Tag: identity

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  They share photos of themselves going to that lesbian concert wearing their out-of-date lesbian fashion.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

Raphael_Kirchner_Damen_bei_Toilette

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.

One year

It’s been one year since I came out on Facebook (thanks for the reminder, Facebook), and I almost feel normal.  I was at an event with some women from my support group about a month ago, and I expressed how I feel like I should still be coming to the group.  When I said that, they were surprised because they thought that now I was “out”, everything was fine.  Funny how we perceive people, I had the same thoughts in regards to “out” women when I was still “in”.

Yes, everything is better.  I am not hiding… not nearly as much at least.  I feel like I am finally getting some strength back.  Some strength to take risks, take on something new, maybe come out to some other random people – I don’t know.  But these things take time – I figure they probably take more time the older one gets.  I still am not out to everyone.  I still allow people to assume that I am straight… and single, when I feel it is easier to do so, or when I feel it’s not really their business.  That is fine by me – but there is some stress to it, some navigating.  I still find myself wondering if I’m being too gay, or acting too straight in any given scenario… how much of myself to I let out in this situation or that situation?

I think this is just me being new to it.  I think this is the norm for people who have been out for ages.  But it is definitely a process – a process I look forward to working through.  It does get easier for the most part.

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.