Out of the Closet

“Mommy, can I watch a show with Barbie?” my little hazel-eyed preschooler asked. Like a mom-ninja, I wipe the last of tears from my eyes. But before I could answer, his eyes grew big, pointing at a large pile of clothes on my bed.

“Mommy, what happened to your clothes?”

“Sweetheart, I had a hard time picking an outfit for Church, so,” I surveyed the wreckage, and continued. “I tried on almost as many outfits as I am old.”

“That’s a lot, Mommy,” my son concluded, nodding his head.

I laughed.

But the outfit wreckage is no laughing matter. It’s a symptom of something else…

Wardrobe crises often caused me to be late for family holidays in high school and college.  I would try on outfits we bought for that holiday. Then, I would try on old standbys. Then, my mom’s clothes. Everything made me feel fat. Or dorky. Or ugly. I often ended up a panty-hosed puddle of tears next to a pile of clothes. Sometimes my mom put my hair in rollers, and that helped. Most times, nothing did.

Thankfully, the wardrobe crisis has hit only now and then as a married woman. Even less so as a mommy. It’s forgivable to show up at Christmas in a black velour tracksuit if you’re an overtired mommy. And tracksuits don’t cause crises.

But now, like the me in high school and college, I have hit an uncomfortable point. Yes, yes, my marriage is already on the decline. (More on that in my upcoming book.) But there’s something else.

A couple of months ago, I had a friend let me know that I could have a crush on my best friend. (Full disclosure here.) Who is not a man. So, while I’ve never kissed a girl, I’m pretty sure I would like it.  As you can imagine, I’m about as happy about this new discovery as I would be opening up a fridge of expired fish. As if a marriage in crisis is not enough.

But, being a lesbian woman could explain a lot of things.

Like how I love my church.

Lost in the closet

Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting in a pew. My kids downstairs running around under someone else’s watch. Thank God. 

I looked down in my lap. My cream short-sleeved lace top hiding my mom-pudge. My fawn linen pants lay like a freshly-folded sheet over my legs, revealing the tip of my gold strappy heels. Yep, I picked the right outfit. Only took about thirty tries.

My hands are bare, with a rolling ring on my right middle finger, which makes me chuckle. Up my right arm is a rainbow cuff of rubber bracelets.

“Please turn to page 234 for the next hymn,” a pastoral voice directs from the pulpit.

Ahhh, Church. A century’s old sanctuary. With two walls of stained glass concentrating the heat of summer onto us blessed souls. I wipe the sweat off of my brow, thankful for my recent Justin Bieber haircut hiding my summer shine. 

The congregation starts singing. Strong female voices leading the way. Well, that’s easy to do when your church-goers are about eighty percent female, I chuckle to myself.

I look around. Most of the ladies here are gay and have a good decade – or three – on me. Most of the time, they dress in cargo shorts, button-down shirts, sandals, and no make-up.

Questions erupt in my mind like popcorn. Do they wear those clothes because they are lesbian? Or because they are wiser about footwear choices? Or because they all are members of a secret Birkenstock club?

Yep, there are a lot of gay ladies at my church. When I joined, I probably liked it because there were a lot of gay ladies, and I didn’t even know it. But, to be honest, I have never known any other gay ladies until joining this church. Unless you count The L Word.

But, if I am gay, why haven’t I woken up one day and felt the need to put on cargo shorts? And why don’t I feel any different than I did when I thought I was straight? These are the questions that circle my brain these days, like vultures waiting for the coast to clear.

The singing starts to get louder, hitting the crescendo before the end.

I’m not straight. I might be gay. The only thing I know for sure right now is that I’m like my wardrobe. Lost.

POEM: Tightrope

It’s a long way down, as 
I look over this tightrope
my feet grip for life. 

Balancing
Me-Then,
heavy, calculating, perfectly-molded for show,
with
Me-Now,
barely treading in swells of shoved feelings,
with
Me-Growing
Burning inward, fragile like a bomb,
a treacherous path. 

These dishes balanced on ends
The Then, Now, Growing mes.
Trying not to let any break. 

Hopes of reconciling
Myself
with 
Myself
and
Myself.
Not blowing up
who I was,
as she is me as much as 
I am Now.

SoulJourner Question

Do you know who my favorite cartoon bear is? I bet you would think it’s a Care Bear, because I’m the SoulSanity bear. But it’s actually Winnie the Pooh. (Wait a minute! Now I have to think about my whole analogy…) 

Anyhoo, A.A.Milne, creator of the Winnie the Pooh series, was a master at incorporating Taoism, the principle of Wu Wei, into his books.

What is Wu Wei? According to Rina Shah, ‘With Wu Wei, you simply let things happen in the way the natural order dictates, and they work out whatever way they need to. You may disagree or dislike the result and feel disappointed or resentful at the time. But in hindsight, you will likely realize the necessary path life took in that moment for you to be where you are, doing what you’re doing in the present.’

In short, Wu Wei is the art of allowing life to live itself. And it’s something that could have alleviated years of suffering in my life. Especially the time during today’s story.  

The SoulJourner QuesTion: Over the next week, every time something happens or someone says something to you that rubs you the wrong way, can you say to yourself: “Okay.” That sends the message to your body that you are allowing what happened. Note how you feel. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Would love to know what your experience is! 

And, a quote from the dear Winnie The Pooh, “Rivers know this: There is no hurry. We shall get there someday.”—Winnie the Pooh
If you are interested in more about the wisdom of Winnie the Pooh, here’s a great read!