About a year ago, I went on stage and presented my talk called “From Petty to Purpose” at the TEDx Push To Start Conference. It was a moderate sized amphitheater, all eyes on me, and I hadn’t memorized a thing. There were no scripts, so I was resolved to just spill the contents of my heart to demonstrate how petty I was and how I used that defense mechanism to find my purpose. Here’s the video.
A major part of my narrative is how I came out to my mother. I’ve shared the story so many times that it’s funny, and still makes people uncomfortable. However, they are able to find solace and understanding by it’s end. I’m usually greeted with hugs, laughs, tears, and thank you’s for sharing my story as it serves as their therapy, of sorts. And where this story of me coming out to my mother and making light of a crucial moment in my upbringing helps me get through the frightening idea of “coming out”…I never get a chance to tell what happened when the jokes and the laughter stopped.
“That’s funny! You would’ve thought the Lord would’ve brought you the answer, too, ” I said from my computer chair. My mother’s knees visibly weakened and she rushed to sit down on my bed. Her face had the only expression of defeat. I just knew I disappointed her. But, you know? There was a duality in thought there. On one hand I felt horrible, scared, and a whole bunch of other shit that’s synonymous with coming out. But then, I felt free.
My mother asked a bunch of questions to figure out if this was a phase or to see if I was a whore. I mean, I guess that’s valid, but what the result was very profound. My mother explained that she felt like she failed as a parent, and not in the traditional sense. She said that she didn’t know how to prepare me, being a single mother, to be gay. My mother dedicated her life to make sure I was safe, kind, and decent in a hetero-sense. Where there is no handbook to raise a child, there’s absolutely no handbook to know to raise a gay kid. I validated her and expressed that she was the best that I could ever ask. She asked me about being molested. She asked if I was gay bashed. She asked about sexual safety. She asked about any horrible scenario you could think of in regards to being gay. I answered accordingly, and I never thought anything further than what my 18 year old, college bound, self could gather.
Later tussles with my mother through college, and up until this point at almost 30, come from fear. I think often times, us who identify with any of the letters of LGBT, live in a bubble and assume that all concerns of heterosexuals come from a space of prejudice and hate. Perhaps, I speak from a space of privilege as my mother and I are still very close and she supports everything I do. However, there is a lesson here that’s universal. Albeit some of her fears are irrational to me, but through my heart of hearts I know that she loves me. She loves me enough to learn about all of who I am despite her discomfort. And for that? I’m grateful.
