It’s been almost two years since I told my husband that I was questioning my sexuality. Two years of guilt, anger, and way too many things said out of spite and resentment.
Two years of looking into the mirror and not always being sure who was looking back. But also realizing that the things that made me different…left me on the edge of fitting in and wondering why I couldn’t just be like everyone else…finally made sense.
Becaues while I was so busy doing to do all the “right” things… getting married, having babies, making it all look sweet and happy…I was stomping down the real me; squeezing her into a box that she would never fit into no matter how hard I pushed.
Truth has a way of coming out whether we want it to or not. Most of us learn that the hard way. After a while, we hit the point where we can either show the world our real face or continue to smother it. I’ve seen what stifling true feelings and emotions can do to someone. It leads to bitterness and sickness over a life unlived.
This journey I’m on is far from poetic. There’s no lyric in the painful way my husband looks at me now. No rhyme in a 20-year relationship riddled with so many lies. But I’m learning that pain is the first step to healing, and that same pain has opened me up to something so many other things:
- Understanding who I am for the first time in my life
- Hope and honest excitement for my future
- Moments of pure joy and utter randomness that let me know that I am moving in the right direction
No one said it would be easy, but if going through it is the only way to get to the good part, I’ll hike up my big girl panties, lace up my timbs, and keep stepping.