I Can't Tell Her...

I can't tell my mother that the real reason I don't date is that I've fallen in love with a girl who lives 800 miles away...

Every once in a while, my mom will point out some teenage boy in the supermarket. She’ll turn to me and ask, “isn’t he cute?” And I’ll just roll my eyes. I’ll shake my head and insist that he “isn’t my type.” She’ll ask me why I’m not dating the boys in my class. I’ll just laugh and say that I don’t want the drama of dating in high school when the truth is, I wish I could have the same foolish relationships as my friends: the movie theater dates and the school dances and the dinners on a minimum-wage budget. She’ll tell me “you need to find a good man with a good job who will be a good father.” I laugh and joke “or I could become a nun.” I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t tell her what my type is: the tall blonde who’s a little less than lean. I can’t tell her that I want to date and stay up until two am curled up on somebody’s lap, their fingers running through my curls. I can’t tell her that my kids will never have a father because I can’t let her know that my kids will have two moms. Two moms that love them and support them no matter who they are. Whom they can tell anything to.

It’s not that I’m uncertain or uneasy about what her reaction may be. I know what it will be. And that’s why I can’t tell her.

I can’t tell her because even though she says she’d love her kids if they were queer, she wants to vote for the hateful man who wants to take away my right to get married. I can’t tell her because even though she says she doesn’t hate gay people, she speaks of them with venom in her voice, saying that they should stay single their whole lives. She says that they should devote their lives to God but the truth is she thinks that they-that we-don’t deserve relationships. She thinks that somehow, gay people commit adultery more often than straight people. But how can that be true when we have to fight tooth and nail just to be able to marry each other? Just to be able to show our love in public.

I can’t tell my mother the real reason why I don’t date. I can’t tell her that I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with a girl who lives 800 miles away. And every time my love calls me, I have to lie and say that it’s my best friend on the phone. I can’t tell her about the girl who loves me and understands me. Who has a family that loves and supports her queerness. Who has shown me that girls shouldn’t have to hate and fear and lie to their mothers. Who has shown me that I shouldn’t have to live in fear and secrecy. And yet I am made to.

I can’t tell my mother that the real reason I wanted to kill myself in middle school is that my classmates discovered I was dating a girl, and told me I deserved to die and rot in hell for eternity. I can’t tell her that the real reason I hate going to church is that I hate being told about the flames that await me, just because I can’t love a man the way I love a woman. I can’t tell her that my kids won’t be raised religiously because I’m afraid of them being convinced that their mothers are horrible sinners who don’t deserve to be parents. Because I know that I’ll never be allowed to take my spouse to Christmas mass without being stared at and whispered about. 

And despite all of this, I know that I’ll have to tell her eventually. That one day it’ll come out. That I’ll come out. My hope is that it’ll happen after I’ve moved out and I’m safe from the misery and fear she rests on my shoulders. When I’m free and won’t have to fear the worst.