News Flash

Easter arrived way too soon. Before I knew it, I was flying home to tell my parents. I arrived on a Thursday night, all emotional and nervous, even though I knew I was going to wait until the next morning for the big reveal when everyone was fresh and not so tired.  

I wanted to tell both of them at the same time, but the next morning I could not bring myself to ask if we could all gather together. My mother and I usually sit out on the deck first thing in the morning with our hot tea and chat. Oftentimes, we talk about spiritual things, things we have read and pondered. Sometimes, it’s just catching up. It’s always one of the highlights of our time together. It was not surprising when she suggested we go outside. I immediately gave up the idea of telling both she and my father at the same time. This was hard enough. I just had to get it out. I couldn’t take the dread I was feeling for a second longer. It felt like when you have the flu and feel so nauseous and you fear throwing up but know you will feel so much better when you do. The heaving hurts and is exhausting but once you have actually thrown up, it’s such a relief. I felt this way. Sick to my stomach. Queasy. Scared. But I knew that if I could just get the words out of my mouth, exorcise the secret, I would feel so much better.  

As soon as we sat down outside, I said that I had to tell her something. I squirmed in my chair. She grew still. She looked concerned. Yep, cue the waterworks. I launched in. You know how people have asked me over the years why I’m single, why no one has snatched me up yet, well there’s a reason. I think I left my body for a minute. I was present. But not. My Kansas twang turned into a full-on Southern drawl, the words coming out at a snail’s pace, echoing and reverberating into the next — it all sounded so loud and clangy in my head.

It’s because I am attracted to women. I like women.

(Time stopped.) 

She stood up, walked over to me, reached down and hugged me. No hesitation. No forethought. Just action. I heard her tell me she loved me.  

And then she listened. 

Afterward, after an hour, two, three, I don’t know — time stopped, time sped forward — she asked if I wanted to tell my father. No. Nope. Not really. But there was no going back now. She asked if I wanted her to tell him. God bless her. I said yes. She went downstairs.

For. A. Long. Time.

I began to worry. After an eternity, she came up and said my dad was taking a moment to gather his thoughts. It had come as a total shock to him. My mother had wondered, even if fleetingly, over the years if I was gay since, she said, I never seemed to try too hard with the guys who were interested in me. But for my dad, it had not occurred to him. Not once. He was caught off guard. When he finally came up, I saw him through the window and started crying. Of course.

He slid back the door, smiled and said, I hear you have a news flash.

Then he hugged me and told me that he loved me. 

Can I just interject something for a second here? Parents, evangelical Christian parents, Muslim parents, Catholic parents, religious parents, conservative parents, whatever-you-believe parents…this is exactly the right way to react to your kid (whatever age that kid is) telling you something you think is hard and devastating. With love. You cannot lose. Please do not think you are tacitly endorsing our choices if you do not immediately let your position be known. We already know. We need your love even if we don’t have your approval.  

Then my dad listened. And my mother sat there and listened again to my story. At one point, I saw a tear slide down her cheek. 

Overall, the rest of the day was pretty good. I think my parents were still in shock. It had not quite sunk in. They were in a bit of daze, a bit of denial. Still acting pretty normally. 

The next day, however, was more challenging. Before I had even emerged sleepy-eyed from my room the next morning, my mother had listened to a Ravi Zacharias video addressing same-sex relationships. He is a renowned conservative Christian apologist who thinks marriage is between a woman and a man; he also was the speaker at my college graduation and my mother had loved him ever since. She was worked up. As soon as I walked into the living room, she wanted to talk. Her wheels were spinning. She said she didn’t think she would ever approve of me being in a relationship with a woman; she said that we cannot always accept what culture tells us because it is watered down from what the Bible teaches; she was concerned that I would fall in love with a woman which would cause a rift in our relationship; she was worried about the things people would say about me, that I would be defined by my sexuality; she said it was so sad knowing how much pain I had been in; AND she said there was no one on earth who loved me more than she and my father.

Everything she said that weekend was concluded with “I love you.” 

They tried to put on brave faces that day but my dad was unusually quiet and my mother was sad. I tried to comfort them as best I could. Tried to reassure them that I was seeking God in this, not going my own way. That I was still me. Same as I had always been. This seemed to help some. But, by the end of the day, I was ready to be by myself in my room and cry. I was tired. I hated being the cause of their grief. I had always always been the good girl, the good daughter. And now? 

My mother was better the next day, seemed less sad and that helped me feel better. We did all the normal things: made breakfast, went on a walk, planted flowers, made lattes, and sat outside on the deck. I again assured her that I was me, the same person I had always been. She said this helped and comforted her. She said she was trusting God to lead me down the best pathway for my life. (Ahh, Psalms 32:8 again). She told me time and again just how much she loved me.  

It’s a unique situation to be in when something you cannot control, that you did not choose, but is intrinsic to you is the cause of shame and grief for someone else. It’s like someone being ashamed of you for being short or having brown eyes or being black or brown. Okay, not totally. I have white privilege. And I can hide my sexuality. But I believe, I hope, that my experience has given me a modicum of understanding for those who cannot as easily hide their sexuality or for those who, because of their race or genetics, are made to feel less than or, worse, reviled in this world.  

The next day I left, feeling relieved but a little bruised and a little tainted. It was tiring trying to be cheerful the entire weekend when I had so clearly grieved my parents, brought them sorrow and pain. And shame.  

I didn’t realize it at the time but that weekend was what Glennon Doyle, best-selling author of Carry On, Warrior and Love Warrior, would call brutiful. It signified loss, my parents mourning the loss of who they thought I was and also the loss of some dreams they had for me: marriage to a man, and maybe children, although I was 42 (and I had not frozen my eggs!). But it also signified freedom, because I took a huge step in owning a part of who I was and letting go of my secrets, my shame, and my fear. It was brutal and beautiful.