Mother’s Day today has me thinking about my own mom, how our relationship has changed over the years, and how lucky I feel to be where we are today together. Our story is one of deep struggle and even deeper joy, all held together by an unbreakable bond which was no doubt formed lifetimes ago.

My mother has always been a strong woman. Growing up in the same oppressive church that I did, she was held down for many years by traditional religious ideals and company which didn’t allow her to identify with this power, but those of us who have known and loved her all this time know that she is a beautiful, powerful force of nature, and she always has been.

Her loving sweetness, her well-read brain, her deep, complex inner life, her quick wit, her fierce loyalty, her earnest desire to be good; to know and accept the truth, and to be forgiving when others fall short, all make up her character and feed into a bright light about her. She brings this light with her when she enters a room, and all who find themselves in her presence are illuminated by it. I have watched this happen in dark corners of buildings, as well as in the darkest corners of my heart, for my entire life.

I learned how to cry from my mother; how to get in touch with my raw feelings and let them out when the world is too mean to keep them in. These skills have been life-saving at different points in my being here. My experience of growing up gay in the Midwest, even sometimes from those closest to me, was that there was no room in the rural Christian landscape for a sissy like me. My mother never once made me feel this way. She took me to dance class when I wanted to go, and she sat proudly at my recitals. She bought me Barbie dolls when I wanted them, and while I’m sure it must have scared her, she always seemed to celebrate my being different.

When I was older and troubled from the battle scars of my youth, my mother once again loved me through her fear. She marched bravely toward death as Read the rest of this entry »

(Originally Published on The Huffington Post on 3/4/2013)

In talking with friends and other LGBT people about our experiences growing up queer in a straight world, I’ve found that it’s pretty clear that becoming a well-adjusted citizen has proven more difficult than many of us expected. For each of us, this has manifested in different ways: drug abuse for some, sexual dysfunction for others, problems with emotional intimacy for still others, and for a lucky few like myself, a mix of all three.

Like many people, I plowed through my teens and 20s like nothing mattered, because back then it didn’t. The world had done me wrong early on, and I was determined to take it out on myself and anyone who dared get close to me. I burned every bridge I came across, and half a decade later the ashes are still smoldering.

During a recent medical visit to address one of the ongoing long-term side effects of my former addiction, the doctor shamed me for having made the terrible choices that I made early on that I am still paying for now (something that has happened on many occasions over the years). With each “this could have been avoided” or “you should just be grateful you are alive,” I felt myself shrinking back into that old bad-seed role that I had inhabited for so many years, and it took days to shake the hopeless feeling of being destined to be seen as who I used to be forever.
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