I turned 30 last week, in the middle of all the weird family holiday junk that flies around this time of year. And while it certainly gets better (or, in the words of one astute Dan Savage critic, it gets “marginally different”) I keep waiting for it to get easier. Easier to be me, to be comfortable. Easier to be with my family. Easier to walk down the street and be butch. Easier for me to be proud and out and all those things.
My gf and I are in the thick of filing for a domestic partnership, since California still has its collective head in its ass about marriage equality. We’ve been together for over seven years, so it’s kind of just a formality at this point – a means to some health insurance and visitor’s rights and all that. And at Christmas at my parents house, we didn’t mention it. Because we still don’t talk about those things with my folks, even though they are in love with my gf like big whoa. Being ‘married’ to a woman means I’m gay for real, and moreover, butch for real too. And they still can’t handle that. The part that worries me is that I still can’t stand up for it, either.
My mom, for Christmas, wanted to buy me a pair of heels. Because Charlize Theron is a tall actress, and she wears six-inch heels and I looked so good in that show I did a million years ago and why didn’t I steal those black heels from the costume shop and why doesn’t my manager want me to wear heels every day?
Why do I have to keep having this conversation?
Why do I leave my boxer-briefs at home when I visit my parents, in case my mom folds my laundry? She never says anything. She never openly disapproves. I’m thirty freaking years old. And I have loving, mostly supportive parents, who have made it very clear that they will always hold out hope for my femininity to pull through this “phase.”
I don’t have any answers for this one. I still walk between the worlds of presenting totally butch ( a world I fully inhabited in the safety of the Prestigious Women’s College, way back ten years ago) and fudging it, wondering if people can tell or not. (To which my gf says, “honey, you look like a big ol’ dyke.”)
All I know is that every day I choose my favorite Calvin Klein button down, or wear a skinny tie with my blazer, it’s not just a fun girl-playing-in-boys-clothes thing. I don’t look like Shane from the L Word – supermodel thin and rockstar-haired. I look really gay. Pretty, yes, but still butch. And every time I tie that perfect Windsor knot, I have to come out, to myself and to the world, over and over again.
Gaining the courage to be yourself around your family is much more difficult then being yourself in “every day” life. Acceptance amongst your family is so much more important then the general public so we end up doing whatever it takes to be accepted by them. Including being someone we’re not. I still do it, although not as extreme as I used to, and I’m 42 years old.
I applaud you for continuing to come out as butch. Your strength and courage will encourage the younger generation more than you know.
Thanks so much, Wendi. Your support means more than I can say.
Yours are not the only parents who just won’t give up. Every birthday and Christmas includes frilly, feminine clothes and delicate jewlery; gifts I will never wear. I feel badly about the wasted money, but since I never wear anything remotely feminine around them I absolve myself of the guilt. I don’t get it. They could so easily give me a gift certificate for a massage and I’d be thrilled!
Hang in there and give yourself the time and space you need to become comfortable with your folks.
Thanks, CK – I too would prefer the massage (in fact, I think I even asked for one… oh well)! And after being with my family I certainly could use one. I appreciate your resolve to not feel guilty; a good reminder for sure.
I went through those kinds of “Christmases” when I was young. One time “santa” filled my stocking with all sorts of “little girl/feminine” things. I gave it all to my sister, and knew from then on that there was no such thing as santa claus. Even outside of holidays, when I got that “frilly/girlie” stuff, my sister knew she would be getting what I got too. On a good note, I’m very greatful for my little sister. On a bad note, I’m 40 and my mom is still waiting for me to “change/grow up”. I have, you know? I’m wearing the clothes I want to. Finally. Ain’t nothing gonna change about that.
BUT…….if you could please explain “the look.” You are the second person to write about “looking gay” and wondering if people can tell. Based on what I said above, I’m no where near femme ( and have been told so), but how do people figure it out without being told? I’ve told a few friends (and said sister), and they already figured it out before I told them. Is it the clothes? hobbies/activities? personal presentation? overall demeanor? “gaydar”? Is it one or two specific things or a combination of all of the above? If you could expand a bit, please let me know, because its driving me crazy. Thanks