Expectations

Well, it was bound to happen, right?

Yesterday (that shit day) was truly sad and then fucking bizarre.  It started with me going out to lunch with some friends.  I count them as some of my closest friends from college.  I've known them for about seven years and over the past few years we've supported each other through some awesome times, and through some really hard moments.  On Sunday was another moment; I decided to share with them that I had come out.

It seemed like the natural progression of things.  These friends are women that I talk to a lot, hang out with and spend as much time with as I can.  I would call them best friends.  We all work (or have worked) in social services, and we get one another.  We're often having to deal with hard moments, supporting others and understanding the struggles that others go through.

I got to the restaurant and met my friends, first we celebrated our friend's new full time position.  Then the conversation turned to me.  And I dove right in.  I let them know what I had been going through: I am gay.

You could have heard a fucking pin drop.  Nothing.  They looked so uncomfortable.  They didn't say anything.  It was bizarre.  The table got quiet.

I waited for the questions that I have come to expect.  

When did you know?  
Who did you tell first?  
Are you ok?  
Thanks for sharing, it must be crazy.

Nothing.  Then I got, "How did everyone take it?".  I was not aware that I was delivering a punch to the gut.  I started to get irritated, then I heard my therapist's voice in my head:

They can't read your mind. If you want something, or if you want support, you have to speak up.

So I did.  I laid it all out on the table.  I spoke up. Talked about how hard it was.  Shared how scared, vulnerable, upsetting and difficult this process was for me.

Again, silence.  Nothing.  No check in, no support.  No nothing.  I was floored.  I didn't know what to do, how to handle it.  It was so clear that they didn't want to talk about it.  So clear that they didn't know what to say.  So I changed the subject after an awkward ten minutes.

All of this has me trying to figure out my expectations.  What did I expect?  As I was driving today I tried to think about my expectations prior to sharing with these friends.  After a few hours, I came to the conclusion that even though these friends are my most thoughtful and quiet, they've always had my back.  They've offered tremendous support in other, less difficult situations.  I expected more.

I knew they would be an interesting group.  One of my friends is a devout Christian.  I was worried about her.  I remember her saying something about being against gay marriage six years ago, or so.  I told her, at the time that if she felt compelled to say those types of things, we couldn't be friends.  So we decided not to talk about religion.  And so far, it has worked for us.  But I thought for this moment, my other two friends would have been able to speak up more.

Yesterday she could barely look me in the eye.  It was devastating.

My other two friends didn't know quite what to do about it.  What to say, what to do.

I could almost feel them relax when I changed the subject.  Odd.  That was the opposite of what I felt.

Lunch continued with the getting very excited about making plans for us.  A trip to the city, a Harry Potter marathon, a trip to the beach.  They were eager to hang out again with me included.  When was I available?  Where's did I want to go?  They were giggly and silly for the rest of lunch.  Something felt disingenuous and weird.  It felt as though they were trying to send me a message: we don't care if you're gay, we're still friends.  

But I heard another message: we don't care if you're gay.  And please don't make us talk about it again.

So crushing.  After lunch I said to my devout friend: Are you ok with this information?  "oh yeah!" was the response.  Hugs and giggles.  But still no support, or recognition of the feelings that I shared.

After lunch they were feeling chipper.  They wanted to continue hanging out.  Let's go to Starbucks!  No, thanks, I said.  I needed to go and cry.  

Would they have talked to me more about it if I had stayed?  I don't know.  I wonder.  I was just too hurt, sad.

Because what does this mean for my three friendships with these friends?  Why didn't I see this coming?  Did I know this would happen?  I don't think it would have mattered.  I'm so sad.  And more than that, I'm scared.  This was the one thing I didn't want to have happen.  Changing my relationships that I value.  I don't know how to deal with this.
Thank god I go to therapy tomorrow.

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Shit Day

What could make a day worse, after a less than awesome (actually less than mediocre) day of disclosure to some very close friends that I'm a lesbian?

How about coming home to discover that I get to spend several hours (actually 8 hours exactly) helping the family entertain some outspoken, narcissistic, racist, misogynistic, and just plain stupid house guests?

Yes. A shit day. I'm too tired to write about the horrible-ness of today. But I wanted to remind myself online that not everyone thinks Obama is a bad president because of his skin colour (I shit you not) and that transgendered folks who elect to have gender re-assignment surgery have not "been tricked by their therapists".

Fuck me.

Family Values

Last night I got to hang with a great friend.  I adore my friendship with this person, it seems to me to be the most authentic friendship I have.  She's not into fake, disingenuous talk.  She doesn't hug, it's not her thing.  She's not overly excitable, but she is always there if needed.  I need to talk to her about something, she needs a sounding board, we know that we can get together crack open a few beers (except right now I'm the only one drinking...as she has a fetus invading her uterus) and talk, laugh and enjoy comfortable silence.

She's also a friend who I feel comfortable saying the shit out loud that others might cringe at, and she feels the same.  She sent me this quote yesterday from a Salon.com article she read about Amy Sherman-Palladino:

...the core it’s still a theme I’m interested in, which is, family is so important and you feel like, “No matter what, you have your family, no matter what you love your family” and yet, it’s like, “Do you?” Families can be the most detrimental things to have in your life. They are sometimes the most poisonous relationships that people have. Sometimes family is the thing that keeps you from ever achieving what you want to achieve, and yet people hold it and hold it and grab it and try to fix it and twist it and turn it. And I just find that fascinating; I just find it fascinating.

Wow.  I fist pumped like Pauly D when I read this- it was incredibly liberating to read.  I often meet people in my professional and personal life who tell me about the importance of family, the value of family and then segue nicely into telling me about the hurtful and cruel things their family has done to themselves or others.

At this point in my life I'm thinking a lot about family and hurtful relationships.   The coming out process can be riddled with relationships exploding or dying.  I'm surprised at how concerned I am about the potential for relationships to explode.  At the beginning of this journey I said to more than one person that if my coming out ends a relationship, then that's ok.  I don't want people in my life who can't handle my truth.  I think I was a bit overzealous in my statement.  Truth is, I do care.  Nobody wants to be rejected, it hurts.

That's why reading the above quote gave me hope.  It was as if Sherman-Palladino was breaking some cardinal rule and speaking out against the untouchable value of "family".  We all know families are insane at times, no one is exempt from it.  But there also seems to be an unwritten rule to not speak badly about your family.  And if you do, you appear cruel, cold and unable to maintain a relationship.  When the reality of it is, honesty and a desire to protect yourself are being presented.

There is balance in everything.  I adore my dad and want to maintain a strong relationship with him, but there are times when he irritates the shit out of me and sometimes says things that are hurtful.  I'm not willing to cut him out (the thought never even crossed my mind) of my life.  But the thought that he would do that to me (an irrational thought, a passing thought) cuts deep. 

And it all comes back to power and control.  That's big- and I think that's what it's about when it comes to these tricky family relationships. If you have a family member who uses that power and control to make you feel like shit- time for some reflection.

Now the Gilmore Girls seems much deeper than I remember.

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Drama

I am not a drama queen.  I detest even the label "drama queen".  I am an avoider of drama.

I do find the drama of other people's lives very fascinating.  Well, ficticious people actually.  As a teen I soaked up soap operas in the summer ("Passions" anyone??).  I had a serious love for celebrity gossip in my mid twenties.  And when I first moved out on my own I secretly loved being able to watch trashy talk shows.

But in my own life, I avoid drama.  My relationships are drama free for the most part.  I don't openly try and instigate problems, arguments or issues.  I don't even do the whole passive aggressive piece.   Gossip?  Oh heck yes.  I'm not above admitting that I like to dish.  But, my dish sessions will always end with a reasoned response, and a completely adult answer to the most petty of arguments and situations.

My family is far from perfect.  My immediate family seems to have their shit together, but we're still quirky enough to make me very excited when I get 24 hours all alone.

My extended family is filled with a whole slew of interesting/frustrating/infuriating and loveable characters.  They are not perfect, and in fact I prefer to only converse with some of them on a limited basis, but at the end of the day they are who they are.

My life, up to this point, has been devoid of confrontration or irrationality.

Until now.  I have been a big believer in not attracting drama, and not responding dramatically and actively avoiding it.  Life is crazy enough without me adding to it by being over the top, immature or ridiculous.

Fast forward to this summer, and the "big reveal".  All of a sudden my propensity to slam doors, run out of rooms, cry at a pin drop and talk and talk and talk about my experience and process has increased.  An opportunity for a dramatic response?  Count me in. 

The actual experience is odd.  As I'm going through the emotions of feeling out of control (whether it is me running out of a chapel, telling someone "I'm not ok with what is coming out of your mouth" or crying at work) it feels like an out of body experience.  I can see me taking the steps towards drama.  I can hear my rational brain saying "Don't do that...don't be a child.  Get a backbone and stay still.".  I ignore that voice in a remarkable fashion.  I feel my inner self cringing at the awkwardness of my drama.  Yes, nothing more awkward than a 30 year old woman acting like a teenager.

So what is it about this situation and coming out process that inspires me to be a dramatic person?  I can speculate, but I hate the thought that this could be real.

It could be the lack of drama in my personal life.  I've never been one to yell/scream or have generally bad personal experiences.  I once had a friend turn around and full on hate me (another story), but I was so unaffected by it and uninterested in the drama of it I didn't realize it until the relationship had been well and dead for nearly six months.  I was not a dramatic teenager.  I did not have crazy relationship in university.  I was the pillar of strength, the voice of reason.

Maybe all that lack of drama has stunted me, and now I'm catching up for lost time?

I hate that idea.  When I hear about coming out stories I often hear about folks doing crazy shit, getting into insane relationships and making asses out of themselves.  That fate terrifies me, but I fear that I am going to go through that for the next little while, despite my responsible side.

The impending drama is scaring the shit out of me.  But I can see how I would think it's exciting at the same time.  People are always saying how they "hate the drama".  Bullshit.  People love drama, it adds to their life and gives them a distraction.

Maybe that's what I need, a distraction. 

But I will never be a drama queen.

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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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