`Why I Am A Lesbian'

Ebony, March, 2001 by Ingrid Rivera-Dessuit

I am a lesbian. I am a mother. I am a woman of color. I am real and visible. I wasn't always--visible that is. I am visible now because at age 20 I chose to come out--out of the closet. Out of the box that was created for me. Out of the idea that straight is normal and any other sexual orientation is deviant, perverted, and sick.

For years that idea ruled my life and almost destroyed it. Because for years I accepted the message society sends us about who we should be, about what it means to be a man or a woman, about what is "normal." No one wants to be viewed as deviant, and I was no different. And so, like millions of gay men and women, I made great efforts to fit into the heterosexual box. There is safety, if not fulfillment, in the familiar. But the physical safety of my familiarity finally became unsafe for me emotionally. After years of suffering and struggling, I could stand it no longer. I jumped out of the closet and into the light. I came out! Out of the idea that men should and would take care of me. Out of a haze that was once too thick to see or recognize my own reality. Out of a denial that almost destroyed me. Coming out was one of the most important choices of my life. Despite oppression and fear of physical harm, I felt it totally necessary to honor my feelings and begin the process of knowing who I am.

When I was a young girl I had no idea what a lesbian was. I have always had crushes on women. Most of my childhood sexual developmental play was with girls. I allowed myself to feel those feelings because it felt right and good. As I got older I realized that "it" was not the right thing to do. All of my friends either had boyfriends or longed for them. I did not. I longed to have the normality of my peers, thus a boyfriend would have to do. I did not hate boys. I had nothing against them. I even enjoyed their company and made long-lasting friendships with ex-boyfriends.

The crushes, the fantasies, the need to be closer to a woman in a way that I could not explain was so far from the reality of my life that I could not see a way to ever fulfill them. And so I settled. I unconsciously decided to settle for relationships with men and the dreams that girls are supposed to dream of. I met an older man and, at a very young age, left home and became pregnant. Life with this man was unfulfilling and burdensome. The energy involved in maintaining a facade was draining, debilitating, and eventually too much to bear.

Throughout our relationship, I continued to have feelings for women. Deep feelings. Feelings I could not ignore. I didn't know what they meant or how I could process them. As a result, my relationship with my boyfriend began to unravel. While drug, emotional and physical abuse all played a part in its destruction, the driving force was my need to be myself and love a woman. Although the situation was unsafe--not just for me but for my unborn child--I stayed long after I should have left. This was the life that I was told was right. The life I was told was "normal." As bad as the abuse got, I saw no way out. I could not see a way to escape the lie I was living. Soon, feelings of confusion, anger and bitterness consumed my very existence. Thoughts of ending my life crossed my mind daily. Some days they were so intense my body would go limp. Limp enough to numb the nameless--but all-consuming--pain, but not enough to end it.

A slow process of education and self-empowerment driven by my need to care for the child I was about to bring into the world helped me leave the lies and abuse. But when you're pregnant and 17, it isn't easy. And so I took small steps. First I got my GED and took Lamaze classes at an adolescent center providing support, education and health services. The experience helped me to realize I needed a change and gave me the courage to make it. I left my boyfriend and began the process of understanding who I was. Having no place to go, I ended up living in shelters. My journey to self-awareness led me to leave the mean streets of New York and to a new life in Massachusetts. As a single mother on welfare, I found a cheap apartment and enrolled in community college. It was the beginning of my transformation. At college, I met diverse people, people who by their very existence dispelled years of invisibility. For the first time, I met gay and gay-friendly people. People who accepted my sexuality. My socially constructed push toward relationships with men ceased and I was a new woman.

I finally began to accept who I was--a lesbian. One day I just came out. First I came out to myself. I said it out loud in the mirror. I shouted it. "I am a lesbian!" Then I came out to my daughter, friends, teachers and family. After all those years of questions and praying for death, the simple act of my self-acceptance gave me inner peace. I prepared myself for the next step--social and family acceptance.

Telling my mother was a difficult task. She took it very hard. While she ensured her love for me, she said she could not understand how I was a lesbian. "You have dated men and you have a daughter," she said with a perplexed look on her face, not fully understanding what a lesbian is. "I cannot accept that you are a lesbian, but you are my daughter," she reluctantly assured me, and I felt lucky. I had spent my entire life running from who I was, but I was determined to stay and face reality. My parents tried to get me to see a psychiatrist, but at least they remained in my life to an extent.