A few weeks ago, I sent a rather desperate email to Jeanette. I hoped that reaching out to her would give me a solution, or at least some semblance of peace – the kind that comes from knowing I am not alone. She replied far more quickly than I anticipated, and asked if I would be willing to share my story.

So here I am. I will give you the basics: I am a British woman living a largely middle-class lifestyle with my toddler son and boyfriend of four years. I live in a sleepy church village in the arse-end of nowhere. I am also deeply, hopelessly attracted to women.

I will not lie: I have no answers. I have nothing to offer you but the sound of my truth – and even that is barely above a whisper. But if you listen hard, perhaps in my words you will find the echo of your own story: where it began, where it is now, wherever it ended. And perhaps in the telling of it, I will not only give you hope, but find it for myself.

Somewhere along the path to motherhood and 1950s housewifery, I got lost. I do not know who I am, or how I got here, or what I want. All I know is that the secret I have carried with me since I was six years old – the one that aches indescribably for release – is becoming close to unbearable. I need to find myself before I can figure out where to go from here.

This seems as good a place as any to start.

Written by: Bee on Friday | 08.26.11.