I lived most of my life in what I now refer to as the “straight world.” I was married to a man, raised four children, and served as a minister, hospice chaplain, and grief counselor. For a very long time, I thought people who needed to sort out their sexual or gender identity did so in their twenties. I know now how wrong that is. Coming out is never easy, nor is there a universally established timeline or roadmap. Each person’s story is unique, layered, and complicated.
I grew up in Connecticut in the 1970s. My home life was chaotic, full of alcoholism and constant arguments, and I spent much of my youth just trying to survive. The only constant in my life was Catholic school and church. I knew what to expect there, and I thrived academically. I was seen, affirmed, and at the same time, constantly confronted with very strict messages about sexuality and the role of women: sex outside of marriage was wrong, women were second-class citizens, and my mother, despite her socially liberal attitude, reinforced that. The result was a confusing tangle of messages I spent years trying to untangle.
As a teenager, I couldn’t understand my friends having crushes on boys. They would put Shaun Cassidy or Leif Garrett posters all over their walls-I just didn’t get it. I had no interest in boys, but tried to fit in, as that was expected of me. I dated men through high school and college but sex felt hollow and any emotional connection was lacking. I blamed guilt associated with premarital sex and hoped marriage might make a difference.
I married in my twenties, had four children, and settled into a busy life. On paper, I had it all: family, career, home, and stability. And yet, something was missing. My marriage lacked the intimacy I craved, and although my ex and I are still friends, it wasn’t a romantic relationship anymore. I was surrounded by life and love and felt heartbreakingly lonely, constantly searching for a missing piece of myself.
An article in O, The Oprah Magazine in 2006, about fluid female sexuality, opened a door for me. I realized I didn’t have to stay on the straight path forever. I told my then-16-year-old daughter, “If something ever happens with Dad and me, don’t be surprised if I end up with a woman.” She smiled and said, “OK, Mom, that would be cool.”
It took another ten years before I fully came out. I stepped in and out of the closet, sought guidance from therapists-many of whom didn’t understand-and slowly came to realize that no one could name my sexuality but me. I am the expert of my own identity. In 2016, I found an online group for women coming out later in life, and for the first time, I felt like I belonged. Their stories reflected my own: some women waited into their eighties to embrace who they truly were.
Coming out was much more difficult than I had thought it would be. My ex ‘outed’ me to members of our community, and people avoided me. My children, between the ages of 12 to 24 years at the time, had a hard time. They were devastated by the divorce, and two of them took years to reconcile with me. I mourned the loss of my identity as a straight woman, my family as it existed, and my place in my professional and social worlds. But alongside the grief, I discovered joy I hadn’t known before: falling in love authentically for the first time and finding a community where I belonged.
Today, I work with women who come out later in life, serving them from a place of both the skill sets I have acquired in ministry and chaplaincy and from a resource base in grief counseling. I help individuals navigate multi-layered questioning of their sexuality, internalized homophobia, the grieving process, and, most importantly, finding community. The takeaway I offer everyone is simple: it is never too late to live authentically. Happiness is your right, and above all, so is being who you were always meant to be.
