The Big Reveal

My daughter was born a girly girl. Her first word after the parental syllables was "shoe." She was boy crazy at four, passing toys to the neighbor boy between the chain link fence next to our townhouse. By the time she was eight, she'd had more boyfriends than I had in my life. She did ballet for ten years. She giggled in the back seat with her friends about high school dances and holding hands with boys on the ferris wheel. Her favorite color was pink. Or purple. She adored makeup.

She was the stereotypical girl.

She also loves to play the guessing game when she's afraid to tell me something. Which she did ten days ago. It goes something like this:

D: I have to tell you something.
Me: Okay....
D: Only I don't want to.
Me: Okaaay.... (immediately irritated)
D: Well, I want to tell you, but I don't.
Me: .......... (rolling my eyes and heavy-sighing)
D: It's just... I wish you just knew already.
Me: How can I know if you don't tell me?
D: ......
Me: Fine. You had sex.
D: No.
Me: You got drunk.
D: No.
Me: You got in another accident.
No.
You quit your job.
No.
You're friends with that horrible girl again.
No.
You're pregnant. (Because after exhausting the obvious and the stupid, I start throwing out the crazy.)
No.
You're gay. (AmI right? This girly girl? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.......)

She looks at the refrigerator. The girl has zero poker face.
But you're kidding, right?
No.
You can't be serious.
Yes, Mom.

............

I'd had a cocktail at this point and quickly gulped down the equivalent of another shot. Remember the stereotypical girl? Which I asked her. Or, rather, told her. "You were always boy crazy." Yes, she thought she was, but then she wasn't. But what about her boyfriends? What about drooling over Josh Hutcherson and Ian Somerhalder? What about, what about, what about?

I took a quick break in the bathroom where I furiously texted my best friend. "Don't judge, I said." Her response? "Oh God, what did you do???" When I told her what it really was she said, "We have always supported the gay community. Now it's just time to prove it." Okay......

Yes, I was in shock. It was the last thing I imagined from D. I knew her. I gave birth to her. I held her and cradled her and met all of her needs as an infant. It wasn't that I was against it. I wasn't and I'm not. I had even commented to friends in front of her that I would accept having a gay child but I would mourn my dream of what I thought they would be. That was what she remembered. That is what stuck in her heart and why she was so afraid to tell me.

So I finished my drink and I tried to let her talk. I tried to ask the accepting questions, all the while my brain was reeling from the news. I told her over and over that I'm not disappointed. Not like she thought I would be. It's not necessarily disappointment, but an adjustment. I have to shift my thinking.

When she was a senior in high school, she was temporarily but extremely suicidal. I reminded her that I would take her and keep her any way I could get her but I never want to lose her. I told her she could see how it felt without choosing labels yet. She told me she was confused. Ah, confusion. It's not real. Just a phase.

Now, if anyone thinks at any point thus far that I said the wrong thing or reacted the wrong way, you're entitled to that opinion. But if you're just not prepared for something, you can't predict your reaction. This outcome had just never occurred to me. Not in a million years.

The next day was a struggle between reassuring her that I do love and accept her, which I completely do, and balancing my own confused feelings. I asked if she was sure because she had been confused the night before. No, she was talking about being confused when it all started for her. Oh. Well, damn.

My second concern was for her safety. My whole life has been about protecting her. It's my job. I'm not so afraid that she will be physically harmed, but the thought of someone slamming her with vulgarity while she walks hand-in-hand with a girlfriend makes me want to rip an imaginary asshole. It's hard to embrace something that I think will hurt her.

It's been a process. I'm still processing it. A few days after she came out, I asked if she was sure this isn't just a phase. I got the hateful teenage reply that basically identified me as in insensitive dinosaur.

The next day I asked how long she'd known. Since freshman year of high school, which equals five years. I had known for five days. She agreed this wasn't fair and allowed me to ask any and all questions I had, which I prefaced by saying that I'll always love her and I will get to the point where I openly accept and embrace this "new" identity but that it will take time. I asked questions I didn't really want answers to. We supported each other throughout the conversation.

My emotions have been all over the map and probably around the globe a dozen times. I'm scared for her. I felt deceived by her and lied to. I have to clarify that these are not rational emotions, but we can't control feelings. I can't. I felt that if I had been a better mom I would have known. How the fuck did I miss THIS one??

There have been other thoughts too. I was never hung up on having a son-in-law. Weddings with two brides are often beautiful. I halfway adopted a handful of her friends growing up anyway, I'm used to it. Plus she's promised me I will have grandbabies. That's all I really care about, I'm just asking for a couple extra now.

Over the last year, I have been worried about her capacity to love. We moved to Nashville and she went through half a dozen boys in a matter of months. She seemed to get bored or to lose interest really quickly. Of course I blamed myself for divorcing her father and for dragging her through the subsequent Bad Relationship. All of this must have affected her ability to be intimate, to love someone. Now it's somewhat of a relief that might not be the case. I want her to love deeply and be loved to the core of her being. I'm not going to be able to choose that person anyway, so why should I choose their gender?

She had the brilliant millennial idea of coming out on Facebook. I didn't expect that today she'd be ready. Always keeping me on my toes, that one. The shooting in Orlando over the weekend was her motivation. She's scared now. She should be. I'm scared for her. And yesterday we went to the vigil downtown because I wanted her to be with people like her and to see that there is love in the fear. I want her to know that she's supported, that even if I can't be there always to protect her, I will do everything in my power to ensure that she feels loved and supported. She said she wanted to be brave. The truth is, this wasn't just an act of bravery. Brave is what she is. She's been brave with her depression, she's been brave with making her own choices about her future and she's brave now to come out when it would be safer to hide.

Her responses so far have been overwhelmingly supportive. I suspect there are some who aren't and they're just staying quiet and that's okay. Their silence still speaks and she knows it. I wonder how my own friends and family will react. I wasn't going to say anything until she was ready, but now that she's just jumped into the deep end, I'm jumping with her.

I'm still scared. All the more so now. I've avoided much of the news from Orlando because it hits too close to home this time. My best friend says it always should have been personal, and she's right. I just lived in a smug little straight-privileged bubble when I thought my child wouldn't be targeted. I'm flying the PFLAG now. I have to be as brave as she is.

I was never in love with anyone the way I was when this precious child came into my life. Never since and I never will be again. The thought of someone taking that from me, or from any other parent, chills me to the bone. Nobody has the right to take love from us. I am scared, but I will not live in fear. I will love her and I will love people like her and I will stand with them and next to them.

I'm proud of her. I'm proud of Nashville, our city. Last night's vigil gave me hope. Hope that I won't have to be afraid forever. Hope that love will prevail. Hope that she will love and be loved.

That's all any of us can hope for, really.

The Year of Me

For a while, I was forcing myself to do things that scared the shit out of me. Public speaking via Toastmasters was a big one. I started my own business. When I went to Ireland I got a tattoo that says, "Without fear" to remind me of how I wanted to live. I moved across the country.

Then last year a couple of things happened that shook my confidence and my belief in myself. I felt vulnerable and exposed and I allowed myself to be judged. I crawled inside of Fear because it was comfortable. It was safe. When you don't risk anything, you don't lose anything. I told myself it was being lazy, because that sounded like I was in control. I just chose not to do things. Sloth may be a deadly sin, but it sounded better than being afraid and Not in Control of Me.

Yesterday I had a conversation with a friend about how she spent her New Year's. She told me that how you spend your New Year's is how you will spend your year. Hers included an evening at a comedy club, so her year would be about laughter. I had spent my 46th New Year's Eve completely alone for the first time ever. No parents, no boyfriend, no friends, no kid. Just me and the dogs. For about 75 seconds that night I thought I should feel sorry for myself. I mean, only spinsters with 49 cats spend the Party of the Year alone, right? And then I thought, fuck it. I'm good company. I'm a damn good date. I'd rather snuggle with my pups than freeze my ass off or hang out around a bunch of drunk strangers. Or drink and drink and lose three hours of my life and waste the next day hungover.

Given that thought, I am declaring this year The Year of Me. Once again I will step outside my comfort zone (or leap out of it in the case of the burlesque workshop I'm starting this week), face my fears, try new things, and set goals. It's time to aim high again. Even falling from heights (figuratively, of course!) is more satisfying what wishing and wondering "what if."

So. There it is. It's in the Universe now.
Let's go.

The Single Girl's Version of a Great Weekend in Nashville

Friday – Go work out. Actually, this isn’t that great because it hurts like hell but it means you can order the sushi with the crunchy shrimp and fried chicken. And, yes, that is better than and as good as it sounds, depending on what you’re thinking. Plus it’s called “Hot Chick” so you hope you are what you eat.

Saturday – Try a new breakfast place where, because it’s closer to noon, you order crab fondue with a crawfish/gouda omelet. Fall in love with cheese for the billionth time. Visit some antique stores and find really creepy things, either because it’s Halloween or because the store owners are just kind of creepy. Hope it’s the former. Meet some friends for a little free outdoor music and pet shy dogs. Spend a much-needed evening at home watching one bad movie and one heart-breaking movie while drinking bourbon.

Sunday – Go to the dog park and meet adorable squishy, smooshy faces while continually scolding your dog for humping anything on four legs that walks by. Have a fabulous brunch before driving around incredibly beautiful neighborhoods, witness a stunning sunset, and finish up the evening eating ice cream before Walking Dead takes a turn for the really gross.

Curl up in bed with adorable puppies, a new book, and complete gratitude for taking leaps of faith and carving a new life. Recognize that it’s possible to fall in love with a place and your own life. 

Not Today

“There is only one god and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death: “Not today.” 
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

I love this quote. I think it is my favorite line from this whole series and, if you're watching it, you know there are some really, really excellent lines. Like anything that comes out of Tyrion's mouth.

So this may be disjointed because there are things I feel and there are things I want so say and there are things I can't say and they're all competing in my head. The main thought and concern is how desperately, painfully unhappy my Bugabooga has been. Depression is a motherfucker and it has a tight grip on her at this point in time and I hate it more than anything else. More than snow and the inventor of Crocs, more than people who hurt animals and even more than 50 Shades of Grey. But you know what? Depression doesn't give a shit. It's nastier than Honey Badger, who at least offers some entertainment and inspiration to be a Bad Ass. Depression just takes over and ignores all attempts to thwart it.

What depression is really good at is creating barriers between the depressed person and anyone who cares about her. This is what it has done with D. No matter what I say, or how hard I try, or how much I will her to be better, none of that gets through. She's under the invisible shield of depression. Except it doesn't work the way that a shield should, it doesn't protect her. It hurts her. It lies to her. It tells her she's worthless and useless and dumb and a waste. None of which is even remotely true. She's beautiful and talented and wonderful. She's loving and sensitive and this is how it takes advantage of her. Damn it.

And then there is my own depression, which acts more like a door. It shuts me in, and turns down the blinds and makes it darker for a while. Only doors can be opened, even if I have to pick at the lock for a while to get out. I think, however, that it relishes in the fact that it takes me away from her for a little bit, that it uses up the energy I need to help her. I hate it for that.

If the universe worked in the way that it should, D would feel better because of the simple fact that I love her enough to make it so. I'm the mommy, I'm supposed to make the boo-boos go away. I lost that power a long time ago and I desperately want it back. It's my right and privilege as a mother to make my child's life better.

But here is the thing I have learned, which was reinforced yesterday. We are not alone. If you are reading this, and can relate to what I am saying at all, and if you take nothing else away from my rambling, know that you are not alone. You are not alone in how you feel and you are not alone in that you have to go through this on your own. The thing is, that when you ask for help, you get it. I can ask for a million dollars or a pony until I'm blue in the face and it isn't going to happen but if I ask for help, it's there. It just is. In the form of friends, family, discovering that other people feel this way or have felt this way, or those who can't even comprehend what you're trying to say but still care and want to help and offer to help and do help.

I think D feels like she is the only one affected by her depression. She's not. It breaks me into a thousand pieces on a nearly daily basis knowing that she is so miserable and I can't change it. And then I feel like since I'm her mom, that it's up to me and me alone to Fix It and help her but that gets overwhelming and I get tired and I want to stop even though I know I can't. So I ask for help. She asks for help. And what an hour ago seemed insurmountable suddenly feels a little more manageable. Even if it's just for a little while. An hour, a day. It's enough to keep me going. It helps her stop crying for a little while.

It helps us say, in the loudest voice we can manage in that moment, Not today.