Lessons in Gratitude Day 820

Tonight I am writing in grateful reflection on National Coming Out Day 2013. I am keenly aware that coming out is a process that some of us will go through over and over again. Perhaps this is particularly true to those of us who are only recently out. Two years ago on NCOD 2011 I wrote about my coming out process (Lessons in Gratitude Day 104). It felt a little risky then and remains as much or even perhaps more so now. But often of late, particularly in the past couple of years I have had moments in my life where I have stared into an abyss and realized that I was a lot less afraid of things than I used to be.

In reflecting back over my more recent life, after I suffered a series of losses that while not quite catastrophic were nonetheless painful, I realized that in spite of the pain and grief of loss I was in fact still alive and had a lot of life ahead of me. I realized that when I analyze the challenges I face in my life on a regular basis and put them into perspective there are fewer things now that I fear. So while coming out is always a little bit scary because the consequences of putting oneself out there can be unsettling at best and who knows what at worst, I know I possess the ability to withstand difficult circumstances and come through on the other side, sometimes a bit battered and bruised, but relatively intact. I am grateful to know that I can tap into a deep reservoir of resiliency and bounce back.

And so in honor of National Coming Out Day 2013 I want to offer a letter that I recently wrote (but did not mail to my best friend from college.) It reads as follows:

Today I realized that perhaps you don’t really understand something about me: I am a lesbian and my interest in and love for women isn’t a passing fancy. Case in point:  our conversation today when I told you that I had started dating again (nearly three years after an extremely hurtful breakup that you helped me through) and you said, “Is it a man?” and I replied, “No, it’s not a man. That hasn’t changed.” “Oh,” was your response, and in that single word I realized that somehow you’d been hoping that I’d come to my senses and was seeking my next love interest from among the oh-so-large pool of eligible Black men (which I know would be your choice if you could pick for me.) Your flat, disappointed tone of voice spoke volumes. Note I did not say disapproving, because I didn’t sense disapproval from you. But even your disappointment was painful–surprisingly so. And I realize how tender and vulnerable is that place in my heart that still seeks not simply understanding but true acceptance. I realize that I don’t have that in-your-face, “I’m queer and I’m here” F-you bravado that so many of the young lesbians exhibit these days. I do still care what you think and I want you to be as happy for me as I was for you when you finally found your sweetheart.

So here I am now, nine years after I wrote you and other friends and family on National Coming Out Day 2004, and I am still coming out, or perhaps am doing so again, Perhaps ten years from now you’ll be closer to knowing, accepting, and loving me in my fullness and the shadow of disappointment that you feel today will be gone. Until that day, I will continue to love you as best I can and accept the love that you offer me as best you can. Love is imperfect and incomplete for us all as we walk through this world until as pure Spirit we can love one another fully.

I love you. Your BFF,

I didn’t mail the letter to my friend. I don’t need to really. I don’t think she would understand and it would probably only serve to make her feel bad, which I don’t want to do.  I’m not sure I’m ready to bring it up to her; perhaps one day I will be. Part of the process of navigating any relationship is the give and take, the pieces of myself that I shape and modify or leave outside the door when I enter into conversation with some people. It’s not right to have to fragment oneself into pieces to interact with the world, but sometimes it is only through the breaking apart that one can navigate through this often unfair, messed up  world. And as backwards as it might seem it’s the breaking that allows my light to shine through the cracks. Crazy metaphor, right?

Perhaps one of these days I won’t have to remove and deposit parts of myself outside of various places where I find myself. Someday maybe I can bring my whole self everywhere I go. But that is not today. Not yet. But every day I grow and learn and move a little bit closer to fully becoming myself. And for that I offer sincere gratitude.