Chapter 7: One Year Post-Coming Out, in Paris

Essay – 8/19/21, written in Montmarte, Paris.

Disclaimer: ALL NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED. And all people mentioned have their own side of the story that is completely valid.

I’m here in France and I have an overwhelming urge to disappear. The shame is thick and heavy. A year ago, I realized that I’m gay. And as a result, I had to call off a wedding to a man I love.

At the time, it felt like becoming my truest self. And yet, my life was crumbling. I said goodbye to our house together, our little family, his family, the state of Illinois, and my entire past life. I moved to Tennessee to be with the woman I loved. It felt right. It hurt oh-so-much, but it felt right.

He was understanding and kind, and also furious and mean. He was all of the things, and I got that. How could he not be?

The part that’s hurting now is something I didn’t expect: the loss of my own family. The way my parents reacted to my coming out was to be supportive for five hours and then to totally lose it over the phone to me, begging me to reconsider. They loved Damien so much. I get that. It hurt them.

But it wasn’t about Damien. It WAS, of course, but for my family, shouldn’t it have been about me? About their daughter going through one of the hardest things one can experience? A complete and total identity shift. A huge loss.

They had Damien over for dinner. They texted me how upset they were at me for changing the plan. My mom compared me calling off the wedding to me getting a DUI at 19. “How could you do this to us?” was the general feeling.

In the meantime, my heart was shattered. I was losing the person I loved most, sweet Damien. He had loved me so well. So well.

But I plunged forward, into the unknown. I had never felt the way I felt about Kayla — loving her landed me in my whole body for the first time in my life. Loving Damien landed down to my solar plexus. Loving her filled me up down to my root.

So today, one year later, in Paris alone to just try to find some healing…my heart is still shattered. Because I feel exiled from my family. And I don’t think there’s any way I will get them back. Because the way that they treated me this past year has shown me who they are in my life. It has shown me that their support is conditional.

Because here is what happened: none of them showed up for me. None of them called to check in. No one helped me move. I called my cousin and my aunt and they were sweet and supportive. My aunt loaned me money to help me move. But my own parents were no where to be found. I think that my Dad did ask if I needed anything once or twice, but to ask him for emotional support is like asking a horse to tap dance. It isn’t in his repertoire. He is a lovely person, they all are honestly, but he isn’t the emotional support in our family.

My mom is. And that’s the part that hurts the most, that she disappeared. And not only that, but when I did reach out for support, weeks after I told her that I had to call off the wedding, she once again shamed me via text. She told me how angry she was, how I am impulsive and dramatic, and how I am just bad at relationships. One of my two sisters texted me the same things. How could you do this? Are you even thinking about Damien? You just hurt people, they said. You just make messes and hurt people.

They called me selfish. And you know what? It was selfish.

I had begun feeling dead inside, meaning uninspired and tired, all of the time. When Damien and I decided to marry in February, before the pandemic, there was a twinge of guilt deep inside of me. I could feel something wasn’t right, but I did not know what it was. He was sexy, intelligent, loving, and kind. He would do absolutely anything for me. He was strong and motivated and we liked to do all of the same things – hiking, cooking, exploring the city, biking, and hanging with friends. On paper, there were no issues. We rarely fought. His temper was sometimes an issue, but we got through it.

But I wasn’t fulfilled. I was happy often enough, and I was taking care of myself – I am a person who meditates, journals, works out, sees a therapist, and does all of the self-care things. I am sober and self-care is the only way that I stay sober. – but I was…shut down inside. It was easy to blame that on Covid at first, and to be distracted by the state of the world. And then I met Kayla.

Talking with her from March to August gave me life again. She made me laugh so hard. We were both into the same spiritual practices and texts, and we were both sober. We had a lot to talk about.

At the beginning of my relationship with Damien, I had told him that I was pretty sure I was bisexual. I had hooked up with a girlfriend of mine months before (girl friend, not girlfriend) after a night out dancing, completely sober. I had this inkling that I wanted to do more of that. She and I hadn’t had sex, but had fooled around. I told Damien this and asked him how he felt about us having an agreement: I could hook up with women if I wanted to, and that would not count as cheating. He was in. We were both fine with that.

But when I met Kayla, I had completely forgotten about this. I had never taken Damien up on that agreement, and I had forgotten that I was bisexual. I hadn’t told anyone other than Damien. I think I had mentioned that I may be interested in women to my family in passing at random holidays, once everyone was a little tipsy and it felt okay to say that. But my family all talks over each other and these comments were made in a half joking way by me so as not to freak them all out…so, I don’t know if anyone even heard them, let alone believed them.

I didn’t even believe them fully. I had just that one experience with my friend, Rose.

So, what I’m saying is that my guard was not up when I met Kayla. Falling in love with her was not something I could fathom. It was not on my radar that was a possibility for me. So I talked to her as often as I wanted. And over time, we talked the way I talk with all of my close friends: texting throughout the day, being silly and goofy and honest and raw. Sharing how sobriety is going for us. Discussing our meditation practices and giving each other tips. It felt great to have someone on such a similar path to my own.

So at the end of July, when I began to feel excited to wake up and talk with Kayla, I had an inkling something was different about this friendship.

The day that I found my wedding dress, when I sent Kayla a picture of it, she wrote back, “ANGELLLL!!” in all caps. And my heart lit up with joy.

Two weeks later, I went to visit Damien and decided to move in with him. I spoke with Kayla on the phone that day: “The energy feels really good here. I’m ready to be out of the city. It feels right.”

“That’s great!” she said. “When will you move?”

I moved August 8th, Kayla’s 3 year sober date. The Lion’s Gate portal in astrology.

But let me back up. Driving home from Damien’s house the day after I decided to move, it hit me: I loved Kayla. Like really, truly loved her. I started to panic. I texted her and told her: “I think I’m like…in love with you. Is that okay?”

“YES. I’ve been feeling that for a while now, but I didn’t want to say it first.” She wrote back.

Those aren’t her exact words, but that’s what she said. I called her. I was in full panic mode now. It was exhilarating to love her, to be in love with her, but I told her the truth: “I will not hurt Damien. I will not leave him. I will not cheat on him. I won’t do that again.”

I had cheated on an ex who I adored, and it was awful. I would not be that person again.

She said she understood. We talked for a few hours while I drove back to Chicago. We agreed to stay just friends. We agreed that was for the best.

Twenty-four hours later, I wanted to die. (Dramatic may be right, huh?!) But really, I did. I loved this woman so fully. How had I not known sooner? It had been happening, the falling in love, but I didn’t see it. I just did not know…until it hit me, until I knew.

I called her. “Oh, thank god,” she said. “I’ve been crying all day.”

“I didn’t want to tell you because you sounded so sure. I don’t want to mess up your life,” she said.

Respect. Respect for that.

So, we talked about polyamory. Here’s the thing, let me back up again: I had never met Kayla in person. It was a pandemic and Fauci had told me not to leave my house, let alone the state. Kayla and I had been talking on Zoom, texting, and voice messaging every day, but that was it. I knew I loved her, but I had never had sex with a woman. The only woman I had kissed (other than on a dare at age 17) was Kat. I didn’t know I was gay, bisexual, or any of it. I just knew that I was falling in love with this woman I met on the internet. It sounded insane, even to me.

But, she was a friend of a friend (Kayla was), so I knew she wasn’t Catfishing me and that she did, indeed, exist. And I knew that I loved her. I knew in my whole being that I loved her. We talked about me having an open relationship with Damien and her being another one of my partners, and that felt okay. She had a guy she was seeing, Scott, so this way we could both have both. We made a plan for me to talk to Damien as soon as I moved. Because here’s the thing: I was moving in one week. I realized I loved her, and then I had one week to pack my apartment. I had renters who had signed a lease to rent my place in Chicago. The wheels were in motion. And I was resolute that I was going to marry Damien. He and I were planning to get pregnant the next summer. I was thrilled at this prospect. I loved him dearly. Kayla knew all of this. Kayla was not number one for me. Damien was. And I was.

So…on 8/8/20, I moved to Champaign, two hours south of Chicago. Damien was overjoyed. He had wanted me to move there for a year, since he moved. Up until Covid though, I had a business that had a brick and mortar location in Chicago. Now, since it was online, I could be anywhere.

We unloaded the moving truck, put furniture together, and sat down to have dinner sweaty and exhausted. And that was when I told him. I don’t always have the best timing, honestly. But hear me out: this information was burning inside of me. Since getting sober, I have valued my integrity above all else. I tell the truth. I don’t hide things. And I don’t split myself, meaning do one thing but say another. It hurts too much.

So, that day, I knew as soon as I had a moment alone with him that I had to tell him. And I did. I told him that I was having feelings for Kayla, and I brought up polyamory. Damien said that is not what he wants. He listened first and was kind, but honest. And to be fair, our agreement was monogamy. Other than the loophole, which I had remembered a week before and brought up. He told me that he was fine with me hooking up with Kayla. And he genuinely seemed fine with it, unperturbed. The conversation ended.

The next day though, I knew he did not fully understand. I hadn’t said, “I think I’m in love with her,” and he needed to know that. Because…it was the truth. And me hooking up with her would mean something more than just sex. And I knew that. And he was my partner, my person. I planned to be his wife. So, I sat him down again and explained further. Kayla said, “Jesus, Emily, I can’t believe you’re doing this,” meaning having ANOTHER conversation with him about it. She kept calling me brave, but implying I was also insane.

“I have to be honest with him. He deserves to have ALL of the information. It’s not fair to him otherwise.”

“I know, but jeeze. Can’t you give it a break for a day or so?” She asked.

“No. If I know, he has to know,” I said. Committed to the truth.

So, I sat him down and told him that I loved her. And that hooking up with her would mean more than just sex. And he began to get it more. He said, “No” at that point. He did not want me hooking up with her. And he wanted me to talk with her less, even though I don’t think he ever said that explicitly. I understood by the way he reacted when I was texting or calling her. And to be fair, I was giddy when she and I would talk. If I were him, I would have been deeply hurt. And I know that he was.

I should say here that I am very far from perfect. I handled this situation the best I could, being honest every single day while I felt confused and scared. I didn’t know what was going to happen or how to walk through this. I had still never met Kayla in person, so loving her felt sure within me but acting that out felt unsure.

Finally, after about 10 more difficult conversations with Damien over the course of two months, he told me that I needed to go see her. I needed to meet her in person. I had scheduled a trip to do so in early September, but my therapist helped me realize that would hurt Damien too much. He and I saw a couples therapist too (separate from mine), and one day she asked me about the passion in our relationship. I realized that I didn’t feel any passion with him. And I wasn’t sure if I ever did. There was one time after he moved to Champaign when I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks and I went to visit. We had the best sex we had ever had, with him lifting me in the air and putting my bare ass on his dresser while he fucked me. It was awesome. I felt passion that day.

But other than that, none. The other times we would have sex were the only times he wanted to kiss me…the only times he would willingly reach out to kiss me. For whatever reason, if we were not about to have sex, he didn’t kiss me. Realizing that made me deeply sad. I told him this, and nothing changed.

But me being gay and me falling in love with Kayla wasn’t because of Damien’s deficits or our lack of chemistry. It just happened. It happened because I made a new friend during a pandemic and I didn’t know that I’m gay. I left a door open to her because I didn’t know that I had a door there.

So at the end of September, I went to meet her in person. I drove 5.5 hours south to Nashville, nervous as hell. And within 24 hours, I knew that she was my person. We had sex right away, and it was mind-blowing and connecting and sweet. Damien had okayed me doing that before I left. But honestly, these details aren’t for everyone. I want to keep the rest of those four days for myself.

What I will share is that after one day in Nashville, I found myself crying into the scrambled eggs and avocado Kayla made me. I had gone from Damien’s lavish breakfasts every weekend to this and I felt like a fucking princess being taken care of by two amazing people, yet I knew my life was over.

I knew nothing would be the same now. I knew I couldn’t marry him. And that’s why I was crying.

I cried on and off for the four days. I made a plan to move to Nashville. I begged God for the right words to say to Damien when I got home. I begged God that this wasn’t true, how could I be gay? How could I not have known? I cried tears of gratitude too, I felt so alive being with Kayla. We pulled out her couch and watched Hocus Pocus. We giggled and talked non-stop for hours. She had all of the spiritual books that I have read. She had tarot cards on her nightstand.

There is one moment that I want to share, that I don’t ever want to forget. Kayla and I went to Shelby Park together, one of my favorite places in Nashville. It had become a favorite of mine the first time I visited there, in February 2020 right before the tornado and pandemic hit.

We went to Shelby to walk around, and we got out of the car and walked down this paved path to the grass. She looped her arm in mine and swayed happily as she walked. She pulled me in close. My heart filled with joy. My entire chest got warm. I smiled and looked at her and kissed her cheek. A person walking towards us smiled at us big, seeing our love. We were both blissful.

We sat down in the grass and she grabbed my waist and squeezed. I went to take a selfie of us and she covered her eyes and laughed, “Noooo,” she said, amused. I took it anyway. It was a live photo, and in it you can see rays of sun illuminating our faces as she pulls away and laughs, covering her eyes. I love that photo of us.

I loved her so much.

I drove home three days later and told Damien. And a few days after that, I called my family. And began unraveling the wedding plans.

Every day there was a new mountain to climb, whether it was family members calling, Damien crying or screaming or cursing me out, or us returning the ring or calling to return the dress. It was so painful. Like picking shrapnel out of a giant wound: every piece hurt. Every moment hurt.

So today, a year later, I am left baffled at my family’s reaction. Sure, I understand how hurt they were. I felt and feel awful for hurting them too, for making them lose someone they love. But the things they did – finding “dirt” on Kayla to try to convince me not to be with her, for example, or sending me shaming texts telling me what a bad person I am, how selfish and dramatic and bad at relationships I am, and What’s wrong with me? And Will I ever get better at treating people?? – were awful. Finally, at the recommendation of two therapists, I blocked them for a week. I needed a break. I never blocked my Dad, but just one sister and my Mom. I simply could not field any more angry texts. I was having long talks with Damien about how hurt he was and how sad and hurt I was losing him every single day. I was running a business (somehow) and barely surviving this emotional hell.

The part that hurts today is not the misguided actions of my Dad digging up that dirt, or even those angry texts. The part that hurts now is what happened next: my family simply did not show up. They did not support me through any of it. They didn’t call to make sure that I was okay. No one helped me move. They just vanished.

I am a very spiritual person, and I know that all of my angels were with me every day that fall. I asked for their love and support and they came through BIG. I could feel my Papa with me almost every day. I prayed and cried to them every night and most days at some point too. I was never alone.

I called my human friends every day too. Jill and Krista and Rachel and all of them. My cousin, Chelsea, was there non-stop, and my aunt, Dede. Dede was so supportive and accepting and I was terrified she would judge me (because of her age, not because of who she is). I am so grateful for their support.

And yet, it doesn’t replace the support of your family. I needed my Mom and my Dad and my sisters. I needed them to call and make sure that I was okay. I needed them to come help me move. I needed them to see me, to remember who I AM, and to know that I didn’t do this to be wicked or selfish. I did it because I couldn’t NOT. Because I am gay. Because I like women, not men. Because I was dead inside being with a man and there is a reason that no relationship I had before had worked out. All with men. All of those relationships with wonderful, smart, funny, and handsome men did not work out. WHY?! Why do you think? Because something was off every time. After 6 months, I wouldn’t want to have sex with them anymore. And after 1.5 years, I felt shut down inside. Uninspired. Flat.

Because I’m gay. Being with women feels entirely different.

And my Mom kept saying, “We’re fine with you being gay. We’re just not fine with you calling off the wedding. We loved Damien. We considered him a son.” And I know that. He is and was lovely. He’s lovely. But me being gay and me calling off the wedding are TIED TOGETHER. You cannot choose to accept me as being gay but then shame me for doing what I HAD TO DO BECAUSE I AM GAY.

THAT IS NOT ACCEPTANCE. Acceptance is loving someone unconditionally, saying, “Yes, I am hurt by this, but I hear your truth. I honor your truth.”

Instead, my Mom said (and continues to say), “You’re so obsessed with ‘the truth, the truth’” in a mocking voice. “Let it go. Can’t you just calm down about it?”

No, Mom, I cannot. I will not be quiet about who I am.

I will not be quiet about who I am.

So here I am, one year later, and I feel alone in the world. How can I ever trust my family again? I will never be able to unsee what I saw during those 6 months. I got to Tennessee and no one called to make sure that I was okay.

And I ran a fucking business. I saw clients every day. I moved into a new home. I quarantined due to covid. I took care of my dog. I kept going.

And by Feburary, I wanted to end my life.

Since I’m writing this, dear reader, you know that I didn’t. I called Kayla, even though we had broken up. It was a snowstorm, the first of its kind in Nashville in 5 years, and we couldn’t leave our houses for 7 straight days. I was staring at the ceiling fan, wondering how difficult it would be to hang myself, when I knew I had to call someone. I loved her, and we were taking a break from speaking, but I needed to talk to someone who could get to me in minutes if they needed to. So I called her. I don’t remember what she said, only that she didn’t come over. She was out in the snow that moment, traipsing home from Kroger after she finally decided she had to get groceries. She talked me down a bit and then we hung up. I kept crying. I didn’t blame her for not coming over: I understood. We needed space from each other.

Mostly, I sat under blankets and stared off into space. I saw clients and then I climbed back underneath blankets on the couch. I survived.

So today, six months after that, I need people to witness this. I need to share it. I don’t want pity, but just acknowledgement.

If you have a child who is questioning their sexuality, a child at ANY age, be kind. Be open to listening. And most of all, show up. Be there. If you can, be there.

The truth, which my therapist keeps reminding me, is that I am 31 years old, meaning I don’t “need” my parents for anything. I can survive on my own, and I have. I got through the most difficult year of my life to date (God knows it could get worse, although hopefully it won’t). But I will tell you that it felt and it feels like I need them. Like I needed my Mom to call me to see if I was okay. Like I needed one of them to drive to Tennessee and hold me while I cried. Like I needed them to say, “We love you no matter what,” which they DID, and then to BACK IT UP WITH LOVING ACTIONS.

Digging up “dirt” on your daughter’s new partner is not loving them. Calling them to share the “dirt” in hopes they will change their mind about being gay and being with this person is not loving them. Refusing to call them for months on end is not loving them. Ignoring someone is not loving them.

Ignoring someone is not loving them. Ignoring the hard conversations is not loving.

There is no bow to tie around this story. There’s no happy ending I want to leave you with. I want you to feel confused and anxious and angry for me, the way that I feel.

I’m wandering around Paris this week and all I can feel is the fear that I’m doing something wrong. That I, myself, am wrong for existing. Because that is what it does when you ignore your loved one’s truth: it makes her question if it is okay to be her. To be here and alive and living as herself.

Fortunately, I have a great therapist and great friends who tell me all of the time that I am not wrong, I am right. I am love and light and magic. I am a vibrant being with a bright future. All of that crap that I believe on good days.

Today is not a good day. This week, the week I was supposed to marry Damien, is not a good week. But I’m done labeling things as ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ It’s a difficult week. I’m very sad. My heart feels hurt.

I have a beautiful woman to go home to on Saturday. And a cuddly, giant dog, my son. I have a cozy little home with a bright green backyard and a home office with a big, comfy chair. My life is lovely. And yet, I feel exiled from my family. And I don’t know if that will ever change.