Better Late Than Never

“Megan! I didn’t know you are bisexual!” That was Mom’s first reaction to reading chapter 1 of my book Mindfulness Brings Clarity. I wrote about how I knew I was queer from an experience at a young age.

“I mean, I know we don’t always tell our parents everything,” Mom continued.

“Yeah, it just wasn’t something I was comfortable talking about,” I explained.

The family I grew up in was not one where people opened up or discussed much. So I was surprised by Mom’s surprise that I hadn’t told her something—though I suppose it’s an exaggeration to say I told her nothing. She did help me through the breakup with my first serious boyfriend in high school. But certain reactions to that relationship, and to a relationship I had with a person of color, made it clear why I didn’t share my questions about my sexuality when I was younger. The judgment was palpable.

I also grew up in the Catholic Church. My parents thankfully shielded us from private school, but we still went to church every weekend and attended Sunday school to prepare for the sacraments. No one explicitly said “we don’t accept gays” that I remember—if they did, I blocked it out—but it was obvious that heterosexuality was the norm. Deviating from that wasn’t accepted if you wanted approval from peers, adults in the church, priests, or God. I already felt emotionally unsafe around my father, so there was no way I was going to explore something as taboo as being gay, especially in the ’90s. That part of me had to be buried deep.

The queer side of me came out a little in college, but I knew that if I wanted my parents’ support through college and grad school, I couldn’t be in an openly gay relationship. If my parents had divorced much earlier than they did—instead of the same year I married my now husband—and I had separated from their way of thinking sooner, I might have felt comfortable coming out earlier. Younger me still yearns for that, but it’s not how things panned out. Radical acceptance has helped me a lot with that.

As I say in my book, I found a partner who accepts this part of me, loves me unconditionally, and doesn’t judge me. That’s all I need to feel safe in a relationship. The rest, in my opinion, takes care of itself.

So yeah, I’m sorry, Mom, that I kept this hidden for almost four decades. I’m more sorry to myself that I couldn’t live a huge part of my truth for so long. My book has been incredibly healing as she and more people have learned about this part of me. It’s daunting but also freeing. Coming out later in life has its challenges, but I’m grateful to be facing them rather than continuing to bury that side of myself.

I know my ancestors are proud of me for that.