2012-05-31T04:36:23Z http://blogging.danioconnor.com/atom.aspx Quick Blogcast tag:blogging.danioconnor.com,2012-01-12:fd3c1eba-890d-4ed8-965b-de8c916ebec5 Dani O'Connor 2012-01-13T00:02:44Z 2012-01-13T00:02:44Z This is for the nice girl in Illinois. Thank you for your awesome email: If it were up to me, I’d stay on vacation forever. I love glazed donuts so much that I could eat them forever. I’m still sick; I swear I’ve had this cold forever. It’s taking forever for Christmas to get here. I swear I sat in that doctor’s office forever. It’s been forever since I was able to wear a size 8. Forever, forever, forever. How is it that forever can be something so good, yet at the same time be so bad? And why is it that we always put things in forever terms? When you’re happy and in love, you pray that the relationship lasts forever. When you’re alone, you fear that you’ll be single forever. When you’re older, the forever ahead seems shorter, but the forever behind you seems like a really long time. When you’re young, forever seems like, well, it seems like forever. It’s really hard to think of forever terms when you’re young. The one advantage we have when we get older is that we have a more realistic view of what forever really means. Yes, some people do stay happy and in love for the rest of their lives, and some people stay single. Some people do eat donuts every day and some people do get back into that size 8. But no one sits in the doctor’s office forever, and Christmas always rolls around within a year. Colds eventually go away, although the cough may linger; and eventually the majority of us have to come home from vacation. When I was a kid I knew I was different. I wasn’t aware what it was about me that made me different from the other girls, I just knew that I didn’t see the world the way the other girls did. I didn’t know that the thing that made me different was something that was going to last forever, and I remember praying back then that it wouldn’t. From about age ten until about age 19 I struggled with the feeling of being out of place in society, with feeling awkward in my own skin. I tried to fit in, and no matter what I did to blend in with the other girls, I still felt massive anxiety almost every moment I was in a social situation. That was an entire decade of being angry with myself for being an outcast, and being angry with other people for not telling me what was different about me. A decade is a long time to feel alone; a decade was half my life. Back then, a decade was forever. One Friday afternoon in March 1990, a group of us were sitting around my dorm room doing what all freshmen girls do in college on a Friday. We were drinking cheap beer, smoking menthol cigarettes and getting ready for date night. Much like all the other Fridays my freshman year I didn’t have a date, so I just drank my beer and smoked my menthols listened to the other girls talk about what they were going to wear and if they were going to go home with the guy. I remember having a huge feeling of envy. I thought it was because I wanted to get dressed up and be taken to dinner. My mind was conflicted though, because I also thought how nice it would be if I could take one of the girls to dinner. I don’t recall, but I think I must have said something similar to that out loud. The conversation immediately changed from dresses and boys to ‘Oh my gawd, she’s gay!’. The thought struck me as ludicrous. I laughed out loud and explained to my dorm mates that it was impossible for me to be gay—I wasn’t a florist, or an interior designer, and above all, I wasn’t a man! I was immediately humiliated when one of the girls said to me, ‘You dumbass, girls can be gay too. They’re called lesbians”. I had heard the word lesbian before, but never thought much about what it meant. Now keep in mind that I was born in Wyoming where there wasn’t much diversity. Also keep in mind that this was 1990 and there was no Ellen and Portia; Melissa Etheridge wasn’t repping the lesbians. The only mainstream gays were Elton, and Freddie; and there were some rumors about the Georges (Boy and Michael). Kids in the 1980s didn’t take a same-sex date to prom, and there were no LGBT groups at my high school. I honestly had no clue that women could be with other women. The realization was both terrifying and exhilarating to me. So after being ‘outed’ in the dorm, and after hours of denial, I did what any girl would do—I went out, used a fake I.D. to get drunk and brought home the best looking bartender I could find. The next night I went to a party and brought home the most macho frat boy I could find. And on Sunday, I made out with a male co-worker in the parking lot of the restaurant where I worked so that everyone could see that I was as straight as everyone else in Texas. So I guess that being accused of being a lesbian didn’t make me question myself—it made me slutty. Well played, right? I maintained the façade for the rest of my freshman and sophomore years. I had a consistent stream of boyfriends and flaunted them in front of all my female friends. (Ironically, the guys tended to be somewhat effeminate. Two of whom later announced they were gay). Every night for two years I would lay in bed thinking about that day in the dorm. Every night I would be angry at those girls for accusing me of being something that I perceived as being so awful. Every night I was angry at myself for not doing what I should have done…I should have embraced the accusation and admitted to them and to myself that it was true. I was indeed a lesbian. It took me two years to admit it to myself, and it took me another ten years to forgive myself. Looking back I don’t know which was harder: being different and not knowing why; or knowing why I was different and not being able to change it or tell anyone about it. I came from a very good, open-minded family. My mom had a guy friend who was gay. I knew deep down in my heart that my family would be accepting of me because they loved me for who I am, not for what I am. But the thing is that I didn’t want to disappoint them. I didn’t want to be ‘less’ in their eyes. I believed back then that it would be easier to just remain in the closet and try to live the ‘normal’ life that every parent dreams for a daughter—a heterosexual life with a husband and 2.3 kids. It’s funny to me now that back then I associated being ‘normal’ with being straight. I realize now that there is nothing ‘abnormal’ about being gay. In my junior year of college I continued to date men, but I also found myself a nice group of gay friends and would sneak off to gay bars with them as much as possible. I was very careful with my secret life, and went to extremes to hide my shocking truth. By hiding my homosexuality I became somewhat of a compulsive liar, and had severe migraines from stress, which often led to anger issues, over-the-top drinking and occasional drug use. Living two lives was exhausting, dangerous, and terrifying. I used to constantly worry about what would happen if my straight friends or my family found out. I played horrible scenarios over and over in my head, and at the end of each scenario I would envision myself ostracized and moving to another country, or killing myself. Eventually I realized I had to get off the fence and commit to a lifestyle. And this is why I think that people believe that being gay is a choice. I was in that spot…do I date women or do I date men. But the truth is that being gay is not a choice. I knew that then and I know it now. I fought my homosexuality tooth and nail. I would have given anything to be straight when I was 21 years old. If being gay was a choice, I wouldn’t have chosen it back then. I didn’t want to be different. I wanted to fit in. The choice that we gay individuals have is how we deal with it. We can choose to come out and embrace who we are and not care what others think. Or we can choose to remain in the closet and constantly struggle with our sense of identity while we placate what society expects from us. Unfortunately, my decision was made for me. While on a date in college, I witnessed what would now be considered a hate crime. Without going into detail, I shall just say that it was bad enough to make me believe that if I came out I would live in fear of violence forever. It was that very night that I decided I would stay in the closet forever, I would deny my true self and be uncomfortable in my own skin forever. For me, forever lasted another decade of my life. I did the marriage thing, and despite loving my husband very much and having a great marriage, I was miserable. I wasn’t only living in the closet; I was living in the pantry. The more I hated myself for the lie I was living, the more weight I gained and the more I drank. The more I drank and looked in the mirror at my weight gain, the more I hated myself for the lie I was living. It was a vicious cycle. Again I was faced with the reality that I had to get off the fence and commit to a lifestyle. However, this time it wasn’t about choosing whether to date men or women; it was about salvaging my integrity. It was about being true to my own self and not worrying about what friends, family, or society would think of me, or do to me. I was faced with ending a marriage that I had vowed would last forever. I was faced with telling people I loved that I had been lying to them for years. Once again, the decision was made for me because I realized that I was committing a hate crime against myself every single day of my life. I was self destructive and punishing myself for not being the most important person in my life. So I did it. I woke up one day, grabbed every ounce of strength I had left and I told my husband I was gay. He accepted my truth and told me that he married me to make me happy, and if I needed to be with a woman to be happy, then he had to let me go find my princess. Next I told my best friend, and she said she already knew. I told my sister-in-law who also said she already knew. She encouraged me to tell my brother, and he told me he loved me for who I am, not for what I am. It took me about a year to finally tell my parents. I had to explain to them why my marriage had ended, but I kept putting it off because I was so worried that they wouldn’t understand why at age 31 I suddenly decided to destroy our family. But I finally told them, and yes, it was rocky at first. What we have to remember is that although our parents have a dream for us about what our lives should be, they also want to protect us from harm. My parents were upset about the struggle I endured for 20 years. My parents worried about the struggles I would face from a hateful society. My parents were not angry at me for being gay, they mourned the loss of their dreams for me, but they also understood that my happiness and sanity were more important than anything else in the world. My father told me that he didn’t care who I loved as long as I found passion in my life. I’ve been completely out for a decade now. And at the age of 41, I’ve never been happier. Being gay doesn’t define my life—maybe that’s because I’ve fully embraced it. Being gay is a small part of who I am. I’m a painter, a writer, a business owner, a daughter, a friend, an aunt, a sister, a girlfriend, a neighbor and a good person. I love being gay, not because I love being different and not because I like having a ‘cause’ to defend. I love being gay because it is part of what makes me ME. Maybe the struggle made me stronger, but I am strong. I have learned to truly appreciate the people in my life because they fully accept me for who I am and they don’t try to change me and they don’t make me feel bad about who I am. This is the life that I was given, and I would not change one thing about it. Now that I’ve given you the short version of my life story, I want to explain why I’m writing this. Somewhere out there is a younger version of me and she is currently terrified. She doesn’t know that she won’t be terrified forever. She doesn’t know whether or not her friends and family will be accepting of her, so she hides, and hates herself, and possibly hurts herself. Perhaps she is being bullied at school or on Facebook because of the clothes she wears, or because she likes sports. Just because being gay is more accepted now than it was twenty years ago doesn’t mean it’s any easier to deal with. Just because there are more support groups doesn’t mean that there is less prejudice. Just because couples live openly in Hollywood doesn’t mean that it’s not scary for lesbians to go to prom together in a small Wyoming town. Things have definitely gotten better for the gay community over the years, but that doesn’t mean that kids who feel differently don’t feel the same anxiety that we felt twenty years ago. There are millions of us living openly and there are millions more still living in the closet. So to the younger version of me, please listen closely. You are not alone, and all the stress and worry that you are feeling now will not last forever. Come out when you are ready, even if it’s when you are old and gray. Be true to yourself. Coming out doesn’t always go well for everyone. Sometimes friends and family react poorly when they first hear. Be understanding that this is something you’ve had time to deal with and it’s new to them. But please remember that if they aren’t accepting immediately, it is likely that they just need time and will eventually come around. If they are angry or mean, they will not be angry and mean forever. Be patient, and stand your ground. Don’t let anyone try to change who you are. Once you’ve taken the first step eventually everything in life will be easier for you, give it time. It’s takes a lot of courage to be yourself. Be proud of who you are, no matter what anyone says. Nothing that you are going through right now will last forever. No matter where the road takes me, I know that I have done right by me. In my life I am the only person I have to answer to forever. And in your life, you are the only person you have to answer to…forever. You are the most important person in your life, and that’s the only forever that really is forever.