[This post is for the Family round of the Carnival of Aces.
Check it out.]
I am terrified of coming out to my mother.
Flipping terrified.
It’s completely irrational. My mother is a very open-minded,
accepting human being. For example, a couple months ago we had a positive,
enthusiastic conversation about the complexity and fluidity of gender. Okay,
that doesn’t have anything to do with me or my asexuality, but it shows how
open-minded my mother is. Regarding myself, I’ve told her that I have no
interest in romantic relationships, and she was totally cool with it; she didn’t
say any of the things parents often do, like “you just haven’t met the right
person” or “you’re too young to know that.” Also, I’ve shared
asexuality-related blog posts on my Facebook (albeit cautiously avoiding
connecting them in any way to my personal identity), and my mother had read and
commented on them without a hint of negativity.
Given all of the above, honestly, she probably already
suspects me. Why, then, am I so absolutely petrified at the thought of saying
that simple sentence: “Mom, I’m asexual”?
I think part of my apprehension stems from her being a
nurse. I’m afraid that her profession will make her more likely to say, “We
should take you to the doctor and get your hormones fixed.” But again, this is
hardly a rational worry. I’m not sure my mother would even approve of hormone
treatment. My mom is somewhat of a nonconformist. She’s into local,
non-synthetic foods; compassion and loving-kindness; meditation and alternative
medicine. The likelihood of her saying I should “get my hormones fixed” is
probably slim to none. I know this, and yet I can’t shake the fear that,
despite all I know about her, this time I might be wrong.
Honestly, I think most of my nervousness originates from her
reaction to the first time I tried to come out to her. I was fifteen. I had just
started to identify as bisexual – not because I had the slightest interest in
sex (I just figured that would happen later), but because I found both men and
women aesthetically attractive. I sat her down, and I said to her, “Mom, I
think I’m bisexual.” I had expected immediate acceptance. What I got, however,
was skepticism. “You know, you might not be. A couple times, when I was younger,
I thought I was in love with a friend of mine. It’s a phase girls go through
sometimes.”
I was stunned. Admittedly, I probably oughtn’t to have used
the word “think.” But I was fifteen. And really, I suspect that fact greatly
influenced her response to me. She did
come to accept me as bisexual, and has been very supportive, but her initial
reaction has continued to plague me. What if I tell her this – tell her about
the identity I’m ten times more confident and comfortable with – and she reacts
the same way she did when I was fifteen? That possibility scares the crap out
of me.
So, you might ask, why do I bother coming out to her in the
first place? If I’m causing myself so much mental anguish with the very idea of
it, why don’t I just stay in the closet? After all, my sexual orientation is
nobody’s business but my own. I don’t have
to tell anyone.
Here’s why I bother: My mother is one of my closest friends.
I love her. I trust her. I feel comfortable with her. We share with each other,
have meaningful conversations, spend time together. I’m always honest with her,
and not telling her the truth feels almost like lying.
Also, I’m planning to officially come out on my Facebook during
Asexuality Awareness Week. If I know anything for sure, it’s that my mother would
rather hear it from me than from Facebook.
