Welcome. Here we are. This is an update of my wild gay expedition after a tumultuous year on is perhaps not where I thought it would be, but, to be fair, dear reader, I don't think I really new where I wanted to go, so it's not surprise I'm where I am.
This time last year I was preparing to tell my wife I was gay. Since then it's been a bit of a crazy ride.
At first, my wife wouldn't talk to me. Even though she knew now much this process had affected me, she felt that whereas she had been cast adrift with no future, I had “invented” a while new future for myself – and she understandably resented me for it.
Their reactions had been everything from “so what” to “I'm proud of you” to “sorry, we can't hang out anymore” – that last one stung quite a bit.
On my side, I felt like I had been building up to this big reveal, I'd been through several difficult conversation with my (adult) kids, other relatives, friends and acquaintances. When I finally stopped, the result was – well – a bit of a let-down. Nothing had really changed, except that now everyone knew. Their reactions had been everything from “so what” to “I'm proud of you” to “sorry, we can't hang out anymore” – that last one stung quite a bit.
So here I was: a bit lost – again. I mean, now what? I joined some local meetups and met some people who although were quite nice, I felt guilty meeting every time knowing my wife was at home and not involved. I faced fairly chilly or non-committal conversation at home and I started to resent the whole thing. My daughter was being a good do-between, but it really wasn't fair on her.
This was a situation which was not working for either of us, so at my daughter's urging we went to couples counselling. My biggest fear was that my wife wouldn't talk, but she did. So did I. I found out I still love her, she's still my friend and best of all, it's mutual. We still actually get on quite well, it turns out. So we're still together – for the time being. It's not an “open” marriage, but I feel less constrained to be faithful now that there's no chance of sex at home – nevertheless, I haven't found anyone and I'm not actively looking or planning to be bad. If it happens, well, it happens.
My feeling is that despite going willingly into this new phase, we are growing apart. Things are not quite the same. We are relaxed around each other, we laugh, we watch cheesy TV together, I still cry at the sad bits and she still calls me a cry-baby. But essentially, something has understandably been lost. I wonder whether we're marking time until one of us finds someone else, or whether things will settle down and I'll come to the conclusion that nothing will happen for me on the sex front, and she ends up happy or at least content with the status quo. Again, who knows?
What I do know is that we're one of the rare couples who are still together a year on despite everything. And that's a good thing. In the next post, I'll write more about Paul and the re-emerging trauma.
I want to tell you about the surprisingly powerful session I had yesterday with my therapist. Usually it's a way for me to talk through some of the conflicting feelings I've been having about coming out to my wife in particular, but this time was different and I can't stop thinking about it.
In the session a week ago, the therapist suggested I write a letter to my wife, explaining my thinking about coming out and writing down my journey so far. I did so as soon as I got home and it was so easy to write it wrote itself . I made no edits, thinking I would come back to it before giving it to her. It was totally honest, and would allow her, hopefully, to digest the information I had already given to her once I had come out to her.
At this most recent session I told my therapist about the letter-writing process and she asked me to read it. Since it was in my cloud drive, it was available on my phone so I started reading. The first couple of sentences went well, but I started to feel super-emotional as I went on talking about our family and how, despite the harm it may do, I don't have a choice as I'm destroying the relationships by withdrawing into myself.
I got it together during the factual historical boring bits (to me) recounting my failed gay relationship in the 80s, and the events that led me to understanding I was gay instead of bisexual. Then the letter changed and I started talking about my feelings and how my decision would affect her and I lost it again – to such an extent that I was unable to continue for quite a while.
When I finally was able to, I struggled through the final paragraphs and then broke down again. I was amazed. The depth of my emotions was so intense and it took me completely by surprise. The letter had been very easy and straightforward to write, but reading it out loud was massively hard and demonstrated how hard it will be to tell her.
If you, dear reader, are in a similar situation, I would recommend you do the same. Write everything you want to say to your spouse in a letter and be brutally honest. It will be quite easy to write because it is your truth. It is what you are feeling right now. And then, a week or so later read it to your therapist, best friend or significant other who is helping you through this process. If you don't have anyone, get someone. It is so important to be supported and to feel that you have others you can lean on when things get tough – and, after this experience, I'm convinced that they will get very tough for a while.
I have a week-and-a-half left before I have to tell my wife. I am terrified. But this experience has brought home to me why I don't have any other option. Staying silent IS not an option. The emotional strain has become too much and I need to come clean.
In the last post, I wrote about how two sides were battling for supremacy. This week, I wanted concentrate on staying focused and on being as authentic as possible. The crazy back and forth that I had experienced over the past few weeks was just not tenable and it was making me crazy. Added to that, I had sort of decided when I was going to come out to my wife – if I dared, and that deadline is fast approaching in the week commencing 20th June – in about 2 weeks.
So I have to be sure. I have to be sure that this is the right thing to do. My strategy has been to start researching LGBT+ groups in my area. If you live in a larger city, there is more on offer, though I think my age does play a part. I reached out to Dr. Ginger Campbell from Graying Rainbows – an amazing resource for those who come out later in life – to join one of her community groups but because new content has now ceased, the groups have fizzled out. However in reaching out to her, she immediately wrote back a really wonderfully supportive e-mail and also offered to link me up with one of her interviewees from the UK. Not sure whether he'll get in touch, but it really was a nice gesture. I'll let you know if he does 🙂
I then went and did some more searches for local meetup.com groups in Bournemouth – again, not many, but a couple stood out – Bournemouth Gay Men and Friends Out and About and Bournemouth Gay Men Social's – well, they were the only ones… Not sure what Social's means but I guess I'll eventually find out – and sound super-pedantic at the same time. Sorry. Apostrophes in odd places make my OCD go crazy.
Anyhow, this focus on “what next” has really kept me in the moment. Sure, I usually wake up thinking this whole thing is the stupidest idea ever and why would I risk everything because I'm such a snowflake etc., but I think that now that I know, now that I have come out to myself, I will eventually be outed anyway and I far prefer to do it on my own terms than have it happen to me.
I have also started to lose a bit of weight… possibly the stress is helping, but it's a great side-benefit. If I have to feel like I'm about to explode, then at least there needs to be a rainbow-coloured lining, right?
One more thing, if you're reading this and you are also on this side of coming out, I would recommend that you get some support. It could be a best friend (if you trust them), a LGBT-affirming coach or even a therapist. I went and googled LGBT therapists and was really lucky to find someone I could relate to straight away. I don't think I could have made the progress I've made – from being totally at sea, to starting to accept that there could be very serious consequences to coming out – and still wanting to go through with it. I don't know whether I will succeed, whether I will have the courage, but I hope I will. I have some time to work on the final aspects and I will write about these preparations in my next post.
So I'm confused. Confusion reigns as my habit of keeping my real-self hidden is battling with that part of me that wants to come out. Is profound change a catalyst for good and if so, under what guise?
On several mornings over the past couple of weeks I have woken up determined that this has all been a mistake. A colossal joke that I'm playing on myself. How could I be gay if:
I'm not sure what do do with that information and I have no real plans for post-coming out and
I'm comfortable with my life as it is. But am I really?
Therapy sort of helps get be back on track, but only while I'm in the room and possibly a few hours afterwards. The next day at the latest, I wonder how I could have been so sure. As the next session approaches I wonder what the hell I'm going to say. When I get there, all these doubts go away and the session is great… until it's over. My therapist says that I'm brining all of me to the session so all of a sudden it's easy to talk. But how do I move on from this? It's not a question of courage now, but a real self-doubt as to whether I've embarked on the right path.
At times I feel that I'm just going through a midlife crisis – something to do which challenges the status quo – but then I remember the crisis points, the depth of sadness, the uncontrolled sobbing in the kitchen – and this is not just some temporary craziness, but something deep which I have finally come to recognise. The crisis points need to be remembered when I flounder or wallow in self-doubt. I must remember the feelings that I cannot control and what that means.
Tomorrow is therapy day. All too short, but helpful in a kind of stake-in-the-ground kind of way. Perhaps, when I have planted the requisite number of steps I will be able to see past this coming-out challenge and understand what the next steps need to be.
No-one can see the future, but I need to at least have an objective or two about what happens after I tell my wife, and all this definitely needs to happen before my 60th Birthday.
I'm a 59-year-old man happily married to my wife. One problem: I've realised I'm gay and I've also realised that only the truth can prevent complete destruction of myself and everything I love.
How does that happen? You must think me callous, mean-spirited and morally bankrupt. well, at least you're not alone… so do I.
Well one thing I can say, is that it happened despite myself. If I could change something – anything – not to be in the situation I'm in right now, I would do it. But here we are. Coming out as gay later in life brings with is a huge amount of baggage I'd rather not have and it threatens to upend a successful marriage.
As I start this blog, I have come out to myself but to no-one else and it's killing me. But this is the first step. A necessary step. I would like to avoid hurting anyone, but I know that's not possible. If I stay in the closet, I am hurting myself and as a bonus, lying to the people I love the most. If I come out, I will definitely hurt my wife. So what to do?
But before I get too specific, let me say some things… I think I can hear you shouting from here… How did it come to this?
As a young man in the 80s, not many people were openly gay, but I did have the chance to meet a man who I admired – a lot. I really looked up to him in the puppy dog way that young men in their very early 20s look up to anyone who is older and – they think – wiser. He was witty, funny and clever. He was a musician and actor and pretty all-round amazing. He was older, and more experienced. The first weeks were amazing and fun and for the first time, I felt completely at ease with myself.
The loving relationship soured quickly though and after the first heady rush of passion, it became borderline abusive and cheap. I felt used and hurt. I objected to some of the things he wanted me to do and some of the things he wanted me to wear were ridiculous. I told him this was too much at once. Could we take it slower? The abuse abruptly worsened and after a stint in the emergency room after “a fall”, he told me I was straight and boring. I should leave. It was over.
I left that relationship believing him. If I could not do what he asked of me – and what he asked was, apparently, not unreasonable if you were gay – the logical conclusion was that I was straight – or bisexual maybe? Either way I knew I didn't want what he was offering. I didn't feel right to me.
A couple of straight relationships followed. And then one day, I met my future wife. We really hit it off. It was amazing. It felt right. We clicked. It was a loving relationship. We laughed, we cried, we lived in Paris together and eventually, 29 years ago, we got married. We now have several grown-up kids, and over these 29 years, I firmly believed I was bisexual. My mistake was probably not telling my wife sooner but in my mind, I had made my choice, so my sexuality was irrelevant. And it was – for along time. But over the years I have had the feeling that something was missing. Not definable, really, but an undeniable emptiness.
So roll on 2021, and I'm working on my clapped-out sailboat that I bought for a song. I'm alone and have been working in the Sicilian sun for about 2 weeks when I meet a gay man and we become friends. Nothing sexual, mind, and nothing sinister. We just became good friends, going out, drinking, laughing. But the impact and the feelings that this friendship brought up were impossible to ignore. It was a trigger and I went into a deep depression for a week, only being forced to emerge when my son joined me to go sailing. That brought me back to reality and I pushed the feelings aside again, but the door had been forced open and as soon as he left, I had to confront what I had felt.
Over the last few months I have come to the inevitable conclusion that I am not bisexual after all – I'm gay. I've been lying to myself all these years and I now have to face the fact that what I have believed these last 40 years was complete bollocks.
Last weekend, my wife was away so I had the house to myself. These are the times when reality really kicks in. It is the time, when I am alone with my thoughts, I have time to process without having to spend huge amounts of energy pretending to be someone else, consciously or not. I realise that despite having moved to Bournemouth (south-western UK) nearly 2 years ago, I haven't made any friends here. Not only that, I have retreated into myself and refuse to have a social life. I don't have real conversations with my wife anymore, so I'm not only withdrawing from others, I'm withdrawing from those I love the most.
It was time for action. So this week, I called a therapist to help me organise my thoughts and prepare a plan to tell my wife. I've already had one session and I can't wait for the next one. But right now, I feel scared to death. Scared that I will hurt her so deeply she will hate me and I'll lose my best friend. I'm scared that she will think this is her fault. I'm scared that she will think that I've purposely misled her. Have I? I don't think so and I have been utterly faithful throughout these years. I just hope that I can convince her not to hate me – in time.
There's passage in the Tale X of the Heptameron by Marguerite de Navarre, where honourable Amadour asks the married Florida whom he loves: “I pray you, sweetheart, counsel me whether it is better for a man to speak or die?” This is, of course a trap. We all die so it is always better to speak. I will speak when I am ready. Sometime soon. For good or ill, my sweet wife needs to know the truth. In that way she can have agency and I can avoid destroying myself.
I hope, dear reader, that if you stumble on this blog, it can help you in some way. Your story is not mine, nor mine yours, but I will regularly update you on my progress. Until then, I wish you well. Don't be shy to comment if the fancy takes you.
