I'm sitting at home having missed work for two days now, because I'm sick. My throat is sore and swollen, my joints hurt, and I've completely lost my voice. Even whispering is painful. So, what do I do? Take meds, sip on hot lemon and honey water, wear sweats all day, take frequent naps, and work on the blog post I didn't get done for this week, of course.
It has been almost 5 years since I came out to Emma about my being gay. As if that wasn't hard enough for her to learn, it also came with years of baggage and heartbreaking, earth shattering, trauma-inducing confessions.
It has been almost 5 years since I came out to Emma about my being gay. As if that wasn't hard enough for her to learn, it also came with years of baggage and heartbreaking, earth shattering, trauma-inducing confessions.
It's curious how, despite the fact that I have publicly shared a lot about our marriage and my personal struggles in our Voices of Hope video and essays, I still find myself feeling nervous and vulnerable writing about it here. I think there will always be a level of those feelings when I talk about all of that. I don't think it's very easy to talk about the not-so-shiny and ugly parts of our lives. However, I do think it's important. It helps us to rid our lives of shame by bringing it out into the light. It helps us find healing and forgiveness. It brings connection with others. It provides strength and hope for others who have similar experiences and struggles.
It helps us to see that we are all human; imperfect, flawed, messy humans.
Sometimes, I forget that though our story is 5 years old for us it is new for others. I forget that Emma and I have had 5 years of recovery, healing, and forgiving, but others just hearing and learning of our story are experiencing shock, hurt, and anger. Sometimes, I just expect others to be where I am after 5 years when they hear our story.
I'm trying to change that mindset as it is not a good or healthy way to think.
I haven't always been the best at giving others the space they need to go through the process I was given over the last several years. It is a bit prideful and thoughtless to think that way. I never intended to be that way, nor did I intentionally expect others to just be okay with me or our story. I just didn't take into account that it is all new for them and maybe for you the reader.
Recently, a family member told Emma and I how they felt about everything. It was frankly honest and a bit painful to hear. I found myself experiencing a whole gamut of emotions; hurt, sadness, anger, rejection, vulnerability, fear, defiance, compassion, love, and others. They would come in waves and I never knew what the next emotion would be. I even began to question our choice to publicly share our story. I knew doing so could evoke this kind of reaction. I've received some not very nice messages from strangers, but it never bothered me. However, when it was a family member who expressed some of the these feelings it was a different story.
I learned an important lesson. I still have work to do. I still have restitution to make. When I made those terrible choices I didn't just hurt Emma. I didn't just hurt my children (though they will never remember the actual events, they will have to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives.) There was collateral damage, others in the splash zone, that I didn't previously consider.
I hurt Emma's parents. I hurt my parents. I hurt Emma's siblings. I hurt my siblings. I hurt the spouses and children of Emma's and my siblings.
The splash zone is way bigger than I had previously considered.
Each and every one of those individuals are going to have to go through their own journey with hearing and dealing with my past actions. Giving them the space and time to process it all, feel their own hurt, pain, anger, sadness, etc. is important. I need to have compassion and empathy toward them. I need to do the work it takes to rebuild trust with them. I need to respect and honor the time they need. I need to be willing to let go and forgive when angry words are said or when assumptions or stereotypical labels are placed on me.
Hurt people hurt people. It's just part of the struggle.
Some may even feel hurt that we didn't come to them when we were going through the worst of it all. They may feel anger that we kept it from them for so long. I can understand and respect those feelings. But it was for a good reason. Our marriage was hemorrhaging 5 years ago. Emma was adamant that she wanted to stay in the marriage despite all the terrible things I'd done, as was I. We were determined to work through it. We had never been so united as we were at that time up to that point in our marriage. We felt guided, and were even counseled, that it wouldn't be a good idea to let others in on the situation yet. Our marriage had been burned to the ground-foundation and all-and the last thing we needed as we began to rebuild it was to have others helping lay the foundation and build the walls. This was something only we could do.
Now that we have built that foundation and the walls, we are ready to begin sharing our story and our journey with our family. Now begins the work of rebuilding those relationships.
So, instead of pulling away and isolating myself from family or friends who may not be accepting right off the bat, but instead need time to process, heal, and forgive, I can respect and honor their journey. I can be open to their questions and their sometimes brutal honesty about their feelings about me. It is a painful process. From my experience, the pain is a sign of growth, recovery, healing, forgiveness, and connection.
Love isn't always fun. In fact, the most important love, the love worth fighting for, is the messy, ugly, exhausting, painful kind of love. That kind of love is like a great tree with deep roots. It has weathered the worst storms, endured the most extreme temperatures, and survived the cruelest droughts. That is the love of family.
It helps us to see that we are all human; imperfect, flawed, messy humans.
Sometimes, I forget that though our story is 5 years old for us it is new for others. I forget that Emma and I have had 5 years of recovery, healing, and forgiving, but others just hearing and learning of our story are experiencing shock, hurt, and anger. Sometimes, I just expect others to be where I am after 5 years when they hear our story.
I'm trying to change that mindset as it is not a good or healthy way to think.
I haven't always been the best at giving others the space they need to go through the process I was given over the last several years. It is a bit prideful and thoughtless to think that way. I never intended to be that way, nor did I intentionally expect others to just be okay with me or our story. I just didn't take into account that it is all new for them and maybe for you the reader.
Recently, a family member told Emma and I how they felt about everything. It was frankly honest and a bit painful to hear. I found myself experiencing a whole gamut of emotions; hurt, sadness, anger, rejection, vulnerability, fear, defiance, compassion, love, and others. They would come in waves and I never knew what the next emotion would be. I even began to question our choice to publicly share our story. I knew doing so could evoke this kind of reaction. I've received some not very nice messages from strangers, but it never bothered me. However, when it was a family member who expressed some of the these feelings it was a different story.
I learned an important lesson. I still have work to do. I still have restitution to make. When I made those terrible choices I didn't just hurt Emma. I didn't just hurt my children (though they will never remember the actual events, they will have to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives.) There was collateral damage, others in the splash zone, that I didn't previously consider.
I hurt Emma's parents. I hurt my parents. I hurt Emma's siblings. I hurt my siblings. I hurt the spouses and children of Emma's and my siblings.
The splash zone is way bigger than I had previously considered.
Each and every one of those individuals are going to have to go through their own journey with hearing and dealing with my past actions. Giving them the space and time to process it all, feel their own hurt, pain, anger, sadness, etc. is important. I need to have compassion and empathy toward them. I need to do the work it takes to rebuild trust with them. I need to respect and honor the time they need. I need to be willing to let go and forgive when angry words are said or when assumptions or stereotypical labels are placed on me.
Hurt people hurt people. It's just part of the struggle.
Some may even feel hurt that we didn't come to them when we were going through the worst of it all. They may feel anger that we kept it from them for so long. I can understand and respect those feelings. But it was for a good reason. Our marriage was hemorrhaging 5 years ago. Emma was adamant that she wanted to stay in the marriage despite all the terrible things I'd done, as was I. We were determined to work through it. We had never been so united as we were at that time up to that point in our marriage. We felt guided, and were even counseled, that it wouldn't be a good idea to let others in on the situation yet. Our marriage had been burned to the ground-foundation and all-and the last thing we needed as we began to rebuild it was to have others helping lay the foundation and build the walls. This was something only we could do.
Now that we have built that foundation and the walls, we are ready to begin sharing our story and our journey with our family. Now begins the work of rebuilding those relationships.
So, instead of pulling away and isolating myself from family or friends who may not be accepting right off the bat, but instead need time to process, heal, and forgive, I can respect and honor their journey. I can be open to their questions and their sometimes brutal honesty about their feelings about me. It is a painful process. From my experience, the pain is a sign of growth, recovery, healing, forgiveness, and connection.
Love isn't always fun. In fact, the most important love, the love worth fighting for, is the messy, ugly, exhausting, painful kind of love. That kind of love is like a great tree with deep roots. It has weathered the worst storms, endured the most extreme temperatures, and survived the cruelest droughts. That is the love of family.
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