Out of the closet and into the light
The 11th of October was National Coming Out day. When I say National, I refer to the United States of America, Switzerland, and the United Kingdom. How kind of the human species to allow gay people two days of freedom per year: Pride and National Coming Out day. If you’re in South Africa you will have to be content with Pride only. The purpose of National Coming Out day is to raise awareness – often celebs will tumble out of the closet on National Coming Out day in the hopes of inspiring the struggling closet queens and dykes to do the same. Coming out stories are shared among the LGBT community, serving to encourage those who are petrified, ashamed, and uncomfortable in their own skin – letting them know that there is light at the end of the tunnel.
You will find that not every coming out story is the same. As with all stories in life, some have happy endings while others don’t. Not every coming out story ends with rainbows and sprinkles. Some end in abandon and unfortunately in extreme cases, suicide. Because it’s Sunday today and the weather is dreary, we will not get into those unfortunate endings – you can only withstand so much gloom on an overcast morning. So we’ll stick to my story, which happens to end in rainbows and sprinkles.
Although coming out stories differ vastly, the childhood and teens of a gay person reads pretty much the same. People might frown because I mention childhood, because not many people realise that we are quite different from a very early age. My first crush was on Heather Locklear and I couldn’t have been older than seven. I know this because I would write her name above every picture I coloured. It read Hether Lokler, but who cares? Afternoons were spent watching Santa Barbara with my mother and I only had eyes for Robin Wright. Most of these things just happen inside of you, so you get to hide it from other people. On the outside, perhaps you look like any other little girl – at least while your mother gets to dress you in frilly pink little dresses with shiny shoes. Once you get to pick what you want to wear, you always wander to your brother’s closet, because his shorts are just so much more comfortable. You can’t climb trees or build shelters in the veld with a dress. So you already start looking a little different and at the same time the judgement starts. Your cousins give you the cold shoulder because you like playing rugby with the boys as much as playing with your Barbies with the girls. You aren’t invited to the girly parties and you’re always just outside the circle.
This makes you a little sad and you try harder to like the things that they like. You ask your dad to buy those Jelly Babies although you hate them. You actually prefer the Dungarees, but you’ll force yourself into that Plaid skirt and Jelly Babies. You feel awkward in them and it shows, which means you’re being mocked anyway. You find one friend that doesn’t realise that you’re different. Maybe she did, but she simply didn’t care. In my case, that friend was Mariette Dobson and she became such an integral part of my life that I had panic attacks when she had asthma attacks. I spent days crying because I figured that if Mariette died of one of those attacks I would be lost and all alone again. I remember so vividly sitting cross legged in my brother’s room and listening to “No world without you” by Kylie Minogue and crying real tears. Barely able to understand the words I would repeat after Kylie: There’s no world without you, I miss you my friend, there’s no world without you, this can’t be the end.
Mariette Dobson relocated and suddenly there was a big gaping hole in my eight year old chest. I don’t remember finding another friend for three years. I would stare out the window of the school bus and wonder what was wrong with me. Why was it so difficult to make friends? My brothers became my best friends and for a long time I was content with that. There was no judgement at home. I could ride my bicycle and climb trees and wrestle. I could play rugby and cricket and sit on the roof for hours on end. Years later, just down the road I found my new best friend. He was a cute little boy called Gerhard and I spent every waking moment playing with toy cars in their driveway. We did everything together and his mother treated me like her own daughter. Unfortunately, Gerhard grew up to like girls in the way that was expected of him and when he did, I retreated. He didn’t want to play with me anymore, because now that he was all grown up, he realised that I was different from the other girls.
Luckily, I didn’t have to deal with the rejection for very long. We also relocated and on my first day in the new school I found a friend. She was also new and we didn’t care if we had more than that in common. Ronel Vermaak remained my best friend right through high school and maybe even a year or two afterward. My primary school career was relatively normal. However, I do remember an incident where I stuck my pacer into the thigh of my boyfriend, Dawie, for playing footsie with Vernita Pieterse, the most beautiful girl in the school. Thinking back, I wonder if I did that because he disappointed me or if I did it because I wanted to play footsie with her instead – either way my HB lead probably remains in his thigh today and he probably still cheats on his wife! There was also the incident where Martin, my boyfriend at the age of 12, took me around a corner and asked me if I thought we should start kissing. I agreed when he promised it would involve no tongue! So I pecked him on the cheek and ran away. That relationship didn’t last much longer after that. I had countless boyfriends and although I didn’t hold onto them for long stretches, I seemed normal. The difference was that my boyfriends came over for a few hours of playing rugby and riding bicycles – which they enjoyed for some time. However, once their hormones kicked into gear it was a different story. At that point I found a shy little boy that seemed to expect a little less than the other boys and I held onto Charles Mudrovcic for a few years, enjoying his company and being perceived as normal. I can’t remember why we stopped dating, but Charles also disappeared from the scene after a while. My high school career was a tortured time in my life. At that time, I felt the most alien. Girls around me were falling in love with boys and experiencing all of these emotions. I desperately wanted to feel a part of that, but I simply didn’t fit the profile. My skin was crawling most of the time. I focussed all my attention on studying, because I felt that maybe I wouldn’t be judged so harshly if I could at least excel academically. Maybe people wouldn’t realise that I wasn’t attracted to the guys. Maybe they would think I was simply prioritising my studies. It worked. I think.
My secret was safe. At that time my secret didn’t have a name. I didn’t realise that I was a lesbian, but I did realise that there was something wrong with me. I dreaded days where we were allowed to wear Civvies, because I didn’t dress like other girls. I was happy in a t-shirt and jeans. My dilemma was compounded by the fact that we were classified as poor and I couldn’t afford the modern clothes and socially acceptable labels. I often pretended to be sick to avoid the Civvy days simply to escape ridicule. I had to dream up reasons I didn’t like Pieter-Jan. How was it possible? All the other girls felt weak in their knees and I simply didn’t feel a thing. I had to make him my enemy in fear of my secret being uncovered. I did the same with all the popular guys and as a result I came off as the biggest PMS ridden bitch alive.
Through it all, Ronel Vermaak and later Laetitia Enever remained close friends of mine. I was just myself around them. I had no secrets from them, but we also didn’t talk about boys much. I was never questioned and for some reason they accepted me for who I was. I was uncomfortable with any public displays of affection and so were they, so it was such a relief not having to dole out hugs every morning. Ronel’s family was much like my own and I never had to feel inadequate around them. Laetitia was the cooler one of us and she gave me a little street cred! It was just a relief not to judged by at least two people at school. I was selected for student council and made more friends, but still I was always just outside the circle of unconditional acceptance and unbelievably lonely. Hanlie became my Idol. I wanted to be Hanlie. She was beautiful, charismatic, and completely normal. At the time I had so many personal demons to slay. I was angry and confused and I was faced with many challenges that didn’t relate to my sexuality at all. I had a lot on my plate and my soul was heavy with burden. Unknowingly, Hanlie played a huge part in my healing. Faced with difficult decisions and situations, I would often ask myself: What would Hanlie do? I would say that she was a beacon of hope in my life at the time. My cousin, Lizelle, was also my refuge when I was in turmoil. She understood me so well and she often guided me to safer ground.
My friends went off to Varsity and I had to find a job to fund my part time studies. I found something I was really good at and made new friends at the chemist. Unfortunately, the fact that I was still single was now much like a flashing red light on my forehead. It became much tougher to hide my secret that still had no name. Beverly became a close friend and much of my time was spent with her family. Again, I had found a place where there was no judgement. I loved them to bits and around them I felt no pressure. Emotionally, I was like a leech. I latched onto people and wanted so desperately to be accepted that it became hard work. Looking back, I think that I expected my friends to fill a gap that would normally have been filled by a romantic partner. I didn’t have a partner, so my friends’ husbands had to share theirs with me. It was never ever a sexual thing. It was always very emotional though. I felt rejected so easily and as a result I complicated these special friendships. Sadly, I lost two special friends in the process. At the time it was completely devastating and I spend many a night crying myself to sleep, because I couldn’t understand why all of this was happening to me. The same process repeated itself with Charlotte. This time I was accused of being a lesbian and my entire world fell apart. Sadly, again, I lost someone I loved dearly. I had to get away from it all.
So I left my job and moved to another province, thinking that I could outrun my secret. At this point I refused to give any thought to the hurtful accusation by Charlotte’s husband. I wasn’t ready. I felt safer when my secret had no name. I walked into a club in Virginia in the Free State and never again would my secret not have a name. I took one look at Swancie and I knew that I had to own it.
They were right.
I was a lesbian. Full blown, boob-loving, flaming lesbian.
The fact that my secret had a name didn’t mean that it wasn’t still safely guarded. Unfortunately, Swancie was in a relationship and I started torturing myself on a regular basis, spending time with her and her girlfriend. I was hopelessly in love and completely out of sorts. One night, after returning from an especially excruciating Judo practice, watching the two of them walking away hand in hand, I was confronted with the truth. I was in a foul mood and mentioned to my mother that it irritated me seeing the two of them together all the time. Casually my mother said: It shouldn’t really bother you too much because you’re not one of them. Before I knew it, it was out of my mouth. I said: Yes, I am. My mother stopped what she was doing and said: No, you’re not. By this point I was no longer in control of my mouth and I blurted out that I was, and that I couldn’t understand how my mother was in a position to argue the fact. As soon as I realised that I had just outed myself, I begged my brother to take me away for a while. I had not planned the discussion for months on end. I hadn’t arranged my words of thoughts in anticipation. I had simply blurted it out and now it was too late to take it back. He took me to Swancie and I found some comfort there. My dad disappeared for a few hours and my mother probably cried for a few hours. I hid away in my room for a few days and finally my mother called upon the help of my oldest brother. He drove down to the Free State, barged into my room, and asked me if I like women. I nodded so he smiled and replied: Don’t worry, so do I! And that was the end of my hiding. My mother was still emotional and one day I sat her down and forced her to tell me what she was thinking. She told me that she was sad about the things that she was losing. She had dreamed of watching me walk down the aisle and having babies. At the time, it was highly unlikely that I would do any of that, but when I explained to her that I too was losing the very same things, she understood. I also dreamed of getting married and being a mother. I would also have to sacrifice certain things and when she understood that, it became considerably easier for all of us.
The relief of not carrying the burden of my secret any longer is one that can’t be put into words. It’s the most liberating feeling in the world. At the age of twenty four I was now able to experience the emotions that my friends had experienced so many years ago. What followed was an earth moving first kiss, a terrible lap in judgement and a devastating first heartbreak. But all of it was worth it. I was free and slowly, but surely I started to become who I was destined to be. What was more was that my family was supportive and loved me unconditionally. I remember being confronted by my niece one day. She was about four or five and she was a cheeky little thing. She rested her hand on her hip and stared me down.
“Why don’t you have boyfriends?”
Her mother came to my rescue and explained to her that in our family things were a little different. I had girlfriends instead of boyfriends, while my gay brother had boyfriends instead of girlfriends. As simple as that. That was enough for my niece. Never again did she ask another question. I realised how very simple it can be. It shouldn’t be more than that. If it’s enough of an explanation for a five year old child, it should be enough for anyone.
My newfound liberation allowed me to explore and in my quest I stumbled upon books written by people like me for people like me. The first book that I laid my hands on and that opened a whole world for me was Michelle McFarlane’s own coming out story. I treasure it still and I’m a huge fan. I fell in love with the writing of Kiki Archer, Melissa Brayden, and Georgia Beers. I found movies about people like me and my most treasured possession to this day is my L Word collection. It gave me hope when I had given up on finding the right partner. At a point, I believed that part of my punishment for being gay was the unavoidable loneliness that seemed to accompany it. As much as your family supports you and accepts you, the world does not and it becomes a dreary and hurtful place at times. I read The Secret and part of the exercises suggested in the book, was to physically write down in as much detail as possible exactly what you wanted. I did that. I described my ideal partner in the minutest of details and filed the document away. More than a year later, the document completely forgotten, I met my partner and I can honestly say that I haven’t experienced a lonely day ever since.
She challenged me in every possible way and inspired me to be better than the day before. She washed away my anger and without even trying she made every dream I ever had come true. She’s my best friend and nobody understands me as well as she does. I love who I’ve become in the light of her love and she’s more than I’ll ever need. My family loves her as if she’s their own and she’s as much a part of them as I am.
The beauty of finding inner peace is the fact that it paints every experience you’ve ever had in a different light. You forget the troubling parts of the journey you’ve been on and you learn to be grateful for every challenge you’ve ever faced. Every tear you’ve shed and every sleepless night you’ve struggled with your demons had led up to this very moment. Every painful experience moulded you into the person you are today. I was honoured to have beacons of strength along the way and although I wasn’t always understood, I was always loved.
My hope for every tortured soul is that you might find your peace as I did. I hope every gay child will have a mother and father that understands what unconditional love really is. I hope you’ll all find your Kiki Archers, Michelle Macfarlanes and Melissa Braydens, who can transform your world and take you to a place where you can breathe easily and be yourself. Above all, I hope that you will weather the storms of confusion, shame and frustration that you’ll face all alone, until you have the strength and opportunity to step out of the closet and into the light.
Now that I’ve had a little bit of a good cry, I promise to write a much lighter blog soon.
The topic will be procrastination. But I’ll do that at a later stage!
