My Life in the Pride Lands

Should all of my blog titles be in reference to The Lion King? I think yes… I am a Leo, after all!

Guess what?! It’s June. And I bet you know what that means… it’s PRIDE month!!

Aaaaand you guessed it, this post is about PRIDE. In this post, I talk about why Pride is important as well as share my personal story. Please stick around until the end!

At this point, maybe you’re tired of hearing about Pride. But we are equally tired of talking about it. We’re tired of having to fight, march, explain, protest, and debate for our rights, the rights of our children, and the rights of every other person who identifies as LGBTQ+. 

But Pride is important. Period. 

Although further justification beyond this statement should not be needed, apparently it is. Pride is important for many reasons. One reason is that the rights of people who identify as LGBTQ+ are constantly being stripped, or attempting to be stripped away. As of June 7, 2024, there are 516 anti-LGBTQ+ bills in the United States. FIVE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN. There are 50 states in the U.S. That’s an average of 10+ bills per state. 

In case that wasn’t enough reason as to why Pride is important… youth who identify as LGBTQ+ are more than 4 times as likely to attempt suicide than other youth. This does not even take into account youth who are considering suicide. These are OUR children or the children of our close friends and family members. Stop for one second and consider how it would make you feel if you knew your child was considering or going to attempt suicide because they were taught that who they are is sinful, wrong, or not worth existing in the eyes of you, your culture, your home, or your religion.

Pride is important because we deserve to live in a way that makes us feel happy and free, to love who we want to love, while we are alive. I recently saw a story about an elderly man who came out in his obituary. He only felt safe enough to come out and be honest about who he truly was and who he loved in death. Imagine how that feels. To have to hide a part of yourself for your ENTIRE life. To have to hide the person that you love every. single. day. It’s heartbreaking. And I can promise you, he is not the only person who hid this part of himself until death. (Read this story here).

Again – PRIDE IS IMPORTANT. 

So, we will continue to fight, march, explain, protest, and debate, until we no longer have to.

Now, here’s my story…

I was born, baptized, raised, and confirmed Catholic. When I was a kid, I was taught a lot about sin and what was right and wrong. I always felt that learning about God was confusing. God was to be feared, that his wrath was mighty, but that he was also forgiving and loving. That he loves us all as himself, that he gave his only Son to the world, but that we will be judged for our sins before entering the kingdom of heaven. This God, the one with so much duality and opposition, never made sense to me. I thought I was supposed to feel safe and loved. To turn to Him in a time of need, no matter what I did. Weren’t my sins supposed to be forgiven? Wasn’t God love? This God didn’t feel like love.

I remember learning about sin. And oh boy, there are so many. I learned that homosexuality and anything outside of cisgender identification was a sin. Wrong. An abomination. This lived within and permeated throughout my entire being for years. 

Therefore, it was a little (okay, a lot) jarring, when I found myself in love with another female. I do think, initially, there was something that felt rebellious about it. It felt freeing going against what I’d been taught by my culture, family, and religion. After reveling in my rebellious attitude for a while, that mask fell off, and underneath was fear. Coming out to my family was drenched in heartache, attempts to absolve me from this “sin,” silence, and abandonment.

I was in that relationship for about 15 years in total. And it took me a long time to come to terms with being in a same-sex relationship. At home, with my then-girlfriend, I pretended like everything was fine, but I’m pretty sure she could see right through my facade. I think she thought she was the problem and It’s only with hindsight that I can see and understand that I was just scared. Unfortunately, I didn’t know this at this time nor did I have the language to express this to her. I believe this fear caused a chasm that continued to widen in our relationship over the years. (Check out my previous post on fear).

How could I have been scared? I had love in my relationship and friendships. I had some family that supported me. But when you grow up never feeling like you truly fit in anywhere, or with anyone, another layer of difference only adds to the fear you live with daily. As a child, I’d found safety in not being seen. So, in this relationship, I continued to hide. I was terrified to be out in public, to show any public affection, to let my coworkers know, and to be open anywhere, except in my little pockets. I’d seen and heard of hatred, violence, and murder toward others who were LGBTQ+ and I was terrified that it might happen to me. I worried about having children and what could happen to them when their friends and their friend’s parents found out that they had two moms. 

Eventually, we moved to Phoenix, which felt more accepting and open-minded than where we came from. In Phoenix, I felt my fear lessen. I felt safer to be in my relationship and my skin. Met a lot more people like me and felt like I was beginning to fit in somewhere. I wasn’t as scared to tell people at work or correct someone when I was out and about. But I still held onto that fear and desire to be hidden. Although there was a lot less fear, that chasm in my relationship had already started, and without addressing things head-on, it never got smaller. 

I think part of this chasm was due to me taking on the identity of lesbian without questioning if that was true to me. Maybe I took it on because it made sense mathematically: me + female partner = me being lesbian. Or maybe I did it because I didn’t want to feel yet another layer of difference. Maybe it was because I felt like I had to. Probably a combination of all of these. Even though I took on this identity, it never quite felt right. It always felt untrue and strange to label myself as a lesbian, like a square peg in a round hole – or whatever that phrase is.

In this new-to-me gay world, I felt equally confused as I was before. In the straight world, same-sex relationships were “wrong” or “sinful.” But in this lesbian world, it was the bisexual people who were “wrong.” When phrases like “gold star lesbian” (a female that has never been with a male sexually) are thrown around and applauded, it feels as if others who are not that, aren’t as “good” or acceptable. I think I felt trapped. I don’t think I felt like I could figure out who I was in this world, just like I couldn’t figure it out when I was in the straight world.

**I should note: this isn’t necessarily the truth in all corners of the lesbian community. This is solely my experience/perception.**

My marriage ended for a bunch of reasons, not just my lack of figuring out who I was. And it was only in our separation that I really started to look at and question myself. It was the first time that I finally stopped hiding from myself and the world. The first time I wanted to be seen. The first time that I finally felt safe enough to let the shackles go and be free. 

So with this questioning, I put on the hat of “asexual” (not being sexually attracted to anyone of any gender). For a while that felt okay-ish, but then I got to know myself better. And I discovered the word “demisexual” (feeling sexually attracted to someone only after a close emotional connection has developed), which felt truer and still does. At first, I felt comforted by these labels, because it allowed me to feel that I wasn’t alone in my experience. Eventually, all of the labels felt constricting. And now, I’m just me. 

Amid my separation, I found myself dating men and I dubbed myself as “mostly straight,” assuming I’d end up in a relationship with a male. And truthfully – maybe somewhat shamefully – I think there was a part of me that felt some relief. Relief that I wouldn’t have to correct someone when they asked about my boyfriend/husband. That no one would be able to tell me I’m a waste of a woman because of whom I love. I wouldn’t directly be subject to the discriminating laws and bills. That I wouldn’t be putting myself out into the public and risk being ridiculed, bullied, beaten, or maimed for loving someone of the same-sex. I wouldn’t have to worry about my family loving and accepting me and the person I am with. Relief that my kids, most likely, wouldn’t have this I-wish-I-had-a-dad moment.

I can see now how cowardly that initial relief was. But I couldn’t help it. I felt tired of fighting with myself and the world. It feels cowardly because even if I ended up in a heterosexual relationship, it didn’t mean that the fight for the LGBTQ+ community was over. It didn’t give me a pass to stop fighting for what I truly believe: that everyone deserves to be themselves while they’re alive and love who they love. 

Those relationships, and flings, ended when I abruptly and unexpectedly found myself falling for another person who was born the same sex as I am. Initially, I was very surprised, and admittedly, those fears resurfaced. But instead of allowing this fear to fester and grow, I faced it head-on. I have embraced this relationship with open arms. I no longer feel ashamed or want to hide. I’ve found myself, more than ever, wanting to speak out. To stand up and advocate; and open myself up more than I ever have before. To wear this part of me as a badge of honor, to shine a light upon myself in the hope that it may help others feel safer to be their true selves. I’m sure fear will still try to wiggle its way in, but I feel much better equipped for when it does.

I find myself realizing that accepting myself and my relationship with unadulterated love and joy, is what is most important for me, and for my kids. To lead by example for my kids. I want them to see what it is like to live your life as your fullest self; to be the most you that you can be. And I’ve realized that it isn’t about the gender of the parents my kids have in their lives, it’s about WHO is in their lives and how much they love and accept them. It’s about how SAFE my kids feel with the bonus parents that they’ll end up with. 

Getting to this point has been a long, and arduous, journey. I have caused others pain and I’m not proud of that. But I am proud of how far I have come since the beginning. I am also not naive to think that I have reached the peak of my growth. 

The fact that I can share my story with you – literally the entire world – is proof that PRIDE is important. And for that, I owe all of the activists, advocates, and everyday humans who came before me much more than I can ever give them.

Being unapologetically honest is terrifying. I know that I am opening myself up to ridicule from so many. However, I suspect that I’m not alone in my feelings or the path that I share. I don’t want to be ashamed or hide any longer. I am a human; I have and will continue to make mistakes and missteps. But I am now open to learning from those mistakes and using that knowledge to do better in the future. 

This fight is not over. And it starts with each of us – on an individual level. We have to look inward and realize how we have behaved in this fight against anyone who is LGBTQ+. We have to figure out if what we have been taught in our homes, cultures, and religions is truly love and connectedness, or if it is hatred and stone-throwing. I invite you to look at yourself, not with hatred and shame, but with compassion and forgiveness. It is never too late. We have all done things that we aren’t proud of. But realizing that previous versions of ourselves couldn’t know what we didn’t know is where the changes begin. 

If you are saying phrases like, “I love you, but I just can’t accept/believe…” or “My religion says I cannot accept your lifestyle, but I still love you,” then you don’t really love and support me or anyone else in your family/friend group that identifies as LGBTQ+. I urge you to stop and consider what you believe. You either love and support us, or you don’t. I don’t think there can be a middle ground in this. I don’t believe that you can truly love someone if you do not believe that part of who they are is true/exists/is a sin. In the same way that you cannot say that you love me but don’t think that people with brown hair should exist or be free. Both of these are parts of me. 

If you are a Christian, I plead with you to stop and consider what this truly means to you. I was taught to be afraid of God and this drove me away from Him. I’m finally remembering that I also learned that God is love, above all else. When I read/heard stories about Jesus, He too accepted and loved all, even – and sometimes especially – the “sinners.” As humans – Christians or not – it is NOT our job to judge others. Our job is to “love thy neighbor as thyself.” There are no buts, exceptions, clauses, or addendums to this statement. 

So, I’ll say it again… PRIDE IS IMPORTANT! 

Go forth and love thy neighbor as thyself. May we stop throwing stones and start standing together. 

Please share and comment away! I’d love to hear your thoughts.