“So… I’m a lesbian.” There. I said it. My inner lady raised her eyebrows from behind her thin rimmed glasses (that I don’t actually wear; only she does) and looked at me, a tad surprised. My shoulders sagged and I looked around the empty room. My mother is going to kill me. My sister probably will too. It’s a good thing that I don’t live with my parents anymore, but I can’t really speak too soon, anything can happen.
It’s an ongoing road to acceptance and finding out exactly who I’ve been hiding up in myself for so long, but it starts with that one action. It begins with saying it out loud. I looked around my empty living room and listened to the quiet sleepy breathing of my little girl in the next room and tried to breathe myself into that state of calm and peace that I had felt on the rare occasion when I was feeling really good and in touch with myself. It felt like my mind was whirling with all sorts of questions and comments, the foremost among them was…”what now?”
What do I do now? In the blink of an eye, I go from being a married woman with a partner, with a child, with all this support. A stay-at-home-mom, to something else. A new entity. A single woman. Self-reliant. Who knew that one word could come with all these new connotations and consequences?
The Taurus in me is now standing up and shaking off the dust thinking “well…gotta find a job…like NOW.” And it’s causing a rising panic within me. The panic is bubbling up from my chest and threatening to choke me just a little. I haven’t job hunted in a very very long time. I was fortunate and got a job right out of college. When I left it to take care of my small bundle of joy, I couldn’t stop the feeling of dread that came over me, but taking care of that little person was way more important to me than anything else I was feeling.
But now she’s two…and here we are. I’m going to have some financial help for a while. He won’t throw me out. He’s not that guy. But I have to look at what I’m comfortable with. I’m not the type to just take his money because I’ve had his child. I can accept help, but I can’t live off of him for long. I’m not that girl. I was relying on myself for a while before he came and I know i have it in me to do it again. But where to start? And am I really ready to let go of taking care of my girl full time? Is there a way to do both?
This is where a bit of faith would come in…if only I could find it.
And yet, there is a girl in me, who has peeked her head out from behind all the stacks of books, and memories, photographs and memorized lines that I keep stored in my heart and she is looking at me with something else. Her eyes are dancing wildly and there is color on her cheeks. Her small hands tremble, but they hold firm to the edge of the precipice as she prepares to step out. I know that look on her face. It’s hope.