There’s More to the Story. . .
When I was 56, I came out of the closet.
I can hear you: "I know! I know, Susie! You've already told me this story!"
If you've worked with me, read my emails, or followed me on the socials, this won't be news. (If it is, you can watch me tell some of the juicy the story here or here.)
But I haven't told you THIS part. ⬇⬇
I knew something wasn't aligned about seven years into my marriage.
I started having dreams about women. Feelings I'd never had before. Feelings that, quite honestly, scared the hell out of me.
So I did what I thought I had to do: I ignored them. (Or at least I tried.)
For the next two decades, every time those feelings surfaced, I pushed them right back down. Way back. Back of the closet back.
Why?
Well, the obvious answer was that this wasn't who I was. Or at least, who I thought I was.
As far as I knew, I was a straight, stay-at-home homeschooling mom to three kids. I was a teacher, an artist, and a singer.
Nowhere in that identity was I a woman who desired women.
Was I this woman? (Shhhhhhh!)
As the years passed, those quiet feelings became impossible to ignore. My mind did what my mind has always done best.
It catastrophized.
THIS IS THE END OF OUR MARRIAGE.
I'LL BREAK HIS HEART.
I'LL BE ALONE.
I'LL STARVE.
MY CHILDREN WILL NEVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN.
I had stayed in the crosswalk for so long, it was hard to imagine how I—me, this girl—could do something so unexpected and so vulnerable as cross the street outside those lines.
I was so certain those fears would come true that staying small felt like the only reasonable choice.
It took twenty-plus years, a chance meeting with a woman I call my catalyst, and what I like to think was a little intervention from the Universe before I finally jaywalked.
And yes, I did upend my life.
And I did end my marriage.
And for a while, I did break my husband's heart.
But the rest?
That was fear talking.
I had spent twenty-plus years believing fear was protecting me...It wasn't.
It was keeping me from myself.
Because what I got in return for that terrifying, audacious leap was my own life.
My true self.
And that, my friend, was worth everything.
I've come to believe that fear is a very convincing storyteller.
It tells us we're being practical. Responsible. Reasonable.
It whispers that staying where we are is the safest choice. And honestly, sometimes it is. But sometimes it's simply keeping us from ourselves.
