Tag: sexuality

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

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.

Writing the Truth in the Moment (and a link to my short film!)

I started keeping a journal when I was about 15 or 16 years old.  I embraced my writing at around 23.  Most of the work I’ve done has been self-reflective or inspired by what I have already experienced – ‘write what you know’.  Through this, I always thought of myself as fairly self-aware – able to point out my flaws and make fun, able to understand my inner workings.  This is much of the reason why coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality at 35 was such a jolt to my system – I thought I knew myself.

Looking back, I can see there were topics I shied away from.  For instance, I don’t have any written record of my feelings for the first woman I really fell for – even though I remember it so well.  I avoided.  I pushed it away – it was the kind of thing I couldn’t quite admit on paper.  Or maybe I didn’t want anyone to find out the deep truth.  I didn’t want evidence.  I am not sure.

I let those moments pass and carried forward with my ‘hetero life’, but the feelings stayed in the back of my head.  She stayed in the back of my head.  I couldn’t explain it, I couldn’t figure it out.  The simple answer was too hard to admit.

About 5 or 6 years ago, I started working on a feature film screenplay about a closeted gay woman stuck in a marriage – this later would become the first feature I would produce (currently in post production and in need of funding) titled “Writing Kim”.  Prior to producing the feature, I  wrote, co-produced and performed in a short film with similar themes titled It’s Not About Kate.  When I watch this film now, I can see in my writing that I was too afraid to set the central character free.  I wasn’t ready to go there personally, and I wasn’t ready to go there as a writer.  I knew my truth lingered under the surface, and that frightened me.

I look forward to writing something where my protagonist allows herself to be.  Where she is queer, and it’s no longer an internal struggle.  However, for many, not being out is the reality – and I think there is a place for these stories – there is a place for the truth in the present moment.

 

 

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.

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Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen knew about some things

About the truth of subtle moments

The aching carried in small gestures.

 

I sing and am reminded of Toronto

There’s something that hangs in his words

about love and passion and longing

That reminds me of being in that city

And wanting to love someone

And loving a few

But knowing or hoping there was more.

 

So now I say I am gay.

The shoe fits.

But what was I before?

I don’t think I was lying

I just did not know

Most of the time.

 

The last time I saw you you looked so much older…

 

Time passes and friendships become chapters and stories.

Like when he touched the inside of my knee

And I thought I might be in love.

But that ship has sailed

And I am no longer built in that way

In a way that allows me to believe I could love a man.

 

Me with You

You

You

You and I…

I won’t use four letter words that hold so much weight

So

What can I say?

I am infatuated.

Sounds so trite.

Why is it that the present can only be judged by the future.

Now

I am glad I did not end when I thought I could.

When I thought I was satisfied.

When I thought that there was no more

That I should express gratitude

That I shouldn’t complain

That emptiness was a privilege

And I forgot

Me.

Me

That amazing person that was me

is me

And there are sparkling lights

And your eyes burn in my mind.

I remember now

What the songs are about.

Everything and nothing has changed

I love her.

It’s hard to sit into my feelings for her when my brain is all over the place – when I am just finding my footing – when at times none of this seems at all real.

My life.  Like I am living in an alternate reality.  Like all the cells in my body have changed and I am actually a whole new person housing the same old soul.  As if my childhood up to last year was an entirely different life – and I actually did die on my way to my first date with her, or perhaps even earlier.

It is like a Murakami novel.  Almost real – but not quite.  Subtle changes that indicate a large shift.  And blatant changes that can only be dealt with my acting as though they are normal.

Sitting on this balcony now seems like an entirely different place than 10 months ago.  I sat out here the last days of June – 2am when no one was around – and I looked out.  Knowing that everything would change.

Only a couple of weeks later was my first time with a woman.  Not the woman I love, but my catalyst.  I am grateful for her – bold and unapologetic.  In many ways she was a bad idea – but she’s the best bad idea I have ever had, as she set me free from my self made prison and lead me to where I am now.  Sitting on my balcony – in love – as my whole self.

What Made you Gay?

This is the question I can see my mother asking in her head over and over.

That and “Are you really?”  and “Maybe you were ‘turned'”.

Just because I was very late in coming out.

Because I was in such deep denial.  Because I put great effort into being a “straight girl”.

My question is – “What made me closeted?”

Because the problem is not that I am gay.  That is a great thing.  The problem, in my mind, is that it took me so long to truly realize and accept it.