originally published in The Globe and Mail
March 29, 2021
“I think I’m gay.” The words came barreling out like a runaway train careening toward an unfinished bridge ahead, warning lights flashing, signs pleading to stop or turn back.
But there was no turning back.
I sat across from my husband of almost 30 years, over filet mignon and twice-baked potatoes, on a long-awaited date night and watched the shock and fear register in his eyes.
That was Wednesday, March 6, 2019. The day my life changed forever.
Before that pivotal day, my family life was peaceful and comfortable. My children were well-adjusted. They were each moving toward their own futures, assured in the confidence and safety of the past. We shared family meals. We laughed and talked about our days. My husband and I presented a united front and were equal partners in parenting and life.
To everyone looking in, our life seemed perfect. And in so many ways it was.
Except for this deep-seeded, gnawing sense of unhappiness that permeated my entire being, destroying any lasting attempts at joy.
But, I had nothing to be unhappy about. I had a wonderful family, a husband who adored me, children who respected me, friends who cherished our time together. I had the freedom to explore interests and hobbies. There was no jealousy or distrust. It was truly a good life.
Why then was I crippled with loneliness? Why was I continuously searching for something to fill this aching void? I lacked for nothing. Clearly, there was something wrong with me.
I sought help from doctors and therapists. I spoke to social workers and psychiatrists. I tried medication and mindfulness. I struggled and subdued the loneliness, only to watch it creep back in.
Until one day. Everything changed.
You know that expression, sometimes we can’t possibly know what we’re searching for until we find it? Well, that’s what happened to me. I had spent a lifetime plagued by depression and inadequacy, of never feeling worthy of happiness. I was heartbreakingly lonely, despite being surrounded by people who loved and cherished me. I lived under a shadow of unhappiness despite having so many brilliant moments of joy of in my life.
Until a girl kissed me.
Then I knew.
Knew what I’d been missing. Understood what Id been longing for. Recognized why I could never be happy in the life I’d created because it wasn’t the life meant for me. It was a life made for someone raised to believe that’s what life was supposed to be. A heterosexual life was an expectation. It was nurture, not nature, and that expectation influenced how I, and many other good girls with me, grew up in the 80s. We dreamed of big weddings with the men of our dreams by our sides, the whole package tucked up in a two-and-a-half story home full of children, all to live happily ever after. Now, there were some of us who dreamed of a career, but that house, hubby and brood of children were typically part of the package. Of course I’m generalizing, but for many young women who grew up in the 70s and 80s. homosexuality was never mentioned.
If you didn’t have access to TV or the news, there’s no way you’d know there was an alternative view, an alternative path you could take. You were fed a picture and you didn’t question it. At least, that was my experience.
I accepted the expectations of my generation. I accepted the expectations of my parents. I didn’t question them. I didn’t know I could choose something different. I didn’t know a different life could exist.
I got married, had children and settled into the life my parents and my society expected of me. And I made the most of it. I created a beautiful life. I believed in that life. There was nothing wrong with that life.
The life wasn’t the problem. It was me. I was broken. There was something wrong with me. I was the one who needed to be fixed.
Until a girl kissed me.
Then I knew.
I didn’t need to be fixed. I wasn’t broken.
I just needed to make some changes—changes that aligned with a new truth I was discovering about myself. Changes that would forever alter my life, and the lives of the people I loved the most.
I came out to my husband. Then together, with him at my side, I came out to my children. They were supportive of my revelation, but the devastating realization that their family would be torn apart ripped their hearts out.
It doesn’t matter how old your children are. When they discover their parents are separating and on a crash course to divorce, it shakes them to their core. My boys are 27, 22 and 17. They were each equally devastated and slid into a world of insecurity and anxiety, unsure what might happen next or where they could turn. There were suicide threats, moving out threats, physical aggression and verbal hostility. My peaceful home turned into a warzone.
My husband and I tread carefully through the minefield, moving closer and closer to separation. But we did it with humility, respect and love for one another. This wasn’t either one of our faults, but the implications were clear. We couldn’t stay together. We were heartbroken. Both of us grieving the end of almost three decades of love and friendship. It was heartbreaking, and we struggled. But no matter how much it hurt, we treated each other with dignity and respect. And always with love.
That process, while difficult, showed our children that despite the truth that our family would never be the same, we were still a family. That their father and I still loved each other very much and there would always be a friendship there. We would always look out for one another. We would always have each other’s backs. In the turmoil of separation, this simple, but powerful fact, helped manoeuvre our kids through the most difficult transition of their lives. No one is happy about it, but we all recognize we can’t change the reality. And the reality is, Mom is gay. And both Mom and Dad deserve something more. Our family has reached a place of acceptance.
It’s been a year and a half since that fateful night.
We’ve sold our home and are in the process of moving on to new adventures. Our family is shaken, but we are still hanging on. My marriage might be over, but my relationship with my ex is still built on a solid foundation of love and respect.
It hasn’t been easy. But honouring your truth never is—it is, however, essential. My revelation set off a powerful chain of events that changed my life forever, but in the process, it also began filling me up in ways I’d never imagined. The loneliness has started to fade. In its place is a deep-seeded knowing that I’m finally where I’m meant to be. No matter what comes next, I know we’re all going to be OK.
This is my coming out story.
I’m 48 years old. And I finally know I’m gay.
In gratitude,
Marissa xo