matter the most.

I sometimes wonder; what would this journey look like if I were single? If I did not have two young children? If I did not feel love for my husband in every breath I take? If I was not conscious of the weight of responsibility on my shoulders every second of the day? Would it be easier? Would it still be hard, but just for different reasons that I cannot possibly imagine right now?

I feel an immense amount of responsibility. Every choice I make on this path feels weighted - nothing is irrelevant. And yet I know now, more than ever, that sometimes I’ve just got to trust my instincts, to go with my gut. To do the one thing that feels so very wrong, and yet so very right at the same time. Because when I do that, when I trust, step into the moment and just let go – it is in those moments that I feel my spirit begin to sing.

As always, when I reach a crossroads in my life – I find myself drawn to music. The lyrics and melodies that cross my path through delicious serendipity often provide me with glimpses of sweet clarity in the midst of what sometimes feels like utter and complete confusion. The simple wisdom of the Indigo Girls song “Watershed” has provided me comfort countless times over the years, and I found myself seeking it out again over the past few weeks.

Live Your Life….

Yes. That is exactly what I am doing, the very best way I know how.

I hope it’s enough.

A few weeks ago, my friend J and I took our kids to a local LGBT Festival – kind of a mini-pride day downtown. Being kids, they managed to pick up oodles of tattoos, beads and other rainbow paraphernalia. Yes, my daughter went to school for a week covered in big ‘ole rainbow pride tattoos – there really are a million different levels of coming out!

Anyway, one of the things they picked up was a pride flag window cling-thingy. Last night we were in the girl’s room, and they girls were playing with it. I noticed hubby looking at it, and asked if he minded them having it. His reply?

“If I’m proud of you, how could I possibly mind?”

Again, impossible not to love him.

October 11th was National Coming Out Day. 

I didn’t make any huge declarations to the world this year on October 11th (intended to tell my sister, but totally chickened out), but I’ve been taking baby steps in that direction every so slowly but surely over the past few months.  I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time carefully considering my friendships and relationships, wondering who to let in, and when to do it. 

Feeling as vulnerable as I do, I feel the need to be careful right now with whom I invite to witness this first part of my journey.  At the same time, knowing this, and acknowledging this – there is a huge part of me that wants to shout it from the rooftops. 

It is HARD living this double life.  I have no idea how people do it, living in the closet for years and years – holding this all inside.   It has been less than three months for me, and I already find myself avoiding those who do not know.  At the same time, I feel myself clinging to the people that do know for dear life.  Without that inner circle walking by my side with friendship, support and love, I believe I would have lost my mind already.

It is so hard to go through life feeling as if only a small handful of people know who I really am.  I always strive to live with authenticity in all that I say and do – and for the past few months I feel anything but authentic in most situations.  The pressure of trying to be two different people is immense, and I long to integrate both parts of me publicly and be done with it.    At times, it gets so bad I feel as if I am crawling out of my own skin, and I hear the screams in my head “Just say it!  Just tell them already”. 

Somehow the reality seems a lot harder than it should – not because I am embarrassed or ashamed (on the contrary, I am proud and solid and so good with it).  Not even because I’m worried about how people will react (I have the most amazing people in my life).but because it seems so hard to find the right space in conversation to drop that particular bombshell.  Because I hate the idea of dealing with the inevitable questions.  Because I don’t relish being the topic of gossip until the next big topic of conversation comes around.

Who do I tell?  When do I tell them?  What do I say?  Do I set up purposeful meetings and explain in depth in a series of quiet conversations with the people who matter the most?  Do I find a space in the middle of playgroup chit-chat to say “Pass the peanut covered pretzels and by the way, I’m pretty sure I’m gay”?  Do I tell someone and just let the grapevine do its work?

I also worry about my husband, and want to do this in a way that is most respectful to the journey he is currently on – one he never wanted or expected to take.   I want my coming out process to honor him in the best way I possibly can.  He is a private person, and I know that knowing people are talking about him and feeling sorry for him would be very hard to take.  I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable or embarrassed around my friends – so that just adds another layer to an already complex process.

However and whenever it happens, it will happen.  This ball is rolling now, picking up momentum as it goes – and I wouldn’t want to stop it, even if I could.  I look forward to the day that everyone who matters to me knows everything – and I am able to step fully into this new person I am becoming.  Until then, I work hard to let this unfold as it should, to not hinder it, nor rush it along, and to learn what I can along the way.

I found this video by chance, on the front page of YouTube on October 11th.  I loved what she had to say, and wanted to share it here.

He’s hurting, no doubt about it.  He’s hurting worse than he has in his entire life; to the point that sometimes I know that the pain rips his breath from his body.  My journey has left him reeling, and confused and like everything he thought was true might not be after all.  Despite this, he continues to be the most amazing man I have ever met.

Yesterday I checked my email to find a message from him with the title “Strong New You”.   Here is what I found when I opened it.

“I see so much strength in this new person you are becoming. I always knew you had strength, but this is different; it’s in a different league altogether.

Whether or not you know it, there is a level of confidence coming from you like I’ve never seen before.

There is something newly amazing about you now that is hard to put into words, but there no doubt that it’s there.

Despite what the future holds for us, I am so happy that you are coming into your true self and will be a happy and complete woman.”

I have thought from time to time that this would be so much easier if he was a jerk.  If we had a bad relationship, if he’d just act like a total dickhead every now and then.  But the fact is that he’s not.  He’s a good, good man – so good that I’ve always questioned whether or not I truly deserve him.     To know that I am the source of the pain he is in is so difficult to bear; my guilt is bottomless and deep.  And despite it all, despite of the damage I’ve done, regardless of how much he hurts because of me – he is still the kind of man who would take the time to write that email.

It is impossible not to love him.

Today I happened across the story of Sean William Kennedy, a 20 year old gay man who was killed in a brutal hate crime last spring. I’ve read far too many of these stories before. I’ve always reacted strongly; with sadness, confusion and anger that such hatred exists in this world. I’ve reacted strongly, and then gone about my day in the way that we are all able to do after reading of tragedy – with the blissful notion that it will never touch us.

This time it was different.

This time I had not even gotten through the first paragraph when my body began to shake, and tears came to my eyes. I felt dizzy, and like I was going to be sick. I couldn’t breathe for a moment, couldn’t see straight. It was a reaction so visceral and intense and for a few moments it overtook my whole body and mind. I was not prepared for it. I still don’t feel like I have fully recovered.

I was sad and confused and angry just like I have been before – but this time I also felt something that went far beyond those emotions. Today, as I read the story of how a young man was killed because of his sexual orientation, I felt solidarity and I also felt something akin to fear.

Why is it different this time? It is different because now these stories are not just about human rights and equality and right vs. wrong. Now they have become personal.

A few weeks ago, in the bathroom of a random bar, a stranger asked me the question, "Are you straight?’. I started to answer, and I don’t even know what I had been about to say, but I paused for a second, looked into her eyes and said quietly and firmly, "No, no I’m not".

And in that one seemingly insignificant moment I forever changed how I identify myself to the world.

I’m not straight. I’m not now, I probably never really was, and I never will be again.

I have lived almost 32 years as a mainstream white, middle-class heterosexual woman. I have lived the last eight years as a mainstream white, middle-class, heterosexual, married woman, and the last six years as a mainstream white, middle-class, heterosexual, married mother. I’ve been a good girl, played by all the rules, the very picture of cultural conformity. I have never been a part of any minority or marginalized community, and I have enjoyed all the privilege and comfort that comes with fitting so neatly into the cultural norm.

As I move more and more into a place of honesty within myself and in the life I live, all that is about to change. The last three months have altered so much of what (I thought) I knew to be true about myself and shaken all my assumptions to the core. I cannot go back now, only forward.

In this new space that I find myself, the tragedy of Sean Kennedy’s death hits me on so many different levels. As I sit here writing this blog post, I suddenly realize that at some point I will be the target of prejudice and hatred. Perhaps - if I’m lucky - not directly, but certainly indirectly. Maybe it won’t happen to me personally, but certainly it will happen to someone I know and care about. I might be blessed and never have anyone say anything to my face, I might not lose any friends, and I might not alienate my beloved family.

But I will know - because I cannot avoid this knowledge - that there are people who will hate me simply because I am being true to myself. People who will stare, and whisper and turn me into a thing of curiosity if they get a chance. People who will work hard to exclude me, to limit me, to marginalize me; politically and socially and personally. People whose bigotry and ignorance are so strong that they are sometimes moved to commit unspeakable acts of cruelty and violence. People who cannot see through their own bias to catch a glimpse of the humanity that connects us all.

There are people all around me who already hate me (they just don’t know yet that it’s me that they hate) simply because I no longer align myself with the prevailing cultural notion of exclusive heterosexuality. Doesn’t matter that I don’t exactly know how I do define myself – all it matters is that I’m no longer a part of that club. Although there are no outward signs of this inward transformation - I am already ‘other’. I feel this in a profound way.

If I continue this journey of truth (and really, there is no choice but to continue) there is almost a guarantee that this will become a part of my experience. It might be up close and personal, or it might be at a distance, but it will be.

I live, for the most part, in this liberal utopia – where it is easy for me to forget that much of the world is filled with intolerance and narrow-mindedness. I have chosen to surround myself with people who understand that true equality can know no exception, and who believe, as Ghandi said, that "we must become the change we want to see in the world". I have, over time, distanced myself from individuals who have rationalized their prejudice with convoluted "truths" taught to them through their religion and education and upbringing.

My little corner of the world is my safe haven. And that’s all well and good as long as I stay in this corner. It’s also nice and easy when I’m not doing a damn thing to rock the boat. But now I’m ready to break free, to own myself, and my truth. As I prepare to step out of my little corner I ask myself, what now?

I guess on some levels my path might be easier because of my physical appearance. Physically speaking, gender conformity plays a big role in the label we assign someone based on first impressions. No matter how I define myself sexually, I can still ‘pass’ - my appearance does not automatically brand me with a big ole’ scarlet "Q" for queer. But what of the friendships I make within this community? What of the women I am attracted to and want to be with? I can already tell that most of those women fall somewhere outside of traditionally assigned cultural notions of femininity. And by being with them, by embracing them and loving them for who they are - I will be outing myself to the world.

I already know I’m ready for that. I want to own this, publicly. I need to do that, first and foremost, for myself. I am not willing to hide, or cower, or cover up who I am. I’m not afraid of encountering prejudice and hatred. I think a part of me almost welcomes the opportunity to counter that hatred with my own self-acceptance. I want to stand and say for the first time in my life, without hint of apology or shame;

"This is who I am – take it or leave it."