Joiner

I'm not a joiner.  When I was first invited to my book club I did not attend for the first four months.  I felt uncomfortable, nervous and not happy about the idea of joining a group of women who would be drinking wine and talking about literature and authors like it was their job (turns out it's more like getting drunk, smoking and talking about sex).

I'm sure there are many deep seeded reasons for why I'm not a joiner.  It probably has its roots in my youth.  As a young, round, fat, shy girl I was pained to join in on the fun.  Funny how a few bad experiences of being teased (or just out and out ignored) can make an impact.  I can't quite remember the first time I was purposefully excluded or ridiculed, but there are a few times that are crystal clear in my mind.

1996 - Grade eight.  I was the new kid, and for some bizarre reasons I was hanging out with "the cool kids".  I was totally out of my element, but excited for the fact that I seemed to be included.  One day I was squeezed out of their inner circle.

I'm not being figurative.  I was literally squeezed out of the morning huddle, where everyone talked and caught up when they arrived at school.  Burn.

2000 - Grade 12.  In English class the chair I was sitting on broke.  It was an old chair, but as an overweight teen I was mortified.  A classmate laughed so hard and wouldn't stop, he had to be sent out of the room.  Now that classmate is a police officer in a neighbouring town that does not have a good track record.  I'm not implying anything, but generally douchebags like that don't make for the most reliable people.

2001- First year university.  I was asked to do the lighting for the university production of "West Side Story", while a bunch of my burgeoning new friends worked stage management.  After the performance was done I would avoid not being included in socializing by sneaking back to my dorm room, alone.  After the run of the show I didn't hear from any of them.  Only looking back and realizing how cut off I made myself makes me realize what I did.  At the time I just felt hurt.

Looking back on these instances I can tell that there were times where my own awkwardness won out and I cheated myself out of some potentially awesome experiences.  But in the moment, it felt shitty and like I wasn't wanted.

Since university my ability to grow has been pretty awesome.  I've developed an array of social skills (awkwardness only creeps in if I stay away from people for too long) and an ability to get to know people I've never met before.

But, as a rule, I'm generally a "one to one" kind of person.  Large groups are intimidating.  Parties have never been my happy place.  Even when I start talking to one person at a party I'm always nervous that I'm keeping them from a more interesting conversation or opportunity (for reals...this affliction recently came up at my 30th birthday party).

I am my own worst enemy sometimes.

Yesterday a friend (who is "in the community") sent me a local newsletter full of lesbian social activities.  And I got scared.  Very scared.  There's a whole bunch of different stuff that sounds interesting, but the mere thought of going to one of these gatherings without knowing anyone (let's not even get into the whole gay thing) has me stress eating like nothing before.

I know what I want- a community.  And I know that it's just waiting for me.  I just have to take the first step, put myself out there and be ready for whatever will happen.  These social things are to facilitate just that, community building.  But it speaks to that lonely fourteen year old girl inside who got squeezed out 16 years ago.  Interesting how some hurts leave their mark.

I guess what's even bigger than my fear of joining, is the fear that I'll try it out...and it won't turn out.  My need for community is big, very big.  If this were to fail, I would be so upset.

But remember that book club?  The one I was too afraid to go to for four months?  Now I count most of those women (if not all) some of my closest friends who are giving me some amazing support and love through this process.


Perhaps it's time I tried being a joiner again.

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Living a Lie?

I've always been a sucker for identity construction.  I find the whole concept fascinating to think about.  How does someone create their own identity?  We start out with attachement to our primary caregiver (sometimes) and gradually move forward to figure out who we are individually.  It's a process that takes years, and can be heavily influenced by big events, big personalities but also more insipid factors.  A chance encounter, media messaging, a passing comment or a brief, but scary emotional moment.

During my undergrad career I was most fascinated by the idea of how one figures out who they are.  I worked on research projects devoted to the subject, and eventually found myself in a profession that was about supporting others in figuring out their place in the world.  It was really interesting.

Because of all of this I have always associated "knowing who you really are" with having your shit together.  Over the past five years I've turned into a much more self reflective person than I ever thought I would be.  I started to understand who I am, what I believe in and what kind of person I want to be.  I have transformed (I believe) into a very non judgemental person, who accepts people for who they are.  This is incredibly helpful in my profession, and I find that it works well for managing vicarious trauma.

But now I'm at a cross roads.  I'm at this new junction in my life where I'm starting to question my identity in a big way.  I've avoided talking about my sexuality openly for my entire life.  And I'm craving some kind of change because of this acknowledgment.  So...what does this mean for my carefully crafted self reflected image?

On the weekend I was talking to an out friend about how much this had taken me by surprise.  Who was I now?  How did I live for so long ignoring this part?  The brief exchange went like this:

Me: You have to understand, that up until this month, I was one of the most self-reflective people I knew.

Her: Bullshit.

That stopped me.  Was she serious?  Was she right?  Was I really just fooling myself before?  Was I not really self reflective, was I just passing by, skimming the surface?  Devastated, that was the overwhelming feeling.

When people in my life had problems, and let's be real- people who weren't really in my life had problems, I would be their sounding board.  Clients, families, strangers, friends, friends of friends have always disclosed to me.  I used to find it uncomfortable.  I eventually learned that this was a gift- a big one.  I used to think this happened to me because I was an open and approachable person.  Even that I'm starting to question.

The bigger question for me is: have I been living a lie?

I don't know the answer, the possiblity of it being true is scary enough.  It would be an easy thing to ignore or dismiss- but it is there.  Making me think.  Making me scared that I've been able to fool myself for years into thinking I was one thing while denying this big thing.

The shear fact that I'm thinking about this should be my answer.  I'm self reflecting on the question if I'm self reflective.  But I don't know if that fact alone makes me feel ok.  At least, not yet.

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The First Time

It has occurred to me that I haven't shared or written about my own coming out story.  At this point, I feel like I've said it over and over again.  But the whole point of doing this blog is to journal in a way that I feel comfortable.  And if it means that someone stumbles across here and reads it and feels less alone, then that works too.

It started the last week of June when one of my closest friends was visiting from Newfoundland.  It's a fair distance from where I live and I was excited to see her.  We planned for one visit to a nearby city where she was interviewing for a job.  We went out, had a great dinner and caught up in a major way.  She was talking about an unrequited love, and didn't know what to do about it.  We talked about it and had a good chat.  

And then it happened.  The thought that has been swirling in my mind for months would not go away.  I thought to myself: this is the perfect time, tell her you're gay.  This thought had come to mind a few different times before in the last month more strongly, but some combination of the closeness I was feeling with my friend and the safety in the situation made me do it.  I figured, if it didn't feel right, or I didn't like it- I could take it back.  Why not?  She lives on a rock in the middle of the North Atlantic.  Not like she was going to tell anyone.

So it came out.  If felt odd to say something out loud that I've known for quite some time.  And it was not completely comfortable.  But I felt this strange rush.  My world changed.  My friend was wonderful.  And then asked if I had shared with anyone else.  No, was my response, she was the first.  Was I going to tell my parents? was the next question.  My response?  Sure I would tell them.  But probably not until the fall or maybe the winter break in December.  I was in no rush.

And I wasn't.  Not at all.  Truly that night I was comforted with the knowledge that I could hold off on sharing this information for a few months until I wanted to talk about it.

We had a great visit, walked around town and parted ways the next morning after a perfect greasy breakfast.  I felt good- even with this slight change in the world.  My friend flew back to St. John's and I drove home.  Back to work and home, and my plan to tell the rest of my world in a few months.

And then five days later I told my mother.

And that's another story for another day.

 

 

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I Hate Cats

I feel like I'm already a bad lesbian.  Truth is, I don't like animals of any kind.  I didn't grow up with animals, I didn't have any special pets growing up or feel any need to get a pet. Sure, I had moments of puppy envy when I was very young.  But on the whole that stopped after an unprovoked and frightening dog bite at age 11.

As I'm moving forward now in my journey of "coming out" I'm starting to question my new found identity.  Who exactly am I with this new piece of me that I'm acknowledging?  I want a change, and I think this merits one.  I don't want to go forward with no changes, so I figure I have to start working on how this identity of mine is going to shift.

I've already started to think about it- now that it's out and I don't have to be so afraid of people finding out- what can I do?  How can I make my being gay part of my identity?  And how can I do this in an authentic way?

It's freaking me out and I know that the only way for it not to is for me to meet some other gay folks who will help me realize that my identity is what I make of it.

But I really do hate cats.

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Long Lost Friend

As I mentioned before, a friend of mine recently lost a parent.  It was not a surprise, but that's cold comfort after losing someone who you've had a relationship with (no matter the quality).  Today was the final memorial to say goodbye, and I am not one of those people who "doesn't do funerals".  I can understand and appreciate that funerals are important, less for those who are departed, and more for those who have been left behind.

I went with a couple who was also attending- it was nice to hang out with them before and go together.  Lately my own reliability is questionable, it was a relief to go with someone else.

So on we went to the church- which is Catholic.  I feel like that needs to be a separate post all together, my relationship with the Catholic church.  We entered the church gave hugs and sat down...my friends were great, asking me if I would be ok going into the church.  Mostly asking in a joking way.  I responded with the usually "catching on fire" response.  A little laugh at a funeral is helpful.

We went in and grabbed a seat, and I got used to being in the church for a couple of minutes.  I grew up Catholic, so the surroundings were not difficult to get used to.  Soon after sitting, another friend (who I have not come out to...simply because of conflicting schedules) joined us and sat next to us.  She is lovely- kind, open, calm and amazing.  I was overwhelmed.  The she asked me "how are things with you?".

And I came thisclose to coming out to a friend during Mass.  It shook me.  Scared me.  And again, something that I usually would not do.  It freaked me right out, how quickly I almost did something as insane as coming out in a church that, if they knew, would say that I'm not right and against Jesus.

As the Mass started I saw a parent of a longtime friend.  This woman is probably the most miserable person I have ever known.  She's got issues, and I'm not joking.  I first met her daughter in grade nine, and we were close throughout school, and it culminated in my being her maid of honour when she got married when were 20 years old.

Since my friend's marriage nine years ago, she has started to become more aligned with very conservative and traditional Christian values.  Usually, this won't bother me.  But this friend has also become very outspoken and almost mean in her beliefs, even on one occasion two years ago chastising a group of us for straying from our "Christian faith".

So, you can imagine my surprise when I saw this friend singing in the choir at the funeral (it was a surprise because she moved to a "mega church" about five years ago).

Sidenote: My long lost friend was the youngest in the choir by about 50 years.

I almost lost it.  Combined with the priest's homily about "living the life Christ wants you to live" to get into Eternity, being told to be a "slave to my Master (re: Jesus)", listening to what an amazingly kind man my friend's dead parent was, thinking about my own dad and our issues and what it would feel like to lose him, almost coming out in the middle of Mass to my friend- seeing this old friend just about sent me over the edge.

In between all of this, I couldn't help but call myself a huge drama queen.  I couldn't even sit through Communion, I had to leave.

It culminated at the end with my long lost friend inviting me over to her new home in the next couple of weeks to see her kids and catch up.

Where she will certainly ask me "how are things with you?".

Fuck me.

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Out Pride

After yesterday's "toe dipping" I started to movE quickly and spent most of today at my city's Pride celebrations.  I have been experiencing an overwhelming amount of support today, and had more than one person offer to come out with me, so to speak.

As I said before, Pride is not something that is new to me.  I've been going to Pride for a few years (I KNOW.  GIANT RED LESBIAN FLAG ANYONE?).

I had decided to go with a friend that is going through her own troubles.  We found the park and parked it under a shady tree with some bottled water and hung out for a couple of hours to wait for the parade to reach us.  It wasn't the best site, we were at the end of the parade, and by the time they reached us the parading folks were done.

Late last night I also reached out to my limited lesbian connections, as per my therapist's orders.  They are the only same sex couple that make me feel comfy about talking about my coming out process, and they've been around my family for a long time- so I didn't have to explain the dynamics of my family.

As soon as I saw my lesbian friends- tears.  It was overwhelming.  We spend the next two hours drinking cold beers in the hot sun, talking about the process and me asking them tons of questions.

They provided me with lots of information and support, and great feedback about my current conflict with my dad's reluctance to talk about my coming out.  They were able to give me some context, and helped me realize a few important pieces.  And it didn't hurt that they are both in the helping profession. They immediately informed me of two things that blew my mind:

1. I am, essentially upset with the fact that people are not reacting enough to my coming out.  This is usually the opposite of what people in my position experience.

Whoa.

2.  The coming out process usually takes about two years (including for each of them).

WHAT THE FUCK???  TWO YEARS???

I just about threw up my Bud Light.  I am not prepared for two years of this hellaciousness.  Two years?  Two years of mood swings.  Two years of irrational behaviour.  Two years of feeling out of control.  Two years of being unable to predict my next emotion.

This sent me for a loop.  They continued to share with me about some of their own experience, which was ridiculously amazing to hear.  I am so grateful.

Then they had some fun with me and tried to get me to take some dental dams from the Public Health Unit booth.  I'm so not even prepared for the world of dental dams.

At the end, they gave me some great connections to the community, and were incredibly supportive and fantastic.  I will be knocking on their door soon again.  Two more sherpas of gayness.

At the four hour mark I got tired (really tired).  I was exhausted from the talking, sharing and some of the more disturbing revelations (TWO FUCKING YEARS).  I then announced (in my usually finesse) that "I am done" and strolled back to the car.

I came home, had a cool shower and fell asleep on the couch.

In my desire to soak up the lesbian talk I didn't even get to see some of my straight friends who made it to the park after I left.  Their sweet texts and emails are amazingly supportive.  I am feeling the love in a million different ways and I'm feeling spent, but happy.

So, it seems that this journey is just beginning, and that my timeline of getting my shit together before the start of my fall semester is flying out the window.

But I'll leave that trouble for another day, and bask in the loveliness that was my first "out" Pride.

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Dipping a Toe

Coming out in July has it's advantages, firstly in my city it's when we're celebrating Pride.  I was nervous about this for a few different reasons.  I didn't know if I was ready to immerse myself in the community, be out in the community and try to join in.

But, there was a big part of me that wanted to be part of this special time.  I wanted to be at Pride, enjoy the festivities, feel the love and the spectacle.

For some of those who I came out to (who were also in the know about such things) they asked me if I was going to Pride.  I was hesitant to tell them yes or no.  Would they want to go with me?  Would they want a report on the activities and events?

My friends were a big reason why I felt comfortable to go to Pride events.  They offered to come along with me, lend their support and have some fun.

But I still wasn't ready.  So tonight I dipped my toe in the water.

I went to the low key Pride event that happens in our downtown core with my parents.  This was very calculated, and a plan of mine that finally (finally!) worked. 

Sidenote: I'm a planner.  A real serious planner.  These past four weeks none of my plans have worked.  Ever.  This is a big deal that I followed through on one.

Last week I told my parents that I wanted to check out Pride with them.  It was strategic.  My dad has been less than open with my process, and when I initially told my mom it was accompanied by me telling her not to talk to me about it at all.  Great.  Soon after, I realized that I wanted to talk to her.  Big time.  And that's how I invited them to Pride.  My mom agreed right away, and was ridiculously on board.  My dad?  He needed a threat to come along.

Tonight was low key, our city is big, but Pride is only just starting to become a bigger event.  We walked around, picked up a couple of pamphlets, some ice cream and watched some drag queens sing Petula Clark and Annie Lennox.  

This was followed by a very sweet drag queen, name Spirit reading a statement.  It started off sounding like the "It Gets Better" video statements, but then it got better.  My mom stood next to me and put her arm around me.  Tears welled up and I felt supported.  It felt good.

My dad took pictures, and didn't say too much.  But he was there, and that felt awesome, too.

So tonight I dipped a toe in the water of Pride.  Not going as an ally, but as a member of the GLTB community.  Tomorrow?  I'm diving right in.

 

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