I’m not sure what I thought I’d feel after finally coming out to my mom, but I expected something along the lines of “no big deal.” I figured I knew exactly what she’d say (and I was right: “I kinda figured, and I abhor it with every fiber of my being” and “I want you to know that I love you”), and I knew I’d reached a place where all I wanted to do is live honestly. I think I was also a little wary of making up pain for myself by donning the tired Coming Out story—the huge ordeal with tears and hurt feelings was too cliché and wouldn’t be me. Mostly, I knew the very Christian “love the sinner, hate the sin” would be there at the end, so any coming-out-pain would be nothing compared to the abandonment and abuse many others face.
But the night after my mom and I talked about it (even though we didn’t truly talk about IT for more than two minutes), I felt much smaller and more hurt than I wanted to admit.
My friends have always been my real family—I made a big deal out of this for a while, until I realized that’s the way I like it—but I guess it’s still going to hurt when your mother spends two hours pathologizing your very personality and quite actively Not Listening to you.
Let’s just say I CAN’T WAIT for the day Christianity finally realizes God loves gays.