Months ago I finally jumped the last obstacle of my gradual
coming out party. Many of my friends and family knew, some I had told, some
figured it out through social media stalking, where I was more at ease to share
my life, and some just knew; I mean after all, I was nearly 30 and had never
brought a man home. One of the few people I needed to tell had been one of the
last: my dad. My initial coming out to my mother was a disaster, as I discussed
in my previous post, and it terrified me that I would receive the same reaction
from my father, so I avoided the disclosure as long as I could. But one night,
as we sat down to dinner at a local restaurant, the moment seemed to present
itself as I had to explain why I had cancelled our usual dinner night: because
I had a Valentine’s Day date. As difficult as it was for me, my father, in his
endearingly awkward manner, pored over me with unconditional support.
A week later, I sat coincidentally at the same table in the
same restaurant where I had come out to my dad to have lunch with an older
lesbian friend. I shared my major coming out moment and she cheered me on as we
reminisced on the pain of being barricaded in the dark closet of our lives for
so long. “Doesn’t it feel great to have that burden lifted?” she asked. “Now
you don’t have to hide yourself anymore.”
But a cloud passed over the table as this comment hung in
the air above us, because I realized the statement was encased in superficial
hope rather than deep seated truth. I am still in the closet in many aspects of
my life and it would seem, until the world changes as a whole and not just in
fragmented progress, that’s where I will remain depending on what situation I
find myself in.
The United States has made progress in leaps and bounds when
it comes to the equal rights movement, as more states legalize gay marriage and
same sex benefits, more states allow homosexuals to adopt, and more states are
creating laws to protect individuals from same sex discrimination in the
workplace. Mentality has changed as more and more people are in favor of equal
rights and just basic equal treatment. But we are still scarred with the fear
of rejection, harassment, and punishment for being who we are. While the world
gradually gravitates toward acceptance, the trauma of our life experiences at
times keeps us silent and closeted.
As I’ve grown more comfortable in my own skin, I have
strengthened my ability to create the world and the life I want to be immersed
in. Before, I was afraid to lose my family or friends and stayed silent to
avoid offending them. Now, I have cleaned house, so to speak, of friends who
were unwilling or unable to accept me for who I am; I have turned away from the
family members who lamented they’d “pray for me” when they realized I was gay,
like I was I leper in need of divine intervention. Before I had friends who
remained when they found I was gay, but expected that I would not discuss my
interests or lifestyle and changed the subject if I talked about my sexuality
or my same sex crushes. Now, I do not keep the secret of me from friends and I
refuse to avoid talking about my sexuality in front of them. If I have to
listen to which male movie heartthrob is sexy, you will listen to my latest infatuation
with my fake TV wife. Love it or leave it.
But there are still moments that stop me in my tracks. At
work, I slip back into the closet, which has become a prison and a safe haven
at the same time. I work with children, and while mentalities have changed,
there are still those less educated in the world that associate homosexuality
with pedophilia. I don’t want to see parents recoil with this revelation; I don’t
want to suffer the heartache and humiliation when they request someone new to
work with their child, someone straight. When I was new at work, a staff member
who is deeply religious confided in me some of his anti-gay sentiment. He
actually bragged to me about how he had attended a GLBT conference, ironically for
our company’s Cultural Sensitivity requirements, and he badgered the presenter and
confronted him with his own religious viewpoints and “truth.” I sucked the air
in between my teeth and bit my tongue. Though I wanted to say so much more I
was not prepared to give myself away and I did not want to be known as the new
staff who was already stirring up trouble, especially since I didn’t know the
overall position of gay rights within this agency. And not too long ago, I was
having a discussion with my supervisor about wanting to start a family. I
gritted my teeth as each statement was tapered with references to men: “you’ve
got to get out and find Mr. Right,” “the right guy is out there for you,” “there
are plenty of good men if you know where to look.” I don’t slight her for the
comments she made; it’s typical to assume heterosexuality in this world and I’ve
grown accustomed to it. Be that as it may, I wanted to let it go right there
and jump out of the closet, crying out “I need a woman! And lesbian dating is
hard!” But I stopped myself, checked the lock and kept myself confined to my darkened
wardrobe. I had been down this road before.
Some people may think I’m a meager, spineless wimp, that I’m
pathetic to linger with a toe always firmly planted in that damned closet. But
the scars I bear from full workplace disclosure run deep. I was open at a
previous job. I hadn’t hidden it from my supervisor, who was also the director
of the agency. And then the world came crashing down and I found how much this
could damage me. My neurotic boss had interrogated a co-worker about my private
life after she found we had been spending (purely platonic) time together
outside of work (we had gone to Vegas with her boyfriend). When borrowing my
camera, she took it upon herself to explore my other pictures, and after viewing
photos of our Vegas trip, my supervisor pulled my co-worker into her office
asking the why’s, what’s, where’s, and when’s of the event. When I confronted
my supervisor about the invasion of privacy, Hell broke loose which led to our
parting ways. In the aftermath, I found that she had reported in employment
papers that she had the right to investigate into my private life because I “was
open about being a lesbian” and dancing with another female co-worker “definitely
affects the employer’s interests and warrants ensuring the safety of the business
and [clients].”
If this revelation wasn’t shocking enough, when I attempted
to file a complaint with the Equal Employment Opportunities department, I was
informed all too late that I could not file there; I needed to go to Fair
Employment and Housing. The EEO only handles job discrimination based on gender,
nationality, ethnicity, or religion. FEHA covers job discrimination based on
disabilities: physical disabilities, mental illnesses, issues relating to
pregnancy, etc. Apparently being gay is a disability in the state of California
which complicated matters and enforces the idea that it’s just better to avoid
the whole debacle by being straight at work. Sadly I missed the Statute of
Limitations and could not file a complaint against the vindictive sprite, but
fear not dear friends, from what I have heard since we last met, karma for her
has been quite the bitch.
Even outside of work, I am at times crammed into a closet
with family. Though my dad was supportive in my coming out, he advised me not
to share this information with my older, more conservative relatives who just
can’t understand this lifestyle and wouldn’t accept these types of people. And
in spite of my mother’s progress toward acceptance, I have been advised the
same, handpicking a few select relatives that I must continue to lie to at
family gatherings to spare their delicate sensibilities.
I envy the people who can burst headlong into life without a
care or fear of retribution. I long for the freedom to be completely and
utterly myself in every moment of my day. I tire of correcting myself when
talking about love interests, interchanging “she” to “he” when revisiting a
date in daily conversation. I tire of my elderly relatives asking about when I’m
going to find a man and settle down. I tire of worrying about being treated
differently at my job, a place where I can’t weed out the negative influences
like I did my friends; I have to work with these people. In this day and age,
with all the steps we’ve taken in the right direction, there are still so many
obstacles to overcome to be a full time, loud and proud, out in the open
lesbian.
But I am moving forward. I am mostly out of the closet; I’ve
shared with everyone who is worth telling. I’m not making apologies for people
I used to worry about. I am aspiring to be that woman I want to be, proud of
myself in every respect and fearless of outside perspective. I kind of want to
be Elsa. Yes, that Elsa, from that movie. Because let’s face it, Disney is just
fantastically gay, and the Academy Awarding winning song could double as the
universal coming out theme song, when you just can’t hold it back anymore, and
you don’t care what they’re going to say, you can just let it go, and let the
storm rage on. And if I could build an awesome, hilariously naïve snowman in
the process, that would be kick ass too.
