One year later, I spend a week in Paris mulling over my queerness and my close relationships.

By now, y’all know almost everything. And of course, this is just my side. If you were here with me, at my little house in Tennessee (I moved here in 2020), I would put the kettle on & give you a huge, cozy blanket and ask your Consent before sharing this story with you.

This is the culmination of the Adult Trauma I’ve gone through.

Micah and I break up in January of 2018. He moves out that February, and in with some of our mutual friends. The apartment he moves into in Wicker Park is a party house.

It’s the end of June in 2023. I’m 33 years old. And two weeks ago, my next door neighbor moved her son and his fiancee into their place. No big deal, right? In anyone else’s life, SURE. No big deal. In mine, past Emily tried to date her adult son. Big sigh.

I wrote this piece in spring of 2022. It is based on what I went through starting in September of 2018. All names have been changed. Everyone mentioned has their own side and part to this story that is completely valid.

One year later, I spend a week in Paris mulling over my queerness and my close relationships.

What it’s like realizing you’re queer late(r) in life.