We knew one another for more than four years before we began dating; we dated a year before getting married. He was the de facto chaplain of our circle of friends, a staunch Baptist, energetic, confident, strong. He was instrumental in the formation of my Christian faith.
We were married eleven and a half years — hard years, bitter years. We ought to have been a happy couple. We had all the important things in common: Faith, desire for family, and so on. But we were both miserable from the outset.
When people who knew us ask what happened, why we divorced, I tell them:
“You’ve heard of irreconcilable differences? Well, we had a problem with irreconcilable similarities. We both prefer men.”
When I was first going through this, there was no internet, so there were no sources of information or support for women like me. But that summer I met through my work three other women who were going through exactly what I was going through – and all four of us were staunch evangelical Christians in some of the major evangelical churches in our city.
This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to be happening! – but there we were. And more and more of us every year.
More than twenty years later, I feel as if I’m still recovering. Sometimes I think I will be for as long as I live. But that’s okay. I’m out from under the rainbow, and I’ve survived with my mind and soul intact.
And if I can, we all can.
I write under a pseudonym. It began as a desire to protect myself. The “gay mafia” plays dirty. But the fact is that DH has a right to tell his own story in his own way (and he has been for all these years, without a pseudonym, and it bears no resemblance to mine). Our daughters have a right not to have to answer for my opinion. And his parents, still living, and his siblings have a right not to have their noses rubbed in it. Yes, after all these years I’m still protecting everyone else. <shrug shoulders> — C’est la guerre.