Only the Beginning

I’ve received a ton of requests over the course of the last year asking for another collaborative post with my two friends who joined me in marking the one-year anniversary of my sobbing, gut-wrenching, coming out confession to my friend in a conference room at our office. And many of those requests have been very specific in nature … “Please write a then and now post with your friends. I want to know details about what’s happened since you came out.” That’s enormously frightening to me, you know, examining my progress (or lack thereof as the case may be) of the last two years because it forces me into a place of vulnerability … it makes me vulnerable to my own self-assessment, vulnerable to the honesty of my co-authors and vulnerable to the judgment that well may come from others. I had pretty much convinced myself not to write this post … until I read the following email in the middle of a very stormy night.

“I was forwarded a blog written by you and your friends after my 4^th time to try and kill myself and wanted to tell you it made me know I’m not the only one. I’m seeing a doctor now and told my family two weeks ago I’m gay and they told me they don’t ever want to see me again. I’m writing to ask if you and your friends might think about another blog together to help me and other people keep going.”

There was no name on the email so I don’t know if it came from a woman or a man … I don’t know if the person is young or old, rich or poor, if they live in the U.S. or in another country. But I do know this … it doesn’t matter who that person is or who all the people are who write to me. I know that every single person who reaches out is worth the risk of me being vulnerable. If I haven’t learned anything else over the last couple of years, I’ve learned that there are things that are way bigger than me … things that are so, so, so much bigger than my ego or my pride or my vulnerability. Sometimes … okay, okay, a lot of times … I get overwhelmed by it all, and I sink into the all too familiar pit of unworthiness and fear. But then I read the words … the words of the young, the middle-aged and the old … words of guilt, shame, hurt, loneliness and betrayal that pierce my heart to its very core and cause me to know that I’m on this journey for a reason. I’m on this journey to do whatever I can to help you along on yours … to help all those others along on theirs … to learn to be brave and courageous as I travel my own.

Thank you to my friends for joining me as guest authors … you gals are truly amazing. Thank you for believing in me, for not giving up on me, for helping me be me … the two of you truly make me a better person, and I’m beyond grateful for both of you. Thank you for taking time from your busy schedules to share your words of wisdom and compassion and love with the multitude of people who need to read them. I know your words will change people’s minds … your words will touch people’s hearts … your words will save people’s lives.

The saying, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” has certainly taken on all new meaning for me since the day I broke down and told the truth about my sexuality. I remember well that first single step … boy, do I … I couldn’t forget it if I tried. Sometimes that one step seems like it happened only yesterday and sometimes it feels like it was a lifetime ago. I had at least some cognitive recognition of how much taking that step would change me … of course I did … I spent decades of my life trying desperately not to take it. I didn’t, however, even begin to anticipate the reality of the far-reaching effects that single step would have, nor did I have even a tiny inkling as to how difficult it would be to keep on walking.

“That first step.

Isn’t it interesting that sometimes you know and sometimes you don’t know what that first step is or when it will happen. At times, it’s intentional. You plan for it. You know what it’s going to feel like, how it will impact you, what it will mean and how you’ll move forward. But other times, it’s not planned at all. And you look back and realize that it was the first step. Now what? What if I don’t know what’s next? What if I don’t want to move forward? What if I’m afraid? What if that wasn’t the right decision? What if it was the best decision? What if I’m not good at this? But you did it. And it’s time to move forward. And at times, the second step, and the third and the fourth, can feel even harder than the first.”

“I've never liked consolidating, not that I mind getting rid of unwanted or unnecessary items; it actually feels freeing. Rather I dislike the decision-making, determining what stays and what goes. It's fairly easy with the broken items, off to the trash or recycling, but the perfectly functioning working items stump me. Or stuck me – I get stuck because I’m unable to make a decision. Will I use it again? Why haven't I used it? Should I use it? Someone could use it. Where can I take it that someone is able to use it? Repeat those questions 100 times, all while the item remains in its current spot awaiting the next round of consolidation.

We naturally go through a similar experience as we develop. Sorting, deciding, and discarding aspects of ourselves we won’t use again, or continue to carry around despite them having no value. Some things even get in the way, cluttering space for new things to develop. What if I was told a belief was wrong my entire life? Do I believe it still today? Or has my perspective of it changed – did I even believe it in the first place or did I simply acquire it the way I would inherit my great grandmother’s dishes?”

I would liken the first months of my journey after I came out to driving in the dark in the middle of a raging snowstorm … with headlights that kept flickering off and on. There were times when the lights shone brightly, illuminating the road before me and keeping me heading in the right direction. There were other times when it was so dark that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, and it took every ounce of courage I had to grip the steering wheel and try to stay on the road. Perhaps the most important thing that happened during those months was that for the first time in my life, I was able to be me … the real me … no more pretending, no more hiding, no more being terrified that someone was going to out me. I was far, far, far away from being okay with who I am, but at least I was finally free from the bondage of living in the closet.

“That first step was a big one, and for the next couple of months following, the steps weren’t much easier. Telling her family was extremely hard, but rewarding, and telling her co-workers was painful, but exhilarating (my words, not hers!).

There were many, many tears, but also excitement that followed. It was a relief, I could tell, but still a pretty big, okay, a really big, burden. There were times when Terrie kept to herself, but also times when she wanted to celebrate her true self – at one point even bringing a date to the company party. During these times, she got a lot of support from the people around her, but that wasn’t enough. She needed to feel this herself. She needed to know that it was okay, not from others, but from herself, in her heart.

This could be the toughest lesson of all. Once that first step is over, once you’ve mustered up all the courage you can to take it, to make it, shouldn’t that be enough? In reality, it’s taking that courage and knowing you can keep going, to take the second, the hundredth, the thousandth steps. To keep going and to have faith in yourself that that first step was a great decision and to just keep swimming.”

“Becoming authentic means I sort through who I am, what I am, what makes me the unique person I am independent of others: my values, my belief systems, my preferences, my relationship with the Universe around me. As much as I often wish someone would come to my home and sort through my piles of stuff, I’m the only one who can decide what I want, need, or still use. When it comes to sorting out my authentic self, I also have to go inward, alone, and recognize what speaks to me, something that says, ‘Aha, that is ME! That is who I AM!’”

It’s odd, but for a while, the guilt and shame I had carried inside all those years actually intensified after I came out, and there were many, many times when all I wanted to do was climb back into my closet and never venture out again. There were days when I was so ashamed of people knowing the truth about me it was all I could do to force myself to leave my house or to look anyone in the eye. I wish I could tell you I found a potion that magically transformed me into a completely confident in who I am 50-something gay woman, but we all know that would be a lie. But I can tell you this … many days now, I wear the clothes I love to wear … many days now, I can almost say the words, “I am gay,” and not feel like I’m going to throw up … many days now, I care more about what’s inside my heart than I do what other people think about me … many days now, I want to live … and perhaps most important of all … many days now, I believe the day will come when all those “many days now” will become “almost every day now.”

“The steps turn into milestones. One year, now two years later. Wow. What an accomplishment and what a first step to look back on. But wondering, why isn’t it over? Why am I still in this process? It’s remembering that anything we’re struggling with, or celebrating, or just experiencing, is simply a part of the journey. It’s listening and learning. How can I take this experience and understand that it is part of my journey, too? How can I learn from what others are going through and remind myself, this is it. There isn’t an end, a beginning, a first step, a last step. It’s a step, and it’s part of my journey. And how awesome is it that part of my journey has intersected with someone else’s? The part I’ve played in Terrie’s journey is a listener. A friend. Someone who slowed down one day and cared. Thank goodness. There are many days that I’m too busy, I’ve got other commitments, I have a packed calendar, and so on. But I owe the Big Guy a big thank you for that day. That I was there, and I was listening. It wasn’t just for Terrie. It was a lesson for me, too. Stop. Listen. Care. Be there.”

“It can be lonely, sorting and consolidating. Some of the things passed down to us were given to us by people we love, who gave us their beliefs and values with genuine care and guidance for us. Discarding them seems wrong, unloving almost. Yet it is freeing, allowing us to be our own person having our own genuine life experience. The challenge in life is looking beyond our differences, finding commonality, and connecting. In these connections, if we are curious and brave enough, we may even begin to find pieces of ourselves that fit our developing mosaic. Because let’s be honest, no matter how often I sort through my stuff, more will accumulate. It is a fluid process of growing and changing and evolving into the more authentic version of who I am today.

Terrie has been in this lonely place of sorting, discarding, questioning her beliefs, relationships, and what her authentic life looks like. It has meant losing people she cared about (and whom she thought cared about her), while also finding connection with new people. The biggest struggle has been renegotiating her relationship with God. That relationship was shaped by the values of her family and religious community, which are in direct opposition to being her authentic self. In fact, the only way to be accepted within that community is to cling to a façade which disconnects her from her true self, making her feel as though she must choose between a connection with herself or a connection with others in the world.”

Do I still struggle with guilt and shame? Yep. Do I still feel unworthy to help other people? Yep. Do I still wrestle with my faith and with what I believe? Yep. But here’s the thing … now there’s something else mixed in with all those feelings and emotions … now, I have hope. I have hope that one day, people will no longer be judged because of their sexuality. I have hope that my story will help others know they are not alone and understand that it really can and does get better. I have hope that the God who created me loves me just as I am. I’m not there yet … and I’m trying my best to understand that it’s a process … but now, I have hope.

I get a lot of mail from folks expressing their opinions about whether or not I once chose or am continuing to choose to be gay … a whole, whole, whole lot of mail from folks hoping I will change my mind and make the “right” choice. You know what I hope? I hope I’ve learned over the last couple of years that there are some things I most certainly can choose and that being gay isn’t one of them. I can choose to be loving … I can choose to be kind … I can choose to be compassionate … I can choose to be loyal … I can choose to be humble … I can choose to be brave … I can choose to be honest … I can choose to be me.

“Choosing.

It’s a great reminder for all of us. To be sure, there are some things we do not choose. But for other things, we do have choices. Choosing to be kind, compassionate, a listener, a defender, a leader. Or choosing to be brave, to be positive, to get up when the weight of the world tells us not to. Choosing to be the person your grandma would be proud of. Choosing to be the person your children look up to. Choosing to be the friend you want to be.

Choose wisely. Because take it from me, you never know when your life’s journey is at an intersection with someone else’s. You never know when your choice is affecting a first step, or a hundredth step. Every day is full of choices. Choose wisely.”

“Progress can be measured in small ways – the moments, however small, of feeling comfortable in your own skin; having a place to be your true self; finding joy in the things which speak to you, like suspenders and Converse; conversations with someone who really gets you; relishing in laughter with a child; celebrating life events with meaningful people. Slowly, more authenticity begins to shine through as you sort, decide and discard – slowly, the true you begins to take shape, much like the organized room takes shape after a major consolidation. Progress is found within the process – it’s up to each of us to not only take the first difficult step but to choose to keep on stepping so that we can grow and change and evolve into who we really are.”

It’s the people who are closest to me who see me for who I truly am … my children, my grandchildren, my family, my friends. Those are the people who really know me … those are the ones who on the darkest of days and the deepest of nights remind me to consider how far I’ve come. Two years ago when I walked out of the conference room, I was certain my life was over. I knew I had opened a door I could never close again, and I was certain my life was over. I was wrong, friends … I was so very, very, very wrong. You see, in all the ways that matter most of all, that first step two years ago today was really only the beginning … that first step toward honesty and realness and vulnerability … that first step toward trusting in the power of unconditional love … that first step toward just being me. In all the ways that matter most of all, that first step really was only the beginning, friends … only the beginning indeed.