So got invited to share my story at a church service tonight. Which story? The one about how I married a guy before I figured out that I was gay, and then found my inner truth and the love of my life (not necessarily in that order). It was a service for the Pacific Northwest Reconciling Ministries, which is all about getting the gays and the Christians together with love (http://www.pnw-rmn.org/). Talk about the way of Jesus, right?
I'd tell you what I said, but I don't really remember. I step up to the mike, start rolling and ... well, they laughed when I meant them too, nodded and seemed as though they appreciated the tale.
Lacking the words from tonight, I'll just share the coming out story that I wrote for the gay/lesbian email listserv at the big internet retailer I work for ....
Here's how my story ends: My ex-husband is happily married to a woman who was a pal of my current partner and I. They have a kid, we have two, and while we didn't get through everything neatly enough to, you know, stay in communication with each other, we all wish each other well and our drama seems distant and unbelievable, like it happened to someone else.
Here's how my story begins: I married this nice fellow, because that was what I felt like I was supposed to do. I think on some level I figured it would prove to myself that my close friendships with women (never sexual, except that one moment with a college friend that remains unspoken of and would likely be denied by her) were just friendships, and not (yikes!) crushes. I found out later that the woman catering my wedding immediately read me as gay and predicted a quick end to the marriage. We hit five years, which outlasted her prediction.
For a while, all was well. Then I met Cheryl, the woman I've gone on to marry (several times, in the hopes that one of our ceremonies will finally be legal here). Cheryl and I were colleagues. Actually, I was her boss. And I immediately clicked with her: she's smart, talented, fun ... all that good stuff. Before long, she and I and my husband and another friend of ours were hanging out. After a summer of this, we began to realize that the chemistry was working in unexpected ways. Cheryl and I had pretty much fallen in love, and my husband and our other friend were really connecting. Finally, on the eve of a trip Cheryl and I were taking to NY (because my hubby didn't want to see Lucy "Xena" Lawless in Grease, or other Broadway shows), I confessed: first to my husband, and then to my boss, as I knew I could no longer be Cheryl's manager. Much drama ensued, at home and at work (all four of us worked together, so we were pretty much Ground Zero for all gossip for what felt like an eternity). My mom suggested I just stay married an have an affair with Cheryl. But when I told her that was untenable, she adjusted. Before she died, she referred to Cheryl as her second daughter. My dad considers her and our children family, though he's against gay marriage and other such civil rights and seems amazingly able separate his feelings for us from his feelings for gays as a whole. He doesn't understand that in most states, I would not be allowed to adopt these children Cheryl gave birth to, and that in the eyes of the government and many other major institutions, she and I aren't really family. Cheryl's relatives, meanwhile, were uniformly great, and while we worried that some LDS branches of the family tree might not be too friendly, it's not been a problem. I have never for a second felt anything loved, welcomed and accepted. Even when I was just the "friend" she brought to her family gatherings.
Now, I lead a typical suburban life: enjoying time with my wife and twin sons, taking the bus to work, trying to keep the house clean, looking forward to the next R Family cruise with Rosie O'Donnell and Co., going to church on Sundays (a wonderful, accepting church that is all about social justice). I'm ashamed to admit that I don't always expect people to be accepting, even of what I think is a ridiculously noncontroversial life. But I'm happy to say that I have been pleasantly surprised many, many times.
Steph
I'd tell you what I said, but I don't really remember. I step up to the mike, start rolling and ... well, they laughed when I meant them too, nodded and seemed as though they appreciated the tale.
Lacking the words from tonight, I'll just share the coming out story that I wrote for the gay/lesbian email listserv at the big internet retailer I work for ....
Here's how my story ends: My ex-husband is happily married to a woman who was a pal of my current partner and I. They have a kid, we have two, and while we didn't get through everything neatly enough to, you know, stay in communication with each other, we all wish each other well and our drama seems distant and unbelievable, like it happened to someone else.
Here's how my story begins: I married this nice fellow, because that was what I felt like I was supposed to do. I think on some level I figured it would prove to myself that my close friendships with women (never sexual, except that one moment with a college friend that remains unspoken of and would likely be denied by her) were just friendships, and not (yikes!) crushes. I found out later that the woman catering my wedding immediately read me as gay and predicted a quick end to the marriage. We hit five years, which outlasted her prediction.
For a while, all was well. Then I met Cheryl, the woman I've gone on to marry (several times, in the hopes that one of our ceremonies will finally be legal here). Cheryl and I were colleagues. Actually, I was her boss. And I immediately clicked with her: she's smart, talented, fun ... all that good stuff. Before long, she and I and my husband and another friend of ours were hanging out. After a summer of this, we began to realize that the chemistry was working in unexpected ways. Cheryl and I had pretty much fallen in love, and my husband and our other friend were really connecting. Finally, on the eve of a trip Cheryl and I were taking to NY (because my hubby didn't want to see Lucy "Xena" Lawless in Grease, or other Broadway shows), I confessed: first to my husband, and then to my boss, as I knew I could no longer be Cheryl's manager. Much drama ensued, at home and at work (all four of us worked together, so we were pretty much Ground Zero for all gossip for what felt like an eternity). My mom suggested I just stay married an have an affair with Cheryl. But when I told her that was untenable, she adjusted. Before she died, she referred to Cheryl as her second daughter. My dad considers her and our children family, though he's against gay marriage and other such civil rights and seems amazingly able separate his feelings for us from his feelings for gays as a whole. He doesn't understand that in most states, I would not be allowed to adopt these children Cheryl gave birth to, and that in the eyes of the government and many other major institutions, she and I aren't really family. Cheryl's relatives, meanwhile, were uniformly great, and while we worried that some LDS branches of the family tree might not be too friendly, it's not been a problem. I have never for a second felt anything loved, welcomed and accepted. Even when I was just the "friend" she brought to her family gatherings.
Now, I lead a typical suburban life: enjoying time with my wife and twin sons, taking the bus to work, trying to keep the house clean, looking forward to the next R Family cruise with Rosie O'Donnell and Co., going to church on Sundays (a wonderful, accepting church that is all about social justice). I'm ashamed to admit that I don't always expect people to be accepting, even of what I think is a ridiculously noncontroversial life. But I'm happy to say that I have been pleasantly surprised many, many times.
Steph
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