All Hearts Come Home

Before coming out, I had always felt like I was one person in the USA and a different person abroad. I already had a hard enough time trying to shape my life abroad into a telephone conversation – coming back to the USA to visit my family was a completely different mindgame. Regardless of how I had evolved in the months since my last visit, once I crossed the threshold of the family home I felt like I had to regress back to being the same little kid I had always been under my Mom’s roof.

Any visit would bring me, my Mom, my Grandma and my brother together. Usually my Aunt and a shortlist of other family friends would make appearances throughout the week. There would be brief exchanges of stories about what everyone had done recently. I would be asked weird and wonderful questions about my life overseas, which often provided more insight about the asker’s own life. Admittedly, most of these would come from Grandma: did I have a microwave (yes), did I live far from the queen (not really, if you count Holyrood palace), how many TV channels did I get (at first 5, now over 100), did I really pay nothing to see the doctor (yes), but was that doctor as good as an American doctor (yes).

However, the majority of time during any visit is spent doing what people who have known each other their whole lives do best – dredge up the past. In the first few years I lived outside the USA, dredging up the past was hard because I was doing everything I could to distance myself from that past. Simple comments about what my hair used to look like or what I used to wear or how I used to play the flute, etc., used to send me into an internal rage. I felt that their constant references to the past overlooked the person I had become.

So, simply making my Mom aware of C’s existence and significance in my life was a huge step towards reconciling my two separate lives. Mom now had a glimpse of my real life – that is, the one I lived the majority of the time. She had finally seen and acknowledged my present.

Shortly after my Mom returned to the USA, I met C’s family for the first time. They are so integrated into my life now that it’s hard for me to chronologically place that first meeting. I remember it was a warm, sunny afternoon BBQ in C’s older brother's backyard. I was incredibly nervous and struggled to come to grips with the rather fast-paced west coast accent. But I also remember feeling so welcomed.

C came out to her family in her teens and had already gone through the tumultuous re-building of relationships that follow these revelations. It was heart-warming to see a family all interacting as adults. They accepted me immediately as her partner because there was no need to first overcome the issue of sexuality. It felt so...normal.

One of the highlights for me was meeting C’s two nephews for the first time. At the time they were 2 and 7 and we played football in the back garden. Kids don’t care who you are or where you come from as long as you know how to have fun. They both accepted me immediately, particularly the youngest. He followed me around for most of the day and we shared a special bonding moment on the porch steps, eating chips, bobbing our heads and tapping our feet along to the music. For the next year they called me Panda and after that I became Auntie. I also now have a niece and another nephew on the way. It is certainly a title and a role I cherish.

I had learned a lot from what my Mom and I had fought about when she was here. As much as I wanted to hit the fast-forward button and move our lives along to when everything could be ‘normal’, I knew we had to get through the awkward phase first, however long that was going to be.

I found out later on that one of the main issues my Mom struggled with was that she now felt like she was lying to her mother. My Grandmother is an amazing woman with a sharp wit and an incredibly generous spirit, but she has gotten increasingly stubborn in recent years. Mom worried that she wouldn’t accept this part of me and it would permanently affect our relationship. In coming out, I had effectively transferred my worry and stress to her. Whenever I phoned home, I would always speak to both of them at the same time and any mention of C was always met with a very swift change of subject. At times I felt like coming out had been pointless - I still couldn’t talk about my life!

In September 2006 I returned to the USA for a 2-week visit and to get my UK student visa. C booked tickets to come over for the second week and I softly sounded out with my Mom if she would be able to come to Normal and see where I grew up. I mentioned to my Mom in an email that C would be in Chicago anyway and I would need to be up there for a few days to get my visa – looking to see if she would extend the invitation for both of us to spend a few days in Normal before flying back to the UK. She didn’t. I wasn’t disappointed, but I was frustrated. I couldn’t see how anything was going to change without an opportunity for everyone to be in the same place at the same time. C offered me a lot of perspective, reminding me that it was still very early days.

I did feel more at ease with myself and my Mom in the week I spent with my family. Mom and I had a couple of brief but re-affirming conversations. She again stressed that she knew I was happy, that she was proud of me and that she was trying. She explained how hard it was for her to keep quiet about things in front of Grandma and I think it gave her an insight into how I had felt all those years, though I had the advantage of distance.

C and I had an amazing time in Chicago. It was the first time she had visited the city and our first trip in the USA together. Over the course of the week I introduced her to: lunchtime margaritas at the Cheesecake Factory promptly followed by a tipsy afternoon shopping spree; Illinois tornado warnings, including what to do when the sky turns green and it starts to hail uncontrollably; and, most importantly, many of my friends from college. In a way she got to experience some of the ‘me’ that exists outside the UK and I was grateful for that. We returned to the UK together, and I was, once again, a student.

The rest of that year was spent juggling time between classes, shifts in a cafe, and nights at C’s little country retreat. She always made sure I was well-fed and well-clothed and sanctioned the occasional afternoon truancy as long as it fell on her day off and we could spend it together.

I continued to do better in keeping in touch with my family, and respected my Mom’s need for time. I would mention C in passing, but wouldn’t over-emphasise her in any way that would make Mom feel uncomfortable with her new secret. I knew it would take time.

In the run-up to Christmas, my Mom and Grandma mailed me 3 boxes of Christmas joy. One was full of cookies (this is an annual tradition very much enjoyed by all my friends) – it arrived first, was opened immediately and consumed within a week. The other two were full of presents for me – all wrapped – and I was under strict instructions NOT to open them until Christmas Day. They went under the tiny fake tree I had in my room. On Christmas Eve (close enough!), I opened the boxes to find a selection of bizarre, hand-picked treasures. I am at loss for words to describe the presents my family send me and any unknowing person would struggle to justify the cost of shipping once they’ve seen what’s inside. Each odd little trinket in itself is just clutter, but cumulatively (and especially with the hand-written notes describing each) they represent a little taste of home and a lot of love.

The most surprising treasure, and the one that meant the most to me, was a small green stocking. It had C’s name on it.

Merry Christmas!

Lie to me

When I got home from work on Wednesday I was flooded with news of Obama signing DADT into law and immediately got on YouTube to watch the full video for myself. It was validating to hear my President recognising that sexual orientation is not a character flaw so significant that it undermines a person’s potential to demonstrate courage and valour and to see him sign those sentiments into law.

It’s staggering to think that 14,000 people were discharged from service for being gay. I welled up when Obama spoke of Captain Jonathan Hopkins being discharged only to receive emails from his soldiers saying they had always known he was gay and thought he was the best commander they ever had. He was removed from service because of his sexuality and not his leadership qualities. In spite of everything he worked for and the achievements he made, his country told him that he was not worthy of service because of who he was.

This echoed with a video I watched recently about Jane Castor, the Tampa Police Chief. She says she fundamentally wants to be remembered as a good police chief, but at the same time recognises the significance of her position as the first female chief (and as a lesbian). These aspects of her self make her significantly more vulnerable to criticism. She says “If a male in this position fails, then he fails as an individual. If I fail, I fail for all women.” She can’t change her gender or her sexuality (although she could have chosen to keep it hidden). Regardless of how she defines herself, she will be judged by how others may ultimately define her.

Discrimination is unfair treatment based on prejudice. The particular trait identified for prejudice can include almost anything, as demonstrated by Jane Elliott’s “blue-eyed/brown-eyed” experiment. If you haven’t seen this before, I recommend you watch it. It clearly demonstrates just how easy it is to discriminate; we all do it and some believe it is an innate human trait. It is for this very reason that protecting everyone against institutionalised discrimination is of particular relevance to humanity.

Take some time to consider this:

How do you identify yourself? How do you prioritise your unique genetic traits, personality characteristics, educational and/or professional achievements or your relationships to other people to define who you are?

How to you portray this identity to others? In what ways do you express yourself through your appearance or the way you speak, etc.?

Do any of your identifying traits limit what you can do in certain situations? If so, have you ever changed the way you portray yourself or hidden certain aspects of yourself in order to reduce conflict or achieve an objective?

Is that lying?

Growing up, I ignored so many aspects of my self because I somehow knew they were wrong. I don’t ever remember anyone sitting me down and directly saying GAY IS BAD, but I inherently felt ashamed of the feelings I had and my attraction toward women. I knew that what I felt was ‘different’ and so I buried it away, out of reach from everyone, including myself. I wasn’t lying; I was simply adapting to my situation in the way I felt was most appropriate to ensure my own ‘survival’. By changing that situation (i.e. studying abroad in Australia) I was able to express those hidden aspects and it fundamentally changed how I looked, spoke and interacted with people. I liked who I was in that situation and I did what I needed to do to ensure I could be that person most of the time.

We all adapt to our context in some way. When I go to work I wear office attire, I am confident, making eye contact with everyone, speaking clearly and directly and ensuring my body language is welcoming and professional. At parties I like to drink myself merry and usually end up dancing badly and/or singing loudly. At home I lounge around in sweatpants and eat my dinner off my lap in front of back-to-back episodes of Man v Food. All of these are me, and yet not one of them completely defines who I am.

So adapting to a situation is normal and healthy; BUT, there is a threshold of acceptability with regard to asking people to sacrifice their integrity. It is not healthy or right to force someone to portray something other than who they are for a long period of time. Senator Ben Nelson (D-Nebraska) made a poignant observation in the 2 December DADT hearings: DADT undermines the fundamental principles of the military, namely honesty, integrity and trust, and forced gay and lesbian soldiers into a situation of “I don’t want to lie, but you won’t let me tell the truth”.  

This is almost word-for-word how C describes how she feels going through border control in the USA. Immigration officers at every airport assess the potential risk of each entrant based on the information given to them. If they feel any individual is trying to undermine the system in any way, including trying to enter the USA deceitfully, they can refuse that person entry.

In particular, officers try to assess if a person’s situation is such that they are at risk of overstaying their visa. C’s ESTA visa is valid for 2 years and she is entitled to multiple entries, provided she stays for no longer than 90 days at a time. If an immigration officer interpreted the fact that C is the same-sex partner of an American citizen as a potential risk factor, she could be turned away at any time. This isn’t as big a risk as being discharged from the military, but the principle is exactly the same.

C only travels to the USA with me once or twice a year and we only ever stay for short periods of time, so I think we’re safely under the radar. We have evidence of our lives in the UK and can demonstrate that we are not intending to live in the USA, so it is unlikely that an immigration officer could find suitable grounds to refuse her entry. Yet we still adapt ourselves to reduce any risk every time we enter the country.

In October 2009, the immigration officer at O’Hare asked C the purpose of her trip. If she had been completely forthcoming she would have said “I’m here because my mother-in-law has sustained a critical head injury. She’s in intensive care and my partner is beside herself with grief. I’m here because I want to help look after the people I love”. Instead, she responded: “I’m here for a shopping trip.”

I don’t want to lie to you...

My brother asked me recently why I hate America. I answered him honestly – I don’t. I just find it impossible to respect a country that doesn’t respect me. From the moment our plane touches down in the USA, we are forced to lie about who we are. This is the exact same principle as DADT; it is unfair and wrong. We may not be soldiers sacrificing our lives in the name of the USA, but we are both human beings (and I am an American citizen).

When we return to the UK, bleary-eyed at Heathrow, I stand in the Non-EU passport line while C breezes through the EU/British passport line. When I get up to the counter, I hand over my foreign-national identity card that clearly states I have definite leave to remain as the spouse of a UK citizen. The immigration officer scans my card, asks me how my trip was and I cross the border to my adopted home country, integrity intact.

I will never suffer anxiety about trying to get across the UK border because my rights here are validated. My love here is validated. My status as a human being here is validated. These are the basic principles of life – not special privileges. We are expected to assume the same responsibilities as everyone else, so are we therefore not deserving of the same respect entitled everyone else?

References:

White House video of Obama signing DADT: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cS26CciE0VQ

Jane Castor video: http://vodpod.com/watch/5088563-jane-castor-tampa-chief-of-police-out-lesbian

Rachel Maddow’s summary of the DADT hearings: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Be72P9Y0eM&feature=related

Jane Elliott A Class Divided http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCjDxAwfXV0

A Mother's Love

2006 was a milestone year for me. Through a series of independent experiences, I finally began to really understand the impact my decisions and actions have on the people who love me. This is an important realisation for everyone, but is particularly useful for anyone wanting to be a good partner, daughter and friend.

C and I decided to go on our first holiday together. Rather than choosing a secluded weekend away in the familiar Scottish Highlands, we got a cheap last-minute deal to spend a week Goa, India. It was a freezing January in Scotland, so why not?

Our flight from Gatwick was delayed, so we filled those couple of hours by filling (and re-filling) our wine glasses. By the time we boarded the plane we were very merry indeed and I promptly fell into a drunken slumber with my head on my tray table. I awoke about an hour later and got up to go to the toilet. At this point it all goes a bit fuzzy, but I do remember seeing some shocked passengers’ faces as the world closed in around me and I plummeted, unconscious, into the aisle halfway between my seat and the galley. From what I gather, the flight crew scooped me up, took me to the back of the plane and brought me around. I was pretty embarrassed, but accepted a big bottle of water and sat up for a few minutes before very quickly passing out again, pouring the entire contents of the water onto myself and the floor around me.

Around this time a very camp steward was waking C up to let her know her ‘friend’ had just passed out and was at the back of the plane. She was understandably concerned as she approached me laying in a puddle of liquid with my feet in the air and an oxygen mask on my face.

I tried to make light of the situation at the time, making jokes through the oxygen mask, but I was struck by the look of desperation and helplessness on C’s face as she approached and the relief that washed over her as she watched me recover. I’d been in a horrific jet ski accident when I was 16 and remember very clearly the same look on my Mom’s face as she rushed me through the rural roads of Illinois to the hospital. Medical emergencies, no matter how small, always inspire us to look at things from a new perspective. Although she jokes about it at parties, C isn’t far from the truth when she says she truly demonstrated her love by kneeling down in what she thought was my urine to take my pulse and comfort me.

It wasn’t all heavy, though - we had a lot of fun, after that! We took a walk along Calangute Beach that Sunday. It was packed with locals and a group of boys were playing football (soccer). Their ball got away from them and I tried to show off by kicking it back – barefoot Beckham style. Rather than going anywhere near where I intended it to go, the ball careened toward a family walking toward us. Fortunately the husband ducked in time to avoid it, but left his unsuspecting wife, walking behind him, completely open. Needless to say the ball intersected with this woman’s face. C nearly collapsed in a puddle of her own urine, laughing uncontrollably as I desperately apologised. She knew in that moment that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me – she had never laughed more in life with anyone else.

I could write for days about how magical that first holiday was, but the point is that we both realised in that week that we love living our lives together. Every crazy experience was heightened by the fact that we shared it. We truly became partners on that holiday and every trip we’ve taken since then has reinforced our bond.

Things continued to develop back in our day-to-day lives as well. My voluntary placement was going very well and I began to see the links between my MSc dissertation topic and a potential career in urban planning. I was urged by a colleague at the national charity to apply for a job with a planning consultancy based on the skills I was demonstrating and this inspired me to think about getting a qualification that might actually lead to something. I found an MSc course at Heriot-Watt University in Edinburgh that was a perfect fit.

My Mom turned 60 that March, but I wasn’t there for the celebration. Her present to herself was a passport (she is now one of only 22% of Americans to have one) and a ticket to come see me. As the date of her arrival approached, I grew increasingly nervous about how I was going to introduce her to my life in Edinburgh. I knew by the time she had left here, I would have finally come out to her.

She arrived in the middle of May for a 3 week stay. The day after her arrival, two of my good friends registered their civil partnership. I was honoured to be asked to be a witness for their ceremony and had accepted before my Mom told me she was coming. So I told her I had an appointment in the afternoon and I left her shopping on the Royal Mile with a mobile phone and instructions to answer it when I called.

I met C at the registry office and we both celebrated as our friends made a lifelong commitment to each other in a beautiful and very moving ceremony. We all went along to a local al fresco pub to celebrate and I phoned my Mom to find out where she was.

She didn’t answer the phone.

11 times.

By the time she did answer she was panicked – she was jet lagged and thirsty and not totally sure where she was. I managed to figure out she was just around the corner from us and went to meet her. She suggested we go back to where I had been so she could get a Diet Coke and sit down. I literally had 40metres to explain to her she was about to join a lesbian wedding reception. I said something to the effect of, this is a rather eccentric group of people to which she simply responded “I understand.”

My Mom impressed me a lot in the following hour. She joked and laughed with everyone there and showed off all the things she’d discovered in shops up and down the Royal Mile. Afterward, C drove us up Arthur’s Seat so Mom could take in perhaps the best view of the city and we went to the Shore for dinner. Mom seemed so relaxed, but I felt sick as C dropped us off at my flat because I knew I was about to have the conversation with my Mom that I had been avoiding for years.

By this time I had moved out of my friend’s front room and into a beautiful tenement in Edinburgh’s New Town. Unfortunately the charm of the flat was outweighed by the general neglect normally given to older shared-tenant properties in the city. It was a cold, damp place for most of the year. As we sat in the lounge room I muttered something to the effect of “C’s not just my friend, she’s my partner” and “I’ve always wondered if you’ve known I’m not straight”. But I was completely blown away when, after a few moments of silence, my Mom said “You are my daughter and I love you. I will try to figure out how to be okay with this.”

The following week we went to Galway in Ireland. We didn’t talk much about my revelation and whenever I brought up C Mom would get noticeably uncomfortable. That weekend, back in Edinburgh, we had a big fight. I had asked if it would be okay if I spent some time that evening with C, and Mom got upset. She had, after all, come all this way to see me. I said a lot of things I regret in that exchange, but fortunately I listened to what she told me:

Almost every day my Mom had no idea what I was doing, if I was happy or if I was even alive. I had shut her out completely and she had no point of reference in my life anymore. She knew I had been holding back and now that she knew why, it was going to take some time for her to come to terms with it all. She felt lied to and used. I had always gotten what I wanted from her and I had given her nothing in return for the last 3 years.

She was trying to meet me more than halfway by travelling across the world to be a part of my life abroad, if even for a short time. She wanted to be able to go back and picture me doing normal things in her head. I was asking her to instantly accept all the things I had hidden from her for all this time; she was at least owed the time to transition into this.

I respected her feelings more appropriately after that and we spent the week travelling up the west coast of Scotland to Skye. It was a magical trip and we were both more relaxed around each other and laughed a lot. I got to know my mother again in that week and do you know what I realised? In spite of me trying to hide from her, she had always known me better than I knew myself. When we got back to Edinburgh, she asked me to invite C to the movies with us to see the Da Vinci Code (we’d already visited Roslyn Chapel). That was the first indication of her acceptance and it meant the world to me.

Before she left, my Mom told me she would pay for me to get yet another university degree, even though it meant another year away from the USA, and away from her. She told me she knew I was happy here – otherwise why would I stay? She made me promise that I would try harder to keep in touch with everyone. I had a responsibility in this relationship, too, after all.

When I came back from seeing her off, I found this note on my pillow.

Thanks for showing me a great time. Now I will be able to picture lots of things easier. I know you will do great at university and that you are happy to be in. It is a big accomplishment and we are proud of you! Remember you are very cherished and loved by Grandma and me.

Stay in touch better. We miss you tons.

All my love!!

Hugs and Kisses!! (from Grandma too)

Mom

The void left by her absence lingered for weeks...

Dear Senator Durbin,

Now, let’s face it. I’m not a professional political activist. In fact I’d say I have around about a seventh-grade understanding of American government and maybe (at a push) a second-grade understanding of American history. If someone asked me how a bill becomes a law, I would tell them to search for Schoolhouse Rocks on Youtube. It’s safe to say that I have never even considered writing to a politician before.

I was really motivated to do something when I started getting these appeals from Immigration Equality on Facebook to support the DREAM Act. In short, it’s a piece of legislation that would provide the children of illegal immigrants a path to citizenship, provided they prove they can positively contribute to society by completing either two years of active military service or two years of college. The logic behind the bill is that these children are not at fault for their parents’ decision to bring them to the USA and, having lived their entire lives creating a home in the USA, it is unfair to send them ‘back’. Senator Dick Durbin, a representative from my homestate of Illinois, is one of the driving forces behind this bill.

First, let me say that, in principle, I welcome the progressiveness of this DREAM Act. I support anything that leads to a diverse and educated society. I agree that these children had no control over what brought them into the country and that it would be cruel to remove them to a context where they do not belong.

At the same time, I resent what the DREAM Act represents. I can’t help but think “How dare this bill come before legislation that would provide equal recognition for me, a legal American citizen?”  It didn’t feel right that politicians were lobbying to extend the civil rights associated with American citizenship to an entirely new genre of people, but were content to ignore the LGBT families who are excluded from the system in spite of our citizenship. I got angry and motivated.

With my sites set on Dick Durbin, I decided to do a bit of background research to understand how best to approach a letter (thanks Wikipedia!). In short:

Richard “Dick” Durbin is a Democrat Senator representing Illinois. He’s a popular lifelong politician, elected to the House of Representatives in 1982 and moving into the Senate in 1996. He became the Democratic Whip (Assistant Leader) in 2004 and serves as the chairman for the Judiciary Subcommittee on Human Rights and the Law and the Appropriations Subcommittee on Financial Services and General Government.

Brilliant! He’s high up the political totem pole, he’s chairman of the committee that currently holds the Uniting American Families Act (UAFA), he’s active in the movement to fix America’s broken immigration system and he’s not completely opposed to LGBT issues.

I sat down and wrote him a letter. It started with a paragraph showing my support for the DREAM Act and asked him to extend that support to UAFA and to use his influence to raise visibility for this important issue. I poured out, in no less than 1,000 words, just how important immigration equality was to me and my family and emphasised how the current legislation actually doubly discriminates against us. I submitted it to his website and, because it says priority is given to Illinois residents, used my mother’s postal address.

You can imagine my surprise and initial delight when I received a response in less than 24 hours.

Unfortunately it was a standard form response telling me all about the DREAM Act and thanking me for my support. The only paragraph that remotely addressed what I had asked was purely coincidence:

“There are thousands of young people across our country who believe in the promise of America. What they have to offer makes us a stronger nation. I will continue to work for the passage of immigration reforms, including the DREAM Act, that are tough and enforceable but also fair and consistent with our nation's values.”

I might be naive about a lot of things, but I knew Senator Durbin wouldn’t actually read my letter and that the response would come from a staffer. But I also believe that staffer has a responsibility to at least read beyond the first paragraph of a lengthy, heartfelt correspondence. It would be an understatement to say I was infuriated to receive a reply that not only ignored 90% of what I had written, but thanked me for supporting a bill that sort of feels like it’s slapping me in the face.

But there was a ray of sunshine way down at the end:

“Thank you again for your message. Please feel free to keep in touch.”

So, I re-submitted my original letter to Senator Durbin on the 8^th December 2010 – this time including an opening paragraph that read something like this:

Dear Senator Durbin,

I recently wrote you an incredibly heartfelt and personal letter detailing my ongoing struggle as part of a bi-national same-sex couple. Your reply was wholly irrelevant to the content of my letter and the points I asked you to address. It is clear that whoever read my letter never made it past the first paragraph. I am re-submitting my letter below in the hopes that whoever receives it this time has the respect to at least make it to the end.

I got notification that the letter had been received and am still awaiting a reply.

I Really Like You

I had arrived in Edinburgh from Australia in December 2004 and I was single, sleeping on a foldaway bed in the corner of my friend’s front room by May. An American friend had recently said to me that she was jealous of the ‘glamorous’ life I was living abroad and I couldn’t help but laugh whenever I thought of this. Glamorous was about as far from my reality as anyone could get. I had just moved house in a taxi and didn’t own a single pair of shoes that didn’t have a hole in the sole. I felt like a complete loser and wholly accepted responsibility for creating that situation for myself, but I wasn’t doing anything to change because I had no idea what I wanted to do.

I met my partner through mutual friends in late July, 2005. Neither of us was looking for love - she was pretty broken, coming out of a complicated break-up, and I was utterly defeated, not knowing where my life was going. I think we were both at a point in our lives where we felt we had already lost it all. Even though we are almost exact opposites in terms of personality, we have the same peculiar sense of humour and both took great comfort in finding someone to laugh with about anything and everything. She was a colourful oasis in an otherwise bleak landscape.

We spent August taking in the sites, sounds, smells and insanity of Edinburgh’s festival season. It’s a time where literally anything goes and there is a palpable buzz in the city. People lose their heads for the entire month and even the weather is unnaturally pleasant. I would meet C a few times a week and we would wander the streets, talking endlessly, taking in free shows, getting lost in various beer gardens and just immersing ourselves in each other. She made the world around me feel inspiring again.

In spite of the gravity between us, though, it seems like we have always had to jump through hoops to be together. From the first day we met, we both knew there was an expiration date on my time in the UK - I was on a temporary visa valid until October to complete a voluntary placement with a national charity. Neither of us considered any other alternative and C even encouraged me to find something positive to move on to. She got me in touch with a friend of hers in California who understood my reluctance to return to the USA, offered me a place to stay while I transitioned back into a life there and gave me a list of charities I could start off with to build some professional experience. C even gave me an ipod as a going away present – she is the most thoughtful and generous person I know.

In the September come-down, reality set in. One morning while we were getting ready to drive back to Edinburgh from C’s flat in East Lothian, she very bravely told me she couldn’t see me anymore because she liked me too much. We had already come so far and it was going to be almost impossible to say goodbye to me in a matter of weeks. She would rather end it now while there was still a chance she could let go. I couldn’t argue with her logic. I had left relationships and lives behind before and knew the kind of hurt it inevitably led to, regardless of good intentions at the point of departure. I did not want to hurt her like that, but I was devastated.

After she dropped me off, I sat for a long time staring at the wall in the front room that was my bedroom, thinking about what could possibly be ahead of me in this life. I had two degrees but no direction. I had countless places to live but nowhere felt like home. I had friends scattered all over the world but I was desperately lonely. I was tired of leaving things unfinished; so I decided to stop. I texted C to let her know that I was going to do whatever I could to stay here and begged her to keep seeing me. Looking back now, I knew I liked spending time with her, but I think I also had a sense that she was the kind of person who could help me find the confidence to take control of my life.

I found out that I could apply for an extended visa to stay as a volunteer in the UK. To do this I needed evidence that my family would support me financially. So I shamelessly phoned home to ask my Mom for a letter of support, copies of her bank statement and money (wired to my flatmate’s bank account because I wasn’t allowed one here in the UK). She could have easily said no, and I would have had no other option but to return to the USA. I often wonder if she ever considered that; I’m sure her heart was screaming out to do whatever she could to get me home. Instead, she did exactly what I asked without question and I had another year abroad. I was determined to come out the other end of it with all the things that had so far eluded me: direction, purpose and home.

People always joke that lesbians bring a moving van to the second date, and admittedly, with our relationship only in its infancy, my decision to stay in the UK was pretty heavy going. C was clearly happy that I wasn’t leaving, but from that moment on she has felt responsible for ‘keeping me here’. I still have to remind her that even though my decision to stay in the UK was inspired by her, I had left the USA for my own reasons long before I had known her. At the time, though, it put a lot of pressure on a relationship that previously had none. Still, hoop number one was successfully completed - we at least had an opportunity to see where the relationship could go.

Then came hoops number 2 through 100. The fact that I was going to be around longer meant I was no longer just a distraction in C’s life, and her ex-partner worked hard to try and sabotage us. For months it felt like everyone else had a reason to ‘warn’ us off getting involved with each other. Thankfully, the fact that we had previously assumed I was leaving meant we had been boldly open with one another from the start of the relationship. We understood each other well enough to withstand these external pressures and through trial and error managed to shed the people who seemed determined to be negative influences in our lives.

That’s not to say we weren’t cautious. We were both quite emotionally raw, and didn’t want to rush into anything too serious too quickly. C was very clear about waiting to introduce me to her family. She’d been in two long-term relationships in the past and knew that those break-ups had meant dissolution of the relationships between her ex-partners and her family. She didn’t want to re-start the process of establishing and developing new relationships until she was sure I wasn’t going to just disappear from her life.

I knew what my heart was telling me in those first six months, but would only ever admit to C that ‘I liked you’. I would end emails and text messages that way. It was eventually emphasised to ‘I REALLY LIKE YOU’. It became a bit of a running joke between us to see who could get in the most reallys.

C spent Christmas Day 2005 with her family and then came to see me in the evening. We exchanged presents and stayed up late, chatting and watching our Christmas candles melting into a red and green mess on the table. And then, we exchanged I love yous. This was getting serious...

We the People...

I went home for Thanksgiving this year for the first time since I left the USA. My Mom and Grandma decorated the whole house for Christmas in anticipation of my arrival and baked about 6 dozen Christmas cookies. My brother and his wife put everything else in their lives aside to spend all of their spare time with me and together we had an amazing week as a family just doing normal things like going to the grocery store (every day, for some reason), playing games and watching TV. I am finally in a place to really appreciate and be comforted by being in my Mom’s home.

My partner didn’t come with me this time and her absence didn’t go unnoticed. We celebrated Christmas on Thanksgiving Day, because we haven’t had a Christmas together since 2004. I passed along presents from C and her family and received presents for her from everyone else. My Grandma, a woman of many talents, even made clutch purses for C’s mother, sisters-in-law and niece. Funnily enough, Grandma didn’t think C was a clutch-purse kind of gal, but she did get her a nice plaid shirt from American Eagle. My brother and sister-in-law got us matching fleeces and socks. Ironically, I don’t think they know how incredibly lesbian that is, which made it even more endearing.

On the day I returned to the UK, my Grandma told me I must have a screw loose – because why else would I want to live in a cold, rainy country? She told me if I moved back to the USA she would buy me a house and a car, and she wasn’t joking. She misses me desperately – they all do. The short bursts of time we spend together are vital emotional recharges that get us by, but it never seems like enough time. We always feel like we’re saying goodbye.

I’ve never actually spoken to my Grandma about the nature of my relationship with my partner, but I know she understands. She stopped warning me to “Stay Away from Boys” many years ago. Just before I got on the bus to O’Hare, Grandma gave me a big cuddle and said to tell C she was counting down the sleeps until our visit next March, and that we should take care of each other between now and then. While I talk to my Grandma almost every weekend, and we occasionally Skype, moments like that can only ever happen in person.

It’s only recently that I’ve tried to explain to friends and family, and now complete strangers, exactly what it feels like to not be able to go ‘home’. I struggle with finding the words to accurately reflect the layers of emotions around the subject, but I think one of the main reasons it is so hard to get the message across is because most of the people I talk to do not fundamentally understand the significance of the barriers in place. In fact, it’s taken me a long time to really understand these, mostly because the legislative system in the USA is messy and complex.

Please bear with me while I summarise it here. I know this is the boring bit, but it is incredibly important to understand the basic legal context. I’ve kept this as short and simple as possible.

In the US, some issues are regulated at a federal level and some are delegated down to state level.

The basis for the federal government, including how it can create and implement laws, is defined by the US Constitution. In general, the federal government is concerned with issues that transcend state boundaries. For our purposes here, this includes defining federal-level spousal rights, responsibilities and benefits as well as immigration laws.

All 50 states are autonomously governed, which means each has its own constitution and can make their own laws, including those relating to state-level spousal rights, responsibilities and benefits.

In 1996, Bill Clinton signed the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) into law. Section 3 of DOMA defines ‘marriage’ as a legal union between one man and one woman and ‘spouse’ as only a person of the opposite sex. This definition applies to any ruling, regulation or interpretation of federal law. So, when immigration laws permit American citizens or permanent residents to sponsor their spouse to come and live in the US, ‘spouse’ is as defined by DOMA.

DOMA cannot prohibit states from legalising same-sex unions (that would require an amendment to the US Constitution), but it does ‘protect’ states from being ‘forced’ to recognise unions legalised by other states. The issue of same-sex unions is fiercely controversial in the US. At the time of writing, California, Colorado, Connecticut,  Hawaii, Illinois, Iowa, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Nevada, New Hampshire, New York, Oregon, Rhode Island, Vermont, Wisconsin, Washington and the District of Colombia have laws in place that extend spousal rights to same-sex couples in some form.

Regardless of what happens at the state-level, though, DOMA prevents American citizens and permanent residents from sponsoring same-sex partners to come and live in the US.

DOMA was fast-tracked through a Republican-controlled Congress under a Democrat president – not dissimilar from the situation we’re now in following the mid-term elections in November. I voted absentee in that election and made sure to carefully select candidates who reflected my own priorities and values. Unfortunately, not all of my preferred candidates won. At the time I didn’t think much of what the consequences of that actually meant.

So, after coming home from Thanksgiving, I did a bit of research into the people representing me in Congress to see if I could appeal to any of them to advocate for immigration equality for same-sex couples. Here is what I found out:

Representative Tim Johnson (R-Illinois) voted in favour of a Constitutional amendment to prevent recognition of same-sex unions, he voted against laws to protect gays from being discriminated against in employment and he has consistently voted against repealing Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. I don’t think I can really consider him an ally.

There is speculation around newly-elected Senator Mark Kirk’s (R-Illinois) sexuality. He’s made some rather insensitive comments in the past that make me think that, whether he is or isn’t, this speculation is not a good thing. Let’s just say he doesn’t want to fuel the fire by advocating for LGBT issues, so no help there at the moment either.

Senator Dick Durbin (D-Illinois) has a more moderate voting record for LGBT issues. He voted for DOMA, but against amending the Constitution. He’s also a sponsor of the DREAM act, which proposes a route to citizenship for the children of illegal immigrants. I figured if anyone could understand my situation, he was probably my man. So, I wrote him a heartfelt letter...

In the beginning

Maybe this is the typical ‘gay in a small town’ story, but it took me a long time to admit, even to myself, that I was something other than straight. I loved a boy with all my heart through high school, and dated a few guys briefly in college. But I had my first physical and emotional relationship with a woman starting in the second semester of my first year of college. I’m sure some people probably figured us out but neither of us talked to anyone else about our relationship, so for all intents and purposes I was still far in the closet until well into my third year. That suited me just fine because going to college in my hometown meant even nipping down to the grocery store involved bumping into people who had known me since I was a toddler, or went to my church, or worked with my Mom, etc. They all had expectations of who I was, and I worked very hard to live up to those.

I got a taste for what it was like to create my own sense of home and self during the semester I spent on a study exchange in Australia. Not only did I walk down the street in broad daylight holding my girlfriend’s hand (okay, not some streets), but I took classes that were wholly irrelevant to my chosen major and learned that I was actually very passionate about things I’d never really considered before. It was so empowering to be in a place where I didn’t have a previous context. I have no idea where or who I would be now if I hadn’t had that experience.

So I was ready to break free of my ‘old life’ when I finished my BSc – and that included everything: friends, family, the Midwest, even the USA. None of it could offer me the life I wanted for myself because in my head it represented all the expectations and psychological boundaries I had already torn down. I was ready to continue developing the ‘me’ I had created on the other side of the world.

I was 21 when I left. I’d obviously travelled abroad before, but always on a return ticket. This time was different, though. I was LEAVING to do an entire degree in Australia, and then...well I guess I’d have that part figured out when I got to it. Sitting at the airport with my worldly possessions rolled neatly into a very large backpack I watched as I broke my Mom’s heart. I was so ecstatic to be going and she was...well, she was very quiet. We sat next to each other and she held my hand but I don’t actually remember her saying anything. At the time I didn’t know we would have so many of these goodbyes ahead of us, but in the beginning it was so easy for me to choose to walk away.

My new life was everything I wanted it to be. I was studying something that I was incredibly passionate about. I lived 15 minutes away from the beach (and would often go there instead of class), so I was fit and tanned. I was getting a lot of interest from girls and had a growing network of creative and supportive friends, most of whom were queers and hippies. I thought none of this would have been possible for the ‘me’ that existed in Normal, Illinois, but looking back now, this ‘new life’ wasn’t far off from what I had in college in Illinois. The only difference was that my Illinois life was geographically confined - I would have to live up to all those dreaded expectations whenever I ventured off campus. In Australia I could wander the whole country, and did, and only ever had to be who I wanted me to be.

In the 1.5 years it took to complete my MSc I probably called home less than 10 times, and only when prompted by a pleading email. In fact, I just looked back at some emails from 2005 (2 years after I left). One, titled ‘Where are you?’, simply says “We are worried about you.  Haven't heard from you in weeks.  Grandma says that she is saving her money to come and find you (she asks every day if you have emailed).”

It’s not that I didn’t want to speak to my family...it’s just that I didn’t have much to say when I did because I was witholding a significant part of my life from those conversations. Phone calls would inevitably conclude the same things: work is steady; I’m doing well in school; the weather is fantastic; I need money. I didn’t talk at all about the friendships or relationships I was developing because I couldn’t edit those experiences well enough to ensure my Mom didn’t ‘figure it out’. Even though it was my choice to withhold that information, I resented them because of it.

If I could write myself a letter and post it back to 2003 I would beg myself to regularly invest the time to keep in touch with my family. Even though I wasn’t in a place to give away much of myself to them, they always gave me everything I needed and the silence they received in return was incredibly disrespectful. It’s ironic that the whole time I was hiding from them what I thought would tear us apart, they were showing me that their love was unconditional.

I finished my MSc in 2005 and symbolically burned every page of my dissertation in a bonfire in my backyard. It was so liberating and it truly felt like an important chapter in my life was concluding. Of course, I hadn’t figured out what I was doing next but I knew I didn’t want to go back to the USA. My only option would have been to move back in with my Mom and return to the ‘old me’ and I wouldn’t consider doing that even as a temporary measure. No, I wanted to keep the momentum going so I chose the only other ‘in’ I had, which was to move to Edinburgh, where some of my Australian friends had moved a few months earlier. Of course, the fact that the woman I had been seeing was there had something to do with that decision (I mentioned it was an ill-thought-out plan).

So as my Australian student visa expired, I started another new chapter in another new place on the other side of the world. To be fair, it was a bumpy transition and I spent a lot of time wondering what the hell I was doing here – it’s cold, it’s dark, the people are generally quite grumpy and it rains a lot most of the time. By June I had resigned myself to the fact that I would have to go ‘home’, but was dragging my heels on putting those wheels in motion. I figured I had until my UK visa expired in October to figure out my next move and I wanted to have fun in the meantime.

Then I was sidelined by a love that was so big it would completely knock me off course...

Welcome Home

Welcome.

Apparently they let you put anything on the internet these days. This blog? It’s free. All I have to do is direct my thoughts into type, submit and *poof* there it is...out there for general public consumption. The true merit of this will surely be proven in time...

As I write this first entry, I’m closing down my life in 2010. This time of year always brings on a lot of personal reflection. How did 12 months pass so quickly? Did I make the most of this year? What will 2011 bring? It seems to me that 2010 is bringing on a lot more reflection than previous years. Maybe this is because I turn 30 next year and for some reason this particular milestone is driving me to get my ducks in a row in a ‘cosmic universe’ kind of way.

To be honest, my life is pretty damn brilliant. Even in the middle of this recession, I’ve got a lovely flat in Edinburgh to call home, money in the bank and a career that will take me places. But most importantly I’ve got an amazing family...and I only started to fully realise that over the last 18 months.

I’ll go into a lot more detail about where I come from and how I got here through future posts, but for now here’s a brief overview: I grew up in the Midwest in the USA and caught a real fever for travel at an early age. After graduating from Illinois Wesleyan University with a BSc in 2003, I moved to Newcastle, Australia to complete a Masters degree. When I finished that, a series of somewhat ill-thought-out decisions led me to Edinburgh, Scotland where I met the woman of my dreams. I completed yet another Masters degree and became a professional in Edinburgh while our relationship blossomed and on 20 August 2009 we got married.

Now, I know I’ve been protected from most of the bad stuff that happens to a lot of people in life. I’ve benefitted greatly from a family who is in a position to emotionally support my constant habit of doing things the hard way and financially support my various educational endeavours even though my choices have ultimately taken me to the other side of the world from them. When I left the USA in 2003 I don’t think any of us could have imagined that I would end up settling abroad. But it seems that I’m kind of stuck outside the USA now because of one single aspect of my life: I’m not in a heterosexual relationship.

My partner and I are married in the UK. I use the word married because that’s what it feels like to us, but in legal terms we are in a Civil Partnership. Regardless of the terminology, we are completely committed to each other and the UK government recognises our domestic arrangement in pretty much exactly the same way it would a marriage between a man and a woman. We are afforded the same legal rights and responsibilities and I can stay in this country as the spouse of a UK citizen.

There are a growing number of States that recognise same-sex relationships in some way, either as a marriage or a civil union. This year is particularly relevant for me because the Illinois Senate passed Bill 1716: Religious Freedom and Marriage Fairness Act which, when signed into law will mean that we can register as civil partners in my home state and celebrate with friends and family. However, a number of layers of legal barriers still exist that, among other things, deny me the opportunity to sponsor my partner to come live with me in the USA. So, despite being a permanent fixture in my family, under the current legislation she will never be more than a tourist in my country.

In effect this is a blog of my personal journey in trying to understand and attempt to overcome the various inequalities I stumble upon in trying to reconcile my family. Taking the time to write things down in a rational way will help me deal with the complex emotions that these inequalities evoke; but I’m putting it out there for complete strangers to read because I think it this is an important medium to raise awareness about and to get other people’s perspectives on the issues and logic that make up the so-called American underpinning this legislative framework.

I’m really looking forward to this journey even though I know it’s going to be a tremendous personal challenge. Thank you for joining me along the way – you are welcome to stay for as little or as long as you like.