Natalie Weiss

As previously published on October 22, 2020 on LAUNCH without fear.

I know I opened the last blog talking about vulnerability, but I still have thoughts.

I always thought I wasn’t a vulnerable person, and then the writing class thing happened, and then I started posting this blog series and people told me I was brave.

I didn’t feel brave.

I just felt like I was telling the truth. Finally.

But I know the me from two years ago and maybe even the me from one year ago probably wouldn’t believe that this is happening. She probably wouldn’t believe that not only did I come out on my blog and post it on Facebook, but that I am detailing my journey as much as I am.

I wasn’t expecting to do this. I had a couple of friends read through an initial essay I had written and intended to post. Based on their input and a gnawing feeling in the back of my mind, I knew I couldn’t just write one post about this and be done. I wanted to, because I wanted it to be easy. I wanted to, because I am in the midst of writing a novel and, to be honest, I haven’t worked on it in quite some time because I’ve been focusing on these posts. I wanted to, because, even if I don’t feel it now, it is brave to tell this story. All of it. And I didn’t know if I could be this brave.

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It is the summer of 2015. I sit in my best friend’s apartment, in her bedroom with her because I don’t want her roommate to overhear. I read her the essay, word for word, that I had written back in April. My heart is pounding. My voice is shaking. When I get to the part where I read aloud, “I am a homosexual; I am a lesbian,” it is the first time I ever say those words out loud.

My best friend understands what this means for me. She understands the depth and the struggle I have gone through. She knows my family. She knows this is…difficult. It is a difficult position for me to be in. She is supportive. And I need that.

To come out to one person is significant. It is so significant. But a reality I don’t understand yet is this: it is not the end. It is something I will do again. And again. And again. And again.

I come out to my best friend because I need to tell someone. I couldn’t just hold this in any longer. Holding it in really screwed my mental health, and I am not willing to go back there again.

Near the end of the essay I wrote in April that I read to my best friend, I wrote this: I have been in conversation with God, and now, instead of begging Him to change my sexuality, I am asking Him to help me be wise—wise in if and when I talk to my parents about it again, wise in if and when I talk to my sister and my friends, wise in how I treat my relationships, wise in how I handle temptations, and wise in if and when I may ever meet someone who shares my feelings. I am in conversation with God about if, although homosexuality is not a choice, it is still sinful to be in a homosexual relationship. I am still confused and unsure of how to proceed. But I know this.

I do not want to be afraid. I do not want to be ashamed. Fear and shame breed hatred, and I am tired of hating myself for this.

It is still heavy on my mind of how to feel about being gay. I do not want to be alone for the rest of my life. I do not want to go to churches that talk about marriage as the ultimate relationship available to us in this life and listen to pastors talk about their smoking hot wives and sit there and know that I am never going to experience that.

My faith is in flux.

I still believe in God. I am still a Christian. And I am still, as I wrote, trying to be wise and trying to be faithful to God.

But I am searching for a why.

Why can’t I be in a relationship with another woman? Why is it so wrong to want to love her, to be with her?

Maybe I am bargaining, but I just cannot figure out the answers to those questions, especially when I have every intention to follow every other teaching about relationships. You know, the no sex before marriage, don’t live together before marriage, and, if you’re really devout, no kissing before marriage. I understand it’s all about “temptation” and the temptation you open yourself up to, but it does seem a little overkill. It also reminds me of my youth group days, and when I was a shitty friend, and my ego trip veiled by good intentions and Christianity.

I wrestle with the why of all of this. And I also think about what it would be like, if I were to have a relationship with a woman, to tell my parents.

I am 22 now, but I don’t quite feel like I ever grew up. I’m not sure I am really an adult.

But this helps: 2015 becomes quite a year of growth. For the first time since I was in West Lafayette at Purdue, I leave home. I move to Indianapolis for four months to do an internship with the hockey team there. And I’m also training for my first full marathon, which I complete in October.

I am accomplishing things that are mine.

Looking back on 2015, I know it was the hardest year of my life. I had to learn how to deal with depression and panic attacks. I had to find a way to accept myself. I came out for the first time, this time with no intention of saying, “I’m going to change this.” Instead, I had to wonder if I would be accepted or cast away. I trained for and ran my first marathon. I left home, unsure if I’d be ok.

I enter 2016 a little more grown up, a little more my own person.

But I still have a long way to go.