Tiny Buddha

Tag: gay

  • Coming Out at 50: Love, Loss, and Living My Truth

    Coming Out at 50: Love, Loss, and Living My Truth

    “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” ~Carl Jung

    We all had a wild ride during the pandemic, am I right? Mine included falling in love with a woman. At fifty years old.

    That’s not something I expected. But isn’t that how life goes?

    One day you’re baking sourdough and trying not to touch your face, and the next you’re coming out to the world and losing half your family in the process.

    I’d been single for over two decades—twenty-five years of bad dates, some good therapy, and quiet Friday nights. I’d survived abuse, betrayal, and abandonment.

    I’d been struggling to make peace with my solitude. My biggest fear was dying alone in my apartment and not being discovered for days. It felt very possible.

    Trying to accept that this was as good as it gets didn’t leave me in state of letting go but in a state of absolute dread.

    Deep down, I was aching to be seen. To be chosen. To feel at home. To belong to someone. Then I met her. And my life cracked wide open.

    This wasn’t just a late-in-life love story. This was a story about becoming who I really am—about peeling back decades of shame, “am-I-gay?” denial, and internalized homophobia.

    It was about stepping fully into my own skin. And the price of authenticity? For us, it was being shunned.

    Neither of us had explored this path before, so when my now-wife came out to her devoutly Catholic family, they told her she was going to hell.

    They called her an abomination.

    Her mother hung up on her and never called back. That was years ago, and the silence still rings in our home.

    That phone call still makes my stomach knot. It wasn’t even my mother, but I felt it in my bones. I’d been orphaned as a teen, and I knew that kind of cutting loss.

    But this was different. This was intentional. This was betrayal in the name of righteousness.

    There are siblings, in-laws, nieces, and nephews who claim to “support us,” but their actions say otherwise. We’re invited to some events and left out of others. They hide the truth from the kids like we’re shameful secrets.

    We show up, smile, make small talk, and leave. No one asks how we’re doing. No one mentions our wedding. We invited them.

    And you know what? I’m angry.

    I’m angry because they get to pretend they’re not part of the harm.

    I’m angry because they preach love and acceptance, but it only extends to the people who fit their mold.

    I’m angry because my wife, the kindest human I know, cries in the dark sometimes and says, “Maybe I shouldn’t have told them.”

    But I’m also angry because we did the brave thing. And bravery shouldn’t cost this much, but it often does.

    We tried to find ways to “pass.” To live a half-truth.

    We discussed keeping things quiet “for the sake of the kids.” But ultimately, we knew any ruse would fall apart. Four kids have big mouths. And love deserves the light.

    We wanted to be models of integrity—for ourselves and for them. So we came out. Fully. And paid the price.

    It’s hard to explain what it feels like to be ghosted by an entire family. It’s grief, yes, but also rage. Deep, blistering rage. It’s the disorienting sense that you are both too much and not enough at the same time. And it brings up everything.

    All the old stories from my childhood: that I had to earn love. That I wasn’t lovable unless I was perfect. That my voice didn’t matter. That taking up space was dangerous.

    Those lies were hardwired into my nervous system. But this new rejection? It cracked them wide open. And inside that crack, I found a painful truth:

    Living authentically can cost you people you thought would never leave. But living inauthentically costs you yourself.

    So, here’s what I’ve learned, for anyone navigating the heartbreak of being rejected for who you love or who you are:

    1. Grieve it.

    Don’t skip over the pain. Feel it. Let it rage. You’re allowed to be hurt. You’re allowed to be furious. You’re allowed to be human.

    Journaling helps. Venting to supportive friends helps. Finding people who get it helps.

    Fear can strip people of their humanity. Fight fear.

    2. Build your chosen family.

    Find your people. The ones who cheer for you, hold you, and text you dumb memes when you’re sad. They are real. They count.

    Thankfully, my siblings were accepting ‘enough.’ They don’t hate. They may not be fully comfortable, but they have never excluded us.

    And my Irish wife has plenty of cousins, aunts, and uncles who have heard our story and have shown up to support us and champion us.

    Our existing circle of friends never batted an eye or skipped a beat in giving us love and support.

    3. Stop performing.

    Even if it feels safer. Even if it wins you approval. It’s exhausting and soul-crushing. You’re not here to be palatable; you’re here to be whole.

    My four stepchildren have adjusted well because we have owned our truth while staying gracious.

    The kids can spend time with their grandma and relatives no matter what they think about us.

    It’s their relationship to develop and foster on their own, and eventually the kids will come to their own conclusions.

    We will continue to model that love is love.

    4. Give your inner child the love she missed.

    Your inner child deserved unconditional acceptance. They still do. Speak to them gently. Show them they’re safe now.

    This took effort for me. And for my wife. It’s been a process of grieving and letting go—of rebuilding our lives and identities.

    Rejection has been a theme in my life, and it hit hard. Especially when I have always longed for family.

    But I realize my family is within the walls of my own home, and there is plenty for anyone else I allow to enter it.

    5. Hold the boundary.

    You don’t have to chase people who can’t see your worth. You don’t have to explain your humanity. You are not too much. They are simply not ready.

    We continue to reach out to my wife’s siblings because they and their children will be around a lot longer than their mother will (their dad died three years ago). They live a mile away.

    And even though they say they are “Switzerland,” and I say they are complicit, I do know they try in their own ways to walk a middle line.

    Sometimes, I’m struck by sadness as this feels like we have lost something, and, other times, I’m open to the ways they show up without needing to judge or quantify it.

    The truth is, I still have days where the sadness grabs me unexpectedly—at weddings, holidays, or when I see how tender my wife is with our kids and wonder how anyone could deny her love.

    But mostly, I feel proud.

    I did something really f***ing brave.

    I stopped asking for permission to exist.

    I didn’t do it at twenty. I didn’t even do it at forty. I did it at fifty. And that’s okay. That counts.

    If you’re out there thinking you’ve missed your chance, or that it’s too late to start over—I promise you, it’s not. You don’t need a pandemic either.

    You’re not too late.

    You’re right on time.

  • How It Got Better: My LGBTQ+ Journey from Shame to Pride

    How It Got Better: My LGBTQ+ Journey from Shame to Pride

    2003 was when the “gay devil” (as I referred to him at the time) made his first appearance inside my unprepared thirteen-year-old mind. On a trip to Mexico that year, he sat perched on my shoulder while my family and I were out to lunch at an outdoor taqueria. The girl at the table next to us had tan skin and brown-blond hair, and wore sunglasses and a spaghetti-strap black tank top.

    My “gay devil” noticed her and made sure I did too. As the words “She’s hot” crash-landed from his taunting lips into my unsuspecting mind, I flinched—then turned around to make sure no one had heard.

    Luckily no one had. My dad simply smiled kindly into my worried eyes before passing me the bowl of tortilla chips.

    Over the next few years, the gay devil made frequent reappearances, continuing to deliver crushes to me that I wasn’t ready or willing to identify for what they were.

    He was often pretty rude in his delivery. At a Stevie Brock concert, when I realized my feelings for one of his fan club members far surpassed anything the boy pop star had ever made me feel, the gay devil taunted me: You’re not really here for Stevie, huh?

    At summer camp, after a girl I liked gave me a hug, he whispered: You liked that a little too much, didn’t you?

    **

    There were several reasons I didn’t feel safe coming out (not even to myself). One was that even though LGBT people had gained notable acceptance by the early 2000s, it still seemed like relatively few people were “out”—fewer still in high school.

    Another was that despite my attending a fairly liberal high school, it still felt to me like a place where going against the grain—no matter if your difference came in the form of sexual orientation, temperament, or the way you looked and talked—was to open yourself to judgment and ostracizing.

    Some rare people are completely comfortable in their skins from a young age, blessed with rock-solid peer support groups and unshakeable self-confidence. I wasn’t one of them.

    So I hoped I could “wait the gayness out,” as if it were a passing affliction that might resolve with time.

    This concept of homosexuality as a sickness traces back to centuries ago. At one point (before it even started to be pathologized), it was simply so taboo that it wasn’t even spoken about.

    In Walt Whitman’s time, for instance, no discourse existed for understanding or discussing it—for which reason Whitman himself remained in denial, despite developing attractions to the wounded soldiers he treated during the Civil War. (Though Whitman had many relationships with younger men, his writing only implied this, rather than explicitly stating it.)

    After Whitman’s time, a dialogue around homosexuality finally began to emerge, but it was always in the context of illness. Psychiatrists like Richard von Krafft-Ebing described it as a “degenerative sickness.”

    The “homophile” movement emerged in the late 1950s to early 1970s to fight back against this, eventually promulgating a “Gay is Good” message (inspired by the Black Pride Movement) and seeking to build gay culture by way of theaters, music, and newspapers catering to the LGBT population.

    The movement also promoted and encouraged gay affirmative therapies (whose goal was not to change but be happy with one’s orientation) over gay conversion therapies.

    Still, homosexuality was listed as a psychiatric disorder in the DSM until 1973. In 2005, remnants of that disdain still seemed alive and well at my high school.

    Because shame kept me from putting it into words, for years I danced around the gay/lesbian label, filling the pages of my diary with circumlocutory fawning over my crushes, all of it coded as admiration.

    After finally taking the plunge—first to my diary at age fifteen, then to friends and family at eighteen—my self-acceptance slowly grew. Many firsts and milestones followed.

    Years earlier I never could have imagined I’d be interviewing a married lesbian Australian pop duo while interning for Curve Magazine, or that I’d attend queer prom with and then date a girl I’d met through my college campus’s LGBT Center, or that such a varied community of beautiful LGBT individuals awaited me, particularly in college but also in the years after.

    Little by little, as the years went on, pride replaced shame—and by now, all the shame is gone. But I still remember how it felt. I remember how it stifled me.

    I remember the negative effect it had on my mental health, how it exacerbated my feelings of isolation. As Colin Poitras wrote in his 2019 article (for the Yale LGBT Mental Health Initiative) The Global Closet is Huge: “Concealment takes its toll through the stress of hiding.”

    I also recognize that many queer people are still actively fighting to overcome their own shame. People like the many friends in the LGBT community I’ve known through the years—one whose mother, after he told them, cried inconsolably while his grandma accused him of being possessed by demons.

    Another whose mom, while out to lunch with her, tried to set her up with their male waiter right after she’d come out to her for the third time. Still another whose parents simply refused to ever speak about it with him.

    Referring to a new study by the Yale School of Public Health, Poitras writes that, “even with the rapidly increasing acceptance in some countries, the vast majority of the world’s sexual minority population—an estimated 83% of those who identify as lesbian, gay, or bisexual—keep their orientation hidden from all or most of the people in their lives.

    For these reasons, Pride and community spaces are still very much necessary.

    **

    If given the chance to speak to my teenage self, I’d say to her now: it gets better for you—and once it does, you’ll see that it doesn’t end with you. Celebrate the victories we’ve made—but don’t let them lull you into complacency.

    Not when many young queers—both in rural towns and more urban areas—remain in the closet, compartmentalizing who they are out of fear of familial rejection. Not when in some countries, people can still be killed for living openly as gay.

    And not when the rights of some members of our community (such as queer people of color and transgender people) remain under threat. A Black man who can marry his partner but still has to worry about violence at the hands of police isn’t experiencing equality in the full sense of the word.

    Keep living with eyes, heart, ears, and hands open to the issues affecting members of both our queer community and the larger human family—because if there’s one thing being LGBT has taught me, it’s the importance of not leaving people to suffer in silence. And it’s the power that community, support, and the pride fostered within them can have over combating shame.

  • How I Reframed Letting Go So I Could Move on from My Painful Past

    How I Reframed Letting Go So I Could Move on from My Painful Past

    We are truly free when we let go of the thought that the past could or should have been any different than it was. This is so hard.

    The challenge is born from our desperate need to validate our feelings and experiences. It often feels like we are invalidating ourselves if we let go of the thought that the past should have been different. We have been through hell, experienced things most people don’t know about, and it initially feels so devastating to think of just letting it go like it never happened. Where is the justice in that?

    I know; I have been there. Honestly, I still have moments where I pick up this thought and carry it around for a while because it just feels like the right thing to do. To honor myself and my experiences, I have to stay connected to the injustice of the choices that others have made—choices that dramatically impacted my life and created immense amounts of pain.

    After almost nineteen years of marriage, my husband, my high school sweetheart, told me that he was gay and had never been attracted to me.

    I promise; I know pain. I spent weeks wrestling with myself, trying to think of all the things that could have happened, or maybe should have happened, to avoid the situation that was causing me so much pain.

    Things like wishing I had paid attention to the red flags when we were dating, listening to my therapists over the years when they tried to get me to work on the issues between my husband and me, wishing I had never met him or he had been honest with me (which would have been the best for both of us, as I’m sure the lying hurt him as well). So many things I wish I could change. It seemed insurmountable at times.

    For months I didn’t even want to consider accepting my reality. This felt like the most invalidating thing I could do. The rejection I experienced over the course of my marriage is not something I would wish on anyone.

    Was I surprised when my ex-husband told me he was gay? This is hard to answer. I knew something was wrong. I knew I felt crazy and invisible and ugly. The number of nights I went to bed in tears over being invisible to the man I married was too many to count.

    Now that I finally get to live in truth, how do I move forward? There is a twenty-year mountain of grief I am stuck carrying. I personally find this reality the worst: other people’s choices can cut us to the core. Others can hurt us, and the only way to live a healthy, fulfilling life is to be connected to other people.

    I can’t tell you the countless nights this reality has kept me awake. I want more than anything to live on an island all by myself. For years I convinced myself I could be fully self-sufficient. I will earn my own money and take care of my own needs. I don’t want anything to do with being close enough to people for them to lie, cheat, and hurt me again. I wish this worked. I wish there were a way, but I am here to tell you there is not.

    You can go that route; believe me, I have tried. It only brings more emptiness and pain. The truth is, we are hardwired for connection. We are mammals. We have to have others to survive. Those who are thriving have deep, meaningful, loving relationships. They feel the greatest highs and the pain of the deepest lows when someone breaks trust. This is the human experience. Unfortunately, some of us have experienced deeper levels of pain, but what I know for sure is that we are all capable of healing.

    I have had to reframe what letting go means. It will never mean that my ex-husband’s choices were okay. I will never say the pain was worth it or not that bad. Living in a catfished relationship for twenty years will never be okay. There will always be days I feel the pain and grieve the past. Thankfully, those days are getting further apart, but they definitely still happen.

    Letting go is feeling the grief of my reality so I can accept what I cannot change. I cannot change his lies. I cannot change my choices to believe them. I cannot change that I abandoned myself and my needs for the sake of him and our kids. I cannot change any of that.

    I can feel the deep, tormenting pain and grieve that pain until it stops tormenting me. When I allow myself to feel, to sit in those feelings for as long as I need to, I validate myself. I am not waiting on the day when he or anyone else validates my experience.

    No one will ever know the true depth of our pain. The days we sat in our closets and wept or cried ourselves quietly to sleep. We can validate that for ourselves, though. We can share our stories so others know they are not alone in their pain.

    I know many of you reading this know my pain. Your story might be different, but your pain is not. If you feel stuck in moving forward, please know that the greatest gift you can give yourself is to fully feel all your feelings. “Go there,” as they say.

    You don’t need to do it alone. Allow a therapist, mentor, or trusted friend to sit with you while you feel the depths of all your feelings. There is freedom on the other side. I promise. It is not perfect; my grief is not forever gone, but I am free. I am free of his choices, and I am free to create a life I didn’t know I could dream for myself while I was still tied in his web.

    The work is scary, hard, and only for the courageous and brave. There are so many people who are here to cheer you on and stand beside you while you do the work. Be brave and start the journey of letting go. You are worth it.

    —

    I recently heard someone say that compassion is the intersection of love and suffering. I feel like I carried suffering around for so long, and I know that my ex has too. My ability to truly let go and be free came when I was able to also see my ex’s suffering and lovingly let him go.

    I met him with compassion. It wasn’t easy. Compassion didn’t come quickly, and some days it is still hard. We were both raised in a culture that valued being good and loyal over happy and seen.

    Our tragic story is the product of valuing rules and goodness over love, happiness, and self expression. I know we are not the first generation to suffer from this mindset, but I pray we are the last.

  • Overcoming Family Rejection & Finding Strength in Pain

    Overcoming Family Rejection & Finding Strength in Pain

    Man Finding Strength

    “I don’t like being too looked up at or too looked down on. I prefer meeting in the middle to being worshipped or spat out.” ~Joni Mitchell

    Growing up, there were two sides of the kitchen table. On side A, there was my lieutenant colonel of the US Army, hardcore conservative, Wall Street trader of a father who used the word “faggot” while passing the salt.

    On side B, there was little ole me, who was pretty sure that I was that word my father so vehemently used.

    I thought Barbies were a fun toy (Malibu Barbie was my favorite, obviously) and at twelve years old, I got that funny feeling inside when I first laid eyes on Mark Wahlberg in his now infamous Calvin Klein ads. (Thanks for the memories, Markie Mark!)

    So there I was on side B, always feeling as if my side was less than. How many of us have been there before?

    I could never understand the larger than life, imposing, All-American man across from me, whose emotional unavailability and anger kept me at bay. But I tried, and tried, and tried.

    It was as if there was always some sort of divide between the two of us, and no matter how desperately I wanted to close the gap, I couldn’t jump it. There was no safety net in our relationship, and so as I got older, it was one of the many reasons I went down a dangerous path.

    Sure, the fear of my father that was ingrained in me was a catalyst for shame, feelings of unworthiness, and an inability to express who I was within the world.

    It was also the black hole that I learned to fill with perseverance, self-respect, and authenticity, and for that I now see its purpose with gratitude.

    When I hit rock bottom at twenty-five years old after years of drug, alcohol, and sex abuse, all roads led to the forgiveness of my father—and myself.

    I thought back to his absence in my life. All of the athletic accomplishments that he overlooked, meanwhile celebrating my older brother’s football success. All of the dating conversations we never had, and all the times he could never say “I love you.”

    I let those memories burn, and braced myself as the ashes dissipated in the air of my past. Though the immense pain, I cried as I waved goodbye.

    I waved goodbye to the day when I came out of the closet at nineteen years old, and my dad replied that it was “his fault” since he has a gay cousin. I waved goodbye to his belief that there was something wrong with him for “passing along the gay gene.”

    I parted with the memory that every time I brought good news, he could never celebrate it with me, as if it wasn’t good enough. I let go of the belief that I was never good enough.

    With everything I waved arrivederci to, I waved hello and embraced all that I had become and am.

    I welcomed the realization that it doesn’t matter if anyone else deems us worthy, so long as we accept ourselves.

    I hallelujahed the knowledge that I was my father’s son, and his gift for his own self-growth; and if he simply was not willing to receive that gift at the time, this was not my fault.

    It was not his fault either, as every person is doing the best they can at their own personal level of awareness. I could let go of all blame.

    I could just be me, and let him be him, and live with the hope that one day, he and I could become an “Us.”

    Within the larger story of Us, I see that our diversity is to be celebrated, and is the one thing that we all are able to appreciate in this often chaotic and messy world.

    Our uniqueness is unique to us, and is a gift. I learned to be grateful for that. The great thing about gratitude is that it is a predecessor for forgiveness.

    Once I was able to forgive my dad, I was able to see him differently. As I healed myself, my comfort around him healed us.

    When I was freshly twenty-eight years old, I was going through a crippling yet transformative break-up, and on Father’s Day, I needed him.

    I never spoke about men to my father, but I knew this was the moment. I packed my bags and blurry eyes in NYC and drove west to my parents’, where my dad was waiting for me.

    There, in the den with the TV off, through the tension, I cried, opening up about how much I loved this particular man and how much I was hurting.

    I admitted that I had started drinking again; that I felt deeply lost, that I needed help. That I needed my dad.

    “You’re too nice of a person to let people do that to you” was his simple console. In its simplicity, it was enough. I was enough, and so was he.

    The chasm got smaller; the separation united. I had jumped the gap and made it safely to the other side.

    Nowadays, there’s a flow where the river was once damned. We talk more than ever; about how smart Peter Thiel is, or how the stock market is doing, and I also share personal stories with him. I share my authentic self.

    Sometimes he just sits there and nods, and in his big blue eyes, I am given a world of quiet contentment. I no longer am looking to be anywhere but there when I am with him.

    Our relationship makes me realize that if we could all have open and honest conversations with one another, we would be able to realize that we are all similar underneath our differences; that there is never a reason to create a divide between.

    Of course, it takes two, and if the other person won’t meet us halfway, we can end up feeling divided in ourselves. If that happens, remember that you are wonderfully you for a higher reason.

    You are uniquely you and meant to find those whom support you for all that you are. As you are, exactly who you are, there are others who were put here to simply support that person.

    As an individual footprint in the paved path of the Universe, your mission is to be unapologetically who you are made to be. No one can step in your way if you are living a life of pure authenticity and self-respect, not even an unaccepting family member.

    Remember that others’ negativity is a projection of their own pain—and have compassion for them.

    How we feel about others is a direct mirror for how we feel about ourselves, and as someone who has experienced a lot of self-shame, I have seen the danger of taking my frustrations out on others and making it their fault.

    Any sort of judgment stems from self-judgment, so the more another person irks us, the more we need to question what irks us about ourselves.

    It’s important for us to remember that compassion can melt every boundary of anger and hurt.

    Family contention can often be an opportunity to let go of self-blame and find forgiveness in spots that were once hidden to us, if we allow it to be.

    It is often the stepping stone to massive healing if we are brave enough to take the jump. There is a reason why we go through everything.

    Lastly, remember that you are allowed to hurt.

    Some days, it’s important to let your heart bleed. Pain often connects us to our strength, so let it burn with faith that things are only getting better from here.

    They really are.

    The greatest part of my story is that when my father and I are at the dinner table now, there are no sides any longer; there is just one beautifully imperfect, real human relationship.

    There is acceptance, and there is love. I know this not only because he is able to tell me so these days, but because I feel it within myself.

    My relationship with my father gives me hope. It gives me strength. It gives me the belief that one day, between Side A and Side B, we’ll all be able to meet somewhere in the middle.

    Man finding strength image via Shutterstock

  • 10 Truths About Real Love (It’s Not Always Like the Movies)

    10 Truths About Real Love (It’s Not Always Like the Movies)

    Movie Romance

    “No relationship is all sunshine, but two people can share one umbrella and survive the storm together.” ~Unknown

    In a world duped by wild expectations and soaked Ryan Gosslings, my recent engagement to my partner Rob got me thinking: No one writes a letter every day for a year and talks about it in the rain.

    So, to anyone out there ready for love, these are the lessons I have to share.

    1. You may find love where you least expect it.

    We met in a bathroom. At a gay bar. I’m not saying people don’t find love when they’re looking for it, or that it’s never magical, but you’re probably not going to meet when and where you think.

    2. Technology is tricky.

    Once you’re in a committed relationship, I think everyone would agree it’s time to delete the dating apps. The rest is totally subjective.

    For example, you may not see the harm in liking a picture of your ex on Facebook, but your partner might. Either way, it’s definitely worth having a conversation on what you both agree is socially kosher online.

    3. Jealousy can be healthy (in moderation).

    Like booze, too much is bad for you, but a little here and there can actually be good. Rob once said, “You should be glad I’m jealous. Otherwise, it would mean I didn’t care.”

    I know it sounds sort of twisted, but as long as there is trust, a little jealousy acknowledges you have something other people might want, and your partner knows it. Take it as a compliment.

    4. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay, straight, or anything in between. 

    A relationship is a relationship. That’s that.

    5. It’s like the movies, but not at all.

    My improv teacher once said, “Every scene should be like the movies. Today is the day.”

    Aliens are invading, a meteor needs to get blown up, your best friend is getting married—whatever it is, it’s going down, and it’s going to be super dramatic, hilarious, or terrifying.

    Unfortunately, this intensity is not sustainable. Life has a lot of uneventful moments, and your relationship will too. No one wants to see a movie about two people spending an entire day on the couch. And that’s perfectly okay.

    6. Seriously, everybody fights.

    There are a lot of things you can do to prevent most fights, like communicate more and drink less. But when it does come to blows, remember that you can still get your point across without being mean about it.

    7. Sex is easy. Working together is hard.

    Some things come naturally, but packing up your entire apartment and filling a 17’ U-Haul isn’t one of them.

    The cool thing is, the more you work together, the more you come to understand each other’s strengths, and for better or worse, weaknesses. Ultimately, it’s not just about you anymore. You’re a team. And as cheesy as that sounds, it’s the truth, Ruth.

    8. Breaking up can actually be just a break.

    About a year into our relationship, I took a job in Denver. Rob and I subsequently broke up. It was definitely one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but also one of the best.

    Six months later, I moved back to Chicago with a renewed appreciation for the city, my friends, my family, and most of all, Rob, who (lucky for me) was still there. But there’s no denying breaking up is risky stuff.

    9. It’s a package deal.

    So that means antique shopping with your future mother-in-law, introducing yourself to that one friend for the fifth time, or discovering a close friend is actually an old flame.

    10. Companionship is conscious.

    We choose to be in a relationship. It’s a choice you will make every day for as long as you want.

    I know I’ve got someone very special. And I know it took a lot of learning and growing to realize it.

    So here’s to real life, sharing what you know, and the absolute “yes.”

    Movie romance image via Shutterstock

  • 3 Surefire Ways to Embrace Being Different

    3 Surefire Ways to Embrace Being Different

    Different

    “To be nobody but yourself in a world doing its best to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human can ever fight and never stop fighting.” ~e.e. cummings

    I’m gay. I’m married to a woman and we have a beautiful daughter together. I also have an ex–boyfriend that I was with for quite a significant time. Most of my friends are straight, and I thought I was too until about five years ago when I fell in love with my now-wife.

    It was a crazy time, and I suddenly had to deal with being different than most of my friends.

    I was extremely lucky because I had a huge support network of people who loved me no matter the gender of the person I loved. There were many that didn’t get it and treated me differently or completely cut off contact.

    That was hard, and it took me a little while to deal with it. I would get upset easily and then seriously wonder what the hell I was doing. I almost considered walking away from it all.

    Thank goodness I came to my senses and realized that love is love, and I was going to spend the rest of my life with this person no matter what. I learned to deal with the negative people and discovered three sure-fire ways to make sure I didn’t let them get to me.

    I worked at it, and at times it was difficult. I found that by remembering these three things I was able to get through it to where I am now perfectly fine and happy being different than most people I know.

    1. Stay hell bent in your belief of yourself.

    I knew that no matter what happened I was a good person in love with an amazing woman. We weren’t hurting anyone, and I came to realize that if she can put up with me all the time, then I’m going to keep her around!

    I knew that we were seriously in love and no one was going to keep me from being happy. As long as we had each other, we were okay. I really believed in the love we have, and still have to this day.

    Believe in yourself and who you are deep down. Know that you are a great person with so much to give to this world. If you have self-belief, then no one can ever bring you down unless you let them. Own it.

    2. See it as an opportunity to teach others.

    Like I mentioned, many of my friends are straight, and they were under the impression that I was too until I surprised them one day. So along come the awkward questions: “Did you always know you were into women?” and “Does this mean that you don’t like guys anymore?”

    Instead of getting frustrated, I decided to use this opportunity to teach others about being in a same-sex relationship. This was vital once our daughter came along too, and we are so open with anyone that asks about her conception and any other questions they might have about her existence.

    We use it as an opportunity to teach that families come in all shapes and sizes, and that a child can thrive with two mums or two dads as much as they would having both a mum and a dad.

    Use whatever is different (or, as I like to call it, rocking) about you to teach others.

    Sometimes people just don’t realize, or are ignorant to things they don’t know much about. Once people know, they tend to change their tune. They become supportive because they have more of an understanding. People are just scared of what they don’t know, so inform them.

    3. Surround yourself with your cheer squad.

    You know those people, the ones that always have your back no matter what situation you get yourself into. Those people are always going to support you and give you sound advice.

    Use them to your advantage whenever you need. Call them, hang out with them, and make sure they are around you to keep that resolve that you have burning strong. You need them. Guaranteed they don’t think that there is anything different about you anyway.

    On the flip side, don’t give your time to negative people. You don’t need to be around them. Let them slowly drift from your life. In their space bring in the positive people. They will lift you up.

    Not everyone has access to this cheer squad. Sometimes you’re out there on your own, and that’s perfectly okay. You have a few options here to maintain your strength and self-belief.

    One is to write affirmations to yourself and put them in places that you will see often. They should include the traits that are awesome about you. When you read these you’ll remember that you absolutely rock. They’ll help pick you up if you ever get down.

    Another thing along the same lines is to put alarms in your phone throughout the day saying the same positive affirmations.

    At noon, I get a message from my phone that reads “You are a gem. You are caring and thoughtful and beautiful just as you are. Stay true to you.” Thank you phone, you are so lovely!

    If you need a bit more connection than you would get from your phone, head online. There are so many forums, support networks, and websites that you can access to talk to people going through the same thing as you.

    These people will become your tribe and your online cheer squad. The beauty of the Internet is that you can use an alias and not your real name. You can remain anonymous and still get access to beautiful people in a similar situation to you.

    We wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for the unbelievable supportive people that we have in our lives. We don’t feel different, and although our situation isn’t normal, all the people in our cheer squad make us feel like it’s a non-issue.

    It doesn’t define us as people. It is what it is and all our people are totally cool with it. They make it so much easier for us. We are very lucky.

    —

    These three things helped me deal with the shame and embarrassment I felt initially when I told people about what was going on. I didn’t really “come out,” as they say. I just told everyone that I was seeing someone and she was a woman. That was it—although at the time it was one of the scariest things I have ever done.

    In the end I had no reason to feel ashamed or embarrassed. It was crazy to think that everyone would have an issue with it, and although it wasn’t smooth sailing all the time, it was easier than I expected. It can be for you too. I promise.

    Give people the benefit of the doubt. You’re not doing anything wrong, and these days the majority of people are more open about sexuality than in previous generations. This is the same no matter what’s rocking about you. There is a lot more understanding in our world about uniqueness and differences.

    Embrace your differences. That’s what makes this world of ours so magical and interesting. Don’t change to be like anyone else. You are unique and beautiful just the way you are.

    Different image via Shutterstock

  • Ellen Page’s Inspiring Coming Out Speech

    Ellen Page’s Inspiring Coming Out Speech

    Ellen Page is my new hero. Her honesty, her vulnerability, her courage, her compassion, her message of hope. Five amazing reasons to dedicate nine minutes to this video. If you’re anything like me, you’ll get to the end with goosebumps and gratitude for the powerful reminder to shine your light.