Coffee Date

Erica, the woman I had been messaging with on Compatible Partners, and I eventually set up a time to meet, a date at a coffee shop. I went. I didn’t flake. I arrived on time, nervous but contained. I waited for about 15 minutes. I half hoped she would not show. But I was determined to stay; I was doing this. She finally texted. She was at the wrong coffee shop in a different town. Okay, I thought, she must be pretty casual about this if she only read my message about where to meet once. Or she’s just flighty.

I finished my latte. Checked my phone. Looked around. What was I doing, I thought.  

After another 15 minutes, she rushed in all apologetic and bright-eyed. I warmed to her immediately. She was cute, short hair with long bangs and oh-so-blue eyes. She smelled like baby powder but was so charming, I didn’t even mind. She was in her mid-30s and had grown up in a Christian home. Her family had actually moved to Colorado Springs so her mother could work for James Dobson and Focus on the Family, an organization that is pretty much the mothership of conservative evangelical Christianity. She had tried to be straight, had spent her twenties dating men, Match dates, blind dates, you name it…and she had funny stories…going out with a guy who had just spent six years in prison (okay, maybe not very funny but it’s unique), and with one who could not sit still he was so excited to be with her, referring to his wagging tail. She smiled at the retelling and her eyes sparkled and crinkled at the edges. Needless to say, her Focus-on-the-Family parents had not been happy when she had come out to them a couple years before. When she fell for a girl and had her first kiss, she said she finally understood; it was all the things, all the clichés, fireworks exploding and butterflies in her stomach. She dated this girl for over a year. But then this girl called it off and broke her heart.  

I liked her. And our conversation flowed easily. However, instead of relaxing as the date went on, I grew more nervous by the minute. I wanted to impress her but how? It was easy to relate to her as a friend but this was a date. I did not know how to navigate this, these feelings, these feelings that I had been taught were reserved for a man, that now I was exploring for a woman. I had never been so intentional about seeking out a romantic relationship with a woman. And I had never been soberer doing it. I did not know how to act. After a couple of hours, I wanted to go. The weight of what I was doing was hitting me. Erica was someone I could be interested in, someone that I wanted to see again. My parents did not know this part of me, this huge part of me. It felt disloyal. They had the right to know about this. They deserved to know about this. So did my close friends and my Women’s Group. Gah! WG. What would they think!? 

Was I really going to do this? At age 42? Start telling people? Come out of the closet?

I felt sick to my stomach. I was scared. Everyone would define me by my sexuality and judge me for it. They could even say hurtful or mean things to me.  

What I failed to see was that I was the one defining me by my sexuality (and judging myself for it), had been doing so for years, and had been hiding it because I did not want people to do what I had done: think of me only as a lesbian; put me in a box; and make assumptions about me based only on my attraction to women. But by keeping my sexuality a secret, I put myself in my own box, I put myself in the prison cell. By hiding my sexuality, I made it into something so much bigger than it needed to be. By hiding my attraction to women, I let it define me.

I wanted people to see me, the whole me. I was afraid that once they knew my secret, they would only see me as a lesbian and nothing else. However, by keeping my secret, I was preventing them from seeing the whole me. I wasn’t even giving them a chance.

I knew I had to move forward, that I was hurting myself by keeping this secret, that I was hurting others by keeping this secret.

I had to take the risk, let people in, show them more of me and, if they defined me by this knowledge, so be it. I couldn’t bear the weight of it anymore. It was time to start talking. 

A day after our date, I texted Erica the following: 

Hey Erica, thank you for meeting me the other day. It was fun talking with you and getting to know you a bit. I would like to see you again but am feeling like I want to tell my parents and my friends in my women's group bible study before I do. It feels dishonest and I feel unsettled thinking about seeing you without them knowing. I'd like to take my WG on this journey with me (if I'm not kicked out ;)). I’m going home over Easter to tell my parents. I'm sorry to put you in this position. And I don't know if you have any interest in you 

Shoot, I accidentally sent that without being done! I was saying I don't know if you have any interest in hanging out again. And I don't know if what I'm saying makes sense. I just want to do this coming out process and the journey of it with God's leading and in the best way possible. You seem great and I'd like to get to know you more. I just need a little more time. So if you are still footloose and fancy free in late April, it'd be fun to see you again. Sorry, this is so serious. All of this is such an intense exercise in trusting in God. Let me know your thoughts. 

I’m earnest if nothing else, right? I did not hear from her for a couple of days. I tried to be cool, tried to only check my messages once or twice a day. Okay, more like once an hour. I wasn’t sure I was cut out for dating. I wondered how anyone does it, puts themselves out there. I think I understood what Erica meant…dating men was a cakewalk compared to this.  

When I finally did receive a text from her, it was kind and understanding but felt like goodbye and I was surprised by how painful it felt. She told me that she understood, that doing things in the right order, respecting parents and telling my friends are critical. And that if they didn’t first accept it, that by seeing the life I led and the heart I had, they would hopefully come around. She said there was always hope. She thanked me for letting her know what I was feeling and wished me the best of luck.  

I ran through the gamut of emotions, having oversized, ridiculous feelings, after only one date — so different from my dates with men. I understood where she was coming from. I was too big a risk. I was not even out. She probably wondered if I’d ever be able to accept myself as a gay woman. But I wanted her to take a chance on me. Ask me out. She didn’t. And I didn’t contact her either. 

However, after my date with Erica, I knew one thing. I had to come out.