My coming out story

I could think of no better way to start this blog than to share with you all my very own coming out story. Read into the ironies if you must, but I think it's rather fitting.

Let me take you back in time in the not-so-distant past of Mother's Day 2003. It was a sunny day; I remember that much. I had bought my mother a bunch of flowers, and feeling generous and helpful, I decided to run her a bath, complete with bubbles. After ushering her inside the bathroom, I closed the door behind me and walked through to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea. I remember feeling noble in my "oh what a good daughter I am" mode as I walked back into the bathroom and set down her steaming cup of tea (one sugar, just the right amount of milk) by her shoulder. Just as I was making my way to the door to make my exit...

"Come sit down, I want to talk to you."

I still had my hand on the door handle as I turned around and looked at her face. I knew what was coming. Here I was, 22 years old, without a steady boyfriend, and constantly evading her questions of 1) when was I bringing someone home 2) did I have an interest in anyone 3) why are you still single 4) what's wrong with you..

The door handle was freezing cold in my grip. Its temperature slowly made its way up my arm and into my chest.

"Make an excuse! Leave! What are you doing?" my mind screamed at me. My mother was looking at me so intensley I feared she could hear my thoughts; and if not, she certainly saw it in my face.

I closed the toilet seat and slowly eased myself on the lid, trying feably to look calm, collected, and not give her the slightest indication of my knowledge of what she was about to ask me. When all else fails, just play stupid, claim ignorance, make your excuses and leave. That's the game that I played since I realised that the phase everyone says will pass never actually does.

"What is it?" I was grinning like an idiot.

"I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth."

Oh dear. I nodded.

"Are you gay?"

Tick-tock-tick-tock. Shit. Tick-tock-tick-tock. You knew this was coming. Tick-tock-tick-tock. What the hell do I say? Tick-tock-tick-tock. LIE! Tick-tock-tick-tock For how much longer can I do this? Tick-tock-tick-tock. Yes I am gay mum. Tick-tock-tick-tock. Don't be stupid mum, of course I'm not. Tick-tock-tick-tock. Lie. Tick-tock-tick-tock. Tell the truth. Tick-tock-tick...

"Yes. I am."

Tock.

CUCKOO-CUCKOO!

As the words rolled off my tongue, I felt 22 years of lies, denial, shame and shadows fall down like an anchor with them. I was in new territory now, into the unknown. I felt liberated. I felt free. No more lies! I'm freeeeeee! Braveheart eat your heart out!

And then I looked at my mother's face, and all feelings of liberation quickly emptied and were replaced with feelings of dread. I knew I had a fight on my hands.

What followed was a barrage of abuse, ignorance, denial, anger, disgust... I was called a freak, a pervert, unnatural, abnormal and a range of insults I do not care to talk about even at this stage in my life. I was threatened with being thrown out the house, disowned by my family, written off the will - you get the picture.

I fought this battle for many years with my mother, and some I'm still battling. The truth of the matter is that not all coming out stories are like mine, but then again some are. What I learnt most about this whole experience was the amount of strength I had. I didn't freak out at her when she reacted so negatively. I understood that what I had to deal with for much of my life and had time to come to terms with, she had to deal with in the space of 2 seconds.

Fast forward to today, and we have honest and frank discussions about my love life. Some details I keep to myself of course, but it's amazing to finally talk to my mother the way I've always wanted to. She's now one of my strongest pillars of support and is there for me during times of heartbreak when all I want to do is crouch into the embryo position and cry over a lost love.

Of course I still get the occassional, "I wish you'd come to your bloody senses and start liking men again."