I’m a late bloomer. I came out…(I always have to figure it up) 16 years ago, when i was 33. Between one moment and the next, one as a straight person, the next as a…not straight person. After I blinked and told my boss, who hugged me and said, “Welcome to the family,” I went home and told my husband. He already knew, and had just been waiting for me to figure it out. We talked a bit, and then it became a non-event.
I’m a lesbian. I told people that I wasn’t bi, because I wasn’t attracted to any other men besides my husband. What I did wasn’t who I am. Not very many understood. But there are many more married lesbians out there than most people realize.
Since my mother is severely mentally ill, I didn’t tell her. I didn’t tell Dad because he can’t keep a secret longer than it takes him to find someone to tell. Although I did tell my friends within days. And…that was it. Without wrestling with the question, without a moment of guilt, or however that works, I came out. Our gay friends were still our gay friends, our marriage was fine, life was grand.
Until now. Or more precisely, 4 years ago, when my husband left me because he fell in love with a straight woman. So now I’m a married lesbian with a broken heart.