It’s been a little over a year since I came out. Deciding to live as an openly gay Christian woman (who fully embraces the “gay lifestyle,” whatever the hell that is) was a hard decision. I did not make it lightly. I waited until I was sure, my conscience was clear. Then came the difficult task of telling my family and friends.
Some friends accepted my decision and affirmed their love for me, and we moved on with our lives. But others worried. They were afraid that my decision to love was going to end up with me rejecting my faith and becoming emotionally damaged. I didn’t know what to say, other than that only time would tell.
And now it’s been a year.
In Matthew 7:16-18, Jesus says,
“You will know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes from thornbushes or figs from thistles? Even so, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit.” (NKJV).
It’s the passage where Jesus is talking about distinguishing false prophets. But by extension, he is addressing apparent ambiguity, and how you can determine what is truly good by looking at the results that it yields.
He’s a wise man, that Jesus. The words he spoke 2,000 years ago still ring true. This verse is how I know that I was right to embrace my orientation and come out of the closet.
It’s been a year since I came out, and I’m amazed at how my life has changed. I’ve noticed a subtle shift in my demeanor. I’m bolder. I have the courage to be kind. In situations where it’s easier to be silent, I find myself speaking.
I’m less afraid to just do things I want to do. Where fear and anxiety once held me back, I am now free to simply act. I signed up for a 10k, and ran it in 55:04. Not fabulous, but I did it. Before, the fear of failure–of humiliating myself by finishing DFL–would probably have stopped me from registering. The potential of encountering an untold number of strangers on the trail would have kept me from training beforehand. But I ran, and I loved it, and I was not afraid.
There’s a Starbucks near where I work, and I go there on weekend mornings to study (or write blog posts), sip slightly burnt coffee, and pee in the customers-only bathroom. That’s where I am now. I used to hate coming here. Once again, because the proximity of other people taxed my reserves and made the experience exhausting.
I love coming here now. The baristas know me. They know that I’m a musician. They know my usual drink (tall blonde roast), and that I pay with exact change ($2.11). We always say “hi” and chat for a few minutes when I order my drink. I like watching all the different customers as they troop through. A few minutes ago a lady told me “nice shoes!” and made my day.
My newfound confidence is something I’ve wanted for so many years. I remember being a young kid and wishing that I could just be comfortable in my skin. Looking at other people and wondering how they had the guts to be themselves. I tried to fake it, and in my teens I managed to bluff so well I fooled everyone except myself. But on the inside, I was just as anxiety-plagued and jittery as my eight-year-old self.
I feel so different now. Being around other people doesn’t sap my energy in the same way anymore. I don’t need to maintain an emotional shield for everyone I meet. They are welcome to look at me and see the person I am. Who cares if they glance over and think “oh she’s definitely gay”? It’s true. I am. And we can all go on with our day.
I still find myself being faintly surprised when I stop for a moment and think to myself, I’m happy. I love my life. I haven’t thought about suicide once today. It’s amazing because for years, a day without suicidal thoughts seemed impossible.
I can’t say that depression is completely gone from my life. I still have dark days sometimes. But they are the exception, not the norm. Now, when I think about depression, it’s usually to marvel at the fact that it no longer overshadows my consciousness. I wonder at it’s conspicuous absence.
I look to the future with hope. I dare to dream again. I have ambition. In the depths of my depression, it was overwhelming to try to think of even one year in the future. To plan that far ahead was to face the harsh reality of having to live through another 365 days of pain. I’m thinking about my future now and I’m excited.
I’m looking forward to the day when I meet the love of my life. Long conversations, laughing our heads off at inside jokes that aren’t actually that funny, cuddling under the stars…and then one day we’ll get married. We’ll get a couple of cats, and maybe a dog. We’ll spoil each other, my wife and I. We’ll go on dates to the movies, and dancing, and hip little restaurants downtown. And then we’ll start having kids. Maybe I’ll carry a baby. Maybe she will. Maybe we’ll adopt. Our kids will be so wanted, so adored…
These are the desires of my little gay heart. Growing up, I heard whispers of the perversity of homosexual feelings. Gay relationships were painted as forbidden trysts fueled by lust run rampant. That I felt attracted to other women was a source of terrible shame for me. To think that I was one of those people whose lust was so out of control that it burned for other women!
This picture of gay relationships is so twisted, so false. We are not some hyper-sexualized creatures whose passions cannot be satisfied by heterosexual union–we are humans with the same ability to love as anyone else. Our love is beautiful, it is pure. It is no less, and no less holy, because it is directed at someone of the same sex.
Today I find that my mind is clearer, my future brighter, my heart fuller, than I ever could have imagined. I took the risk of embracing my identity because I believed that it was right–and that if I was mistaken, God would turn me around before I went too far astray. One year after coming out, I know that I made the right decision. So much good has come about because I chose to be the me that God made me to be. And a bad tree cannot bear good fruit.