awakenings

I have to admit that I swiped this video from the inimitable Dorothy, but I can hardly be blamed for not resisting.

First, it’s part of the speechless campaign, second – it involves at least the suggestion of lesbian action, and third – have I mentioned the fact that I’ve had a mad crush on Maggie Gyllenhaal for like, ever and ever? Because I have, and I do, and I lurve her.

Enjoy.

On a lighter note….

A few months ago I came across a fantastic blog written by a woman named Kathryn and immediately felt right at home. The blog, Recovering Straight Girl, was the first that I had found to directly address my current reality, that of coming out after marriage and motherhood. Not only does she address it, but she does so with humor and grace and realism. I was hooked right away.

While exploring her blog that first day, my friend J. (another RSG, about a year ahead of me in the whole process) and I came across Kathryn’s Recovering Straight Girls 12 Steps to Becoming a Lesbian and we just about killed ourselves laughing as we read the steps aloud. I just had to ask permission to post the list here.

Just to make this a little more personal, I’ll include my personal commentary below each step (consider it a warm up for an upcoming post – where I intend to talk about sex)!

The Recovering Straight Girls Twelve Steps to Becoming a Lesbian (reposted with permission from the author)

1. We admit that we are powerless over being lesbians; that our lives have become unmanageable trying and pretending to be straight.

Um. Yeah that. I made a damn good (32 year) attempt of it though.

2. We have come to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity; it is the power of pussy.

Um. Yeah that too. Powerful stuff, that.

Enough said.

3. We have made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to being with women, and have made that shift by actually engaging in hot sexual relations with a woman more than once.

Well, not more than one woman, but definitely more than once. And definitely, definitely, definitely hot.

Did I mention it was hot?

4. We have made a list of all the men that we slept with; accepted that straight sex is mediocre sex, and forgave ourselves for wasting so many precious years sleeping with men. We have come to realize, accept and willingly expect that orgasms do happen (over and over again,) and that they are a normal part of sexual relations. We have also realized accepted, and now expect that sex last longer than ten minutes. Note: Some personal training is required in this area to build up an endurance level.

For this one I am hoping that a mental list will do. Funny, I wouldn’t have categorized most of my (straight) sexual experiences as mediocre sex…I always thought I rather enjoyed it. However, having experienced the reality of being with a woman – well…lets just say everything is relative.

“orgasms do happen (over and over again)”
Funny that. I always assumed I just didn’t have it in me to be a multi-orgasmic woman. Now I know better. Not only are there more of them, but seriously people – they are ***this*** big and ***that*** long. No joke.

“now expect that sex last longer than ten minutes”
Seriously, this has been the most surprising and lovely aspect of my sexual experience thus far. It is so fluid, and not goal-oriented. Truly, all of lesbian sex fits under the heterosexual definition of foreplay, so it just rolls and spirals and spins to the edge and back again for as long as you want it to. For all you straight gals out there, at the risk of being presumptuous and rude… I gotta say, you don’t know what you’re missing.

5. We have admitted to a higher power, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs pretending to be straight. In other words: we came out, and realized that we would rather have dental work done than have sex with another guy.

Well, I have to say that there is no such thing as using the term “came out” in the past tense – because it is such an ongoing process (more on that in another post as well). The coming out process is really life long, I think.

As far as the dental work bit, well – as strange as it seems even to me, I kinda have to agree. Yikes. I really must be gay, ‘cause I hate the dentist.

6. We have made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves and with much certainty and without hesitation, cut our nails, and very possibly our hair. Note: During this step, some recovering straight women may want to also get a tattoo or piercing, this is entirely a matter of choice. A tattoo or piercing is not a requirement as of this writing.

Cut nails – check
I keep waiting for S. to notice and ask why my nails are always so short after years of having them longish, but either he is oblivious or he has decided not to ask. Note: if you’re wondering why the short nails – just think on it for a bit. Rather obvious, no?

Cut hair – check
However, I rather think my hair cut had more to do with wanting to be as cool as Victoria Beckham than it did wanting to embrace Lesbianism. However, there is a page ripped out of a catalogue stuck to my fridge of a woman with short-short hair. Every now and then I look at it and wonder if I would have the guts, and if it would look good…

Tattoo – almost check
I’ve been meaning to have this done for months and months though, way back when I was still deep in denial, so not sure if this counts. However, it is this journey that helped me finally decide what tattoo to get. This will be my second tattoo– so it’s not entirely a RSG thing.

Piercing – nope
My ears are not even pierced anymore. I can’t imagine I’m going to go out and get pierced…although stranger things have happened (like me finally coming out of the closet, for instance). Side note: I am WAY into piercings in other girls though. Both of the women I have kissed have had lip piercings and I have to say, it adds a certain something to the experience! Hmmm…happy memories.

7. We are entirely ready to have the higher goddess remove all these defects of being straight: To prove it, we have gone to at least one lesbian bar, lesbian dance and/or lesbian event (preferable a lesbian folk singer); we have purchased CDs from Melissa Etheridge, KD Lang, and/or The Indigo Girls; and we have acquired at least one item with a rainbow on it.

Lesbian Bar: check, check, check, check.
I think I’ve been to more bars since September than I have in the past decade. It’s like college all over again, except with more girls and no sweaty football players! We’ve actually got a decent number of places to choose from here, although most of them are fairly ghetto. Last night we went to a Lesbian country bar, where I line danced and two-stepped the night away with gay girls from 21 to (I swear) 65!

Lesbian Event: check
Rainbow Festival, and several lesbian folk singers actually. I’ll attend my first Pride in April and hopefully road trip to San Diego Pride in July. I flirted with the idea of going to Dinah Shore with a friend this year, but don’t think I’m up for that yet! Coming up: Tegan and Sara in April, and I heard a rumor of Melissa Ferrick coming to town as well…

Music – check.
Funny story. I was talking to J’s girlfriend T one day about music. We talked about our musical likes and dislikes – including when we discovered certain favorites. Upon hearing that I had been listening to Melissa Etheridge, Indigo Girls, Ani Difranco and Tori Amos since college, T looked at me in disbelief and said in a most incredulous voice, “And you didn’t know you were gay?”!

Rainbows – check
Canadian AND American pride magnets, and my girls insist on keeping a pride flag cling-on in their bedroom window!

8. We are removing our straight shortcomings: We no longer refer to our straight friends who are women as our girlfriends, and reserve that term only for women that we are sleeping with. We have accepted that hiking is a part of life, (although secretly it can be disguised as shopping,) we have purchased a sports bra, (although we know that it’s only to be worn while playing sports.)

I have noticed that I have been more aware of using the term ‘girlfriend’ – although I would never have called the woman I was seeing/sleeping with my girlfriend (called her my not-girlfriend actually) so it didn’t seem to matter as much. I am sure that once I have an actual girlfriend I will be much more careful about how I use the term.

Not so sure about the hiking bit, as I enjoyed that even when I was playing straight. Shopping I am always up for! Sports bras…yes – only during sports. I am NOT a fan of the uniboob.

9. We have traded our magazine subscriptions to Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Elle, and Marie Clare; for new subscriptions to Curve, Girlfriends, and The Advocate.

Well, the only pre-gay magazine subscription I had was to “Lucky” (and that was only because someone bought it for me) although I admit to buying more than my share of “In Style” and “Marie Claire” in the past. I did buy a copy of “Curve” a few months back – but I think I can make up for my lack of subscriptions with my memberships to websites like “Our Chart” and how many LGBTQ related businesses/organizations/people I have on myspace friends list!

10. We have continued to take personal inventory and when we are wrong promptly admit. We are open to guidance from our lesbian sisters on things related to: the proper placement of hand stamps at lesbian nightclubs, womens basketball (especially the womens NCAA tournament,) camping, baseball cap etiquette, dogs, cats, and beer.

Hand stamp placement? Huh? If we’re talking sports I will need plenty of guidance. I’d only willingly attend a basketball game if it was with a bunch of fun friends, or if I was purposely going to scout for women! Baseball cap…I don’t think so. Beer…not for me.

11. We have sought through prayer, meditation or deep reflection ways to first access, then fine tune our newly realized Gaydar in order to improve our conscious contact with lesbians. We then have:
a. Successfully recognized a lesbian and tried to make some kind of contact with her outside of a typical lesbian arena.
b. Been nodded at by another lesbian who recognized us, outside of a typical lesbian arena. Note: This is a very important, but very difficult task that may take a lot of practice before achieving. Do not be discouraged, do not give up!

Damn, but my gaydar sucks. Unless a chick an obvious butch or dyke (or is making out with another woman) I have to admit that I always have that “Is she or isn’t she?” question in my mind. That is the nice thing about a lesbian bar or gay event – at least the assumption of gayness is a relatively safe one!

a. Yes, yes, yes – I did this….however, was not successful at making eye contact. I’m giving myself credit for trying.

b. Eek – not so much. I swear, if I hear one more time “You look like a straight girl”, I just might buzz my hair and start wearing ties and big black boots. I think the only way I would get recognized outside of a ‘typical lesbian arena’ is if (not to be indelicate) I had my tongue stuck down another woman’s throat, or if I took to wrapping myself up in a pride flag every time I left the house. Heck, my car (with its “Legalize Love” bumper sticker and pride decal) is more obviously gay than I am! That’s the kicker of being femme, I think, to most people femme = straight.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to other straight women, near and far, in the city, in the country, and in the suburbs (especially the suburbs,) and to practice these principles in all our lesbian affairs.

Conversion/Recruitment Attempts – Check.
Ask my straight friends – I keep trying to tell them how silly they are being with this insistence on heterosexuality. Heck, if I had known what I was missing it sure wouldn’t have taken me this long! Plus, eventually I want to earn a toaster oven.

So there you have it. All you other RSG’s out there, lets hear it from you too! Leave your commentary in my comments section, or ask Kathryn if you can post this on your own blog.

public display of affection.

It feels delicious to walk through a crowd, my fingers intertwined with hers, and feel her thumb caressing the back of my hand. Or to stand next to her and feel her hand slip into the back pocket of my jeans, pulling me a little closer. To lean against her in a booth at some random pizza joint, and to feel her softness against my back and hear her voice in my ear. To sit next to her in the second last row of a darkened concert hall and enjoy the feeling of her arm around me. To turn my face toward hers and kiss her without caring or noticing or wondering if there was one person watching or if the whole world had pulled up their chairs for front row seats to the show.

It does not feel brazen, or bold, or even liberating to be with a woman in public. To be affectionate with her does not feel like a political statement or some sort of personal crusade. It’s not defiant or in-your-face and I don’t have a damn thing to prove. It just feels good, and right and so comfortable I wonder (once again) what on earth took me so long to get here.

I wasn’t always this comfortable. At first when we were out together I was a little antsy, cautious, unsure of myself. I didn’t realize until I took my wedding rings off that my reluctance had nothing to do with the act of showing affection to another woman where others could see, but instead had everything to do with my guilt.

Although I know logically that likely nobody but me noticed they were there, the rings felt like a flashing neon sign pointing directly at me saying “Look Here! Cheater! Bad Girl! Leaving-Her-Good-Husband-To-Be-With-Women! SHAME, SHAME, SHAME!” As soon as the truth was out and I stopped wearing my rings I felt the shift right away. All of a sudden I could be out with her, could BE with her without feeling that sense of anxiety – and then it just slipped neatly and naturally into something so undeniably right.

It is still a novelty to me to feel comfortable enough in my own skin that I’m not constantly wondering or worrying what other people are thinking of me. I have had many freedoms in my life, but the freedom from that debilitating self-judgment is brand spanking new. Never before have I been able to escape the need to define myself based on the opinions of others.

I once wrote a blog entry (that’d be on my old, straight blog ya’ll, the one my mama reads – so no linkage here) and referred to myself as an approval whore. That about sums it up. I not only cared what people thought, I based my entire sense of self-worth on what I perceived those thoughts to be, and I acted in order to cultivate the sort of approval that I was desperately seeking.

Now it doesn’t matter to me if the sight of two women holding hands and kissing bothers you and you think I’ve bought myself a one way ticket straight to hell. I could care less if you think it’s hot in a ‘girls gone wild’ sorta way, and you elbow your buddies and make rude comments. Perhaps you don’t even really see us because, like most people, you are so wrapped up in your own life that the actions of those around you are peripheral and barely warrant notice.

What does matter to me is that I am with someone I want to be with, and I feel free to be with her just as I would be with anyone. I finally feel free to be me.

And yea, that feels damn good.

Tonight we worked together
He hung the blinds
while I washed the walls

Together

We talked and we joked
And enjoyed comfortable silence
And took breaks to check our email

Together

We got the room ready
Cleared the floor
Discussed furniture placement

Together

We small talked about music
And whether or not he could make it to the gym before it closed
And when I would take my shower

Together

We moved in the new mattresses
Stretched the sheets across the bed
Laid down side by side to test it for comfort

Together

We were partners tonight
Just as we have been for almost 11 years
We’ve done almost everything,

Together

But tonight
I’ll go to bed in my new bed
In my new room

Alone.

It’s Christmas Eve. We’ve just spent a rather lovely day together as a family, all things considered. Sure, there are moments of heaviness and intense discussion – there always are – but for the most part we’ve just been comfortably together today.

We debated attending church tonight for many reasons. This year marked the first year I have been able to own my lack of religion. I have tried throughout my life to make it real for me. I chased Christianity hard for a while with a yearning and craving for the sort of certainty I sensed in friends who were solid in their faith. I put on a mask and made a good game of pretend, but it was always insincere.

The affectations of this faith always felt hollow to me. Even as a child, growing up as the oldest daughter of a Protestant minister, there was always something missing – a big hole where my faith was supposed to live. That hole was always filled with nagging doubt, suspicion, and distrust. I’ve think I’ve always known that this was not my truth, but was never strong enough to admit it aloud.

The idea of attending Christmas services seemed hypocritical to me, the same way I feel rather counterfeit everytime I gloss over the answer to a religion related question from my daughter. But still, we decided to attend, believing that there was a need for some sort of tradition and predictability in the midst of the constant uncertainty of our lives. We have not successfully managed to replace Christianity with other spiritual beliefs (because I have not yet managed to fully understand or articulate my own and because S. is still fairly solid in his Christian faith), but we’ve always attended Christmas Eve services, and so we planned to attend this year as well. I thought it would be okay, but from the moment we took our seats in the pew I vacillated between sensations of suffocation and hyperventilation.

I felt like an utter and total fraud.

It wasn’t just the lack of religion. The questions about my beliefs were not at all new; I’ve attended numerous services able to simply enjoy the comfort of ritual in the absence of faith. Despite my lack of strong beliefs, I have always been able to pull a sense of serenity from the predictability and tradition of the church, from knowing what words to say, what music I would hear; there is a simple beauty of being in a place where you know all the rules (even when you don’t believe them).

No, it was more than my lack of religion.

I could imagine the picture we presented to the world. Two young parents and two adorable, if rather noisy and ragamuffin, kids. A close family bonded by love, just like any other in that church. I try to see us as we appear to the outside. I imagine what the rest of our night might look like from that outside view. If I had seen us – sitting together in that church – I would probably imagine that we’d go home and tuck our kids into bed with promises of Santa and presents. Next we’d arrange the gifts beneath the tree, and then sit in front of the twinkling lights with our arms around one another, comfortable in the certainty of our lives.

What nobody in that church could have possibly known was that we are a family on the verge of breakdown. That S. and I often alternate between clinging to our past in desperation and turning away from one another completely. That even at the best of times our interactions are bordered by the sort of tentative uncertainty that makes me forget that we’ve been best friends for over a decade. An outsider could probably sense the love between us, to me it is still such a palatable thing, a clearly visible current of emotion. Yes, the love is there, but someone looking in would probably have no idea that this love isn’t enough, not near enough, to sustain us.

At one point during the service I noticed a couple in front of us. They looked about our age, the man was rugged and handsome, the girl fresh-faced and naturally beautiful. He had his arm around her, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her shoulder or twirling her hair. She looked up at him every few moments with a loving gaze, her eyes clearly transmitting all the faith and happiness in the world. I wondered how long they had been together. One month? Ten years? Were they married? Were they happy? They were clearly in love, and that is when it struck me what truly separated us from them. While the love between S and I is undeniable, we are no longer ‘in love’ the way we have been for so very long. We are not one any more; we have begun the long and convoluted process of growing apart and moving on.

I looked over at him, and he looked so achingly handsome that it took my breath away. I wondered, as tears threatened to fill my eyes, why on earth can’t I want him the way I always did? Why can’t the love, and the memories and the life we had built be enough? Why is it that I need something different? Something more? How can someone be so close, and yet so far away?

And perhaps the biggest question of all, how do I move from feeling like a fraud, to finally feeling as if I am just being me?

and I came across a slice of wisdom that said
‘you were never not going to be here’
and it was right
this was as inevitable as the tides
as the shift of seasons
as the cycle of life and death

my whole life I have been spiraling
toward this point
and I no more had a choice about reaching this
than I did about being born into this body
or craving the taste of dark chocolate melting liquid on my tongue
or having azure eyes that see more
than I can ever comprehend.

it seems so clear now.
i wonder how I didn’t always know.
but of course I always knew.
didn’t I?

i knew it somewhere
in my deepest depths
and hidden thoughts
and ignored dreams.

i knew that I would belong here
in the arms of a woman
softness against softness
nestled curve against curve
warmth against warmth
breath against breath
flowing endlessly together into the long, long night.

Yes.
it was as inevitable as night following day
as letters forming words
as the rising of the sun.
as the heady free fall of love
as the force of change itself

it was as if the universe exhaled and things slid into place
like the mechanism inside a lock when you find the right key.
and the way my muscles feel after a long massage
when the ache subsides and my body relaxes
and fills up it’s rightful space
and says yes
oh yes.
this is how I am meant to feel, to move, to exist.
this is how I am meant to be.
without tension or pretense or that nagging feeling that I should be someplace else.
or someone else.

just here.
just now.
just this.

yes.
it was inevitable.
i was never not going to be here.

there is much to
learn
and so far to go

and so I am steping
boldly
into this new life

boldy, yes
but not without fear
and certianly not
without grief

and there is pain

yes, there is pain
and there are days
when I am consumed by loss
and I want to pull the covers
of life
around my head
and sit in darkness
with my demons
instead of trying to escape
the knowledge
of what precious life
I have relenquished
to the wild ether

but there is hope
there must always be
hope
and there are days
when I spiral on hope
spiral to infinity and back again
with my breath
or her touch
or your words
or the sound of the raindrops hitting my window
as if life just goes on
or because life just goes on

And so I take a breath
and I breathe again
and again and again
filling my lungs and heart and soul
with hope
because my life depends on it

because the center
of life,
mine and yours,
is always breath

and each day I choose
to unwrap my battered
heart
one more time
and one more time again
and to hold it out
palms upturned
and I make a fragile offering
of my heart to the world.

and so I stand
as naked as I have ever
been
with my breath
and my heart
and my grief
and my loss
and my fear
and my pain
and my hope

and with myself

with so much less
but possibly so much more
than before

and I remind myself to take
just one step
and to breathe just one breath

and I think that maybe
just maybe

I can do this.