The Power of the Closet
Once I realized I was a lesbian, it took me about two years to tell my parents. Once my mom and I finally did have that conversation, she asked me more than once how certain I was. I remember the specific phrase, "Well, I hope at least that you won't close the door." I really didn't know how she would react, and this was better than many of the scenarios I had previously acted out in my mind. She didn't threaten to disown me and she didn't condemn me. In fact, she told me she loved me no matter what. I've been lucky. And blessed.
I just exchanged emails with a friend who is dating someone new and hesitates to tell her mom. She told her mom about her first lesbian relationship and that didn't go over well, and now that she has moved on she's finding that it's better to keep quiet about a new relationship; to her family at least.
Another friend of mine in Armenia told me in an email this week that Armenian culture has prompted her parents to find a guy for her to marry, and she is left to deal with those implications. She would be a whole lot happier spending the rest of her life with a woman, but her family (and the rest of Armenian culture for that matter) doesn't know, and likely wouldn't understand.
Some who have had an influence on my journey as a gay Christian would probably say, "You can't control what other people think. If they don't understand that's their problem. You just have to live your life." But I think that misses the point. Sometimes the reasons why we choose not to be completely honest are noble ones. We do it out of respect for those around us. We don't want to hurt them, and we find it more suitable to just keep quiet. It could even be viewed as a Christian self-sacrifice; we deny ourselves for the good of others. But where should we draw the line? At what point should we choose complete honesty?
The answer may be obvious. Once we start to see that we are sufffering by withholding the truth, it's probably time to spill it. There are times when I'm not completely honest about my sexuality. If I'm sitting at Jiffy Lube waiting for an oil change and someone in the lounge strikes up a conversation with me, I'm probably not going to volunteer that I'm a gay Christian. Perhaps I should, because God can always use that situation to open some eyes, but I usually opt for small talk and I leave without any sort of personal admission. No damage done.
It took me two years to come out to my parents because I didn't want to hurt them. But it finally reached the point where I was the one being hurt by not telling them, and I had to tell the truth. They needed time to work through the emotions involved, and since I knew I wasn't going to suddenly change, the time came to give them the opportunity to begin to heal. They didn't throw me a big gay party once they found out, but they did work through it and now they treat Angela exactly as they would treat any spouse of mine--like one of their own. Once the truth becomes known, God takes over and makes the best out of the situation. But the truth has to be out there in order for God to work.
Fear is powerful. It kept me in the closet for years, but it can be conquered. I'm still afraid in many ways (if I was face-to-face with Pat Robertson I might consider running the other way in a dead sprint), but allowing the power of the truth to be a guide certainly helps. In fact, as I continue to mature I'm sure that power will firmly plant me in front of people like Pat Robertson, and give me the strength to carry on a meaningful conversation. God works.
I certainly understand the need to keep quiet, but my prayer for those who choose it, is that the truth will also be given power and that it will become the vessel through which God can bring understanding and healing. Until then...
I just exchanged emails with a friend who is dating someone new and hesitates to tell her mom. She told her mom about her first lesbian relationship and that didn't go over well, and now that she has moved on she's finding that it's better to keep quiet about a new relationship; to her family at least.
Another friend of mine in Armenia told me in an email this week that Armenian culture has prompted her parents to find a guy for her to marry, and she is left to deal with those implications. She would be a whole lot happier spending the rest of her life with a woman, but her family (and the rest of Armenian culture for that matter) doesn't know, and likely wouldn't understand.
Some who have had an influence on my journey as a gay Christian would probably say, "You can't control what other people think. If they don't understand that's their problem. You just have to live your life." But I think that misses the point. Sometimes the reasons why we choose not to be completely honest are noble ones. We do it out of respect for those around us. We don't want to hurt them, and we find it more suitable to just keep quiet. It could even be viewed as a Christian self-sacrifice; we deny ourselves for the good of others. But where should we draw the line? At what point should we choose complete honesty?
The answer may be obvious. Once we start to see that we are sufffering by withholding the truth, it's probably time to spill it. There are times when I'm not completely honest about my sexuality. If I'm sitting at Jiffy Lube waiting for an oil change and someone in the lounge strikes up a conversation with me, I'm probably not going to volunteer that I'm a gay Christian. Perhaps I should, because God can always use that situation to open some eyes, but I usually opt for small talk and I leave without any sort of personal admission. No damage done.
It took me two years to come out to my parents because I didn't want to hurt them. But it finally reached the point where I was the one being hurt by not telling them, and I had to tell the truth. They needed time to work through the emotions involved, and since I knew I wasn't going to suddenly change, the time came to give them the opportunity to begin to heal. They didn't throw me a big gay party once they found out, but they did work through it and now they treat Angela exactly as they would treat any spouse of mine--like one of their own. Once the truth becomes known, God takes over and makes the best out of the situation. But the truth has to be out there in order for God to work.
Fear is powerful. It kept me in the closet for years, but it can be conquered. I'm still afraid in many ways (if I was face-to-face with Pat Robertson I might consider running the other way in a dead sprint), but allowing the power of the truth to be a guide certainly helps. In fact, as I continue to mature I'm sure that power will firmly plant me in front of people like Pat Robertson, and give me the strength to carry on a meaningful conversation. God works.
I certainly understand the need to keep quiet, but my prayer for those who choose it, is that the truth will also be given power and that it will become the vessel through which God can bring understanding and healing. Until then...
posted by Jen Austin at 9:20 AM
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