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!
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