Me Day

I’ve declared Mondays a celebratory day. “Me Day”.

I usually have some work that needs to be done – but other than that…

I sleep til whenever the F I want. I find some alone time. Today I went and bought myself notebooks and stickers. I sat in the park.

I do my best to just do whatever I feel like for at least the first 3 hours of the day. If I get caught up in work or other unwanted stuff part way in, I try to reset afterwards.

It’s making Mondays something to look forward to. It’s really just a mindset – and it kind of works.

I recommend it.

Covid times. Trying to embrace the silver linings.

Late Lesbian Loser Moments

(An excerpt of a previous draft of “No Gold Star” – my one person play… part of this still made the cut.)

I feel like the 16 year old who still has’t got her period. Or the only virgin in the room. The other lesbians talk about the days of the L word, and how they saw the actors from the show when they were in the lesbian club that no longer exists. They mention their ex girlfriends in funny or interesting anecdotes and everyone nods in knowing agreement or appreciation. They share photos of themselves going to that lesbian concert wearing their out-of-date lesbian fashion. And they all laugh. They joke about the time they hooked up with their friend, reminiscing and giving critiques of how the other was in bed.

So what do I say?

Nothing. I don’t want to turn it into a therapy session, nor do I feel like joking about the time I hooked up with the guy in Mexico and afterwards he crossed himself…. Because I’m amazing… That story is hilarious for a straight woman audience, but it will taint my validity in this group. It’s hard to equate a lesbian as being good in bed with men. Hey, I had standards for myself – sex was much about ego for me – Also, I was making the best of what I had – before I was with women. But that’s not really a light conversation when you are just meeting people, when you are expected to blend. In fact, that story doesn’t really resonate for the straight posse either – it just furthers their belief that you aren’t actually gay – you’re just trying it on for size. And it would convince the bisexuals that you’re on their team… which isn’t the worst thing – but it’s not the truth. You’re just a specific kind of gay. So instead of getting into a whole speech about how you are a special kind of snowflake, you just nod, and laugh, and hope that the conversation shifts back to what everyone was up to last weekend.

Or you can tell your truth. You can find yourself in a new closet if you aren’t careful.

Unravelling the Gay

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Each time I have an “aha’ moment about my past. A clue that I “should have known” earlier; like choosing to play the trombone in grade 7 band, or only playing ‘doctor’ with girls, or feeling completely repulsed the first time a guy I had a crush on was about to make a move… why didn’t I want this? This is what I wanted, right? A boyfriend?…

These memories can both make me laugh at the truth of who I was/am, and at the same time can make me so so so angry that I didn’t know. Because how could I know? I didn’t have a chance of knowing. Lesbians didn’t exist in the real world. They were an insult or a warning. They weren’t living breathing people just like me. They were definitely not me. Me – a well brought up girl from a neighbourhood that didn’t house divorcees let alone Lesbians. A highland dancer and a ballerina. A recipient of a government scholarship for achieving high grades. No, if lesbians did in fact exist, they were about as far away from me as a super hero or a fairy princess, without the positive reviews.

So how to I rectify all that time lost? All those years making due with a false sexuality? All those passed opportunities – when I knew, I could feel that I was different – but being gay was not even an option. It wasn’t even a question I could sincerely ask myself.

I could have dated that girl in my improv class. I could have stayed best friends with that boyfriend from years ago, instead of dating him and then breaking his heart. I could have bypassed all or most of those awkward and unsatisfying hookups and crushes and relationships with the wrong gender. Could have avoided stretching my wavering sexual fluidity as far as it could reach in the direction of ‘straight’. I could have understood that my love for my male friends was just that – love for a friend. I could have kissed that girl and that girl and that girl and let myself love it – not had to pretend it was just for show. I could have made room for desire.

But now, I’m all the way over here. 37, not that old, but not that young either. I have a wonderful partner – one that I love, one I would be stupid to let go of. I went from married to a man, to realizing I was gay, to almost immediately falling in love and settling in with an amazing woman. The lesbian dream right? Well, the last bit. I remember watching the Tig documentary on Netflix and crying because I wanted what she and her partner had. It is the dream. I just can’t seem to let go of the grief from all the time and opportunities lost, passed over. The privilege of being able to explore and express my true sexuality from the time it started to bloom. The ability to learn and make mistakes and collect stories that I could actually own – rather than ones I borrowed or mimicked from the wrong examples shown to me. To have exes I can actually refer to when having normal conversations with my peers.

I funneled my anger and resentment toward the male – female relationship by trying to turn the tables and make men objects. I practiced then perfected it – taking mental notes from Sex and the City, which I worshiped. I twisted my own sexuality so far around in my head to justify the very blatant ways I did not fit in. The thoughts that shamed me the most I either ignored, denied or fetishized.

I’m still unraveling it. Still making sense of it. I have a late-blooming friend who once said to me “It took me two years to unravel all the lies I told myself.” She came out in her late twenties. I would expect it might take me a little bit longer. I meditate. I work on living in the moment. I try not to dwell. I count my blessings – I have so many. And I write, I share my story – hoping it might help someone else heal, or avoid the injury in the first place.

Coming Out. Again and again and again and….

It has been almost exactly two years since I told my now ex-husband that I “think I might be gay”. Not really that long when you think about it. I live in a new world now wearing a new pair of (comfortable) shoes. There is still the occasional stone that gets stuck in there which varies from being slightly annoying to extremely painful. I wrote about waves of grief. It seems that they go away, but really they just slow down… spread out… and when they hit they can knock me down or just lap at my feet. (I’m just full ofmetaphors today – it must be the rain.)

I have been home for just over a week after sharing my one-person show No Gold Star at the Halifax Fringe Festival. It was part of a double bill with my friends who showed their play Unexpectedly Trans and we named the performance “Out Late”. Doing this show is a wonderful challenge – a personal, emotional challenge. Coming out on stage to a new group of strangers every evening. Not knowing if I am in a supportive space or not on any given show. Not knowing how I will be judged or accepted for each concept and idea that comes out of my mouth. Being out there all vulnerable, especially the first performance, hit me hard like I was starting coming out all over again. Luckily I have an amazing support system that kept me going after night one.

To be completely honest – it’s not the most fun I’ve had performing. It is fun at parts but it is also scary. But it feels important, it feels purposeful. The amount of people who have said “Thank you for telling this story”. So onward I go. Grateful that I have this story-telling thing that I do, and hoping that it can reach as many people who need to hear it as possible.

OUTLate Cover

Women First on Valentine’s Day

I’ve had the privilege to spend my Valentine’s Day helping women in a way I know how. I am a pilates instructor. Much of the work I do is therapeutic. In the past year I have become frustrated with the feeling that I teach more hours than I have the energy or enthusiasm for, my “day job” has overridden my artistic career, and I don’t make an income reflective of my skill level, experience and education. “Boo hoo” right? … but from a different perspective, I feel these are legitimate things that every woman should have the right to think, feel, and do something about. After spending months knowing that this is how I felt, and not really knowing how or feeling ready to push and make a change, I finally was hit with a different approach. Instead of only figuring out how I can work less and get paid more, I thought – why not also do work for free, and enjoy it more. Give it away, so to speak. Obviously I can’t afford to do that 100%, but I realized that I was willing and able to give away my skills, experience and education one time a week to people who need it and cannot afford it.

This was my second week volunteering. I teach a “well back” class at one centre, and this week I also lead a workshop at a training centre for women who want to get into trades. The money that I did not make during these sessions was not missed. The energy and independence I have already gotten back from ‘giving it away’ has been more than worth it. And this week, as it so happened, was the day of the Women’s Memorial March in the downtown east side. I got to spend two and a half hours helping women take care of themselves, and literally walk with the women’s march on the way from one appointment to the other. It was a humbling experience, and I took it as a significant sign that I was in the right place at the right time, doing the right thing.

I want opportunities for growth and change in my life and in my career. I also want women in general to have more opportunities in their lives, and especially women with less privilege than me. I am lucky to be able to afford to volunteer, and I can see that there is a need for it. It is a small shift, but one that has already brought meaning and joy back into my “day job”. Interestingly enough, as I sought out these volunteer opportunities, I also found the motivation to make a couple small but significant steps toward my personal career goals. As someone recently said to me – and I am paraphrasing – “Your happiness or having more doesn’t take away from someone else’s, in fact, it could provide you with more to give.”

But enough about me…

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I want to look outward

Yes, I know – the entire universe is inside of me

But it gets lonely in here

and crazy

and suffocating.

What about you?

What kind of universe is inside of you?

I have trekked around in my own mind for so long

circling and digging and questioning and studying

I am almost lost inside of these habits.

Contentment and self love were the goals

but now I am wondering

What kind of planet do you live on?

What are the trees like there? Do they burn red

when the seasons are changing?

When it rains – if it rains – does the damp sink in so deep

that you forget what the sun feels like?

Is there warmth? Does your sun shine bright for you?

And does God exist? Or have you figured that out yet…

Is there anything missing, or are you full up…

These are the things I would like to know.

Maybe I could visit your planet, your universe for a while.

Mine has become both crowded and empty.

I can’t quite explain it. But I’d rather not dig any further

today.

Change and staying the same

Maybe once I am done examining myself, I can move on to something more productive. I would like to say I have high hopes for 2017. I would like to say I will get it all back on track. All the creative progress, the career progress I made will pick up where I left off… But I have a suspicion that it might not be so simple. It is possible that I am changed in such a way that I will have to find a new approach to everything. I am not sure – but it feels weird to me to have one part of my life change in such a major way and then have everything else remain the same. Shouldn’t it all start to peel away – all the pieces?

I find myself hesitating – afraid to make choices, worried that I will end up so far down the wrong path that righting my wrong will involve completely uprooting my life. Again.

I am working on a different mindset. A different thought pattern. Less defeatist. Perhaps these lives are just layers, chapters. Some chapters sail smoothly from one to the next while others turn everything upside down. It’s all still the story though. Necessary growth, growth spurts… plateaus… Clearly I don’t have this positive outlook worked out just yet.

I used to have something going on… Don’t dwell on the past.

What if nothing comes of any of it… Don’t stress about the future.

But if I only live in the present, how do I have purpose?

Working on the balance of it.

I Care What People Think

One unhappy revelation that has come out of my coming out (ha) is the gross truth that I actually care what people think of me. It’s human, don’t beat yourself up about it – that’s what my therapist says – We all care. But I don’t want to!! All my life I’ve prided myself on not caring what people think of me. And that myth has been reinforced by friends and family. I have often gotten “You know what I admire about you? You just do whatever you want – you don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Guess what guys? It’s a big lie! I totally care. I just have added an extra layer on top because I also want you to think that I don’t care what you think. Which, I’ve done a pretty good job doing – I even fooled myself. But not deep down. Deep down I knew that I was motivated by my ego. Wanting to seem carefree, independent, unharmed by other’s opinions, strong, unbreakable. Turns out I’m just another effing human being. Very upsetting. I mean, why the hell would I have gone through so many relationships with men – even getting married – if deep down I didn’t give a rats ass?

I knew early on that I wanted to kiss girls. But each time I made an effort I would get shut down, shamed or teased. So I made a joke of it. I could go from “I want to kiss you” to “Just Kidding!!” in two seconds flat. Luckily I’m a bit funny so I always pulled that shit off. And then I would overcompensate with how much I liked this guy or that guy. The deeper I got into this routine, the harder it became to acknowledge my attraction to women. Who would believe me? I’ve done “straight” so convincingly.

Now I’m not reducing all my experiences with men to such cold and calculating choices – it runs deeper than that – it’s more complicated. But absolutely – if I did not care what people thought I would have been seeking out women at a much younger age.

Oh well. C’est la vie. Lessons learned. With my new knowledge – that I actually care – I am able to navigate my choices with more honesty – and hopefully make better ones in the future. Getting older and smarter, one day at a time.

Moments of Truth.

Coming out at 35 (including admitting to yourself/discovering for yourself that you are gay) can be a real mind fuck. Excuse my language, but it’s the best descriptive I can think of at the moment. Aside from all the things you might think are challenging – there’s also the thought “If I was wrong about that, what else was I wrong about?!”.

I find myself over a year past my “aha!” moment. The moment of truth. It was after my first therapy session with my counsellor. I went to her because I thought I “might be gay”. After one session with her I was walking down the street and this surge went through my body, I nearly started laughing… or crying… or choking on the sheer “Oh My God” feeling when I said to myself “I am a Lesbian”. Since then I’ve battled that truth, questioned it, tried to define every little detail of it – but at the end of the day, it just is.

This kind of epiphany makes me wonder what else I have been lying to myself about. What other stories have I told myself to fit into one mould or the other. It’s easy to go into spirals with this sort of thought pattern – and I have – but I’ve recently found some kind of peace in simply identifying this internal battle. It almost keeps me more present… and it gives me something simple to pay attention to. Moments of truth can’t all be bolts of lightning – to be honest I still am not sure how to identify what’s what – but I’m starting to listen, and that in itself has quieted a lot of the noise.

Elizabeth G and Me

Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, recently came out on Facebook. I’m sure most of you have already heard the basics: Her long time friend was diagnosed with terminal cancer – this pushed her to realize she didn’t just ‘love’ her friend, she was ‘in love’ with her. Crisis can often trigger our deep truths.

My first nano-second of a thought was “What?!”, followed by “Maybe she’s bi or fluid” to “Wait a second – she might be just like me!”. The situation surrounding Gilbert’s “coming out” is tragic – but her choice to come out publicly brought me a kind of reassurance. I know there are a good handful of “out” celebrities, but most of their stories don’t quite align with mine. This can often make me feel like I’m not quite gay in the “right” kind of way.

After this past year or so of my own coming out process – I have often wrestled with my odd circumstances. I identify as gay and/or lesbian and/or queer. I don’t identify as bisexual. I acknowledge there is some wiggle room or fluidity for me – but I don’t really identify as fluid. From an outside perspective however, one would most likely tag me as fluid or bisexual – given my history with men.

The thing is – [Side note: I have no idea how Elizabeth Gilbert identifies, what her deep personal experience has been, and whether or not she cares for labels. I know this is simply my perception of her.] – reading about her coming out made me go “Yes! I get it!” I am a writer. I have written plays and blogs from my previously self-assumed heterosexual perspective. I related to Gilbert’s writing. Before I was with a woman, I didn’t fully understand what it was that was missing. I approached relationships intellectually and emotionally. I loved. I enjoyed the companionship of men. I had sex. I learned how to have what I assumed was “good sex”. But I didn’t understand connection. I didn’t understand desire. I didn’t understand what it was to be “in love” vs. “in love with the idea of being in love”. I was acting. I was acting with a mostly committed heart and mind. I enjoyed some of it, for a certain amount of time. I was as sincere as I knew how to be… I had everything under control.

So here’s my thought about people like myself, and maybe like Elizabeth Gilbert. I think there is a difference between fluidity and being game. Between fluidity and being willing and interested in trying something new. Between fluidity and genuinely working to make the most out of a unique connection with someone. I thought sex was interesting. I thought relationships were fascinating. I wanted to be good at both. I wanted to be successful as an open minded heterosexual woman. I thought it was best to be straight if I could manage it, as being gay would be a difficult path, and would be hard for my family to understand and adjust. I tried, and I tried to remain positive. It wasn’t so bad. Until it was – and then it was awful and suffocating.

That happened for me when I was 35. A little late in my opinion. Maybe this has happened for Gilbert just now. Or maybe I am making grand assumptions about her. In any case, her story has helped me to understand my story a little bit better – and for that I am grateful.

nogoldstar

Category: Thoughts and Realizations